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Bucky had convinced himself there could be no happy ending. He watched his fellow soldiers get blasted into oblivion by something straight out of the Flash Gordon serials. He’d been captured by the Nazis and made a prisoner of war. Bucky and his fellow inmates had been forced to work long hours with barely anything to eat.
When he got sick, he’d been carried off to the so-called infirmary. No one ever returned from there. He’d been subjected to what the doctor called ‘medical tests’ and anyone else would call torture. Strapped down to a table and injected with something that burned like fire and then ice.
But then Steve had come for him. His best friend, his brother in all but blood was different - taller and broader and impossibly strong - but he was still Bucky’s Stevie. They made it out of the burning, exploding factory by the skin of their teeth and with their fellow ex-prisoners, started marching toward freedom.
That night, he and Steve had huddled together - not only for warmth but to prove to themselves that they were still alive, that against all odds they had been reunited. And maybe, just maybe, they could get a happy ending after all.