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A gunshot in the middle of the night. It broke the still silence that had taken home in the woods the Howling Commandos called their home for the night. A scream and two gunshots, just as shattering, rang out in quick succession directly after.
A man with blue eyes groggy yet sharpened with worry sat up rod straight; all Commando’s in the small cabin they had found abandoned all following in suit. He didn’t wait for any of his teammates to wake before grabbing his red, white, and blue shield, the trademark of Captain America, and running out into the cold night.
“Bucky!” Steve Rogers yelled fear for his friend that could be possibly injured or something worse that was unthinkable for fear that alone thought could sway what happened to Bucky Barnes. That wasn’t something Steve would allow.
He was already out of the clearing the soldiers had taken refuge in, worried screams of his brothers in arms trying desperately to catch up with him; trying to get him to wait or at least slow down. Steve couldn’t bare the thought of waiting, not with his Bucky out there.
“Bucky!” Steve yelled again looking around him wildly. He had been headed in the direction of the shouts but in a forest as large as this it would be near impossible to find Bucky.
“Steve!” The short yell broke through the silence again. Bucky was close, just to the west.
With the serum that ran through Steve’s veins, it took less than a minute to reach his friend. But when he reached Bucky he knew he should have been faster.
There was Bucky. He was leaning against a tree looking winded as he would after a shift at the docks in the heat of summer. Blood covered the hand that was loosely held against his abdomen. The snow was stained red from the heavy bleeding. The redder the snow got the paler Bucky became from the heavy amounts of blood loss. Still, he had a cocky smile hanging limply on his face.
“I had ‘em on the ropes.” Bucky used his free hand to motion at the body of what once was a Hydra soldier and was now just another casualty in the never-ending war the two Brooklyn boys had found themselves in.
Steve had just realized that he hadn’t moved from the spot he had paused in when he first saw his friend. He cursed internally at the involuntary freeze he had fallen into. Forcing his heavy limbs to move he approached his friend and placed a hand over the one already trying to stave off the flow of blood giving it more pressure.
Bucky gritted his teeth and let out a moan of pain masked by a low chuckle. “Your bedside manner is shit. I would have thought you learned something from watching’ me after all these years.” The joking tone faded away with a fresh wave of pain and nearly hidden fear was visible behind the mask Bucky had created for himself. “How does it look?”
Steve slowly peeled back his and Bucky’s hands to get a look at the wound. The deep blue jacket Bucky wore didn’t help visibility, but what could be seen inspired no hope. “Jesus, Bucky.”
“That bad?” Bucky asked weakly. Neither he nor Steve paid much noticed the other Commandos as they arrived, or the colorful language that they all used upon the sight of their sniper bleeding in the snow.
Steve didn’t nod his expression was enough to confirm the severity of the wound Bucky received. Instead, he grabbed Bucky both under the legs and around the shoulders and lifted. Bucky yelled in pain only to be shushed by the Captain. They didn’t want any other lingering enemy soldiers coming after them.
“Dum Dum,” Steve’s voice held a tone that was made by leaders. “You and Dernier take the front. Monty watches our back. Mortia I need you to try to inspect the wound as best you can on the move.”
The soldier took their positions and moved back to the campsite. Jim Mortia did his best to get a good look at Bucky’s wound while they moved. He shrugged off his heavier top coat to drape it over Bucky who was shivering and barely conscious from the shock.
“It’s not good Cap,” Jim spoke low, so the others wouldn’t hear. “He’s losing a lot of blood and he won’t make it much longer if we can’t stop it. Even then the shock might kill him, and he won’t be able to move; you can’t carry him all the way back to base.”
Steve heard that more as a challenge than a limitation. “Join Monty and keep an eye out. We’re pretty far from camp still.” Damn snipers having to be so far away from everything. He had told Bucky not to go too far away when patrolling, but Bucky liked distance from the enemy. Not that it did him any good this time.
Jim fell back with Monty and the sudden loss of something to look at brought Bucky’s attention back from its haze. “Steve I don’t feel so good.” He whispered not by choice it was just as loud as he could talk at the moment. “I think that guy might have shot me.”
Steve bit his tongue. Bucky’s mind was clearly starting to get more blurred which didn’t give Steve any comfort.
“You’ll be fine Buck. Just try to focus on something else, okay? Remember that jig that we were all singing last time we all had a decent meal?”
Bucky took a few moments to think about it before nodding. “They were all so drunk I think that they forgot there was a war going on.” He laughed a bit before gritting his teeth against the pain. “Steve, fuck, it hurts.”
“I know, I know.” The Captain said quickly before changing the subject. “Just focus on the song; sing it to me.”
Bucky licked his chapped lips before shakily starting to sing. “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling. From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.”
It wasn’t the song that the Commandos had been singing in the worn down pub weeks ago; instead, Bucky sang slowly a tune that had been on the radio the night before he deployed. The song was notably less cheerful than that drunken tune. But it kept Bucky’s mind busy, so Steve just listened and tried not to think about the foreboding message behind the lyrics.
After a small forever the troop found the small campsite they had called home for the night none of them planned to stay there past sunrise, nor did any of them plan for one of their own to get shot. Just Steve, Bucky, and Morita were the only ones to go in the cabin; the others stayed outside to give them more room and starting a fire that was as large as they would risk.
Inside Bucky had been laid out in the middle of the tarp flooring. Blood had begun to pool on the ground like the puddle they left behind in the forest. Bucky had grown deadly pale and his lips, void of color, only noiselessly mouthed the chilling song that his fading attention had been diverted to.
Bucky’s caregivers carefully pulled off the ruined overcoat, one of Bucky’s favorites, and the forest green tunic he wore underneath leaving him bare-chested. The wound was now visible in the little lighting they had from the rising sun. The sight was not one that inspired hope in the hearts of anyone who saw it. While the entry point was small the speed of which blood was spilling from the young Sergeant stomach was something that had to be stopped immediately.
Jim Morita reached a careful hand under Bucky’s back to feel for an exit wound. He cursed silently when his probing found none. “That bullet is still inside him, I have to get it out before I even think about stopping the bleeding.”
Steve nodded; he rested a hand on Bucky’s sweaty forehead and pushed back the black hair. His friend seemed to find the gentle pattern soothing so Steve continued the small movements. Bucky would make it and Steve would do whatever was necessary to secure his future.
“What do you need me to do?” Steve asked, his eyes never left his injured friend.
“Put your belt between his teeth so he doesn’t scream,” Morita ordered as he pulled out his small med kit from his pack. “Good, now hold him down. This is going to hurt like nothing he ever felt before and he can’t be wrestling about while I’m digging this slug out.”
Nodding, Steve grabbed his childhood friends wrists and crossed them over Bucky’s chest, so he was holding down his arms and torso at the same time. Steve used his leg to hold down both of the nearly unconscious snipers. Without Steve’s enhanced strength he would have had to probably call in two of the others, at least, to hold down Bucky. But now he could use his exceptional strength to effectively restrain Bucky.
Morita pulled out a pair of pliers from his kit with the addition of a knife and a bottle of alcohol. He went outside the cabin quickly and gave the commandos orders to heat the knife before coming back inside. Next, he unscrewed the top of the bottle and held it above the wound; before starting to pour he put a hand on the side of Bucky’s face to get the injured man’s attention.
“Barnes,” He said waiting for the tired blue eyes to focus. “You’ve done great so far Sarge. You just need to hold on a bit longer alright.” Jim smiled when his patient nodded. “I’m not going to lie Sarge this is going to hurt like shit and I don’t have anything to give you for the pain. Try not to scream; bite into that belt when it gets too much. Okay.” Another nod. Morita clapped Bucky’s cheek lightly. “You’re braver than any of us Sarge.”
Jim looked up from the tired sniper and nodded once at Steve to tell him to prepare himself. When Bucky was firmly held down Morita began pouring the clear substance on the wound hoping it would be enough to burn away any infection.
When the alcohol first touched Bucky’s wound the haze that had fallen over him quickly was replaced by shock and pain. His teeth clenched the belt immediately digging marks into the leather while letting out a small grunt of displeasure. After about half, the bottle was gone Morita screwed the cap back on and Bucky let out a relieved breath.
“You’re doing great Buck,” Steve said in the tone of voice Bucky had used when Steve’s asthma attacks got worse. “You’ll be up on your feet in no time.”
Bucky nodded weakly. He tried to relieve as much tension from his battered body before Morita started attempting to pull the bullet out. Tears were rolling freely down his cheeks as the hunt for the lead round in his stomach went on and a cry of pain was impulsively released; only to be quickly silenced by Steve’s gentle shushing.
It took less than two minutes to extract the bullet, all with Bucky attempting to thrash against Steve’s embrace the entire time. But soon enough he stilled, and Jim announced that the bullet had been pulled free, and Steve climbed off his friend, cupping the pale, sweaty face in his shaking hands.
“Buck?” His voice was low, tone soft. “Bucky can you hear me? Come on, Buck, open those eyes that make the dames go mad for me.” Bucky’s eyes didn’t open, but a barely audible moan escaped his slightly parted lips. “Buck?”
His eyes opened just slightly, and he licked his lips before one word slipped out of his mouth in a drowsy slur. “Fuck.”
Steve let out an exhausted laugh. He fell back on off his knees and sat on the hard ground; anxiety pouring out of him. Bucky was fine, for now.
“Eloquently put,” Morita asked as his still hands pressed a bandage on the wound. “How you feeling Sarge, and don’t give me any ‘I’m fine’ shit. You don’t get to say you're fine after you take a shot to the gut.”
Bucky let out a breathy laugh. “But that’s my best line.” A sudden shiver takes over his entire body. “It’s really cold tonight. Isn’t it?” He looked down his body and at his hands that were lax by his side. “I can’t feel my hands.”
Steve felt his heart skip a beat and he gripped Bucky’s hands in his. The injured soldier's hands were like ice.
“Why are his hands so cold?” Steve asked frantically as he rubbed his hands over his friends to get them to warm up.
Jim shook his head in frustration. “It’s the blood loss. We need to stop the bleeding now.” Morita opened the cabin door and called Dum Dum in.
Dum Dum Dugan walked in and couldn’t help but let profanities slip from his lips at the sight of Bucky lying on the hard ground bleeding and barely conscious. Bucky was five years younger than Dum Dum, and even though Bucky was his superior, Dugan couldn’t help but feel responsible for the kid. He didn’t want to see the kid hurt. Which is why his hands were shaking so furiously around the heated knife.
Jim took the knife from Dum Dum, being mindful of the hot blade. He took a deep breath before dropping back into his medic persona. “Steve get back into position, Dugan holds Bucky’s head down. He did well when I took out the bullet, but I doubt he’ll handle this with the same composure.”
The two soldiers took their positions. When Dugan gently grabbed the sides of Bucky’s head the Sergeants tired eyes found their way up to Dum Dum’s. A drunk looking smile spread across his face.
Slurred words escaped Bucky’s lips. “Have I ever told you that I really like your hat Dum Dum?” He attempted to raise his hand to grab Dum Dum’s hat, but Steve held his arm and shushed his friend. This was an act Bucky paid no attention to as he started laughing in an exhausted way that made his happiness look like he had a few too many pints at the local bar. "It looks like you put a fishbowl on your head."
“He’s going into shock,” Jim announced before replacing the belt in Bucky’s mouth, a struggle around his babbling. “We have to do this now or he isn’t going to make it.”
Steve and Dum Dum both braced themselves as Morita whispered a soft prayer and apology to the soldier lying on the ground. Swiftly he placed the heated metal on the wound, being careful not to leave it for too long as to not burn the already injured man.
The change in Bucky was immediate. He went from blurry and drunken to focus with the pain from the touch of the knife to his flesh. He thrashed against Steve and Dum Dum who held him down with little mercy. His teeth were biting so hard on the leather belt that there would be no shock if some of them ended up cracked. He whined and cried out all, only wanting to curl into a small ball and disappear. Steve repeated comforting phrases over and over as tears streamed from both his and Bucky’s eyes. As Steve said stuff like ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you’re going to be fine' a small selfish part of him just wished Bucky would pass out so Steve would stop having to hear his muffled cries.
Steve got his wish as the second burst of heat Morita applied with the knife and Bucky had reached his threshold. His blue eyes slipped shut and his body went slack as Morita finished cauterizing the wound.
When Jim pulled the knife away for the last time; setting the bloodied, hot metal on the same small tray that held the bullet that had caused their Sergeant so much pain. Steve immediately left the restrictive position he was in and went to grab both sides of Bucky’s head, in place of Dum Dum who moved back to give the Captain room.
“Buck? Bucky, can you hear me?” Bucky didn’t wake up, nor did he respond in any way to the Captain’s pleas. Steve looked over to Morita who was stitching up the wound with the little thread they had. “Is he going to be okay?”
His eyes never left the wound as Jim addressed the Captain. “Honestly, Steve I would be shocked if he makes it back to camp. With how cold it is outside and how much blood he’s lost hypothermia might get him before any infection could.”
“I’m not losing him. I’ll share the bed with him if I have to if that will keep him warm, whatever it takes. Bucky will not die here.” Steve put his hands in fists so their shaking wasn’t as noticeable. He couldn’t let Bucky die, not thousands of miles from home and his family. The hypothermia was something Steve could manage. Bucky had shared his body heat with Steve countless times for the same reason when the winter was harsh and sickness clung to him.
He wouldn't let Hypothermia be an issue, what was is the infection that more likely than not Bucky would catch.
“What can we do to stop the wound from getting infected?” Steve asked, begging for a hopeful answer.
Jim didn’t have one to give. “In these conditions infection is unavoidable. The most we can do is manage it and try to keep it from doing too much damage. There’s not enough penicillin to stop anything that's already taken hold after Dum Dum had that run-in with the flu last week." There was always the hope that infection hadn't found a foothold in his weakened body, but it was a good ten minutes from the time the gunshot went off and when they found Bucky. Medicines like penicillin were still being researched so there was no way to know if it would work or not. “The only other things we can really do is trying to keep the wound clean, keep him hydrated, and get some food in him if we can. He’s going to need his strength if he has a chance of making the hike back to camp.”
Dum Dum cleared his throat as to announce his intention of speaking. “I was thinking that me, Gabe, and Dernier could start the hike back to base tonight. Without carrying an injured soldier, and if we hauled ass, we could make it there in three days before coming back with some backup and a truck for bringing Barnes back safely.”
Steve didn’t want to split the group up, but Dum Dum’s plan would Bucky the best chance at survival. Bucky was always Steve’s blindspot to reason and judgment went out his head and into the wind. But he wasn’t as reckless as his friend believed him to be. If Bucky had run into a soldier out in the woods there was bound to be other soldiers lurking in the woods and they couldn’t risk another injured commando.
“You don’t have to worry about us Cap, I’d like to see the Hydra grunt that runs into us after what that kid did to Barnes.” Dum Dum’s reassurance didn’t go unnoticed, but Steve was still having trouble letting them go alone--- something both of the conscious soldiers saw.
Morita, while administering the penicillin shot, decided to take his turn persuading the most stubborn soldier he had ever known. “Barnes isn’t going to survive the walk back to base, not in this condition. Cap, he will die if they don’t go and get help if they do then at least he has a chance.”
Looking at Bucky was enough to confirm what Jim said. Skin clammy and pale with dark brown hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. His breathing was choppy and uncoordinated, his chest moving up and down with great difficulty. It was difficult for Steve to watch someone, who he couldn't remember being ill once in his life, barely being able to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder if this helplessness is what Bucky had felt every winter when Steve would be sick regularly and money for much-needed medicine scarce. Bucky worked multiple jobs during the winter to try to get enough money for Steve’s medication, and when that wasn’t enough Bucky would go door to door around the neighborhood and collect what little he could in a depression. Begging to their neighbors was never easy for Bucky, but he did what was necessary for Steve to survive another winter.
“Alright, you leave at dawn. Get some sleep and take whatever provisions you’ll need for the next three days.” Steve gave Dum Dum a nod as he left the cabin to tell the others the plan while Jim stayed behind carefully watching Steve grip Bucky’s hand tight as he could without hurting him further.
“You do know that you guys don’t have to hide your relationship around us, right?” Jim’s question startled Steve and made him drop Bucky’s hand immediately. “Jeez, relax Cap.”
Steve didn’t relax at all, though Jim wasn’t expecting him to. “You all know?”
Jim couldn’t hold in his laughter. “Well, you two aren’t exactly hiding it all too well. All you two do is stare lovingly into each other's eyes all day. And, before you crossed enemy lines against orders and invaded a Hydra base completely on your own to rescue your ‘friend,’ you were all Barnes would talk about. It wasn’t a huge jump to get to the conclusion that you two were more friendly than you let on.”
Running a hand through his hair and looking exasperated Steve looked older than his real age, the war did that. The current conversation and events leading up to it had a similar effect. “No one can know Jim. I’m Captain America they can’t send me home, no one would give two shits what happens to Bucky.”
“Don’t worry Cap, none of us are going to say anything. After everything that we’ve been through together, we would never do anything to betray you two. The world needs you two together, even if they don’t know it yet.” Morita stood, as much as he could in the small cabin, and made for the door so he could give the two some privacy.
“Thank you.” Steve was close to tears for more reasons than the fingers that were wrapped around Bucky’s.
Jim gave a curt nod before exiting; leaving the two soldiers alone. There wasn’t anything he could do for Bucky until he woke up, which wouldn’t be for an hour at least. All he could do until then was hope nothing went wrong until then.
Back inside Steve was holding Bucky’s hand tightly as he could without crushing it--- the soldier serum tested his restraint daily it seemed. He was still reeling from what happened, but he tried to focus on Bucky being alive rather than the commandos finding out he was Steve’s boyfriend. That was a term that Steve didn’t use a lot even with Bucky. The label felt so artificial in their relationship. Bucky has always just been Bucky, his Bucky, he didn’t need a label to tell him what they meant to each other because they knew.
“You know I love you, don’t you Buck?” Steve asked what wasn’t really a question as he used his free hand to brush the hair away from Bucky’s closed eyes. He was doing everything he could not look at the bullet wound that had caused Bucky so much pain. The soldier that did this to Bucky was lucky to have been dead by the time Steve got there because he honestly doesn’t know what he would have done to the soldier that caused all of this.
No, instead of looking at the bullet wound Steve focused on the rise and fall of Bucky’s bare chest. Steve pulled one of the worn blankets they had found over and lay it out on top of his beloved. He leaned over a pressed a kiss on Bucky’s forehead.
“You remember what you would say to me every time I got as sick as you are now?” His question didn’t get an answer, not like he was expecting one. “‘Don’t you dare die on me, you stubborn punk. I’m not done loving you yet.’ That’s what you would say every night I was delirious with fever, coughing up a lung, or thought ‘this is the asthma attack that will get me’ you were always there telling me you loved me, and you needed me.”
But you never needed me, Buck. You’ve always been able to protect yourself.” Tears were close to falling free. “I’ve never been as strong as you, and if I could make it through all every one of those nights we both thought would kill me, then you can too. You’ll get better. You have to. Because I’m not done loving you yet, either.” He drew a shattered breath as he continued brushing back Bucky’s hair. “Oh God, please don’t leave me.”
Captain America broke. Tears spilling down his face, one hand still tangled in Bucky’s hair as the other went over his mouth to quiet his sobs.
The world came back in a fuzzy mess of thoughts, emotions, and feelings. The first thing Bucky Barnes felt was what he thought was hunger, but as his senses began to sharpen so did the pain in his abdomen. It was a worse pain than Bucky had ever felt, his fists clenched, as did his eyes as he turned his head away from the source of pain in an attempt to escape it.
Soon as he moved a hand brushed his hair back gently. Comforting words were whispered to him as Bucky did everything he could to pass out again, but now that he was aware of the pain he was in he couldn’t avoid it.
Once he had enough of his sense of hearing back the words being spoken to him was understandable. It nearly broke Bucky’s heart to hear what was being said, and by whom.
“Come on Buck, wake up. You can do that for me, can’t ya?” Steven fucking Grant Rogers was begging him to open his eyes. Steve, who was always stronger than he was, begging for Bucky to wake up. How could he ignore that? Besides through all this pain, seeing a face as beautiful as Steve’s was bound to make him feel better.
Opening his eyes was harder than he thought it would be, given that the world was a lot brighter than he remembered it last. His vision was blurred but picking Steve out of the haze was no problem. Even when Steve was small and thinner than a needle Bucky never troubles picking him out of a crowd. Steve carried himself like he was ten feet tall, and if there was ever a bully Steve would be the one dumb enough to try to teach them a lesson.
But Steve didn’t look like he was ready to do anything other than sob. Even though he tried to hide his sadness behind a smile, lines of tears found their ways silently trailing his face.
This puzzled Bucky, through the pain he spoke. “Why are you sad? I do somethin’ stupid?”
Immediately Steve shook his head; moving his hand from Bucky’s hair to cup his cheek. “You didn’t do anything, Buck. A scout snuck up on you. You were shot.” Steve took a shaky breath and collected himself. “I didn’t know if you were going to ever wake up again.”
Bucky felt the weight of Steve’s words but was too tired to understand what was meant by them. Leaning into Steve’s palm he barely registered how his hand, for the first time since he got the serum, was cool against Bucky’s skin. “Hey, I’ll always be here Stevie. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble.”
A sudden wave of pain cut Bucky away from what was happening as he tried to hold in his scream. The world was dark again for a moment as he waited for the agony to stop. Light only returned when a hand lifted his eyelids one by one.
“Barnes, it’s Morita, can you hear me?”
“He was just awake a minute ago.”
“You should have called for me the second he was awake.”
“Sorry, I just couldn’t leave his side. It’s been hours.”
“I get that. Let’s focus on waking him back up again.”
Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He especially didn’t like being shaken, however careful it was. A moan of displeasure left him and his eyes opened against his will. There was a part of him that hoped when he did open his eyes he would be back in Brooklyn with his little Stevie, but the cold lonely cabin was the sight he was greeted with. “Shit, we’re still here.”
Steve smiled a smile of pure diamonds down at him. “Yeah, Buck, we’re still here. We need you to try moving though. We’ve been here longer than we probably should have.” As he spoke his muscular arm slid under Bucky’s back and pulled him into a sitting position. His lover winced at the movement. "Sorry, are you okay?"
It took everything Bucky had not to scream. “Shit,” is the profanity that he let out instead. “After the wonderful example I set for you over the years, you have a shitty bedside manner.”
“Sorry, I must have been nearly dying too much to notice.” Steve’s sarcasm was a second skin that the media didn’t know he had. Captain America was portrayed with a heart of pure gold and innocence that Mother Theresa would be jealous over. The heart of gold was accurate, but Steve wasn’t afraid to be a sarcastic, foul-mouthed, punk when the situation called for it--- a trait Bucky also possessed. When they did any kind of press they had to constantly remind each other to watch their language so that the journalists didn’t try and dirty their reputations.
Now sitting, Bucky could see their surroundings better. The rest of the commandos were gone. “Where ’re the others?”
“They went for the cavalry,” Morita explained while gauging his temperature with his hand. He looked displeased. “ It was too far of a journey for you to make, so they went ahead to the base. Should be back in a few days.”
The hot pain radiating from Bucky’s side felt like an indication that he didn’t have days to wait. The nervous energy that came from Steve like waves didn’t help Bucky’s less than confident feelings of his survival.
His anxiety was plain on his face. Steve asked Morita to give them a moment, Jim didn’t put up an argument and went back outside.
Now alone Steve lost his mask of Captain America and melted back into the smug, little punk from Brooklyn. Bucky missed his Stevie, he so rarely saw him, only in the dark of night when the rest are asleep. When it’s just Steve, Bucky, and the sky that is different, yet the same, as Brooklyn's.
Things were so simple back in Brooklyn, hard, but simple. Bucky would wake up at the crack of dawn, scrape together anything that would pass as breakfast, and be out the door before Steve even woke up. If he was lucky Steve would still be awake when he got home. He missed Steve endlessly, not to say they didn’t see each other. Steve wasn’t seen as a desirable hire so when he wasn’t sick as a dog he would bring Bucky lunch. They would sit on the water side and eat sandwiches for as long as Bucky’s boss would allow.
Thanks to labor laws, Bucky also got a day or two off every week. Those days he tried to fit in as much excitement as he could. Mainly it was time spent with Steve, though he did occasionally go to an occasional dance with some dames he picked up to keep appearances.
Of course, not every day off could be used for well-deserved fun. Working so many hours and not sleeping much between them, for various reasons, and being around walking petri dish Steve Rogers, Bucky got sick a lot and would spend his entire days sleeping. Some days, even if he wasn’t sick, he was so tired he would just lay on the couch and watched Steve draw for hours, letting the sounds of the city lull him to sleep.
He suddenly became very aware of a cold wet feeling on his forehead. Bucky opened the eyes he hadn’t noticed close seeing Steve’s loving, worried face hovering over him.
“You couldn’t stay out of the action for a single day couldn’t you?” Steve’s question was more of an observation. “Couldn’t have waited until the rest of us were there before you decided to take on a Hydra soldier. You’re lucky we destroyed the nearest base he probably couldn’t get his hands on one of those Hydra weapons.”
“Obviously I’m not lucky enough. He shot me in the side after all.” His voice was tight against the fresh wave of pain and heat that crawled over. Infection was most likely already a concern if the hot yet freezing feeling he felt all over him was any indication. That’s when it dawned on him how serious his wound was. His body felt weak as a kitten and every movement hurt. But with Steve’s dazzling smile Bucky felt a million times lighter.
“You were luckier than he was.” Steve didn’t clarify; he didn’t have to.
Bucky remembered shooting the kid, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, between the eyes.
Steve noticed a change in Bucky’s demeanor and pushed for answers. “Bucky, what happened out there?”
Emotion suddenly overwhelming him, all Bucky could do was shake his head. He had no love for Hydra, but the kid he just killed was near the same age as Becca, his sister. Once he thought of that a domino effect in his mind took place. “I’m never going to see my family again.”
Without another word, Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s. At first, Bucky startled, but he soon fell into the kiss, and for a moment he forgot his pain and fear. The relief was tangible, so much so, that when Steve pulled away he felt the loss in every cell of his body.
Blue eyes bearing into his, Steve spoke with a confidence that as much Captain America’s as it was Steve Roger’s. “I swear to you, James Buchanan Barnes, I will get back home, whatever it takes. Do you understand me?”
Bucky reined himself back in as best he could. “Yeah, I understand ya Babydoll. Just make sure that you come back with me.” Another wave of pain hit unexpectedly, the stabbing feeling left tears in his eyes and all other senses to black out for a moment. When the hurt faded away enough for him to be able to take a breath is when he heard it. Singing, the pitch shaky from tears, but beautiful in its own way. Beautiful as the man who serenaded him in his pain.
“But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow, or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow. ‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow. Oh Danny boy, I love you so.”
Bucky was both right and wrong. He was wrong about not making it to camp alive when he did manage to it make it back and healed quicker than anyone had the ability to explain--- it was attributed to his unyielding tenacity to survive. Though Bucky thought he knew the real reason he refused to share it. But he was right that he would never see his family again, he could never go back to his apartment in Brooklyn. A month after he was cleared James Buchanan Barnes fell off a train trying to capture the man who had already taken his peace of mind away from him. There would be seventy years of hell before he was saved.
Seventy years before he would see Steve's face again.
Seventy years until all the flowers on his grave would hold no meaning.