I do not own Captain America: The First Avenger.

I have never been this sick. I don't think.

The Hike Back

"Urgh . . ."

It was, thankfully, dark in the woods.

Which was really good.

"Buck?"

Because James Buchanan Barnes had no desire whatsoever to see what was coming out of him.

"Huhhh . . ."

It tasted bad enough.

He didn't need to see what it looked like.

"Bucky?"

And he hoped Steve's new super soldier serum did not include new and improved night vision.

"Hey . . . Steve . . ."

The bark of the tree was rough and unforgiving but it was the only thing keeping the weakened man from crumbling face first into the thin streams of bile he had just ejected from his ailing body.

"What can I do, Buck?"

Bucky considered shaking his head, but thought he might end up on the ground if he did.

All of the adrenaline that had pushed him to follow Steve out of that hellhole and into the blessedly cool, free air had disappated.

Leaving him sick and weakened to point of collapse.

So instead of making much movement, he concentrated on staying as upright as possible.

"Nothing. Just . . . just give me a second."

It was longer than a second, or even a minute.

But eventually Bucky shoved himself off the tree.

Waved off the hovering Steve.

And staggered closer to camp.

Before his legs gave out and he did collapse again against another, cleaner tree.

"I gotta . . . I just gotta rest . . . here . . . I think . . ."

And heard Steve trying to conceal the worry in his voice.

"Wait here, okay . . ."

Where the hell am I gonna go, Steve?

". . . I'll be right back."

Bucky Barnes clung to the edge of consciousness, hearing Zola's reasonable little voice echoing . . .

"Sargeant Barnes, I would like to perform a simple experiment . . ."

. . . in his head like a little toady gremlin.

And feeling the reverberations of the shocks and pain still coursing through his body.

"Buck? I brought some water-"

Bucky Barnes momentarily thought he was hallucinating, that he was still back in the compound, strapped to the table.

". . . Buchanan Barnes . . . 32557 . . ."

And immediately began his mantra all over again.

"Bucky. Hey, Buck."

And lurched up in a deliriously wild swing as a firm but gentle hand touched his shoulder.

The same gentle hand steadied him and kept him from falling over as the world went into an uncontrolled skid.

"Whoa, Buck, hey . . ."

Bucky Barnes peeled open his bloodshot eyes.

". . . Steve . . ."

As his buddy knelt next to the unwell soldier.

"Hey, pal."

"Hey."

Bucky Barnes chest heaved as he gulped breath into his battered body, shudders racking him.

"Just . . . give me . . . a . . . minute . . ."

It hurt, yeah, it did.

All his muscles ached and cramped and cried out.

His stomach rolled and his heart pounded.

But that wasn't the worse part.

The worst part was that it felt like there was something in him, something alien running around.

Around in all of him at once.

And it was making him sick.

It felt like his body wasn't his anymore.

"Steve . . . Steve, I gotta tell you something . . . so if I die . . . he won't get . . . away with it . . ."

And then James Buchanan Barnes did pass out.

And Steve caught him.

"Buck!"

And kept him from smashing face first into the muddy ground beneath their feet.

"It's okay, Buck, I got you. It's okay."

"Captain?"

The voice came quietly from his left as Steve sat with his coat under Bucky's sleeping head.

"Yeah, I'm here, Dugan. What is it?"

The man seemed to shuffle for a moment.

"According to our best guess, we only made about ten miles today. Gonna take us a couple days to hike back to base."

Steve absorbed this information quietly.

"Supplies're narrow, figure we got about three hundred guys all told and 'bout half of 'em wounded. We're still organizing everything."

Steve nodded.

"You got Jim on triage?"

The soldier in the bowler nodded.

"Okay. Each man gets an equal portion, okay? We got to get everyone back alive. Do what it takes."

Another nod of agreement. A directed jut of the scruffy chin.

"How's he?"

Steve glanced over at the unconscious Bucky, now beginning to shiver.

"He's, uh . . . he's gonna be okay."

Dugan's mustached face became carefully blank.

Bucky groaned faintly.

Steve cleared his throat.

"Would you, uh . . . would you send Jim over when he's got the time?"

Dugan nodded.

"Yeah, boss, sure thing."

It got worse before it got better.

Jim Morita couldn't do anything to reduce the chills and fever and pain wracking the fallen soldier's battered body.

"His body's fighting something, Captain," he related grimly to Steve. "No stab wounds or bullet holes. I'm guessing it's biological. Making him sick on the inside."

Steve's frown deepened as the medic went on.

"If he lasts the night, he may have a fighting chance. Being out in these elements ain't good for a body under extreme duress."

Steve surveyed the trees while he controlled his emotions.

"What about the others?"

Jim took a breath.

"Mostly minor. Abrasions, contusions, coupla broken fingers. Some head wounds we're keeping an eye on. All told, not too bad for a bunch of POWS who just fought their way out of an enemy compound."

Steve nodded again.

"You do what you gotta do, Jim. We gotta get all these men home safe."

Now it was the man from Fresno's turn to nod.

"You got it, boss."

He moved back toward their hastily setup camp.

And Steve toward back to Bucky.

Mumbling and quaking, and throwing off copious amounts of ill heat.

"It's okay, Buck."

". . . James Buchanan Barnes . . . 32557 . . ."

"You're going to be okay."

But he wasn't sure.

Not at all.

And Steve Rogers didn't sleep at that night.

Instead, stayed awake and alert in the dark.

Watching over his friend.

"Well, I'll be damned, son! Look who's back with the livin'!"

Dugan's broad face broke into a big, crooked grin.

As he clapped Bucky on the back, causing him to stumble a few steps.

Bucky, who tried to smile.

It was easier to since his stomach had stopped continously rolling and gurgling.

The elephant drum behind his eyes had eased up.

And the skitters the length of his spine were fading out. Some.

"Yeah, Rogers here was all worried about you," Jim put in helpfully. "Best mother hen I ever saw."

Bucky colored with embarrassment while Steve clenched his jaw with consternation.

"Nous avons de la chance que l'un d'entre nous soit sorti vivant," Deriant observed mildly from where he was cleaning his nails with his Swiss army knife.

"Damn right," the big bear Jones replied brusquely. "We'd've rotted right away in there if you hadn't got us out."

"Still a long way to go," Steve reminded them grimly. "Can we roll out in ten?"

Monty rose to feet.

"Say no more, Captain. I'll have the chaps postpone their Sunday morning fry up, then, shall I?"

And set off.

Steve furrowed his brow and glanced over at the slowly recovering Bucky.

Who shook his weary head a little in bemusement.

"Don't look at me," he quipped, trying to sound like his old self. "I'm not the communications officer. I'm just a sniper."

And they exchanged wan smiles.

Stronger, he was getting stronger.

Bucky Barnes kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Determined to keep pace with Steve.

Steve, who was so big now.

Bucky still hadn't gotten the whole story on that.

But when they finally made it back to base and the world stopped spinning, you could bet the farm he was going to get the full story.

The woods had thinned, the trailed had widen.

And they could feel it.

They were almost there.

Another mile maybe two.

He still didn't feel right, wondered if he ever would.

Zola had put something inside him.

Something that made him feel different.

But he was alive, they were all alive.

So Bucky Barnes gripped his gun.

Set his jaw.

And kept pace.

With the little guy.

Nothing much here. Just something that's been rolling around in my head for a while.

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