November, 1943
Come on, where are you?
Steve raced through the darkened hallways of the factory, briefly glancing into every empty room he passed, his frustration and desperation growing. His shield bounced sharply against his back, the helmet on his head was just a little too big, and every fiber of his being felt like they were going to unravel at any second. But he charged on, having come too far to turn back now. The factory was huge though, and finding Bucky would take time that Steve didn't have, no matter how fast he ran. That is, if Bucky could even be found. Steve tried not to think about it.
Steve came upon an intersection, where he came to a stop. Looking down one hallway was more dark rooms and empty corridors. But turning to his right, he saw one room lit up by faint moonlight and the discolored light of electricity. It was the only sign of human activity Steve had seen in this part of the factory. Steve took a couple steps into the hallway, but froze as a man suddenly hurried out of the room, a briefcase and coat in his hands and a frightened look on his face. He was short and wore glasses, glancing down either direction of the hall. He stiffened as he briefly locked eyes with Steve, then dashed off in the other direction. Steve chased after him, and would have kept going if he hadn't heard the faint sound of a man's voice. Steve halted and peered into the lighted room – unsure of what he would find, but still hoping.
"Oh my god…"
Steve rushed over to one of the operating tables in the cluttered room, his gut wrenching with anguish as he came upon his friend, delirious and mumbling. The dirty, greenish light of the grimy lightbulbs made him look sickly and pale, bringing the purple bruise on his cheek into stark contrast. Bucky's eyes were half open, head swaying side to side as if he was drunk. Steve began tearing apart the bindings on Bucky's restraints, snapping them off like twigs. He called Bucky's name softly, sighing in relief as he watched the awareness and focus slowly returned to his face. Thank god, his mind seemed to be intact. Bucky settled his bleary-eyed gaze on Steve, a smile forming on his lips.
"Steve…You…" Bucky reached a hand out to him, each of his fingers wrapped in blood-stained, dirty bandages. Steve gently grabbed his friend's arm, helping him to sit up and then stand. Bucky moaned and grunted, the movements taking a lot of effort for him. It broke Steve's heart to see his friend so beaten and abused. Steve kept his hands firmly planted on Bucky's shoulders until his friend could stand on his own. Bucky in turn clung to Steve's arms, grimacing and gasping. Steve felt like he was about to burst as well, seeing Bucky again after so long bringing back all the worries and concerns that had plagued him for months. How many nights had he stayed up wondering if Bucky was okay, if he was still alive, or if he had been killed somewhere in the fields of Europe? He reached a gloved hand up to hold Bucky's face, taking in how solid his friend was as he remembered the immense grief he felt after Colonel Phillips told him Bucky was probably dead. No words could explain how happy Steve was that the Colonel had been wrong.
"I thought you were dead." Steve whispered.
Bucky's expression changed from happiness to confusion as he realized that Steve was now eye level with him, perhaps even taller, and supporting his weight without a problem. Bucky gave Steve's body a once over, trying to believe what he was seeing.
"I thought you were smaller."
Steve huffed a single laugh. But something was different about Bucky's appearance as well. Steve looked Bucky up and down, and that was when he saw what was covering the ground. Feathers littered the floor around the table, crunching softly under their feet with dried blood staining the shafts. Some of the feathers were an orangey-brown color, but most of them were brown and white striped – definitely from Bucky. Steve quickly circled behind Bucky, clapping a hand over his mouth in horror at what he saw.
Bucky's wings had been nearly plucked bare; all of his flight feathers were gone, his covert feathers were patchy, and even his edging was bare in some places, revealing the scabbed skin of the wing limb. Some of the open wounds of the plucked feathers hadn't completely coagulated yet, still glistening wetly. Steve knew now how much a plucked feather hurt, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of pain Bucky must have been in. And probably still was. The wings themselves appeared to be undamaged, however, folded so tightly against Bucky's back that they couldn't be seen from the front.
"Is it bad?" Bucky asked over his shoulder.
Steve looked around, grabbing a dingy leather jacket off the floor and wrapping it around Bucky's shoulders. It was fashioned with the slits and buttons on the back that was typical of clothing worn by winged-folk, making Steve assume that the jacket was his. It seemed a little small for him, though. Bucky kept his mutilated wings inside the jacket, covered and protected.
"You've had worse." Steve lied as Bucky moved his arms through the sleeves. "Come on, we've got to go."
Steve began to drag Bucky out of the room, but Bucky resisted a little, telling him to wait. Bucky turned away from Steve, toward another empty operating table that Steve hadn't taken notice of until now. Bucky took a couple uneasy steps toward it, then stumbled to the floor where more of the other kind of feathers were scattered. Steve stepped forward to help him up, but stopped when he saw Bucky sorting through the feathers. After a few moments, Bucky stood up on his own, holding his chosen, mottled feather. It was a darker feather, the tip edged with another color that looked blue in the light, but could have also been purple. Bucky had a look of deep sorrow on his face, quickly tucking the feather away in a pocket. He cleared his throat as he looked back up at Steve, who gave him a sympathetic smile.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
With all of the POW's half-starved, sick, or injured, they didn't make it as far as Steve would have liked to that first night. The factory burned to the ground, and all the Hydra soldiers had abandoned their posts to retreat back to their own bases, so there was no immediate threat to run from. But Steve was still on edge, his encounter with Schmidt on the catwalk still at the forefront of his mind. Now there was a man who had been through the fires of Hell and basked in the flames. His confidence and intelligence unnerved Steve, but the fact that he had been the one to send a man to kill Dr. Erskine – the man that had changed his life – and condoned the torture of his best friend made Steve really despise him. When he had taken his face off, and revealed the tight, thin red skin beneath… Steve's first thought was that the man was some kind of demon. Schmidt's exterior mirrored his motivations, it seemed. But as it was, getting Bucky and the rest of the prisoners to safety took precedence over wanting to do more than punch Schmidt in the face – really hard.
The couple of tanks and trucks that the rescued prisoners had managed to commandeer were extremely helpful in transporting the soldiers that were too wounded or sick to walk. But there were many injured, and some still had to be carried by other soldiers – which also slowed their progress. Steve insisted that they at least traverse through the night, navigating by the stars to try and find their way back with the cover of night as protection. When the first light of the sun peeked over the tree tops, he finally decided they were far enough out of harm's way to rest for a few hours. Only a handful of people seemed to wonder why they were all taking orders from the guy wearing the weird spangley outfit and a brass shield on his arm. But none of them were about to question the man that had just single-handedly infiltrated and taken down an entire Hydra base.
Steve made his way through the line of resting prisoners, getting his bearing of who was who. There was more than just the captured 107th and other American troops; there were also British Brigades, Fighting Irish from Northern Ireland, and French Resistance. He talked with as many of them as he could, and all of them were grateful that he had helped them. But there were so many more that hadn't survived. Each soldier had lost someone in that god-forsaken place, ranging from acquaintances they had met during imprisonment to life-long friends from before the war. It made Steve feel unaccomplished, but he knew there was nothing he could have done.
Steve made his way toward the front of the camp, the effects of the night beginning to settle on him. A nap didn't sound so bad, now. As he reached the edge of the settlement, he saw Bucky lying in a patch of cool grass, his jacket removed and his scrawny wings wet with morning dew. The cold water probably made the empty feather pores feel better. His eyes were closed, but Steve could tell he was still awake.
"Lots of these men won't be able to return to the front." Steve said absently. "Some can barely speak."
"I guess I can't blame them." Bucky said without opening his eyes. "It was no picnic in there, let me tell ya."
Steve sat down next to Bucky, beginning to feel even more tired. He eyed the bandages and bruises, wondering what other, more permanent damage might have been done to his best friend. Concern sat like a stone in his chest. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
Bucky opened his eyes and sat up, the back of his shirt and hair wet. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "There's not a whole lot to tell, believe it or not. But I guess it does need to be told."
Steve sat in silence, waiting. Bucky crossed his legs and clasped his hands together, the bandages on his fingers fraying at the edges. He suddenly looked tense.
"The worst part was right before getting taken." Bucky stated.
"Bucky, you don't have to tell me now." The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to relive his trauma so soon after getting his freedom back.
"No, no." Bucky swallowed. "I have to talk about it. I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. That would be an insult to their memories."
Steve nodded, waiting with pity in his heart as Bucky collected his thoughts. His winged-friend took a deep breath and turned his head toward the brightening sky. He swallowed again. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but his face remained stone.
"It was like my worst nightmare come to life."
It was as if they had passed through a veil, or a gateway. The battle came abruptly, the setting sun of the Italian foothills casting long shadows that were broken by muzzle flash and blue electricity. They had heard the battle long before they saw it; the sharp report of bullets and frantic shouting reaching the squad in the air a few moments before the first soldiers in the front truck picked it up over the engine. But as soon as the convoy below and the squad in the air rounded the next hill, chaos erupted.
There must have been about three other infantries that had come in for back up, raising their numbers to a few hundred soldiers. One of the other infantries also had a flight correspondence team, but theirs was only five members in total. The other infantries were already engaged, soldiers falling into lines and trucks setting up to unload a steady stream of supplies on one side of the bare field just outside Azzano. The few tanks that traveled with the infantries were locked and loaded, creating a perimeter of explosive power. It would only take about fifteen minutes before the 107th joined them. But it didn't seem like the enemy was going to let them have that time.
The Nazi's were laying down heavy fire from both bullets and energy blasts from across the field. They outnumbered the Allied forces, but not by much. However, they did have heavier artillery; canons and anti-aircraft projectiles that spelled trouble for the flight correspondence teams. Some of the trees that ringed the field were already on fire, and there were smoking craters dotted throughout the battlefield. But what made Bucky's heart drop into his stomach were the several black clad winged-soldiers flying above the Nazi troops, delivering their own explosive packages into the lines of the Allies.
Bucky lead his squad into a steep dive, coming closer to the trucks of the convoy that was quickly coming upon the battlefield. Colonel Keith was leaning out of his window waving his arm at them. One hand firmly held his hat on his head while the other pointed toward a small station set up within the Allied ranks. Bucky nodded with a quick salute before leading his squad up over the trees again and toward the station. As they approached the makeshift command center, the few soldiers that stood guard jumped to attention. They trained their guns on Bucky and his squad as they landed. Bucky moved his goggles to his head.
"Master Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th infantry's flight correspondence." He said quickly. "Who's in charge here?"
"I am." A rough voice rose over the cacophony of the battle. An older man looked up from a chart within the station and came towards the squad, the other soldiers lowering their weapons. He had a hard face, worn by the years, but seemed friendly enough. "Colonel Phillips. How long till the rest of the infantry gets here?"
"I'd say no more than ten minutes now, sir." Bucky stated. "We're here to help however we can in the meantime."
"Of course you are." Colonel Phillips barked. "Who's your comm specialist?"
"Right here, sir." Clark spoke up as she took a step forward.
The Colonel hardly looked at her. "Switch to frequency seven, that's how we'll stay in contact." He addressed the rest of the squad "You can use our packages until yours get here. We'll notify our squad that you're here."
Colonel Phillips pointed toward three open-backed trucks with large burlap bundles in their beds. One member of the other squad had just flown away with one of the packages in their arms.
"Yes sir!"
Bucky and his squad quickly headed over to the trucks. The other squad had already used one trucks worth of the explosives, and were halfway through the second. Bucky looked into the truck bed and the impact-activated explosives inside.
"We need to split up and spread out, try not to be where the other squad is. Pair up – Clark, you're with me. Look out for each other." Bucky spoke loud enough for the squad behind him to hear. "Try not to get in the way of anything coming at you really fast."
"What about the enemy's winged-soldiers?" Keenan asked as Anne came to stand next to him, Nicole with Scott and Johnny.
Bucky sighed. Of course they had all been through aerial combat training, but it rarely came to use, as rival flight teams hardly ever crossed paths. Chances were they were all a little rusty. But it was the anti-aircraft weapons Bucky was more worried about. Either one could spell their doom.
"If they engage us," Bucky seethed, angry at their situation. "You have your rifles. If they get too close… break their wings."
Bucky climbed into the truck and grabbed a package, then stepped up to the roof of the truck and jumped into take off, having to pump his wings a little harder to get airborne. The Corporal was only a second behind him. Bucky steeled himself as he angled himself toward the darkening battlefield, switching the toggle on the package that would arm the explosives inside. They had to be extremely careful with the bombs – one little bump, or one soldier firing wildly into the sky, and it would be over. Bucky hated these things – there was just too much that could go wrong. And yet, it was still safer than being on the ground with nothing but his rifle.
Flying over a war was a frantic, overwhelming, and terrifying experience. Carnage and chaos swirled into a fiery and bloody concoction beneath Bucky as he rose higher and higher, his squad separating to cover more ground. Bucky flew until he felt like his package would land in the thick of Nazi soldiers well behind their own lines, so none of the Allied soldiers would be harmed. He gauged for air resistance and momentum, knowing the package would continue traveling forward even after he dropped it, meaning that timing was everything. Bucky released the package and quickly circled back to the trucks, taking a quick glance back to see the explosion erupt a little short of his intended target, but still enough to be devastating. The number of men shouting was loud enough to reach Bucky's ears, one-hundred feet in the air.
Bucky and Clark went back to the truck three times. On the second return, they bumped into a member of the other flight squad. Corporal Shane Lockehart, with feathers that were layered with white, grey, and black, who barely exchanged more than a few sentences with Bucky.
"We were told you guys were here." He said as he closed the tailgate to the empty second truck. "Are you're guys here yet?"
"No doubt they are, they should be finished preparing our packages by now." Bucky said as he and Clark helped the Corporal ready the packages of the third and final truck. "As soon as these are done, you guys are welcome to use ours."
"I'll let the others know. Good luck out there."
Bucky's arms and wings were getting tired as he hefted the third package into the deepening night, once again ascending into the air. Flying back out over the battlefield, Bucky could tell that the little extra oomph that the infantry provided greatly helped to speed along the decimation of the Nazi forces. Their ranks looked thinner already.
"Serge!"
Bucky looked over his shoulder at Clark. She didn't say anything more than point off to their right. Bucky snapped his head around, scanning the dark sky. If it hadn't been for the fire in the trees, he might not have been able to see a thing. A flurry of wings and small reports of a gun came from the fight that had broken out in the air, three Nazi soldiers against Scott, Johnny, and Nicole. He saw one of the enemy soldiers grab Nicole's left wing. Bucky dropped his package, not caring where it fell, as he turned and propelled himself toward the skirmish. Without slowing down one bit, Bucky furled his wings and slammed into the soldier, driving his shoulder into the man's chest. He felt a bone crunch, and the soldier gave a pained moan. He grasped at his collarbone, wings curling in pain. He screamed as he fell to earth.
Clark had been right behind him, drawing her knife as she dropped down from above on to the enemy that Johnny was barely holding off. She lassoed an arm around his neck, quickly stabbed him twice from behind, then let go as he too fell. Scott's opponent disengaged and retreated, flying back to her own troops as she strung curses at them in German. Bucky quickly surveyed his members, feeling a wave of relief seeing they were unharmed. They quickly fell into formation together, flying back to their own side of the battlefield.
"Thanks for the assist, Barnes." Nicole shouted over the wind. Bucky shot her a thumbs up.
"Does anybody else hear that?" Scott managed to yell audibly. He was swiveling his head side to side, listening to something just out of range.
Bucky steadied his wings and listened. At first, there was nothing but the usual chatter of guns and explosions and men yelling. But then he heard it. Like industrial mechanism were firing up, a building hum was filling the air. It was coming from the Northwest. Bucky peered into the thinning trees of the foothills leading into Austria. The fireglow hadn't helped his night vision. But, eventually… unfortunately… his eyes adjusted.
Like the 'nachtschlag' they had intercepted and sabotaged, only bigger. Much bigger. They poured out of the trees like a glowing blue flood, the soldiers in the mechanized suits moving faster than Bucky thought they were capable of. They wasted no time joining the fray, the energy blasts from their guns dispatching handfuls of soldiers within seconds. Around the crest of the hill, along with multitudes of other soldiers, the source of the humming rolled into view as three tanks. Bucky had never seen tanks like these; bigger than American-made Shermans, or German-made Tigers. The inside of the long, large gun barrel mounted on top glowed blue with the same destructive energy. The nachtschlag didn't stop coming, replacing the soldiers the Nazi's had lost and then some. In the blink of an eye, the war had turned so horribly wrong.
"Shit." Scott spat as he crossed himself.
"We have to get out of here." Nicole shouted.
She didn't have to say it twice. They turned toward their own settlement of trucks and troops, the 107th supply trucks providing a barricade from the battle. They landed within their own soldiers, what few of them seemed to remain. Bucky was surprised to see the other flight squad there as well. Corporal Lockehart, face covered in smudge, ran to meet them.
"What the hell is that?" Bucky shouted as he threw an arm toward the growing force of enemy soldiers. "Where the hell did that come from? Why weren't we warned?"
"We don't know." Lockehart gasped.
"The hell you mean you don't know?!" Bucky barked.
"They came out of nowhere. Nothing on the radars or radios. We… we didn't have a warning either." Lockehart's voice shook. It was then that Bucky realized that their squad was one member short. His throat tightened. Lockehart continued. "We're pulling out while we still can. The retreat order hasn't been given yet, but they haven't seen what we've seen."
"You do that and you could be arrested for abandonment. That's treason." Scott stated.
"At this point, we'll take our chances." Lockehart shook his head with regret.
"Did you report it in?" Bucky asked.
"Of course I did. We take off in two minutes. If you guys were smart, you would join us."
"No!" Nicole spoke up, her face both terrified and angry. "Two of our own are still out there!"
"This is unsafe airspace. I hate to say it, but if your friends didn't see that and not immediately touch base, they're probably dead." Lockehart stared hard at Nicole, not out of malice but with reasoning. Nicole growled.
"That's my sister out there, you coward." Her orangish-brown and blue feathers puffed up. "I'm not going to abandon her."
"We're not." Bucky cut in. He turned to his squad. "I'll fly back out to look for them. I'm their superior after all." Bucky took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Any of you are welcome to help, but I encourage you to go with them. I need to know who is flying with me."
Nicole stepped forward right away. Scott slung his rifle to his front and unclicked the safety, giving Bucky a confident nod. Clark didn't move, but Bucky could see her resolve in her eyes. Johnny, looking more rattled and scared than any of them, also seemed to overcome himself as he swallowed his fear and stood up a little straighter. Bucky turned back to Lockehart, who looked disheartened.
"Live to fight another day." Bucky told him.
"God speed." Lockehart returned.
When they returned to the air, the incoming onslaught of enemy soldiers was looming, some soldiers were even beginning to turn and run. Blue flashes lit up the night, accompanied with horrible electric sounds. The enemy was pushing more and more, it was only a matter of time before the Allies broke and were overwhelmed. Bucky clutched his gun tighter, eyes quickly darting across the sky as they circled the battlefield. Come on, Bucky thought. Where the hell are you guys? The night was at full strength by now, and a chill had set into the atmosphere.
"There!" It was Johnny who had shouted. "Ten o'clock!"
Bucky spotted two dark dashes against the skyscape, followed by six more. Keenan and Anne were frantically flying in circles as the enemy soldiers continuously cut them off from any escape, closing in on them like wolves to prey. Bucky and the others immediately reacted, darting toward them with wings pumping. Bucky stiffened his wings into a glide, bringing his gun up to fire. His spray of bullets was echoed with Scott's and Nicole's. Two of the enemy soldiers jerked and fell. Keenan and Anne jumped as well, but as soon as they saw the rest of the squad they made straight for them – the enemy soldiers flying close behind. Bucky steepened his angle in the last few seconds as the distance between him and the black soldiers decreased. Anne and Keenan flew underneath him and circled back to take their places in the formation. Bucky thrust his wings back and righted himself, bringing his knee up to his chest. His momentum carrying him forward, Bucky crashed into one of the enemy soldiers, his knee going straight into their nose. They fell, and at this height, if they weren't dead, they would be when they hit the ground.
He flapped his wings to turn, bringing his gun up again to fire at the remaining soldiers. He jerked and dropped as he felt the whoosh of bullets from their return fire. But it was a retreating fire, only three of them against his seven. With the immediate threat over, they fell back into formation. Relief tingled in Bucky's chest, glad that all of his team was alive to make it out of this living hell. The sound of a siren rang through the air. The retreat had been called. As Bucky lead them straight back toward the far side of the battlefield, Allied trucks were driving away and soldiers were retreating to wherever they could. Enemy soldiers gave chase, gunning down fleeing men in droves. Bucky felt a pang of remorse, wishing that they could get away on foot as easily as he could in-
A bright blue burst of light engulfed Bucky and his squad. Bucky struggled to steady himself as his wings curled reflexively. He looked down and behind him, where one of the large tanks had its gun pointed skyward, tracking them. The blue glow from its barrel grew brighter and brighter, charging with energy. Bucky's heart jumped.
"Everybody scatter!"
They only had moments to react before the second blast exploded within the formation. The shockwave sent Bucky tumbling through the air, his organs vibrating and ears ringing. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings and right himself. As soon as he was headed in the right direction, he cast one glance over his shoulder to see his squad falling back into formation. Looking ahead, he held up his pointer finger and thumb, signaling a sound-off. One by one, each member of the squad tapped their rings, and Bucky counted the number of notes in the air. Three… Four… Five…
Only five. There should have been six. Immediately, Bucky flew higher so he could look down on his squad. His gut wrenched as he saw that the last spot in the formation was empty. The spot usually taken by Johnny. Bucky tried to look around, hoping that Private John Summers had simply gotten lost. But the air was empty of everything expect his squad and enemy fire. Bucky cursed, tears beginning to fog his vision. He hated losing soldiers to those god-forsaken energy powered weapons. Absolutely hated it. They left nothing; no body, no dog tags, no feathers. Nothing to send back to loved ones. Nothing left for the woman who loved him.
But Bucky didn't have long to morn.
He heard a grunt to his left as an enemy winged-soldier dropped down on top of Clark. The other two ambushed Nicole and Scott, who had turned in time to see them coming and prepared themselves. Anne wasted no time jumping to assist her sister, while Keenan flew to Scott's aid. Bucky dropped to help Clark, recognizing the soldier attacking her as the woman they had encountered the first time. She had a large knife in her hand, raised above her as she and Clark fell through the air together. Bucky dove after them, unable to get a lock on her with his gun. As hard as Clark tried, she couldn't turn around to face her attacker or throw her off. Bucky couldn't fall fast enough to catch up with their combined weight, even when driving himself with his wings. He watched in horror as the woman wrapped her arm around Clark's neck, the knife clutched in her hand.
"No!" Bucky cried. With one swift motion of her arm, the woman slung the knife out to the side, a spray of blood flying off of it.
Clark's body went still, wings and limbs ceasing in their struggle. The woman unfurled her wings and let Clark's body fall, her black braid streaming behind her. She fell into the trees, swallowed into the darkness without a sound. The woman turned away, flying back up with a satisfied look on her face. But she didn't get far. As soon as she looked up, she stared directly into the muzzle of Bucky's rifle. Bucky didn't give her a chance to escape this time. Bucky closed his eyes as he lowered his smoking gun and glided over the woods, sorrow for the loss of Clark almost overwhelming him to drop to the ground as well. He took a deep shuddering breath, opened his eyes, and gave a small salute in the direction that Corporal Megan Clark had fallen. Then he turned and flew up to the rest of his squad, still fighting their own enemies.
Scott and Keenan had overcome their opponent with ease, Scott restraining their limbs while Keenan bashed their head with the butt of his rifle. Anne and Nicole, however, were having a much harder time with the same task, this soldier being larger than any soldier Bucky had seen before. It was amazing his wings were able to lift him. He fended off the two sisters as they struggled to shoot or stab him. He had Anne's wing in one hand while he held off Nicole with his gun in his other hand. Before Bucky, Scott, or Keenan could back them up, Anne reached into her pocket. Twisting her body in a way that almost tore her wing out of its socket, she slammed her palm into the other soldier's side, the small device buzzing. He stiffened and jerked, smoke curling off his form as the electric currents fried his systems. His grasp on Anne's wing loosened and he began to fall. As he fell, he stiffly trained his gun at Anne above, still recovering from being restrained and not paying attention. As he fired his last bullet, Anne turned around. Faster than the bullet, but seeming to move in slow motion as Bucky watched, Nicole darted in front of her sister as Anne realized what was happening. Bucky felt his heart shudder as a spray of blood erupted from her uniform.
Nicole grunted as the bullet passed through her, into her chest and out through her right shoulder blade. She dropped like a stone, her useless wing acting as a deadweight while her other wing flapped lazily. Everybody watched in terror, too shocked to react as she twisted and looked back up at the squad, eyes wide with fear. She reached a hand up to her sister. Anne screamed as she dove after her, her anguish filling the air.
"Anne, don't!" Keenan shouted out to her, but she wasn't listening. He dove after her, whether to help her catch Nicole or to stop her from possibly falling to her death was unclear.
Scott and Bucky only shared one look with each other before they too dove after them. The fire in the trees had spread, and Nicole was unfortunately falling straight for the burning branches. Anne had reached Nicole and was struggling to slow their descent, their hands gripping each other. Nicole yelled in pain as she was yanked upward, but it wasn't enough to stop them from a deadly crash. Keenan came upon them, gripping Nicole's arms as well and pumping his blue and black wings against gravity. Keenan looked down at the inferno that was quickly coming upon them, and gritted his teeth as he made an effort to at least divert them from the burning woods. Bucky and Scott caught up with them a moment too late, Bucky dropping under Nicole to grasp her under her armpits while Scott grabbed an arm as well. Together, they worked their fall toward a darker part of the woods.
They crashed through the trees, their speed still too great for a safe landing. Bucky growled as his left leg hit a tree, bouncing off with a hard snap. He heard the others grunting and struggling as well, wings constricted by the branches. They hit the ground hard, Nicole landing fully on top of Bucky while the others were scattered around. For a few seconds, they laid gasping in the darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the trees and a faint blue light from enemy soldiers scouting the woods for prisoners to take. Nicole's breathing was raspy, blood in her lungs and also on her lips.
"I think… it missed my heart." She said softly.
"Don't speak." Bucky carefully leaned her forward so he could get up, removing his goggles and helmet. He pressed one hand to the front of the bullet hole and one to the back, both gushing alarming amounts of blood. It had already left a stain on the front of his jacket. With their medic gone, her chances of survival were not looking good…
Anne rushed over and grabbed her sister's hand, helmet and goggles discarded with tears in her eyes. Scott and Keenan stood guard with guns trained, headgear also removed, their wide eyes filled with panic as they scanned the dark woods. The faint sound of German troops shouting to each other in the distance was steadily growing louder.
"How soon can we move?" Scott whispered. "Can we fly?"
"I doubt it." Bucky whispered back, testing his leg. He hissed as a jolt of pain shot into his hip and knee, but nothing seemed broken. "Anne, Keenan, you guys have to carry her. We need to move quickly."
Anne and Keenan both moved to lift Nicole under her arms while Bucky hastily made a makeshift bandage out of the small blanket in his backpack. Nicole grunted as he tightened the blanket around her chest. She was looking pale, eyes not completely focused.
"Just leave me, Barnes." She mumbled. "You need to get out of here."
"I need you to focus on staying awake, Sergeant." Bucky cupped her cheek in one hand, drawing her gaze to his. He glanced at Anne once, seeing the desperation and sorrow on her face. "That's an order."
She nodded dumbly, swallowing. "Yes, sir."
"Let's move!"
The five of them stumbled through the dark woods, moving much slower than Bucky would have liked. Bucky had to limp on his right leg while he trained his gun ahead of him, the shock to his left leg almost enough give out under him. His heart raced in his ears, barely loud enough to drown out the advance of the German soldiers closing in on them with each passing second. The dead weight of Nicole between Anne and Keenan caused them to lag behind him and Scott, even though they tried their best to keep up. Aimlessly, they crept through the dark trees, the fireglow getting dimmer and dimmer with each step and casting them into deeper darkness. Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. His heart jumped as the blue glow of the enemy's weapons and flashlights darted through the trees after them. They were almost right on top of them.
Scott suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to level his gun at the advancing troops.
"Keep going. I can buy you guys some time." His face and voice were stone. Bucky immediately grabbed his shoulder.
"No way. I'm not losing anymore soldiers tonight." Bucky growled, anger and desperation making his voice crack.
"There's no other way, and you know it." Scott didn't take his eyes off the enemy soldiers coming closer.
"I am giving you a direct order, Sergeant!" Bucky tightened his grip as Anne, Keenan, and Nicole stumbled past them.
Scott didn't move from his position. He turned his head and stared Bucky dead in the eye. There was nothing that Bucky could say or do that would convince him to abandon his suicide mission. That was evident in his gaze, and it broke Bucky's heart all over again. It hurt even more to know that Scott was right. He let go of Scott's shoulder. Scott grinned and nodded at him, yanking off his dog tags and rosary and handing them to Bucky.
"It's been an honor, Sergeant Barnes."
Bucky nodded, unable to speak his own sentiments for fear of breaking down as he took the items. All he could do was give a quick salute to his fellow Sergeant. Bucky darted after Keenan, Anne, and Nicole. Shortly after, the sound of Sergeant Scott Garcia's gun echoed through the trees. For a couple minutes, the sound of the one-man firefight behind them gave Bucky hope, a glimmer of a chance of escape. But then the gunshots ceased, and the silence that enveloped what remained of the squad was the loudest silence Bucky had ever heard.
Scott's sacrifice was not in vain. He did manage to hold off the contingency of enemy soldiers, buying Bucky and the rest an extra ten minutes head start. But the ten minutes was quickly decreasing. They were growing tired, with no end to the dark forest in sight. Anne and Keenan huffed along, Nicole gritting her teeth with each jarring step. Finally, Nicole let loose a strained scream and begged for them to stop. Anne and Keenan lead her toward a tree, leaning her against the trunk. Keenan positioned his gun to stand guard as Anne and Bucky dropped down to examine her. She had bled through the blanket. Bucky's pulse was in his throat. He knew that she was… he knew… and what was worse was that Anne seemed to know as well, but she shook her head.
"We gotta keep going." Anne was gripping Nicole's hand tightly, trying to be calm. "We need to go home."
Nicole stared directly at her sister, returning the tight grip. "You know what this is. You know how this ends. Anne, you need to be strong."
"I can't!" Anne finally broke. "I can't do this without you!"
"Yes you can, do you know why?" Nicole was trying very hard not to join her sister in her weeping. "Because I'll always be with you, okay?" Nicole coughed, a stream of blood dribbling down her chin. "Anne… I need to know that you understand. I'll always be there."
Anne couldn't speak, just shook her head as she clung to her sister. Nicole's eyes brimmed with tears, but still she smiled.
"Anne… Anne here, I have one… picked out." Nicole struggled to extend her good wing. "My… my lucky one. You know which one, right?... Take it. Take it home." Nicole pointed to a feather, split down the middle with brown and blue. "Take it home for me. Tell mom and dad… I love them."
Anne was shaking so badly, her gear was rattling. She just stared at the feather with wet eyes. Nicole looked to Bucky, her expression pleading. Bucky gulped and reached a hand out to her wing. As softly as he could, he yanked the feather out. Nicole didn't react. She was fading fast.
"Barnes, you… need to look after her." Nicole mumbled, eyes starting to close. "And you need to know…James… that… that I always…"
"I know." Bucky croaked, tears brimming. He gently cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Me too."
Sergeant Nicole Hodges looked up at him, gave him a soft smile and a wink. Then the smile fell from her face, and her body relaxed. She was gone.
Anne cried out. She sputtered her sister's name in tandem with her sobs. Her plea's gradually developed into screams. Keenan dropped his gun and put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away from her sister's body and turning her into his chest with his arms around her. Anne buried herself in his jacket, her sobs shaking her whole body. Keenan stared blankly ahead, glancing at Nicole's body a few times. Bucky sat back and stared at the feather in his hand. A tear fell from his eye, not anywhere close to showing the anguish he was feeling inside. There was no escaping now. The enemy soldiers were only seconds away from finding them. Before it was too late, Bucky leaned forward and planted a soft kiss to Nicole's forehead.
As the soldiers came upon them, Keenan growled and spun to stand between them and Anne. He unfurled his wings and lowered himself into a fighting stance. Bucky quickly ordered Keenan to stand down, knowing the Private would get himself killed if he did anything rash. But he wasn't listening. Before Keenan could bring his gun to level, his right leg was torn with a bullet, along with his right hip. Keenan cried out as he fell to the ground, clutching his wounds. Anne dropped down next to him, calling his name as she did. But she froze as the troops that surrounded them started yelling in German. Bucky slowly moved so he was on his knees, tucking Nicole's feather into his jacket before putting his hands in the air. Anne copied him. One soldiers was talking to them, his voice strict. Bucky glanced at Anne, her eyes wide and scared.
"Anne, what are they saying?" Bucky whispered. She didn't react, eyes far away. Bucky frowned. He understood her sorrow, but this was the worst time to be in shock. "Corporal Hodges!"
Anne jumped at his voice, but it seemed to work in shaking her out of her withdrawal. "They said that we are now prisoners of war." Her voice was low and monotone. "They are going to restrain us, and if we put up a fight, they will kill us."
Bucky swallowed. Three soldiers stepped forward, taking their weapons and binding their hands and wings together. Keenan, who was still overcome with pain, was not restrained, which concerned Bucky. Anne and Bucky were forced to their feet and roughly shoved back the way they had come. One soldier turned to another.
"Was über die verletzen ein?" He said. The other soldier looked to Keenan, his face disapproving.
"Töte Ihn."
Anne shot her eyes back to Keenan, eyes wide with renewed sadness. He gazed back at her, grief and regret in his features. He mouthed something at Anne that Bucky didn't quite catch, but he had a pretty good idea what it was. Anne tried to smile, nodding back at him. Bucky witnessed a soldier point his gun at Private Keenan Mooney's head before he was roughly shoved forward. A moment later, a single gunshot broke the silence of the dark woods.
Anne cried silently as they stumbled along. Bucky tried to limp as fast as the soldiers wanted him to, mind racing with fear and anxiety. They returned to the battlefield, now silent and scattered with bodies and fire. A large truck was waiting for them, loaded with other prisoners. They were roughly shoved into the back of the truck, sitting on the floor next to each other. Other prisoners, some of them from the 107th, looked surprised to see them. The tailgate was closed with two soldiers riding in the back, their guns pointed at the prisoners. After a few minutes, the truck started up and began to pull away. Anne closed her eyes tight and tried not to make a sound as she cried. Bucky felt for her, also on the verge of uncontrollable tears. But he remained stone-faced, for the both of them. He did, however, allow Anne to lean on his shoulder. The motion seemed to comfort her, if ever so slightly.
Bucky looked up, peering out the sliver of sight between the tarp flaps on the back of the truck. He swallowed past his dry throat, an ice-cold trickle of terror seeping down his spine as the truck drove them through the night and straight into hell.
Barely two weeks into their imprisonment, Bucky and Anne were deemed too weak to work. Bucky had caught pneumonia, the sickness sapping his strength with each passing day. He sliced his fingers open countless time on the large sheets of metal that they were forced to work with because of it. Anne had simply lost the will to live, hardly eating or sleeping. Bucky had tried to give her Nicole's feather. She held it for a few minutes, then looked back up at him and gave it back. Bucky took it back hesitantly, wondering why Anne looked so happy all of a sudden.
At first, there were four winged prisoners. The other two – a man and a woman – were French, and kept separate from Bucky and Anne. At some point, they were taken away in the night and never seen again.
When they came for Bucky and Anne, he could barely stand. They dragged them through the factory and slammed them down on the metal tables. A small man with glasses and a lab coat stood between the two of them.
"I do hope you two will be more durable than your counterparts." He sighed, looking through papers on a clipboard. "Any struggle or resistance will be met with punishment. Try not to disappoint me."
The pain and torture that followed was worse than anything Bucky could have imagined. If he so much as looked at the man wrong – he said his name was Dr. Zola – he would have several of his feathers plucked. Anne hardly reacted to anything, but they still plucked her feathers. More out of pleasure than punishment.
At some time in the bleary haze that Bucky had come to know as sleep, he opened his eyes to see Dr. Zola and a taller, more menacing man in a neat soldier's uniform standing over Anne's table. She seemed lifeless, hardly breathing. The two men were talking softly. Bucky could barely make out what they were saying.
"Sie lebt… aber Sie ist sehr schwach." Dr. Zola stated. "Ich glaube nicht, dass Sie es durch einen anderen Prozess machen."
"Dann Sie ist nutzlos zu uns." The other man said. "Entsorgen Sie Ihr."
Dr. Zola looked up, his eyes had a trace of annoyance as he nodded. "Ja, Herr Schmidt."
The other man didn't speak further. He turned away from Anne, glancing over at Bucky. Bucky and Schmidt met eyes, and he grinned wickedly.
The next time Bucky opened his eyes, the table were Corporal Anne Hodges had laid was empty, the only sign she had ever been there were her feathers on the floor. Bucky was alone. For the first time in a long time, he was well and truly alone. The sensation finally broke him, and he wept openly to the empty room. His tears streamed down the side of his face and his cries fell on the hollow walls as he thrashed against his restraints. His sobs died away after a while, his grief replaced with an aching numbness. Bucky felt empty, nothing left in him to offer solace from the never ending nightmare.
Dr. Zola entered the room and held up a syringe filled with a nasty looking green fluid. He gazed down at Bucky, emotionless like always. Bucky stared straight ahead, unseeing. When he felt the needle pierce his arm, he started to mumble. His name, then his rank, then his serial number, over and over and over again. He felt the drug course through his veins, burning as it went. Even when his muscles began to seize, he still mumbled out his identity through gritted teeth. It was all he had left. Then it became all he knew.
Until one day he opened his eyes to see his best friend standing over him.
Bucky finished his tale with a strained voice. He held the two feathers, dog tags, and rosary in front of him, staring at them with intensity. Steve sat silently next to him, his own heart aching for Bucky's loss. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Bucky took a deep breath through his nose, looking up at Steve.
"It just...happened so fast. I'll admit, I'll probably never fully recover from all that." Bucky said. "But… I think I'll manage."
"So, what are you going to do with them?" Steve nodded at the feathers.
"I guess I'll get them preserved. Keep them with me until this is all over. Then take them home, give them to their parents. I'm sure they would appreciate that." Bucky's voice got softer as he spoke.
Steve looked down, pointing at the brown and blue feather. "Was there anything there?"
Bucky held up the feather, grinning at the memory of the person it belonged to. "I'd like to think there was."
"Would I have liked her?" Steve asked lightly. Bucky chuckled.
"Yeah, you would have like her. But her sister." He held up the orange and purple feather. "You two would have been like peas in a pod."
Steve smiled sadly at Bucky. But he couldn't take his eyes off of Bucky's wings, awkward and stick-like. It was going to take months for all those feathers to grow back. Some of them might not even grow back at all. Steve's chest tensed. If only he had been quicker, gotten there sooner. Just maybe, he could have prevented… something… anything.
"Bucky, I'm so sorry." Steve's voice tightened.
Steve switched his gaze, staring at the grass and avoiding his friends gaze. Bucky was surprised to see small tears forming in his eyes. Bucky leaned forward, forcing Steve to look at him.
"Listen, Steve, I'm not going to lie and say I'm okay. Because clearly I'm not." He said, indicating his wings. "But I can heal. I'm tough. You being here is also going to make things a lot easier. You know this isn't the first time I've been grounded."
Steve nodded, pursing his lips and turning away. "I know, I just-"
"Steve, look at me."
Steve snapped his head back at Bucky's voice, suddenly commanding and strict. For a moment, Steve saw Bucky's serious, no-nonsense face that he was so used to. Then his features softened with empathy, and he smiled again.
"You can't win them all, Steve. We are at war, there are going to be casualties. But look around." Bucky stretched his arm out to the many soldiers behind them. "This is what you did. That's pretty amazing. Don't overlook that."
Steve sighed through his nose. "You sure you're okay?"
"Feathers grow back, scars fade, and life goes on." Bucky paused, his gaze falling. "It sucks that not everybody made it this far, but that was something I had to accept a long time ago."
Steve took a deep breath, feeling guilty that he had made Bucky comfort him for something so petty. "I could never be as strong as you, Bucky."
"I think we're way past that." Bucky snickered as he reached out to playfully squeeze Steve's bicep. "You've got some explaining to do as well, kiddo."
Steve laughed and began his own story. Bucky listened intently, his eyebrows drawn together as he tried to make himself believe Steve's words. When Steve told Bucky about his transformation, his eyebrows rose up on his forehead. Bucky didn't believe Steve about his wing at first, like Steve knew he would. Steve procured the white feather from his necklace and gave it to Bucky. He stared at it for a good five minutes, but still wasn't entirely sure if Steve was telling the truth. It was only until Steve had revealed the scar on his back that Bucky believed him.
"Holy cow." Bucky muttered, looking at the white feather. "That's one heck of a story, Steve."
"Well, it gets better." Steve said dryly. "After that, they refused to let me into service. So, naturally, I joined a traveling show and became an icon for the recruitment drive." Steve unzipped his jacket to show his costume underneath. Bucky blinked at it, his eyes lighting up with recognition.
"Oh my g-" Bucky looked up at Steve. "You mean Captain America – that was you?"
Steve did nothing but bite his lip in embarrassment.
Bucky laughed for so long and so hard after that that Steve could do nothing but sit there and watch in annoyance as Bucky rolled around in the grass, pointing at Steve and making fun of him until tears fell from his eyes and his stomach cramped. But it was an extremely good sight, to see Bucky laughing again after so much had happened. Bucky was right. He was tougher than he looked. He was going to be okay. They had found each other at last. Steve was determined to keep it that way – no matter what.
A/N: I need to go and... lie down, probably rethink my life after this long ass chapter.
So. Much. DEATH.
As always, read, review, and enjoy!