"This is a start we could use to our advantage, press him for more details of HYDRA's plans," Peggy Carter insisted as soon as Colonel Phillips stepped out of the interrogation room.
"Doesn't mean I like the smell of it. Even if it is cowardice, I don't trust the fact that he hasn't offed himself yet," grumbled Phillips, handing the finished food tray to a nervous assistant. "As long as the slimy little cockroach is alive, he can plot."
This was the conversation Steve Rogers arrived upon as the pair loitered in the hallway. Part of him didn't want to chance the Army commander's mood, but he also knew he didn't have a lot of time if his request was going to be granted at all. "Sir, pardon my interruption; permission for the Commandos to retrace the train's route in hopes of recovering Buck—Sergeant Barnes' body. He deserves a proper burial, if possible, sir."
"He was a close friend of yours as well as a comrade, you've made that abundantly clear." Phillips' clipped tone was merely displeased at the intrusion. He faced the super soldier with a sigh. "However, your unit was not formed with latitude for personal whims."
"He was an integral asset to this unit, to the SSR!" Steve protested, so forcefully that Peggy put a restraining hand on his arm.
"And the rest of the unit continues to be integral. Once we crack Zola wide open, we're going to need you boys on the ground taking that last base, and we're gonna need to move fast. We can't afford to have you wandering off on altruistic wild goose chases."
Peggy cleared her throat. "Colonel, even if Dr. Zola agrees to the deal, it will take at least a day or two to break down what he does tell us, let alone work out and execute the operation —"
"Time that should be spent readying as much of the strike force as we can so that they can march the minute the brass says go. This is not a debate! I want them stationed near the front, awaiting orders. Only awaiting orders. Deploying everyone is half the battle. You all're on a plane tonight, Rogers, and you won't set foot outside base once you're there. Not until you're told to, do you understand me?"
Peggy took a deep breath, but held her tongue. The colonel harrumphed tiredly, shifting his gaze between the two younger officers. When neither of them attempted any sort of response, he tossed a resigned wave that they were dismissed, and started walking the other direction.
Steve sank back against the nearest wall, face propped between the thumb and fingers of one hand. Peggy turned to him with sympathy on her face.
"Phillips is not wrong. There's still a lot of work to do, and we need you, focused," she tried to placate him. He scuffed at the floor with the toe of his shoe, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah…" He started to walk back the way he came.
"Steve—" Peggy caught his elbow before he could get far, her grip firm yet gentle. A roiling mixture of personal grief and professional responsibility hovered behind her eyes. For a few moments they just stood there like that, gazes locked. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. You tried to say what you could."
"Please, don't go doing anything rash over there. I know you asked because it means a lot to you, enough that you might be willing to break the rules to do it anyway. We've been down this road before. The stakes are much higher now. Just…remember what you're fighting for. What he fought for, too."
"Yes, ma'am." Reluctantly, he pulled away from her hand. She let him go.
"Thank you Buck…but I can get by on my own."
"The thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."
Old conversations played over and over in Steve's head the following night as he resituated the muffler around his face. Two fast-paced hours out from base, snow blew through the valley like an artic wind tunnel. He didn't care. Neither did he care that he was running way off the reservation this time—well, he did care somewhat, but as usual his stubbornness won out. That's why he carefully made sure no one knew. Peggy had more or less surmised, of course, though she knew none of the details, and certainly hadn't helped him.
It was better for his friends that he not involve them, that he do this on his own.
Okay, he at least brought a radio in case of emergency. He wasn't completely insane.
One positive effect of snowfall was that it dampened any noise, particularly anything from his movement. The weather had settled in once he had reached the higher elevations. What was more useful, it was snowing fast enough to cover his tracks in fairly short order. On the other hand that meant he had no way of knowing who else was out here, especially with no military presence or support behind him should trouble ensue. All the more reason to be exceedingly cautious, and as efficient as possible.
Even in the dark, the pale blanket afforded him some definition to his surroundings. It wasn't much, just enough to differentiate between stone and, say, busted metal. Speaking of which, a twisted shape rose out of the ghostly valley floor some twenty paces ahead. Steve didn't need clear light to recognize the fallen piece of train car paneling. His chest clenched in a manner completely separate from the cold weather. A fresh blast of wind took him back to that precarious moment, clinging to the side of the speeding train as he tried to reach the struggling figure dangling over the open expanse below.
"Grab my hand!" With a jolt on the tracks, the already damaged handle gave a horrible lurch. He knew what was about to happen, and he wasn't anywhere close enough. "Bucky, NOO!"
The scream echoed in Steve's ears as clearly as if it rang off the dark mountainsides now. It also spurred him forward. Debris meant he had to be close. He also knew in his tightly-wound heart that what he was looking for was likely to be messy. Watching Bucky shrink to a hundreds-of-feet pinprick was bad enough. Could he really face the inevitable results?
Other bits and pieces thickened in frequency the further he ventured. A steel strap here, a cargo box there. The snow muffled the whole scene to deafening silence; Steve couldn't even hear his pounding pulse as the weight of his search closed in. His boots moved slower, with more careful urgency as the trail picked up.
A sudden crack—not a loud sound, but clear—caused him to halt for a moment. High above, yet still within view in the dead of night, a plate of stone came loose from its parent ledge. Conspicuously not the only one to do so, in fact. The significance of this eluded him as a crucial few beats passed. Then it clicked.
Steve sprang forward. A more complicated minefield of rocks, snow, and other fallen detritus graced this patch of the valley. And again, he didn't care. Somewhere, under this salt-and-pepper mess, he hoped beyond hope to find something. His persistence finally paid off. A prone human form took shape in the frantic digging.
"Oh geez…Bucky…Bucky…"
The dark blue wool was soaked through due to being snow-covered, the skin that peeked out not faring much better. Tacky patches revealed themselves here and there. Steve knew tears were blurring his vision, but he had to see, had to know for sure. He turned Bucky over. Jagged scrapes were as dark as the cowlicked hair in this monochrome version of the world. Shadowed, bruised eyes were predictably, and perhaps blessedly closed. At this Steve had to pause, taking in the nightmare that had indeed become reality. His head bowed in mourning to his friend's still chest.
Except that chest wasn't entirely still.
It was faint, must be a figment of his imagination desperately wishing for another outcome. Steve ripped off one of his gloves, carefully exposed the side of Bucky's neck, and felt for proof—whatever scenario he was trying to prove. To his shock, a flutter greeted his quickly numbing fingers. This was impossible. He leaned in again. The barest rattle of a breath escaped Bucky's nose and mouth. Then another. Another. He was alive.
"Hang on just a little longer. I'm gonna get you out of here," Steve vowed in a hushed tone. Although he was far from qualified as a physician, he knew the biggest obstacle to moving an accident victim was severity of injury. Bucky seemed miraculously unbroken, considering the violence of his fall. Nothing was glaringly out of place, as far as he could tell, with Bucky being unresponsive. Not even as much blood as he expected.
Then he uncovered Bucky's left arm. Or rather, realized that it stopped well short of the wrist, in a bloody yet surprisingly clean stump. That didn't spare Steve from nearly emptying the contents of his own stomach at the discovery. He only managed to stave off the worst by latching on to the one clear thought that broke through—tourniquet. He had to clamp off the wound even if the cold had slowed bloodloss. How was Bucky not dead?! Steve wrapped his belt several times close to his friend's elbow, and buckled it tight. After ensuring that there were no more obvious issues with which to contend, he very carefully hauled Bucky across his shoulders. The shield harness made this difficult.
As a last-ditch protective measure, Steve evened out the debris pile to obscure the traces of his presence. Fresh snow continued to fall, and appeared to be picking up, a favorable sign. Hopefully it didn't work against their return journey. He estimated it had to be about four in the morning by now.
Another sound startled him before he could head back in earnest. Something loud enough to bounce off of rock, something that was definitely not caused by nature. This was followed by a more imminent sign of danger—moving light along the valley floor. Vehicles, probably military. He wagered he was still closer to the SSR base than the nearest town, according to the mission maps. Except he knew they didn't have any scheduled patrols.
Steve ran through his options. Not too far from here he recalled a deeper shadow that might have been a cave, high enough up the mountain side that it could remain hidden. That was their best chance. As quietly and gingerly as possible, he started picking his way up the slope.
His instincts weren't amiss. What appeared at first to be a small hollow extended back into more of a tunnel. It offered immediate shelter from the wind, yet provided enough ventilation for a smokeless fire. Even more helpful, a fair amount of blown needles, twigs, and other tree sheddings from the valley had already trailed into the cave, and dried out. He could only hope he picked a spot that would hide the light without monopolizing breathable air. Bucky remained motionless where Steve laid him out on the ground.
Then he waited in the silence and dark to see what became of the noises outside. If he relaxed too soon, he could inadvertently lead whoever it was straight to their position. A few times, glimpses of light neared the cave opening. Slowly, nervewrackingly, everything faded away again. Steve wanted to be completely sure before he tried anything. All quiet.
Once light and warmth were taken care of, he could turn his attention to a more detailed assessment of Bucky's condition. The other visible wounds all looked shallow in comparison. Steve tried to quell his rebellious stomach at the sight of the bloody stump that was Bucky's left arm. There had to be a way to cover it, some kind of rudimentary bandaging to hopefully ward off dirt and infection. All he really had to work with were the clothes they wore. As it was, with Bucky soaked from head to toe, the quickest way to warm him up would be to get him in as direct proximity to the fire as possible.
The layers were all set aside to begin to dry. Steve used pieces of Bucky's undershirt to wrap his stump and secure it with the tourniquet, having had to temporarily remove the belt in the whole process anyway. Another strip went around Bucky's head to dress one of the more significant open gashes. The deep bruising to his friend's torso was unmistakable now, an incredible understatement in this case. Also apparent were a number of past injuries that Steve hadn't gotten to see up close before—definitely not from their childhood, but way too healed to be from the fall. Scars, inflicted systematically.
Bucky never talked about Azzano, or what happened at the prison camp. Steve wasn't allowed at that part of the debriefing, though he guessed some of the details from the state of the room in which he had found Bucky. Strapped to a table, surrounded by instruments and medical equipment. Gabe had said no one came back from there. And yet Steve couldn't imagine the full extent at the time. Maybe he just didn't want to.
"What did Zola do to you?" he bemoaned.