Chapter 5: Escape

He heard his own voice, soft, but it sounded far away. "Sergeant…32557…"

Footsteps slid on the hard floor. A figure towered over him.

"Bucky?"

Bucky?

The machine loomed in the darkness above him, taunting.

"Oh my god," the voice whispered.

Familiar. He knew that voice. There was a clang of metal and ripping fabric, then a face came into view.

"Is that….?" It couldn't be.

"It's me. It's Steve."

"Steve." Steve… This was nice. It wasn't real, but it was nice to see Steve again, one last time…

Hands—impossibly large and strong—touched him. "Come on."

"Steve?"

The hands pulled him up. They felt real, solid, and he was on his feet, barely, leaning against the solid mass that could not be Steve.

The face was there, inches away, a large helmet, straps that hung sloppily open. Poor form, as if not-Steve didn't know the first thing about tactical gear. A palm wrapped around Bucky's neck.

Not-Steve's face looked a lot like Steve, and his voice sure as hell sounded like Steve when he said, "I thought you were dead."

Bucky looked the man up and down. The Big Steve hallucination sure as hell had a firm grip. "I thought you were smaller."

"Come on."

Then he was being dragged through the room, which a hallucination definitely couldn't do. Was it really Steve?

He struggled to get his feet beneath him as he hung from Maybe-Steve. "What happened to you?"

"I joined the Army," he said with a shade of teasing in his voice.

Okay, maybe it really was Steve, which meant maybe they really were escaping. As he was dragged into the hallway, he scanned the area. Why weren't there any guards around? Wait…was that…?

Gunfire. Explosions.

The fucking cavalry had come? He needed to get his shit together, which meant at the very least being able to walk on his own. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed away from Steve, almost toppling against the wall. Steve's big hand grabbed his arm and steadied him, pulling him down the hallway.

"What the hell do you mean you joined the Army? Boot Camp isn't going to do…" he managed to steady himself, keep upright, and stagger along as he swept a hand at Steve.

"Remember that night before you left? A scientist offered me a chance. He tested an experimental serum on me to create an army of enhanced soldiers."

Wait? What? "You let someone experiment on you?"

Steve kept his eyes ahead of him. "Yep."

And it worked? He struggled to keep up with Steve, but the corridor kept tilting on him.

"Did it hurt?"

"A little."

"Is it permanent?"

Steve looked back at him. "So far."

They made it without opposition to the factory floor, then the explosions inside started. A blast knocked him off his feet. Steve grabbed his arm, yanked him upright, and steered him toward the metal stairs. Climbing them took almost everything he had. Steve wasn't even panting. Then again, Steve looked like he was eating five hefty meals a day. The last thing Bucky ate…

When was the last time he ate?

"That way!" He pointed. He'd worked the factory long enough to know the layout.

Steve rushed forward and Bucky did what he could to keep up. The tables had certainly turned between them.

He stumbled forward, clutching the rail. More explosions. A wall of heat slammed into him, and he careened away, following Steve up another set of stairs, toward a higher landing and the walkway.

They were close to freedom when Schmidt's voice rang out.

"Captain America! How Exciting!"

Captain America? That would explain the stars and stripes shield. Steve was Captain America? Bucky had never seen a single performance or movie, but he'd seen posters. He'd just never paid too much attention to the masked actor.

He'd thought the guy was just an actor. No wonder Steve's letters had stopped. He'd been busy.

"I am a great fan of your films!" Schmidt continued, walking toward him.

Zola languished behind, staring at him with those beady eyes. Despite the heat, a chill ran through him. Even though he still felt as steady on his feet as a tipsy toddler, he was pretty sure he could muster enough strength to send a fist into that smug asshole's pinched, round face.

"So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all," Schmidt said, walking casually toward Steve.

Bucky wished he had a weapon. Two shots was all it would take, even in his present condition.

"Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive!"

Steve rocked back and sent a right hook into Schmidt's face that almost knocked the Nazi bastard off his feet.

Good form. Way to go, Steve.

"You got no idea," Steve said.

"Haven't I?" Schmidt threw a punch that Steve blocked with the shield.

Even from his position, Bucky could see the dent. Holy shit. How many super strong soldiers were running around?

There was something wrong with Schmidt's face. His right eye looked…gross. What was that red bit of flesh underneath?

Steve went for his gun. Schmidt was fast, sending a right hook that knocked Steve off his feet and sent the gun clattering below.

Damnit. Bucky looked around, hoping to find something he could use. He'd never felt more useless.

Steve used both legs to send Schmidt sailing backward, then scrambled to his feet.

Good job! All those boxing lessons and alley fights had really paid off.

Zola pulled a lever, and the bridge separated, pulling Steve and Schmidt apart from one another.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success!" Schmidt shouted, then grabbed at the skin on his neck and pulled.

It was a horror show, happening right in front of him. He wasn't even sure what he was seeing was real as Schmidt peeled off his human face to reveal a red, devilish skull with a hole for a nose.

Did Steve get that serum?

"You don't have one of those do you?" Bucky asked.

God, he hoped not, but if Steve did, it was still Steve. Well, except that now Steve would be able to kick his ass and Bucky wouldn't have to fight off bullies.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly, without fear!"

Schmidt and Zola stepped into a lift.

"Then how come you're running!" Steve shouted back.

Even new and improved Steve couldn't help running his mouth.

The lift doors closed just as another explosion sent them both almost reeling off their feet.

"Come on. Let's go up," Steve said.

Of course. Up. Again. Fantastic.

They made their way to a metal beam connecting the two walkways. It would be a tough balancing act, especially since the room hadn't completely stopped spinning.

"Let's go," Steve said, putting a guiding hand on Bucky's arm. "One at a time."

It was do or die, so Bucky eased over the metal rail and got his feet on the beam. The explosions below sent clouds of heat and embers into his face. He focused on the target at the other end and avoided looking down. One step at a time, until another explosion rocked the beam, and he swayed, inadvertently looking down into the inferno below.

Big mistake.

The far end of the beam shifted. His heart jumped into his throat. Somehow, he kept his balance and continued his slow, careful progress.

Another large explosion, and metal creaked loudly as the beam dropped away from him. He lunged. Miraculously, his hands found the rail, and he clutched it desperately, pulling himself over.

It was all fire and heat below. The rail was gone.

No.

He looked up at Steve who stood across the chasm, slack-jawed, wide-eyed. Afraid.

Goddamnit, Steve. Why the hell didn't you stay in Brooklyn?

He had to do something. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"

"Just go!" Steve waved him away. "Get out of here!"

"No!" Everything inside of him screamed. "Not without you!"

They'd make it out together, or not at all.

Even that far away, Bucky could read Steve's desperation as he looked around, grabbed the metal rail, and bent it. With his hands.

Jesus. That serum was something.

Then Steve backed up. All the way.

No way in hell…It was an impossible jump.

Steve ran, leaped, and sailed through the air. For a terrifying moment, as a massive explosion sent fire and smoke upward, Bucky was sure when it all cleared, Steve would be gone, having plummeted to his death.

But when the smoke and fire cleared, Steve wasn't falling. He was practically flying. He landed on the outer rim of the walkway, and Bucky was ready, hands grabbing the leather jacket and yanking him—damn, he was heavy!—over the rail.

They ran, making their way through smoke and fire until they were outside. Everything was on fire, bringing waves of heat to the cool night air. Hundreds of Allied soldiers were mopping up the Germans, taking down anyone not already on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, turning to him finally with a look that mirrored everything Bucky was feeling.

How the hell were they alive?

"Yeah." He smiled, and a laugh bubbled from his chest.

Okay, so maybe he was a touch hysterical, but he better get it under control before the men saw him go looney.

"You sure?" Steve placed both hands on Buck's shoulders, gripping tight. Almost too tight. "I can't believe you're alive."

"I can't believe you're…." He gave Steve another once over, slower this time, taking in the broad shoulders and muscular chest. When he met Steve's gaze, he had to look up.

A tank rolled their way and Bucky spun, about to push Steve out of the way, when the hatch popped open and Dugan's head popped out. "All secure here, Cap!" Dugan climbed out and hopped off the tank, a messy grin on his face. "Hell, Sarge," Dugan slapped him on the back, "damn good to see you alive."

"Thanks to this guy," Bucky jerked his head toward Steve and asked, "Are you really a Captain?" That would be the fastest rise to Captain in the history of the U.S. Army.

Steve shrugged, looking almost bashful. "Well," there was a familiar glint in his eye that warned he was about to yank their chains, "I'm really Captain America."

Asshole.

"We better get a move on before reinforcements get here."

"So, what? We're just gonna walk back to camp?" Dugan asked.

"It's 30 miles of heavily fortified territory." Bucky said, just as a guy came up that had Bucky doing a double-take.

"Here, looks like you could use this," the Japanese man offered a rifle.

"Thanks." He eyed the man's dog tags. "You are?"

"Private James Morita, sir." He offered a quick salute.

"He's from Fresno," Dugan offered.

"I didn't ask."

"Come on," Steve urged, "gather any weapons we can and let's move."

The surviving soldiers wasted no time. There were enough guns and ammo to go around, and they recommissioned not only the tank but a vehicle and several fancy guns that shot energy blasts like the ones that had taken out the battalion on the battlefield.

Then they set off on the long, dangerous trek. It would be a miracle if any of them survived, but staying put wasn't an option.

Night provided cover, but once they got away from the fire, the cold made itself known. Bucky didn't have a jacket, and his socks were the same ones he'd been captured in. They were torn, filthy, and about as comfortable as sandpaper.

He welcomed the sun when it peeked over the horizon. His stomach had long since stopped grumbling, but the thirst was almost unbearable. They'd managed to gather a few rations and canteens, but there were injured men who needed that precious water a hell of a lot more than he did.

"So," Steve began, walking alongside him, his voice low, "I grabbed one of these from the factory floor." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glowing cartridge. "These things power those energy weapons, I take it?"

"Yeah, they were moving parts to another facility." He glanced away, shame rising to his cheeks. He hated that he'd helped the Nazi's make weapons.

"I saw a map in Zola's office. Do you know which facility?"

He remembered the map on Zola's wall. "I heard bits and pieces, but all I can tell you is the facility wasn't on the map."

"Do you know what they're using to power those weapons?" Steve tucked the cartridge back into a pocket. "Where this comes from?"

"No idea."

The Germans were careful what they said around their slave labor force, though there were occasional slip-ups. Most of the time they were talking in German, anyway, and I've only picked up a few words.

Deciding a distraction was in order, Bucky asked in a low voice as he hiked alongside Steve. "So, Captain America, huh?"

There were enemy scouts all around, and they had to be as quiet as four hundred men marching through the countryside with a truck and a tank could be.

Steve shot him a smile and answered in a voice barely above a whisper. "Phillips was going to send me to a lab. A senator thought I could be useful boosting War Bond sales."

"You've been in movies."

"Yep. See any of them?"

"Nope. Just the posters. Is this the first you've seen combat?"

Steve ducked his head and nodded. "Yeah. When I got here, I tried performing for what was left of your regiment, but they weren't exactly fans."

Bucky chuckled. He had a pretty good idea how the men reacted when Captain Tights walked on stage. "Let me guess, they were more interested in the girls?"

"Probably should've seen that one coming, but the shield came in handy at least."

"They got a bit rambunctious?"

"Let's just say they made their displeasure known."

Bucky tried to stifle his laughter and, catching a glimpse of the pink touching Steve's cheeks, decided to go easy on him and change the subject. "You meet any famous dames?"

"Lorna Gray."

"Get any action?"

Steve's head swiveled toward him. "That's what you're asking me?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

Shaking his head, Steve smiled. "You're incorrigible."

"I sure as hell hope so."

Suddenly, Steve gave him a hard shove as he yelled, "Get down!" and a second later, they were taking fire. Two Allied soldiers to his right took hits.

Shit!

Bucky yanked the rifle into position and fired in the direction of muzzle blasts visible through the trees. The barrel of their stolen tank swung around, and a path of lightning took out the cluster of German soldiers firing on them.

Silence lingered in the wake of the gunfight, but the noise of the battle had likely attracted more troops. They had to keep moving. Fast.

"You okay?" Steve's hand was on his arm.

"Yeah." Bucky pushed to his feet and hurried to the two downed men. Dum Dum and Morita were already there, checking pulses. "How'd you know?" Bucky asked Steve.

"The serum affects my senses." Steve's face was a mask of guilt as he stared at the two fallen men.

Dum Dum looked up from a blond kid who couldn't be older than nineteen and gave a solemn shake of his head.

"This one's got a pulse, and he's breathing," Morita said. The man wore a French uniform and looked to be in his thirties. There was a hole in the man's helmet, and Morita pulled it off and inspected the inside. "Bullet embedded. Looks like he just got knocked out."

"Hey!" Morita slapped the man, eliciting a groan.

"Get him on the truck," Steve said. "The other man, too."

Bucky peered down at the peaceful face of the young soldier. At least the kid would be buried at home. "We better get a move on," Bucky said. "The noise is likely bringing company." His stomach grumbled, and a hunger pang ripped through him so intensely that he almost doubled over.

"You sure you okay? You were pretty out of it when I found you. You could barely stand, and now you're marching miles through the tough terrain." He looked around. "All these men need food and water."

"I'm fine." He was, remarkably, despite being hungrier, thirstier, and more tired than he'd ever been in his life. The cracked ribs he'd gotten from the baton no longer ached, and his pneumonia cleared up.

All things considered, he couldn't complain.

"I've seen maps of this area. There's a stream a few miles up ahead."

Steve gave a curt nod. "We're not gonna make the base by sundown, not with the condition these men are in."

"Stopping to rest is risky."

Steve looked around at the filthy, tired faces of the men. Many of them were injured or sick, but they were all hungry and dehydrated. "We'll cover a few miles, then find a place where the men can sleep in shifts for a few hours once night falls."

They found the stream and filled up their canteens. Bucky drank the blessedly cool water until his hunger pains quieted, then washed the grime from his face. When night came, Steve took first watch. It was cold, so most of the men huddled together.

Bucky closed his eyes, exhausted. He used his arms for pillows, sandwiched between Dum Dum and Gabe, and fell asleep within seconds.

He dreamt of the table, Zola's face, and the machine that taunted him from the darkness above. Hands were on him, and he came to with a gasp, his elbow connecting with soft flesh, the dream lingering as he looked around wildly, trying to make out the figures in the dark.

"Jesus, Sarge, right in my gut." Dugan's voice, pained, gasping, behind him.

He twisted around, saw Dugan curled into himself, and felt the hot flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. "Sorry."

"What's going on?" Gabe sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Sarge gut-punched me," Dugan huffed.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice came from behind him, low.

He turned around to see his friend crouched a couple feet away. "I'm fine. Just a dream."

"A bad one, I take it." Dugan uncurled and flattened on his back, staring up at the night sky. "Don't need to apologize. You get in any punches after they took you?"

"No."

"Here." Steve pressed a canteen into Bucky's hands. "Drink."

"Thanks." He took a few sips and hoped no one noticed his shaking hands.

Dugan started snoring and Gabe settled back to sleep. Steve plopped down next to him and slipped out of his jacket, then slung it over Bucky's shoulders.

He couldn't let the men see him wearing Steve's jacket like some damsel in need of being kept warm. "I don't need—" Bucky began to protest.

"Remember that time you gave me yours after I got beat up in the snow and my jacket stolen?"

He grunted. "Yeah. You had a concussion, and you tried to clock me."

"Yep, and back at the apartment, when I said you didn't have to fuss, what did you tell me?" Steve asked.

Bucky gave a weak smile. He remembered that day well. "I told you to shut the hell up."

Steve nodded. "Exactly."

Bucky also remembered why Steve had gotten that concussion in the first place, and that was just some back alley in Brooklyn. This was enemy territory during the middle of the biggest war in human history. He eyed the sleeping men. He couldn't look weak in front of them.

"Oh." Steve leaned forward, his voice low. "You can give it back to me before they wake up, but you need rest and to stay warm or you'll end up on the truck. I'm a Captain, remember." He gave an apologetic smile.

Pulling rank was a dick move, if Steve was really a Captain, and if he wasn't, it was an even dickier move.

"Fine." Bucky slid his arms into the sleeves.

Jesus! The lining was blessedly warm. Steve must run as hot as a furnace. The sleeves hung to his knuckles, and he curled his hands to take advantage of the heat emanating from the jacket. The leather was thick and high quality. The jacket must have cost a small fortune. Too bad it was riddled with tears and rips, a damn shame! Maybe it could be salvaged, the tears repaired.

"What did he do to you, Buck?" Steve asked softly.

His throat closed in on itself. Nothing much really happened, if he thought about it. A bit of pain. Some kind of medicine. He was luckier than every other man on that table before him, thanks to Steve.

"Bucky?" Steve prompted.

"I don't know." He shoved the words out. "He injected me with something, tested the machine on me."

"What kind of tests? Are you feeling okay?"

Geez, Steve wanted details, but Bucky didn't have them, and he'd rather just forget any of it happened. "I don't want to talk about it right now. Can we focus on getting to base, Captain?"

From the corner of his eye, Bucky spotted the flash of pain that crossed Steve's features, and great, now he felt guilty. He shouldn't. Steve wanted to pull rank when it suited him, he could take all that came with that. This was War, behind enemy lines, not Brooklyn. They didn't have the luxury of sharing their feelings.

On the battlefield, emotions were best buried.

Steve leaned close to him and whispered. "I was kidding back there. My rank is honorary, not real. I've been nothing more than a dancing monkey these past few months. Colonel Phillips called me a chorus girl." Steve sighed heavily, which made Bucky really feel like an ass. "Phillips didn't give me permission to come."

Bucky already figured that out. Steve wouldn't have come alone otherwise. "How much trouble are you gonna be in when we get back?"

Steve shrugged. "Doesn't matter." He nudged Bucky with his shoulder. "As long as you and these men make it back."

Aww, Steve. Bucky draped an arm across Steve's wide shoulders. "If Phillips knew you like I do, he wouldn't have tried to stop you. There's no stopping you once you set your mind to something." He gave Steve's shoulders a squeeze. "Besides, if they try to lock you up, they'll have to lock me up, and probably half the men here, too, not to mention their families. You, uh, you did good. Thank you."

"Just good, huh? I'd say more than good considering I was outnumbered, didn't know the layout of the place, and didn't have much of a plan, despite what the song says."

Bucky stifled his grin. "Well, your head's certainly gotten bigger along with the rest of you."

Steve laughed and turned his head to look at Bucky. There was a shimmer in his eyes. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me, too, Pal. Me, too."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Gosh, it is torture as a writer posting a work that is almost finished in parts. There are SO many scenes coming up that I want to get out there. It's such agony! How do you like the twice-a-week posting schedule (for future reference, depending on the muse)? Do you prefer stories that have a once-a-week schedule so you have time between each chapter? Or is twice a week good? (Or are you one of those, like me, who prefers binge reading and wouldn't mind a chapter a day so you can binge a few every week?) As always, I welcome comments (constructive criticism, accolades, musings, whatever strikes you!).