So, Steve is unexpectedly tiny, and now that they've made camp for the night, there's a lot to think through. Time for some introspection.
Steve had woken up with a pounding head and an aching chest to Bucky and Jim hovering nervously over him. For one brief instant, he'd forgotten what happened, but then it all came screaming back. That magic, or anti-magic, rolling through his body. The pain that felt like the reverse of Project: Rebirth, but equally as agonizing. The small, weak limbs and the struggling to breathe and the fluttering heart. He didn't quite remember passing out on the hill, but if his heart had been acting up, he would have been pretty disoriented.
Jim had checked him over as thoroughly as he could without magic, and though he declared that he would be fine as long as he got some food and rest, everyone wouldn't stop staring at him. It was a very quiet dinner, and Steve kept trying to remind himself that all the other guys had lost their magic and he wasn't the only one having a hard time right now, but it felt a lot like the time he'd gotten on the train after his ma had died and no one had been sure how to act or what to say. He'd said something back then that had eased things over a little, but he didn't have it in him now. He'd just eaten his meal, washed his dishes, and been relieved when Jim ordered him to go to his tent and get some rest.
He lay there on top of his sleeping bag for a little while, listening to the sounds of the other guys cleaning up for the night. They were too far away to make out any words, and Steve was really trying not to feel sorry for himself, he really was, but he couldn't stop imagining that they were all talking about him. He felt incredibly embarrassed about his panic-induced asthma attack in front of all of them earlier and the fact that he knew they'd kept slowing down for him, never mind passing out and falling down the hill. He rolled over onto his side, scrunching up his face and trying not to cry. When he'd taken the serum, he hadn't thought about how big or strong it would make him. He'd just been happy it was enough to let him go after his friends and save them. The health and the strength and the stamina, that had all been a bonus, but he'd really come to depend on it. And now it was gone. He'd lost all of it and he was little and weak and useless again, and he couldn't go back to that, he couldn't. Not now that he knew what he could be.
He heard the front of the tent zip open and then closed again, a soft, warm light appearing as Bucky came inside with a lantern. "Hey, Steve," he said softly.
"Hey," Steve whispered back, not rolling over.
"How you feeling?" Bucky asked.
"Fine," he replied. The scrapes on his face and his arm stung, but his heart was okay and his lungs were working as well as they could in this humid air. Sure. He was fine.
Bucky was quiet for a minute, rolling out his sleeping bag. "I'm sorry about what happened on the hill," he said. "I didn't realize how hard we were pushing you, and I should have remembered about your heart." Steve rolled over to look at him, and Bucky's eyes were shining in the lantern light. "I thought for a minute when you collapsed…" He shook his head. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault, Buck," Steve replied. He meant that, even if he couldn't muster the smile he was trying for. "I forgot about it too." Yeah, he'd known since he was little again the heart trouble would be back, but he'd forgotten what exactly that meant until it was too late to do anything about it. "I'm alright," he added.
Bucky nodded, though he still didn't look ready to absolve himself completely. He inhaled deeply. "What can I do to help?" he asked.
Steve sighed and sat up. "I don't know. I…" He'd been holding this back all afternoon, determined not to break down in front of everyone. Again. He didn't really want to do it in front of Bucky either, but it was getting hard to hold it all in. "It's all back," he whispered. "All of it. The heart condition and the trouble breathing; the headaches from trying to see things far away; that stupid ankle that's always sore and the way all my joints just…" He gestured down at himself. "Hurt." He sighed. "I can't walk fast and I get tired easy, and I…" He swallowed hard. "Back before, when I was little before, being sick and small and everything sucked, but I was used to it, you know? I never knew any better. But now…" He swallowed down another lump in his throat. "Now I know what it's like to be healthy. I know what I'm missing and that makes it so much worse."
Bucky was looking at him sadly, and that made it that much harder to keep the tears that were prickling in his eyes from falling. "I can't go back to that," he said. "I can't. And I can't…" He drew in a shaking breath. Even worse than being sick and small and fragile again, even worse was the fact that now he was a burden to the team. He couldn't go out and fight Hydra, couldn't save anyone, couldn't make a difference anymore. "I got this taste of something…incredible, and I don't want to be useless again, Bucky, I can't, I can't do it!" He lost the battle with his tears but he couldn't find it in him to care anymore.
"Stevie, no," Bucky said, just as Steve had known he would. "You're not useless."
"Bucky, look at me!" Steve snapped. Bucky always believed in him, and Steve appreciated that, he really did, but there was a cold, hard reality to face here. "I've been like this for, what, like three hours? I've already slowed the team down, passed out because my stupid heart won't let me walk up a mountain, and freaked everybody out. And what happens when we get into a fight, huh? We've got Hydra guys somewhere on this island we're gonna run into, and what am I gonna do then? I can't fight anybody like this! I can't hit or run or take anybody down." He swallowed hard. "I can't use my shield. I'd just be in the way, and if we still had magic, I couldn't use that either because my magic sucks! I can't do anything! I know you're just trying to make me feel better, but don't lie to me, alright? I'm no good to anybody like this."
Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but they both stopped short as the zipper on the front of the tent slid open again. A familiar bowler hat and mustache appeared as Dugan poked his head through the opening he'd just made, and Steve quickly dashed his hands across his face, rubbing away the tears that had been streaking down it.
"Hey," Dugan said a little awkwardly. "I was just walking the perimeter, and I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but, you know, canvas isn't exactly soundproof…"
Steve flushed so deeply he could feel his ears burning, and it took everything he had not to start crying again. Dugan had just heard his entire breakdown, and he hadn't thought he could feel more pathetic than he already did, but it turned out he was wrong.
"Anyway," Dugan continued. "He's right, you know," he said, sticking a thumb inside to hook it in Bucky's direction. "You're not useless, Steve," he said, and the use of his name was what really made Steve stop and listen. Anymore, even around school, Dugan always referred to him as 'Cap'.
"Phillips didn't put you in charge of us because of how big you were, and the rest of us aren't following you because you could bench-press a truck. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, it's nice when you can do all that, but, big tough guy who punches his way out of a fight?" He smiled. "That's my job." Steve almost smiled at that.
"You're the leader—you're our Captain," Dugan said, pointing at him. "Because you've got the brains to put an op together and make sure we all survive it. Because you've got the guts to charge into anywhere where there's something that needs doing. Because you've got the heart to help as many people as you can, even if it hurts. Because you know what's right and you fight for it. Because you never give up. That is why you're the Captain. That is why me and the rest of the boys'll follow you to hell and back. And all of that? You had all that way before you got taller than me. And you've still got it now."
He was smiling warmly, and Steve found himself wanting to cry again, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because of how deeply touched he was.
"And, you know, I figure you know all that," Dugan said with a shrug. "But it's been a rough day. I thought maybe a reminder wouldn't hurt." He flashed him a quick smile. "I should probably get back to my rounds now. Me, Jacques and Gabe have got security tonight, so the rest of you can rest easy." He tipped his hat. "Goodnight, Captain." He turned to Bucky and repeated the gesture. "Goodnight, Sergeant. I'll see you two in the morning." His face vanished and he zipped the tent back up, disappearing into the night.
Steve was sitting there, dumbstruck. He didn't think he'd ever heard Dugan say that much at one time before that didn't have to do with blowing things up or the technicality of spells, and certainly never anything that…meaningful. He swallowed down a lump of grateful emotion in his throat.
Bucky leaned over and nudged him with his elbow, smiling warmly. "What he said," he said with a nod at the door of the tent, surprising a very watery laugh out of Steve.
"Listen, Steve," he said after a minute. "I know…I mean, this is, it's all kinds of messed up. You've got every right to freak out. I'm not holding that against you, and neither is anyone else. There are all kinds of things you are more than entitled to be upset about, but your value isn't one of them. And I know you think I'm just saying that because I'm supposed to say things like that, but that's not it. I'm saying because it's true. Dugan knows it. So do the rest of the guys." He smiled sadly. "Erskine knew it. That's why he gave you that stuff in the first place. Because what's in here…" He reached over and tapped a finger against Steve's chest, and Steve's breath caught in his throat as his friend unknowingly echoed Erskine's last gesture. "That's what's important, and that's what made the big guy special. So, yeah, be upset if you need to, but not because you think you're worthless. Okay?"
"Okay," Steve whispered, all he could manage. He felt, well, better was maybe stretching things, but a little piece of something in his soul was settling.
He sniffed, dashing a hand across his nose and feeling a little bad about getting snot on Jacques' shirt. He'd make sure to wash it for him after he…after he got his own small clothes and everything. He sniffed again. "Bucky, what if I'm stuck like this?" he asked fearfully. Even with the support of his team, the prospect of being stuck in this weak little body again terrified him.
Bucky sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I know you're not really in a place where you can right now, but I'm holding on to the hope that this'll get undone somehow. But if it doesn't…" He trailed off, bit his lip. "If it doesn't, whatever happens, you're not gonna be in it alone, man."
Steve smiled gratefully. "I know." He knew he never would be. Bucky was with him 'til the end of the line. He sniffed again, and the tears welling up in his eyes started trickling out again. He wasn't alone, but he was still scared.
"C'mere," Bucky said, looping his arms around Steve's shoulders and pulling him over next to him and into a hug. Steve folded into the embrace, and he fit against Bucky like he always did. He cried into his chest, letting out everything that he was so scared of and didn't have words for, and Bucky just held on and let him, and when he finally cried himself out, the last thing he remembered feeling before falling asleep was safe.
It was dark when he woke up, but after a couple of seconds, Steve realized it was because he was under his sleeping bag. They'd been sitting on top of Bucky's sleeping bag, and when he'd fallen asleep, Bucky must have reached over and unzipped Steve's sleeping bag, pulling it over the both of them like a blanket instead of trying to get Steve inside his own and risk waking him up.
He rolled out carefully from under Bucky's arm, shivering as he exited the pocket of warmth under the sleeping bag and hit the chilly ground. His joints were stiff and sore, either from sleeping on the ground, the cold air, or because that's just how he was now. Probably a combination of all three. He bent and stretched and quietly exited the tent.
The sun was up, though the mist was too thick to see the sunrise. It was kind of pretty, he supposed, the dark stone and the thick green of the foliage, sunlight filtering softly through the mist and birds chirping somewhere in the trees. He headed for the stream to wash up, smiling as he stepped over the line of string with all their spoons attached to it that was evidently part of Dugan's non-magical alarm system. The water was freezing, but it woke him up the rest of the way, and it felt good to get the dirt and the rest of the sticky residue from Jim's ointment off his face. He dried his face off on Jacques' shirt and sat on a rock, staring at his reflection in the water.
The skinny little face staring back at him was familiar and strange, like someone he remembered from a dream. Was this really who he was now? He sighed deeply. Okay. Okay, maybe it was. So, what now? He still wasn't sure what good he could be like this, but he mulled over Dugan's words from last night. Of all the people on the team, Dugan was the last person he would have expected such an emotional declaration from. He wouldn't have just said that to make Steve feel better. If he hadn't meant it, he just wouldn't've said anything. Steve picked up a stick and poked it thoughtfully into the water. Dugan had really meant that. He knew Bucky had reinforced Dugan's statement, and Bucky had meant it too, but the fact that it had come from such an unexpected source…
He poked the water with his stick again and some of the mud on the bottom swirled up, obscuring his reflection for a moment. He thought he saw in the swirls the ghost of a different face, older, thin and bearded, with a flash of light on the water mimicking the glint on a pair of glasses. Bucky had mentioned Erskine last night, but Steve had been too overwhelmed to dwell on the memory of his old teacher. Erskine had seen the value in him too. He'd seen it long before Steve's physical change, and he…Steve swallowed down a knot in his throat. Erskine had never seen him put the serum to use. He'd never known him as Captain America. He'd only ever known him as the small, weak boy that he was again now, and he'd still thought Steve was worth it. Steve thought back to the last real conversation the two of them had had, him wondering why Erskine had chosen him for the project, and Erskine telling him his reasons. They were the same kinds of things that Dugan had said, that Bucky had said—things that made him worth so much more than the body he was in.
Steve wasn't sure if he could live up to all of that, but he knew for sure there was one thing they'd been right about. He didn't give up. So the least he could do was square his skinny little shoulders back and try to stop feeling sorry for himself. He didn't know if he could manage the rest of it, but he could do that. And if it turned out he was stuck like this…He swallowed down a wave of panicked nausea at the thought. If he was stuck like this, he would roll with the punch and try to figure out how get back up swinging.
He straightened up and walked back into camp, sitting down by the fire to help Jim with breakfast.
"Sleep alright?" Jim asked him.
"Well as I could," Steve said.
Jim nodded. "I was looking through my stuff last night, trying to figure out what I've got that still works, and I found some digitalin. You ever use any of that?"
Steve considered. "It was one of the ingredients in some of my heart medicine."
Jim nodded again. "Yeah. I gave you a little bit of it last night while you were out, and if we're in a tight spot, I should be able to use it to help with the arrhythmia, but I'd prefer to avoid it if we could. Too much of the stuff could make you sick, and the line between just enough and too much is very thin. Without magic to make sure I was getting it right, it'd be tricky. Here, flip that piece of toast over."
Steve did, suspecting he knew what Jim was leading up to. "Are you trying to build up to saying that instead of messing around with medicine, we should all walk really slow today so that I don't pass out again?"
Jim looked a little embarrassed, but shot him a smile. "Yeah. Look, Steve, I don't want to sound like we're all just feeling sorry for you, and, you know, 'oh, poor Steve, he can't keep up with the rest of us' or anything like that. If this same thing had happened to any one of the rest of us, you know," he said, pulling the big spoon out of the oatmeal and pointing it at Steve for emphasis. "That you'd be making the same call. This is just the team looking out for each other. Remember when I got hit in the leg and you carried me around Schmidt's house for, like, six hours? Same kind of deal. We do it all the time, and I have yet to see anyone get mad about it."
Steve blushed a little bit. It was a lot easier to make the concessions than to be the one they were being made for, but he knew Jim was right.
"Besides," Jim continued casually, stirring the oatmeal. "We're all down a bunch of gear, got no magic, no idea of what's out there or what the terrain's like…Going slow is just good sense."
Steve smiled at that. "Yeah, I guess so."
When breakfast was ready, they sat around and talked for a while, discussing this whole no-magic situation now that their heads were a little clearer. Things that cancelled out magic were relatively rare, but not unheard of. Like Jim had said the night before, he'd never heard of anything that actually destroyed magic. He and Dugan both seemed hopeful that their magic would return once they got off the island, though they weren't quite sure how fast that would happen, or if it would do it on its own. They also—though this part of the conversation was danced around a little more awkwardly—weren't entirely sure what that meant for Steve. His magic and the serum and everything was just such a special case. Hopefully, it would come back with everything else. Hopefully. The more that word got tossed around, though, the harder Steve found it was to latch on to it, so he was immensely glad when the topic changed to what they were going to do between now and getting off the island.
He was only half-listening, focusing on tamping down the panic that kept surging up whenever he thought about his magic not getting fixed, and looked up when he realized everyone had stopped talking. "What?" he asked, wondering why everyone was looking at him.
"I said, what do you think we should do?" Monty asked.
"Why are you asking me?"
Monty's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Because it's sort of your job," he said. "You know, being the Captain and all." Monty's voice didn't contain the slightest trace of sarcasm or pity, but something sharp twisted in Steve's gut and his eyes darted over to Dugan. Had he…He hadn't told everyone about last night, had he?
Dugan looked up from his oatmeal, caught Steve's eye and knew what he was asking, then shook his head. He hadn't said a thing. The knot in Steve's stomach loosened a little bit. He didn't think he would have. Just, how did Monty… He looked back at Monty, who was still looking at him expectantly. Monty still trusted him too. So did the rest of them, the way they were all looking at him like that. He sat up a little straighter. Maybe he could do this.
"Okay," he said, a little nervously. This was just a mission. Just planning for a mission. He did this all the time. "Well, uh, we still haven't found the Hydra guys. With no magic, destroying the base may be off the table, but we can still see what they're up to, and knowing where they are should help keep us from getting snuck up on in the jungle." This statement got several nods of approval, so he must have said the right thing. Emboldened, he cleared his throat and went on. "If this no-magic thing covers the island, then that means they don't have any either. That ought to help us out, since there's probably more of them than there are of us. And we made it more than halfway across the island yesterday, so we should be able to get there with plenty of daylight left today to scope the place out and figure out our next move." If his memory from their briefing was correct, they'd covered enough ground yesterday, they were two miles from the buildings and the dock at the outside. Up and down hills and through jungle, but not that far. Depending on how rocky the walk was, he wanted to say an hour of walking, maybe two if it was a lot of uphill. But that was at their old pace. They were going to be going a lot slower now because of him, and that stung, but he swallowed it down. That was just the way it was. He could deal with it.
They finished eating and broke up camp, which took a little longer without magic than it used to. Particularly the taking down and re-folding of the tents—Gabe was the only one of them whose family had ever done non-magical camping before, so he'd been instrumental in getting them all set up last night, and was currently very annoyed with Monty for not remembering a thing he'd said last night and getting it all, very, very wrong.
"See, Stevie?" Bucky said as they collected all the tent pegs. He was still watching Steve like he was worried about him, but he seemed as encouraged by them all looking to Steve for instruction as Steve had been, if not more. "I hate to say 'I told you so', but…"
Steve snorted. "You love to say 'I told you so'."
Bucky laughed. "That's true. Alright. I told you so."
Steve smiled. Now that the wave of crushing terror and panic was under control, he knew—he hadn't actually doubted it, he'd just been overwhelmed and had forgotten—he knew his friends weren't just going to dump him because he wasn't the big strong hero anymore. He was still embarrassed and worried and scared, but at least he had that.
"Hey, Buck?" he asked, holding open the bag for him to drop the tent pegs into. "When we get back, um, I mean, if I don't…" He was trying to accept the possibility that he might stay small forever. "Do you think I'll still be on the team?"
"Steve, the other guys aren't—"
"I don't mean the other guys," Steve cut him off. "I mean Phillips." He swallowed nervously. "I wasn't allowed to do this stuff before."
Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Phillips didn't know what you could do before," he finally said. "And if you do end up staying small—and that's a big 'if', Stevie—if you end up staying little, then, yeah, it'll change how we do some stuff. But if Phillips tries to boot you out, he's going to have six very pissed off Howling Commandos to deal with, and I think he's smarter than that."
Steve blushed a little, but he nodded. He didn't know that it would be quite as easy as all that, but he wouldn't want to be the one to cross the rest of the team. Knowing they all had his back made the fear just a little bit easier to swallow.
They got going and set off towards the Hydra outpost, following the compass that Steve realized with a pang no longer pointed wherever you needed it to. It just pointed north now.
An upside, Steve supposed, to being small and physically unfit again, was that once they started walking, he didn't have a lot of time to devote to worrying. In rough terrain like this, breathing and regulating his pace and watching his footing was taking up most of his brain capacity, and he was alright with that.
They stopped after about half an hour to sit down and get some water, and Steve was the only one who looked anywhere close to tired, but he tried not to think about that. They set off again, a nice, steady, slow pace that Steve could manage, but between climbing up and over logs and boulders, fighting back giant tree branches that smacked him in the face if he didn't shove them out of the way, and balancing a backpack full of equipment while constantly going either up or down hill (seriously, was there any flat ground on this island?), he was still red-faced and panting by the time they took their next break thirty minutes later. Jim came over and checked on his pulse and his breathing and decided he was alright, though he didn't leave until he watched him drink at least half of his canteen's worth of water. The third break came after another half-hour, and Steve was red-faced from more than just exertion this time.
"It's gonna take us forever to go two miles at this rate," he sighed after taking a pull from his inhaler. He knew they needed to go slow because of him, but this was getting ridiculous.
"So, we'll be nice and well-rested when we get there," Bucky said.
"Bucky," Steve groaned.
"Steve," Bucky said calmly. "Nobody is judging you for this."
"I know," he sighed. He leaned forward into his hands. "This is just so embarrassing," he muttered from behind his fingers.
He felt Bucky's arm come to rest on his back. "I know," Bucky said. "But there's no shame in asking for help when you need it. And there isn't any in accepting it even when you haven't asked for it, either," he said. "Don't remember who told me that."
"Shut up," Steve complained, knowing that Bucky knew full well who he was quoting, but not really having much to say beyond that. It was hard to argue when someone started throwing your own words at you.
They rested a little longer before getting back on the move. "Um," Steve started hesitantly.
"Yeah?" Bucky replied, looking back at him. "You need to sit a little while longer?"
"No." Steve sighed. He looked down, feeling his cheeks flush. No. He could ask for help. "I'm okay to get moving again, I just…The shield is getting really heavy." He thought he might be able to keep up a better pace without it on his back.
Bucky shot him an understanding smile and took it off of his back, fastening it to the outside of his own backpack. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Steve nodded. "Thanks."
He managed to make it the next thirty minutes, but he could tell they were slowing down even more, and he just couldn't make himself go any faster. He needed another pull from the inhaler when they stopped, and he hoped there was enough left in the thing to last until he got off the island. Jim came and checked on his heart again, and though he said Steve should be alright, he went back to his bag and started digging through it, and Steve could hear him muttering about digitalin.
They'd only been walking again for fifteen minutes when Steve reached out and tapped Bucky's arm. "I think I need to stop," he rasped, and he was feeling kind of shaky, but if the look on Bucky's face was anything to go by, he was about to keel over.
"Guys, let's take a break!" Bucky called, and Steve closed his eyes and swallowed down the shame of knowing how much trouble he was causing, even as he sank down to the ground in relief. They didn't mind. No one was going to get mad at him. Maybe if he told himself that enough, he'd really believe it.
"Okay, Stevie, look at me. Look at me, okay?" Bucky said, and Steve opened his eyes again. Concern was etched into every line of his best friend's face. "What's wrong?"
Steve waved a hand, dismissing what he knew was fear for his heart or his lungs—this hiking, easy as they were taking it, was just more exertion than this little body had been built to handle all at once. " 'm just so tired," he said, and yeah, his lungs were heaving and his heart was going a little faster than it should, but it wasn't anywhere dangerous. Not yet. It had taken a little while there at the beginning, but he was familiar with the rhythms and limits of this body again, and if he stopped now, he could avoid those dangers he knew were looming just over the horizon. It was embarrassing and felt weak and pathetic, but it was better than passing out. Although, they'd probably cover more ground if he was unconscious and someone was carrying him.
Bucky looked him over carefully, gauging his breathing and his color, then nodded. "Okay." He pulled a canteen off his back. "You want some water?"
Steve accepted the canteen. "How much further do we have to go?"
"We're more than halfway there," Jim said, approaching and kneeling down beside him to check his pulse. "We decided to go ahead and get set up for lunch."
Steve pulled his dad's watch out of his pocket and checked it. "It's eleven thirty."
Jim shrugged. "So, we'll eat a little early, take a good break, and figure out our next move. Here, you eat this while we're setting up," he said, pulling an apple out of his pocket.
Steve took the fruit. The sugar might help the way his hands were shaking. "Hey, if we're more than halfway, we should send Jacques on to scout up ahead." They ought to start running into lookouts and alarms soon, and it would be good to know what to look out for.
Jim nodded and went to pass the message on to Jacques. Bucky sat down next to Steve. Steve let out a frustrated huff of air, then took a bite of the apple. "We've been walking three hours and we've gone, like a mile," he grumbled.
"Closer to a mile and a half, actually," Bucky corrected him.
Steve shrugged. "Yeah, that's so much farther."
"Steve, don't—"
"Don't?" Steve interrupted. "Don't what? Don't point out how much I'm slowing this whole thing down? Don't point out how very little we have accomplished because of me? Don't point out how much more work it's causing everyone just because I exist?"
"Yes," Bucky said a little curtly. "Don't do that." He sighed and shook his head. "Look, Steve, I know how much you hate people thinking you can't do stuff and feeling sorry for you. But none of that is what this is. Yes, we're running this mission differently than we usually would, and yes, a lot of that has to do with the state you are currently in. But none of that's pity. None of that's annoyance. It's your friends looking out for you because they care about you."
Steve felt his cheeks flushing again. "I know," he said, all the fire gone out of his voice. "I know. I'm sorry, I keep…" Every time he thought he had a handle on this, something came out of left field and swung him back into messed-up again. He shot Bucky an embarrassed half-smile. "I'm not trying to be a jerk."
"I know," Bucky said, smiling back down at him. It was taking some getting used to, looking up at everyone again. "I'm not taking any of it personally. I'm just trying to get it through that thick skull of yours…" He paused here to rap his knuckles on Steve's head. "That we're all here and it's okay to lean on us."
Steve nodded. "I'm trying real hard to remember that," he said.
"That's all I'm asking," Bucky replied, smiling wider and nudging Steve with his elbow.
Steve finished his apple and threw the core into a nearby bush, where it hit something under the leaves with a hollow-sounding clonk. He frowned. That was a weird noise. Bucky must have thought so too, because he pushed himself onto his knees and leaned forward, pulling back the large leaves to see what it had hit. "Aw, crap," he muttered.
"What?" Steve asked.
Bucky stood up and shoved the front half of the bush out of the way. Steve's apple core had bounced off another skull, but this one wasn't alone. There were at least three of them lying in a tangle of little roots and other assorted bones. One of them was still wearing a Hydra helmet, only one leg of the octopus emblem still visible on the weathered leather covering.
"Crap," Steve agreed.
There have been some more pressing matters to attend to, but there ARE still Hydra guys on the island. Dead ones, anyway. Still a lot left to figure out.
Digitalin is a real drug used in heart medicine-one you see crop up frequently in Agatha Christie novels as a possibility for an 'accidental' death, since the line between too much and enough is very thin, hence Jim's caution.
See you Monday!
