Darkness fell. It became harder and harder to ignore the toll a quick march took on Bucky, despite his friend's efforts to quell the evidence of his pain. His breathing was harsh through the improvised leather bite block, punctuated in time with Steve's footsteps. Rapidly cooling winter air accentuated the unusual heat where Bucky was draped across Steve's shoulders. And there was something else…something Steve couldn't quite put his finger on…
"Can we…can we take a break…augh, my arm…" Bucky had managed to dislodge the block once more. The urgency in his voice chilled Steve quite differently than the weather did.
"Hang in there, I'll see if I can find some sort of decent cover." Steve cast about for anything thick enough, solid enough, remotely feasible as a temporary shelter. He realized the tremors going through Bucky's body. Visibility was quickly failing; how much further could they go like this, anyway?
A low, yawning hole materialized behind a screen of brush. That might be the best they would have to work with. Steve eased Bucky into a more or less standing position. "You're going to have to help me, here. I think there's just enough space for the two of us to fit, so I can't just sling you in. I still got you, now shuffle your feet back in there, that's it."
"S'ere any way you can resituate the belt? God, the stump hurts," keened Bucky in a low tone.
"Even the worst injuries shouldn't justify taking the Lord's name in vain," Steve chided, if half-heartedly, trying not to fault Bucky in his current condition. "I'd need some kind of light, which would risk broadcasting where we are."
"Well God's welcome to send down a miracle any time, if he disapproves of me swearing. Or smite me with lightning and be done with it, either way."
"Don't talk like that, Buck."
"There's gotta be something you can use to dampen that light of yours, enough to block it at a distance but still be able to see up close…"
"If you're willing to brave the cold long enough, part of your undershirt could do the trick. Figured you could still use all the layers you could get. I can't promise anything, though."
"Do it."
Maybe the quip about miracles wasn't so far off after all. Steve managed to fumble through all the buttons on Bucky's outer coat in pitch darkness, find the ragged edge where he had torn into parts of Bucky's shirt already, and split off enough material for the job as well as to save for replacement bandages. The smallest piece he knotted onto the flashlight so that hopefully no one would notice their little hole unless they were just about on top of it. He worried enough about their prowling enemy as it was.
Surprisingly, the modification worked. A muted pool of brownish light illuminated Bucky's tired, drawn face, shadowed jauntily by the sweat- and blood-dampened strip of shirt around his forehead. Steve tried to tuck the loose edges in so they wouldn't dangle in his friend's eyes. The gesture also confirmed what he had suspected for a while now—fever heat radiated from Bucky's exposed skin. Not much either of them could do about it, unfortunately, except make as much progress as they could, when they could.
"Here, hold the light for me so I have both my hands free."
Bucky hissed in pain when the belt buckle released. Steve carefully unwound it, at the same time attempting to keep enough pressure to minimize any renewed bleeding. Might as well switch to a fresher shirt piece after this, anyway. And he realized what had been bothering him aside from the anxiety of being chased. There was a faint smell coming from underneath the makeshift dressing. Judging by the expression on Bucky's face, he was putting the pieces together too.
"Getting worse, isn't it…"
Steve chanced peeling back the stained fabric just long enough to check. Of course, there was no right way for a violently amputated limb to look, but this was most certainly not it. Under the red splotches, the deep bruise lines, the streaks of stubborn dirt, Bucky's forearm ended in swollen, angry flesh. It hit Steve that somewhere in there were parts of the body that should never be outwardly visible…he switched bandages as fast as possible, and tried to wrap the belt in a different pattern to hopefully offer some temporary relief for Bucky, who was biting back this newest agony with everything he still possessed.
"That should hold until we get to the base, then the doctors can take care of it," was all Steve said aloud. Bucky managed an expression of sarcastic disbelief.
"Don't jerk me around. It's fubar, right?" he rasped.
"Is the language really necessary? I can't do much doctoring out here. I wouldn't know where to start. The best move is to get as far and as fast as we can at a stretch. I wish I had more, even just something for the pain, but try not to think of the worst. You need to rest."
"Have you slept at all this whole time? Super soldier or not, at some point you gotta take a breather too."
"Don't go worrying about me, Buck."
"Bullshit—yeah, language and all. Tell me you've at least got a pistol, and hand it over. I'm not nearly as bad off when I'm not bouncing around with your shield digging into my ribs. Take a few hours. I'll poke you awake when it's your turn, or if anything else is about to blow up in our faces. Scouts honor."
Steve rolled his eyes, but reluctantly pulled out the gun. It was a backup anyway. He found he got much more done with his shield these days. He considered the radio stowed in one of his pockets. Maybe this was an occasion in which to use it. Get help out here faster. Or would it alert the enemy faster?
"Rogers, do you copy?" Despite his overall appearance and condition, Bucky took the weapon with a steady hand. Determined. Same old Barnes. They settled in with their respective positions in the dark.
Steve shifted in the cramped space, trying not to disturb Bucky in the process. With the predawn light, he found himself reaching over to ensure that his friend was still breathing, he was so ghostly. The fever seemed to be higher, too. Sunlight yesterday had apparently melted a lot of the snow around this elevation, unfortunately, so nothing really within reach for a compress. Their water was too precious split between the two of them.
With his visual field limited from this vantage point, Steve focused much of his attention on every possible sound around them. The cold season meant less bird calls and the like to filter out, a small boon. Also less wildlife that could serve as a warning. He didn't know what to think of the silence when it came to their mysterious enemy patrol; it wasn't really a comfort, knowing they weren't close enough to hear, because it meant not knowing where they were at all. Maybe in the end it merely was a patrol, and they had headed back to wherever they were based. Yet they had clearly followed signs of Steve and Bucky's presence yesterday. Too much of a coincidence for Steve's liking.
The sun was close enough to the horizon that he knew they should be going soon. Steve pulled out carefully measured rations, as well as the canteen (if memory served him right, there was a stream he had crossed on his way out here, which would be useful to visit, though he didn't want to count on it). Then he reluctantly woke Bucky. "Hey, rise and shine. We've got a lot of ground to cover still, but first a little something to get you going."
"Not h'ngry…"
"Please, Buck, you have to try. We can't be laissez-faire about breaks here where it's more or less open. We have to make them count."
"Maybe if you just leave me hidden here, an' come back with the Commandos or something, with proper transport."
"I'm not leaving you behind, not again."
"You're a sitting duck hauling me around…I'm a risk to both of us."
An idea struck Steve. Listening one more time for anything suspicious, he crawled most of the way out of their temporary cover so he had enough room to shrug out of his shield harness. Bucky, who dubiously picked at his portion of food, stared.
"What are you doing?"
"Lessening that risk, at least a tiny bit. Bear with me for a few seconds." To Bucky's great surprise (and regrettably some amount of fresh pain), Steve began helping him into the specialized gear. "This way you have some protection, without having to fight."
"Except then you can't reach it to fight if you have to."
"No, but chances are any enemy is going to come from behind, so it's at least something, and it'll be a little more comfortable for both of us."
Bucky didn't appear to have the energy to contest this. He remained slumped against their natural shelter, a bit comical with the harness tightened as far as it would go, while Steve hurriedly washed down his own breakfast with quick swigs of water. The woods gradually lightened around them. The longer they lingered, the more uneasy Steve felt. He checked his compass to refresh his bearings. Better he do it now than when he had his arms full.
"Okay…I know you'd probably do better with a longer rest, but we've got to keep what distance we can between us and whoever's back there."
Bucky only groaned miserably in response as Steve lifted him once more. His breathing hitched in short gasps, trying to maintain as much control as he could. "How—much farther, do you think?"
"At a good pace, with a short pause at a stream along the way, there's a forward position we could reach by mid-afternoon, maybe evening. I made really good time getting out here. It's a proper field base, too, an outpost we took over without much damage. Solid walls, roofs, still has running water, even."
"Sounds like heaven…"
"Colonel Phillips sent the Commandos there so we'd be in easy position to set out for that HYDRA base once they crack Zola. It's got enough of an infirmary to take care of you until we can get a med evac."
They started off again in more or less silence. At least, not speaking. Steve tried to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. Staying alert, no wandering down the rabbit hole of what-ifs. Worrying was not going to get Bucky help any faster, so do what could be done. Keep. Going. The day was clear, offering enough sun to warm the bones a little. The slopes were easier in this stretch.
The morning passed slowly, quietly. It would actually be a pleasant walk, if there wasn't the threat of enemies at any moment, and if his best friend wasn't slipping away bit by bit. Steve kept one ear trained on Bucky's breathing, a sure sign of life whether he was conscious or not. It might be easiest to let him be unaware of the constant pain for a while.
Steve was just beginning to have concerns about the distance and the state of the canteen when he heard the faint sound of bubbling water. Yes! The stream led right past the field base, though some miles down. This was the homestretch.
Bucky hardly stirred as Steve lowered him to the ground, and only reflexively swallowed the water fed to him. That would have to do. Steve filled and capped the canteen, then drank his own fill from the fresh current.
A bang caused his head to snap up to attention. The noise was deceptive—an echo off the surrounding geography rather than something right behind them, yet impossible to miss. Engine backfire.