The paper of the letter crumpled under his fingers. The ink had smeared with his tears and a stress line had begun to tear at the corners from Steve's fingers incessant pressing. The words had bled together into a mass of horror and loss inside his skull and he could feel his lungs squeezing and contracting in an irregular rhythm.

How could your whole world be ripped from your fingers in less than day? Steve thought. Everything that you ever thought to live for plucked from your hands without a thought.

He had just sent a letter that day. It read about the trouble he'd had with getting a job at a shop down the road and his lack of luck with getting the stoop stair fixed. He thought of that letter now, alone and forgotten, and how it would be sent back to him unopened and never seen by his eyes.

It is with deepest regrets that we must inform you of the death of one James Buchanan Barnes.

He felt rage then, an all consuming rage that burned through his very core and was released only when Steve grabbed the chipped mug from the kitchen sink and it smashed against the small wall. It was Bucky's cup, snatched from a dinner a ways down the block where Steve punched a man for pushing around the waitress. His anger dissipated until he was only left with with grief.

His life was lost in the name of his country and shall be regarded as a war hero.

He would never see Bucky smile again. Never see him wink before heading off to work with his dented lunch tin filled with whatever Steve could scrape together that morning. Steve would never watch the morning sun splay off Bucky's back and frame his moles. Never again witness the rapture that is Bucky, bloody and hard from a fight Steve started, standing over him with a hand outstretched. Never again chastise him over the smoke from his cigarette or the smell of a woman's perfume on his collar. Never again.

Again, sorry for your loss.

Never again.

It was on a particularly rainy Tuesday that the Barnes' buried an empty coffin for their son. Steve sat six rows back behind a bald man and watched as a uniformed soldier placed a folded flag in arms with a handful of metals, as if to make up for the loss of a son.

Steve left early. An empty grave could bring him no relief. He walked the streets, wondering if anyone could feel the loss in the air. Brooklyn lost its brightest star and Steve didn't understand how anyone could continue without it to guide them. He could feel a voice in the back of his head chastising him. It sounded like Bucky. He hoped he was being haunted.

He wasn't.

This went on for months.

Money got a bit tight around month three. He made it work.

Mrs. Barnes was cooking at her stove when Steve arrived. She could make anything if you got her enough ration coupons. He watched her roll the dough with slow, sure strokes. Him and Bucky had sat on the windowsill as kids and watched her bake pies for the neighborhood. If they behaved, they got to share a slice.

"Don't you just stand there letting all the warm air out," She huffed, waving her mit. She sighed and pushed stray hairs from her face. Months ago, she never had a hair out of place, a perfectly coiffed curls all a rich brown. Now streaks of gray stain her temples and make her look tired. Steve can't seem to get the tilt of her eyes when drawing her anymore. "You don't come around as often as you should. Never know if you are getting' enough to eat."
"I eat all my greens, Mrs. Barnes," He tries for a smile and watches her face fall with a sad look in her eyes and downward tilt to her lips. "What?"

"You don't 'Mrs. Barnes' me unless youre about to do somethin' stupid," She raised an eyebrow and for a moment, he can see Bucky's piercing eyes reflected back at him. "What are you about to do?"

"I'm going to find out what happened to him." He just finished his sentence when she huffed out a laugh devoid of humor.

"You can't let this rule your life Steve-"

"Do you not want to know what happened-" He started but was cut off when she pushed off the chipped enamel countertop and moved to face him.

"Don't you pull that shit on me Steve! I already lost one son to this bloody war, I won't lose another!" Her eyes, Bucky's eyes, filled with tears she was too proud to shed. Steve moved forward, he was always a sucker for those big blues, and wrapped her in a hug.

"I gotta know." He whispered and prayed to anybody listening for her to understand. Her arms tightened around his shoulders and she pressed kissed to his hair like his mother would when he was young.

"I know." She breathed, her voice muffled by his hair and her tears. "I know."

"What makes you qualified for this job?" The woman twirled a pencil in her pin curls and scanned his form again.

"Well I'm an artist so I have immaculate handwriting and I can type just over 75 words per minute-"

"Sure kid," She takes a drag from her cigarette and stamps his resume. "At least you won't be hanging off the agents."

"Oh no ma'am," Steve smiled and gave her a jaunty wave. "After all, I've got work to do."

"How many fuckin' Barnes went to war?" Steve hissed, looking over his shoulder at smiling to Samantha who glared at him over her thick pile of folders. He had been sifting through file after file for weeks.

Steve sighed and moved on to the next case of tan folders. He had thought the job at the SSR building would have granted him a bit more access to what he needed to know but so far, the only thing Steve could gather so far was that the government was in shambles during the war and that they couldn't file to save their lives, if the mess he was left with was any indication. six weeks into this job and he was no closer to Bucky than when he started.

"Look at this, ain't he the looker?" Carol tossed the file to Mary who crouched down to show the picture to Steve. He snorted at the swooning noise Mary made and Carol giggled, throwing another their way. Steve stood and moved to a next stack when Carol threw a folder his way and it smacked him in the face.

He pinwheeled backwards and grabbed a cabinet to steady his fall. He pulled the file off his face and glared at Carol. She smirked into her work, pretending. He sat town to calm his racing heart and just listen to the calming sounds of the girls talking.

"-Might even go overseas!" He caught and his head snapped up. Samantha caught his eyes and blew out a stream of smoke in the opposite direction. They had all learned that lesson after Steve had an asthma attack in the middle of the break room. "What?"

"Overseas? How?" He questioned.

"Apparently the tour, one one with Captain America, it's heading into town and stocking up on girls for going overseas," Samantha flicked the butt out the window and knocked another out of the casing before flicking her lighter open. "These dumb broads are thinking about going."

"It would be an adventure!" Carol cooed, placing her head in her hands and letting out a breathless sigh. Steve liked her; she had spirit even if it got her in trouble more times than not and had a brother in the Army.

Steve tuned them out again, reaching for the file Carol had tossed. He glanced at the title and rank before settling on the familiar visage of Bucky. He could feel the tightening in his lungs and the quick, panicked breaths huffing from his lips. The girls didn't notice when Steve took a few steps back and examined the folder with a closer eye.

While the notes were vague, it did give a last known location and a few other tidbits. A large stamp was over Bucky's name with red ink and the large letters MIA. Steve could feel the air rush from his lungs as if he was punched. What could he do next? The file gave him the name of Bucky's commanding officer but the only thing Steve could do was write a letter and Steve knew first hand how unreliable that could be. He felt the little thread of hope die in his chest.

"You ok there Steve?" Carroll called, peeking around the stacks. Steve plastered on a smile and spun around with a nod. She raised an eyebrow but made a gesture with her head and Steve moved back out where the girls were sitting but not before folding up the file and shoving it down his trousers. He caught the tail end of the conversation as she rounded the shelves.

"Steve would agree with me," Mary glanced his way and waved her hands a bit. She widened her eyes and made a rude gesture in Samantha's direction. Steve smiled and raised an eyebrow. "About me becoming a Bond girl; the skirt and everything!"

"Is that what you want to do?" He asked, ignoring the poking of the folder along his curved spine. Mary gave him a blank look. "Then go do it."

"See, told ya Steve would come though!" She huffed, falling back into a chait. "Now, who wants to catch a train ride with me into the big city and into the future!" He words knocked loose a memory, Bucky throwing his arm around Steve and pulling him close with a muffled "The Future!" into his good ear. With her words, another, much more recent thought, comes to the forefront of Steve's thoughts.

"Wait, did you say overseas?"

Doing make-up for girls in short skirts and low shirts was not how Steve imagined his trip over the ocean but beggars can't be choosers and all that jazz. Steve applied the finally layer of eyeshadow and shooed Clara from his chair. They all hustled to the side of the stage and giggled about the sight of Gilmore Hodge in his bright red and blue suit. Steve smirked and cleaned up his station and placing all the make-ups into their proper places before slipping past the security men and into the room marked "Captain America" in bright red and blue ink.

The room was smaller than the other dressing rooms Hodge was normally given but Steve assumed this was high class for this place. On the upside, the room was as quiet as normal. Steve tossed his tie on the bed and lazied back in the plush armchair pushed to the corner of the room before pulling out his sketchbook and scribble out the lines for the room, starting with the messy bed in the corner. Hodge was the only part of the troupe that was put up by the mayor of whatever town they stopped in. The large-waisted politician that salivates behind Captain America has to pay for the rest of them, girls included, to put them up in the shittiest hotel he can find.

He must have dozed off because before he so much as jump from the chair, Hodge crashes in with a lanky brunette attached to his neck and her rationed nylon clothed leg wrapped around his thigh. The big and broad Captain America, whimpers before pushing her away slightly and out the door. He breathes a few times to the shut door before jumping a foot in the air at the sight of Steve lounging across his armchair.

"Damn Rogers, gave me a fright," He laughed and crouched back against the door. Steve stood and leaned onto the vanity before cocking his head.

"What's wrong, Gilmore, worried if you let her in she might discover that flawless complexion of yours is just some Revlon?" Steve twirled the make-up pad between his fingers and Hodge moved forward and grabbed it from his hand with a smirk but not before Steve's clever fingers grabbed his chin and moved his to the side, as if looking for the spot where foundation bled to skin. Hodge smacked his hand away before sitting on at the vanity and taking a cloth to his cheeks.

"More worried about any surprises you might have left on the bed like last time," He raised an eyebrow and only stopped dabbing at the smudge of rationed lipstick when Steve pushed himself up onto the vanity and crossed his legs. Steve watched Hodge slowly put down the cloth and stand up. "Not that I didn't appreciate you naked in my bed but it does impede on my time with the dames."

"You seemed fine that night," Steve whispered and Hodge leaned forward, pressing his red stained lips into the place where Steve's shirt dipped to show his collarbone. With a breathless laugh, he was grabbed from under the thighs and carried the short distance to the cot. The dismount was not graceful but it ended with Steve pressed pleasantly into the mattress.

"You feel tense, Rogers, you worried about going overseas?" He pressed an open mouth kiss to his pulsepoint before trailing up his neck and biting delicately at his ear and moving to the corner to his mouth.

Steve huffed in amusement and grabbed his face before dragging Hodge's lips to his. The first time he had stumbled across the great Captain America making eyes at the man who lifted the rigging, Steve knew he could play it to his favor. Even if Hodge wasn't magnificent, he was a good man even under those layers of bravo. The papers said he had a dame back home, but Steve knew the truth. Hodge favored the not so fair sex. Steve didn't mind too much; it passed the time and got him out of the shithole hotels the others had to sleep in.

"Does it look like I'm shaking in my boots?" Steve grinned and Hodge snorted before unbuttoning his shirt a single button at a time. "Taking your sweet time?"

"Want to enjoy this," He whispered and Steve let out a sigh, tangling his fingers in dark brown hair and wishing it was just a bit longer so he could at least pretend it was Bucky between his legs.

The plane ride is shaky and filled with the whimpers of sick and scared girls. Steve could only draw so much before another cry of "Oh Lord!" broke his concentration and he had to start over. Eventually he gave up and made stupid faces at Hodge over the turbulence. It lifted his spirits a bit until they land and the dim reality of war settled over him.

He thought that rationing was bad back home, but he would gladly give up soap just to be back seaside. It was only the thought of Bucky, bleeding and dying alone in the muddy countryside that made Steve dig his castoff boots into the mud and move to the tent situated off the the side of a messy stage. A few whistles from a group of men to the girls made the hairs stand up along the back of his neck but he pushed them down when the girls made catcalls in their direction and the men lost interest. Steve felt a little seed of pride curl in his stomach.

The small happiness he felt died along with his good mood when Hodge was booed off stage. He came clomping back into his tent with wet hair and a fire in his eye. He bit his lip and ran shaky fingers through dropping locks. Steve peeked out the tent flaps and when he was sure no one would walk by, wrapped cold fingers around his neck and brought Hodges face into his neck. HIs warm breath made gooseflesh scuttle along his skin and he moved him to the bed until they were sitting side by side.

"Did you know I wasn't even in the running to become Captain America?" Hodge whispered. Steve was speechless. He continued, leaning his head away so the water wouldn't drizzle down his cheek onto Steve. "I guess an attempt was made on the doctor's life so they had to move their plans up a few months. He didn't even like me, the good doctor, hell, I didn't really like myself."

"I'm sure you weren't perfectly horrid," Steve joked but Hodge just frowned down at him. "Did his disapproval really dig so deep?"

"He was killed after I got the serum. He wanted to keep looking for other candidates but the wouldn't let him. I was the only thing he created and here I am, useful only to parade around in tights. I swear Steve, if I hadn't met you, I think I might have blown my brains out by now."

Steve grabs his hands and pulls them close to his chest. It's not like he runs hot like Hodge but right now, Steve guesses he needs a little human touch. He never loved him but he found companionship with him for months and a bond like that won't just fade away. Steve pressed light kisses against the thin skin of his wrists.

"Well I think if you care so much now about doing what's right, then maybe you are making him proud," He pressed a kiss to their intertwined hands and then threw his legs over Hodge's lap.

That night Steve didn't even have to pretend to say Hodge's name.

He snuck out in the early hours of the morning with Hodge's boots and a helmet from one of the girls. He waited around the tent until the General walked out, talking animatedly with a woman with bright red lips. He slipped in when they slipped out.

The room was a mess of letters. Grievances he realized, and felt sick. He bypassed them and moved to the warboard pressed against the back of the tent. He knew if he was caught in here, he would be tried for treason. He moved faster, scanning all the letters and notes, until he found a wad of paper, tossed at the trash but missed.

Steve unfolded it and felt utter disappointment when it was only a correspondence between Generals. Just as Steve was going to move onto the next pile, a grunt was the only thing that alerted him to the entrance of the General and the woman. He dove under the table and scrambled to the back.

"-offered to go after them! What do you have to lose?" The woman hissed, planting her hands on her hips and glaring something fierce. The General jus huffed.

"I love your ethic Carter, I do, but what will I tell Senator Bracken when he asks how I managed to get his cash cow killed in our camp?" He sighed and even though Steve couldn't see, he could hear the clack of the keys on the typewriter as the typeset finished whatever the General had written down. "We will win the war, and those boys will go home."

"And while we have a super soldier here we can just waste him?" She hissed, raising her chin and almost baring her teeth. Steve felt an inappropriate flush of attraction. "He trained briefly with the 107th, he knows the men even if they don't know him, and he wants to help!"

"Carter, even if we could send him in, what do we want me to do? I can't get a plane without the approval of the other Generals and to get that I would need to tell them about this little stunt of yours, which could get me demoted." He sighed and from his position, Steve could see the tired lines around his mouth. "By car it would take days to get to the factory, and even if the men could get out..."

Steve felt his pulse skyrocket. Bucky might be alive. He could be waiting in the soviet forest. Steve could feel the first tendrils of hope spread across his chest. All he had to do was find someone with a plane.

Finding a plane was easier that Steve thought. The girls tittered all day about being the next one to talk Howard Stark into a plane ride and from there it was easy enough to walk into the ammunition barracks and snuff a pistol under his baggy clothes. This went in with the rolled file on Bucky and a few other trinkets he had brought with him.

The challenge, as it turned out, was avoiding Hodge. It seemed like every time he lost him, he popped up somewhere new. It was finally on the second night in camp that he knew he had to make his move; they were moving in the morning.

Steve was about to walk out the tent when he stopped. In the lamp light, Hodge looked younger, softer. Steve could feel a sick guilt in his chest and before he could think better of it, wrote out a few words on a slip of paper before folding it and placing it on the pillow next to his face. He would find it in the morning and hopefully forget Steve ever existed. He had committed enough treason already, no need to drag the troupe into it.

Finding Stark was also simple; Steve only had to follow the sound of giggling and a boisterous laugh. Steve peeked through the flaps and was met with an eyeful of pale bottom and a flash of red lipstick. He stuttered and squatted in the mud, dreading the time it would take out wait them out. It was almost an hour later when the blonde shimmied out with hair in disarray and her painted on stockings smeared.

"Mr. Stark?" Steve slipped in, the pistol tucked under his coat and a small smile on his face. Said Stark raised an eyebrow and tried to rub the red smears from his neck but only managed to spread it around. He smiled back. "I was wondering if I could get your autograph, we are leaving tomorrow and I didn't wanna give the guys anymore ammunition to work on."

"Sure thing," He smiled and Steve was surprised to see it had the flirty tilt to it that had brought all the stage girls to swoon. That was unexpected. Steve smirked a bit when Howard pulled a pad out and pressed the tip of his pen to the paper. "And to whom is this addressed?"

Stark looked up and was faced with the barrel of a gun. He raised his eyes up a bit and watched the slow smirk climb Steve's face.

"You can call me Steve. I'm going to need to borrow your plane." Steve tilted his head and Stark just made a little nod before reaching over and tossing the ignition keys into Steve's waiting hand. He raised his eyes and his lips tilted up into an apologetic expression. "And your piloting experience, too."

"So any reason you need to get so far into enemy territory?" Stark asked. Steve had long since put the gun away in favor of learning how to properly strap himself into a parachute. He just looked up at Stark and raised his eyebrow. "Not much of a talker?"

"On the contrary, my best pal Bucky says I can't help but run my mouth, and because of that, I need to go pull his sorry ass out of soviet territory," Steve flashed a lopsided smirk to the front of the plane. "That answer your question?"

"Well Steve, I can't say I know how you feel but I do commend your bravery," Stark pressed a few buttons and leaned back. "You must really care about this friend of yours."

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky." Steve muttered and Stark just nodded his head. "I just hope that I won't be arrested for treason and kidnapping if I somehow manage to come back alive."

"Well the answer to that is simple," Stark tilted the plane a bit and flashed a charming smile. "Come back a hero with those men in tow." Another chuckle and smile. "What about after all of this, you come back a hero and I fly us both to Paris for a late night fondue?"

"Is that a sex thing?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow and clicking his tongue. He fixed the buckles on his parachute and watched Stark's mouth split into a laugh.

"No its cheese and bread but your kind of fondue sounds much more interesting!"

It was then that they came under fire. The plane rocked a bit and Steve grabbed the handles for support. He could already feel the contracting in his lungs and the bottom of his stomach drop out.

"Drop me here and head back!" Steve called over the fire. He yanked on the door and it slid open with a clank.

"I'm taking you all the way in!" Stark hissed, swinging the plane around to avoid another flash of munitions. Steve clanked to the front of the plane and smacked a kiss onto Stark's cheek.

"Thank you," He whispered before shuffling to the back of the plane against the yell of Stark. Steve could feel his hair smacking his face and before he could talk himself out of it, he jumped.

Steve understood the idea of jumping out of a plane at high altitudes but he never stopped to consider the effects of hitting the ground it that it would be so hard. Steve could feel his ankle swelling in his boot. He had checked, not broken or sprained, thank God, just bruised so that it hurt to walk. Stark had got him close but not close enough. The walk was grueling; uneven terrain and with the cold, his lungs were screaming at him to stop while his heart was yelling to push on.

Ultimately, his lungs won out when they seized up and Steve fell to the forest floor with a whimper. He could see his wheezy breath puff out from his blue lips and felt like he might just fall asleep there, hidden deep in a forest where no one would look for him.

Eventually the attack passed and his lungs unclenched and Steve could feel a bit better about his situation. He just had to make it to the gates, from there he could get a better understanding and plan something more.

It was in that moment that three army issue trucks rolled past. Steve thought fast and sprinted after the last, throwing himself into the truck and landing on his bottom with a thud. He groaned and glanced up only to freeze at the blank stares of three guards.

"Hello boys."

They raced forward and Steve dove out of the way, kicking out his leg and watching as he tumbled out of car and fell onto his neck with a wretched crunch. His friend pulled a gun and Steve shot up. He was used to knife fights, so guns were new territory. One shot and the cars would stop and he would be found out.

He kicked out and hit the man in the groin. The other wrapped his arm around Steve's neck and pulled, sending them both careening into the opposite side of the truck. The men driving banged on the divider and as the second goon reached up to knock back, Steve kicked out, nailing him in the face. He brought the heel of his boot down onto the toes of the man holding him and thanked the heavens he grabbed them from Hodge.

He whipped around and pushed his arm away from him, the bone giving with a sickening crack lost over the rumble of the truck. It was then that Steve balled up his fist and nailed him in the face that ended in a solid crunch of his nose caving in.

Steve shook out his knuckles and calmed his breathing, looking around for something to defend himself with. He spotted something shining under the bench and when he yanked it out, the gun glowed blue. Steve smirked.

Finding the men proved a little harder. The factory was huge and Steve, even against his wishes, was tiring. His eyes were blurring and he could feel the blisters on his feet popping and leaving stained footprints behind him. It was only when he could feel the pounding of his head in his toes, that he stopped and took a few breaths. He yanked at the pocket on his pants and pulled out the folded letter.

Steve had shoved it under all of his luggage and while it had a few rips, it was still readable. Bucky hadn't been able to write what he truly wanted, the censors would have caught it, but a few key phrases made the letter one of the most cherished things Steve had. He took a deep breath and stood back up, moving forward again.

He pushed through door after door until the clanging of chains reached his ears. Steve could feel a sprig of hope spring up. He peeked in through the door window and smiled when he spotted a group of prisoners all spread across the room in cages. He could work with cages.

With a growl, he noticed the guard pacing above them. Steve grabbed at his roots and spun around a few times, looking for something to use to distract them.

The closet with German words was illegible but Steve had to assume they cleaned the soldiers somehow. He yanked at the handle and it gave with little resistance. Inside was overalls, trash cans, and cleaning sprays and wipes.

Steve smiled.

Steve really wished he listened more when the German family in the flat down the block gave out lessons. The guard was screaming at him, angry vowels and some spittle. Steve just went on mopping, scrubbing the dirty floor and ignoring the curious looks of the men. He looked for a mop of brown hair but as of yet, Bucky was remaining elusive. Steve wouldn't consider the alternative.

The guard huffed and clanked down the stairs and banged the door open, his heavy boots pounding on the cement as he marched to Steve. He grabbed Steve's shoulder and spun him around just in time to get a face full of cleaning solution. He screamed and grabbed at his eyes only to get a mouthful of fist. Steve watched his head hit the ground with a sick crunch.

Steve could feel his mouth dropping open and his stomach plummeting. God he was going to throw-up. The men in the cages cheered, banging on the cages and hissing obscenities. Steve tried to quiet them but that only made them yell louder. He put on his best fight face.

"Everybody hush it up!" Steve screamed and everyone stilled, a few curses stumbled but everyone was watching Steve with rapt attention. "Anyone want to tell me where the keys are?"

Apparently Bucky was in a special division, away from the others, but alive, last the men knew. As Steve raced down the halls, he could feel his tears splatter on his shirt. Every other sense in his body was drowned out with the intense pang of longing, hope, fear at seeing Bucky again, love, all swirling together that left Steve a wet mess. As he ran past a room, it was only by luck that he heard the groan. It was a noise Steve would alway remember, and always listen for but it sounded so out of place in this dark hall.

Steve could feel his heart in his throat as he walked slowly into the room and saw Bucky, his beautiful Bucky, strapped down on the table. He could feel the tears flow freely down his cheeks and he placed his hands on both sides of Bucky's face, feeling the bones press against his palms from malnourishment. He watched as his tears washed the dirt from Bucky's skin, cleaning him of this godforsaken place.

Steve yanked at the bonds and just as one was about to give, he felt an arm around his neck and a needle in his shoulder. Steve screamed.

He was vaguely aware of time around him. He could hear screaming, unholy wailing that might have been him, but he could also hear the scream of bonds pulled too tight, fabric stretched to the breaching point until it rips. That was followed by a wail that sounded like nails screeching on a chalkboard and the arm around his neck slackened and he felt the vertigo that came with weakness, the stumbling and falling. The strong arms around his waist and the sick crunching of bone and sinew.

His vision blurred and the twisting in his gut only gave way to the pricking of his fingers that abruptly gave away to a fire licking up his veins(painpainpain) . He screamed and screamed, screamed until his throat dried and and the best he could do was sob. He could feel fingers card through his hair and every subtle brush caused another wave of pain to prickle across his skin (painBuckyouch). Even the floor under him was too cold, lacing pain up his back. he could feel his skin peeling away and cried out with aborted whimpers every time he was jostled. Yells echoed off the blank walls and it took Steve (Steve?) a pull on his abused vocal chords to wonder if it was him.

It was only when the hurt subsided did Steve realize he was being carried along dark walkways with fire licking at his heels. His fingertips were sindged and he could feel the bloody scraps of his shirt smack sickly against his skin with every swing. Heat crawled up his back to coil at the small of his back, sizzling along the arms around his waist (brandsironhot). His vision was blurry and tinged with red (burningburningburning). He was burning (burning).

Steve woke up to bright blue sky and the clanking of heavy machinery. For a few seconds he froze, fear curtling his blood and left him hoping he was among friends. It was only when Bucky's face flashed to his left did he feel his fear dilude.

He must have made some noise because Bucky broke rank and raced to his side. A few men cheered, hefting stolen guns in the air and howling. Steve could feel the small smile on his lips and even that slight pulling of his muscles left a sore after feeling.

"Hey Stevie, how you holdin' up?" Bucky huffed, leaning in close and ignoring the pain, Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"What happened, Buck?" Bucky smiled that guilty half-smile before shaking his head in the direction of the men. Steve nodded and made a move to stand. Bucky shoved him rather forcefully back down before grabbing a blanket and covering Steve's shoulders. "Buck, leave it alone!"

Bucky frowned and picked at the frayed edge of the blanket. He refused to meet Steve's eye and it was only when he forcefully cleared his dry throat did Bucky glance his way. With a guilty smirk he just coughed into his hand.

"I got ya out. Ya seemed a little out of it, something that scientist did. You were screaming so loud Stevie," Bucky looked away before glancing back with a small frown and a crease in his brow. "I tried to calm you down but…"

"What happened to him Bucky?" Steve muttered, his memory a patchwork of blood and screams, at least half it his, but his friend just smirks a bit and tugs the blanket up a bit. "Don't you try to play this off, James Buchanan."

"He is gone, Stevie, can't you just leave it?" Bucky pulls a cigarette from a ragged patch on his torn shirt. A few men walked past, dipping their caps to Steve, grabbing at the pack with dirty, bloody, fingers. Bucky lit the fag and took a drag, ignoring the scowl from Steve. "Like an angry ally cat, you are, biting down and never letting up."

Steve scowls harder.

For all of Bucky's posturing, Steve demanded to walk into the camp. The delighted cheers and confused commanders was well worth the sizzling pain between his shoulderblades and the feeling of the blisters popping on his feet. Bucky hefted a gun and walked to his left, a protector and a friend.

General Phillips gave a small smile before locking him in irons. Steve took it with considerable grace, only shifting when one of the military police pressed too firmly on his back. Bucky tried pushing between them, but he was still weak, malnourished and tortured was no match against well-fed and healthy.

Talking to the Commander was another matter altogether. They relentlessly grilled him to the point that Steve could see spots drifting across his vision. The agent to his right, a bombshell called Agent Carter, pushed the wolves back enough to ask if he could stomach some water. Phillips demanded someone get him a sandwich.

They were about to jump into another round of the interrogation when the tent flap was thrown open and Hodge pushed his way past the MP stationed at the door.

"Is he ok?" He demanded, looking over Agent Carter's shoulder and when he spotted Steve, and by extension the lack of him, he pushed past her. "You can't hold him here."

"Actually "Captain America", we can do just that," Phillips huffed, making a face. "But seeing as we have determined that Mr. Rogers actions were for the safety of our troops and ordered by someone so high above our pay grade-" He winked at the lie. "We will have to put this issue on hold indefinitely." He shot Steve a kind look. "You go get some rest."

Steve made it little more than three steps before being crushed to Hodge's chest. He pressed against his ribs until his grip loosened enough that Steve could smile into Hodge's throat.

"I'm ok," Steve whispered, guiding him to a darkened tent and shutting the flaps behind him. Hodge just picked up Steve's fingers, as if to assure himself that he was truly there. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Did you think I wouldn't come with you?" He questioned, resting his head on Steve's prominent collarbone.

"I was terrified that you would," Steve admitted, running a delicate hand through greasy hair, unwashed since the night he left. He could feel his heart tugging pitifully in his chest.

Hodge was never part of the plan and now here he was with his chest aching pleasantly and a man pressed against his chest. Why could nothing be simple and uncomplicated?

"Steve?"

He could feel his heart stop and his stomach dropped. Bucky looked like someone slugged him, his lip drooping and his eyes a sort of unseeing confusion. Steve tried to untangle himself from Hodge's arms but the man wa like a leach, uncomprehending of the situation, he tightened his hold and straightened his back, as if preparing to fight. Bucky knew the look, was a little bit of a brawler himself, so when Bucky flexed to mimic him, Steve pushed between them and huffed a bit.

"Knock it off!" Steve pounded on their chests until they both broke eye contact and glanced down. He could feel his legs wobbling and when he cursed and stumbled, both men raced to catch him ending with a pile of dirty clothes and sweaty bodies.

It took hours to talk it out not helped by the distrustful looks shot between the two men every time Steve mentioned the other. Hodge took the mention of childhood love with a grain of salt. He rolled his eyes every time Steve mentioned a back alley scuffle with fondness and scoffed when he talked about Bucky nurturing him back to health after a particularly bad bout of pneumonia. Bucky on the other hand, couldn't look Steve in the eye when he brought up the long nights spent tucked away in mock dressing rooms and cuddling under blankets to block the chill of the rattling train car.

It was only after Bucky had drooped a little in his chair that Steve sent both men back to their designated tents. Hodge promised to come visit in the morning before they shipped out and Bucky just gave him a look that made clear the facts that he was not planning on leaving. Steve just sighed and lifted his blanket, scoffing when Bucky wrapped himself around Steve before burying his head into his shoulder.

"I thought I might never see you again," Bucky whispered into his neck, huffing out a self-deprecating laugh. "God when I saw your face, I thought 'Damn, Stevie, all you had to do was stay out of trouble'. You had blood all over your face Stevie, I thought for sure you were one of those spirits ma was always talking about; comin' to take me away."

Steve stayed quiet, letting his sore throat burn when tears filled his eyes and spilled down into Bucky's dirty hair. The deep timbre of his voice was like a balm, healing a hurt months old. Steve could smell smoke on his clothes and every time Bucky shifted, the melted parts of his uniform crinkled. He tugged at the ruined fabric as Bucky continued.

"You were white as an angel, Stevie, bright as a bird. I thought for sure I was just imagining you there, shining like a star," He held back a sob as Steve folded the tarnished shirt and mechanically pulled his belt off and rubbing the soot stains from his thin stomach. He whimpered a bit when Steve stood to grab a rag and pour some water onto the cloth. The dark pock marks rubbed off, leaving pink skin behind. "When I saw that horrid man behind you, thought he was going to take you from me, Stevie, oh god, what did I do?"

"What you had to, Buck," Steve placed a gentle hand in his hair and rubbed soft circles, comforting him long into the night. Steve didn't know what the morning would bring, but he knew that together, they could face anything.