There were still four hours until they were scheduled to start moving again. Hopefully, this would be the last day of their journey. The wounded were hanging in there. Well, most of them were. A few were still pretty sick, and those three British soldiers had gotten wounded during the last assault on the Axis roadblock. But they weren't in any dire straits when it came to food. Sure, they didn't have anything good to eat. But so far, the risk of starvation was looking pretty low.

Still, Steve thought, he wasn't exactly of the opinion that 'not starving' was the standard to which he wanted to aspire.

Otherwise, things were going reasonably well for their circumstances. The men worked well together. All different units from all their different nationalities and backgrounds; they seemed to have a sort of understanding of each other. Maybe that's what having such a horrible experience together could do for people. It reminded them that they were all one people. HYDRA had overcome the us-versus-them mentality that surely existed between these units. HYDRA became the 'them,' and all the prisoners saw themselves as the same 'us.'

Steve wondered where he fit into all of this. He hadn't lived in hell with the rest of these men. He'd only helped them fight their way out of it. Steve wasn't part of their 'us.' But he surely wasn't one of HYDRA's 'them.'

Perhaps there wasn't any place for him anymore, regardless of circumstances. Steve walked along the perimeter of their camp and was hit with the full force of knowing that he could never go back. Steve was on the other side of something now, and it was lonely to realise that was reality. In a way, what Schmidt had said was right. They had left a bit of humanity behind. Steve hadn't thought of his transformation quite like that before. Hadn't seen himself as any less human or Steve than he was before.

But he was changed. Permanently so. He wouldn't feel anything in the same ways that he had before. And no one would feel the same way about him. Heaviness settled in Steve's middle when he thought about it. This might have been the first time that he felt something a little like regret about Rebirth. He hadn't hated his life before. No doubt that there were a lot of things holding him back from doing the things that he knew he was capable of, but Steve hadn't had a terrible life.

He had a job doing what he enjoyed. Sure, creating advertisements for the paper wasn't exactly like having his own gallery, but it was still an opportunity that allowed him to live off of his art. (This type of experience was actually pretty useful when he was selling war bonds, and he hadn't hated being able to give his opinion on the posters. That is, until he started to grow jaded toward the whole USO gig.) Steve had had his own apartment. He could afford to keep himself decently fed and watered on his artist's wages. He'd been able to go to art school. He had friends. He had family in the Barneses — even mean, old, battle fatigued George Barnes.

Sure, Steve never really had a steady girl, but he had a lot of good things in his life before it all changed. Here in the darkest part of the night before a new day, Steve thought he may not have fully appreciated the things he had had, the life he had built. He spent so long begrudging himself the strength and power he didn't have. Too much time being too sick. Too small. Too weak. Too asthmatic. Can't see right, can't hear right. Can't stand up for his own beliefs and make it stick.

Never again would he get to experience things that were familiar. Steve realised just now that he hadn't felt much of those things since Rebirth and Erskine's death. Maybe he had felt the same old helplessness, the uselessness, a bit of humiliation when Colonel Phillips refused to put Steve into combat after Erskine's death. He had been scoffed at by the colonel when the possibility of him going into combat was broached. Not good enough. One super soldier wasn't good enough. Steve wasn't good enough. So maybe not all things were that different.

What would you know? The only things that got to stay were the worst ones from before. Like he'd told Peggy, he finally had everything he thought he had ever wanted, and he was wearing tights. Couldn't go back to save the good things from before. Could never go back.

It was a lonely realisation. Steve found his feet carrying him away from the perimeter — he waved to the French Resistance man who was taking his place on the route — and toward the truck Bucky was (hopefully) still in. Maybe searching out Bucky in response to stress was one of those things that got to follow Steve through Rebirth. Maybe he only did it because he was feeling so alienated from his old life.

Bucky had outwaited Death at Steve's bedside countless times in that old life. It was usually uncomfortable for Steve. He was always so close — so, so agonisingly close — to his body giving out on him on so many occasions. Bucky had sat by, patiently coaxing Steve through his most pathetic moments. Through instances that seemed to rob Steve of every last shred of dignity he could ever hope to have. Through situations that spared Steve no shame. Bucky never blinked, never looked away. It never occurred to Bucky to go somewhere else during any of this. It didn't seem to cost him anything to be there. No fresh humiliation that Steve's body subjected him to made Bucky think of him any differently.

As soon as Steve could use a toilet again, or hold a spoon steady enough to feed himself again, Bucky was suggesting they go ride a rollercoaster. Just…how does life create a person like that? And how did Steve end up with that person on his side for so long?

Perhaps more pressing, how much longer would Steve get to keep him on his side? He pulled the edge of the canvas cover on the truck to the side and peered into the darkness. There was a pretty strong stink of sweat and sickness (Steve would know it anywhere). But he saw that Bucky was sitting up, knees bent and supporting his elbows. He lifted his head out of his hands and looked at Steve.

"Hey."

"Hey." Steve took this as his opportunity to enter. He settled next to his closest friend. Felt the heat of his fever. "Still alive?"

"Think so."

"Can't sleep?"

Bucky shrugged. "Think I'm tired of sleeping."

Steve nodded his head. "You have been doing it all day."

"Feel a little better, I think. Every movement doesn't make me nauseated." Bucky put his head back into his hands. "Got a pretty stubborn headache though."

Steve unhooked a canteen from his belt and opened it. Passed it over to Bucky. "You might just be hungry. Have you eaten since the vomiting stopped?"

Bucky shrugged but drank from the canteen anyway. "No."

"How's your back?"

"Not so bad anymore." He drank again and shrugged. "It's a little stiff since I haven't been moving for more than a day."

Steve grinned a little on one side of his face. "You trying to tell me that you want to walk when we get moving again?"

"That such a bad idea?"

Steve gave him a look.

Bucky bumped his shoulder lightly. "C'mon. I don't think I'm actively dying anymore. I'll admit that I'm not OK right now, but I'll get better. I am getting better."

Frankly, Steve was surprised that Bucky had admitted that much.

"You'll let the guys at the aid station check you out when we reach base?" Steve said.

Bucky's face fell, but he said, "Yeah. I mean, I guess I'll have to."

"What's wrong? Why that tone?"

"You know, I haven't had the best experiences in medical settings lately," Bucky said in a low voice. "Steve, I really don't know how I'll handle it if whatever unit you're taking all of us to is going to…take an interest in what happened."

The S.S.R. had recruited Erskine for his super soldier serum. Erskine had worked with the men that became HYDRA in some capacity or another before that. So HYDRA was interested in that same serum. With Erskine's death, the S.S.R. was trying to recapture his creation. Schmidt was proof that HYDRA were testing out their own methods of achieving the same ends. Was it so impossible that they were testing things on prisoners of war? Was it so impossible that Bucky was one of those victims? Was it impossible that the S.S.R. would realise this and use Bucky as a way to gauge how well their enemies were faring in their attempts at recreating Rebirth?

"I'm not gonna tell them anything they don't need to know," Steve decided. "It was an interrogation. They singled you out for information. Drugged you to try to get you to talk. You were tortured. It wasn't experimentation."

Bucky huffed. "Really think that's gonna work? These are the people that made you what you are right now, right? They gotta be too smart to fall for that."

"We'll make them call our bluff."

Bucky was shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter what they think," Steve said with certainty. "It doesn't matter. You were tortured. You didn't ask for any of that, so it doesn't matter."

Steve had to believe that the S.S.R. would not continue to carry out tests with an unwilling subject. Erskine had always explained things to Steve before they happened. He answered all of the questions honestly. No sugar-coating. Steve could have dropped out of the project at any time. So it wouldn't be any different for Bucky. It shouldn't matter to the S.S.R. what they had done to Bucky, because he was an unwilling subject. They wouldn't torment him any further. They only did the things they did in Project Rebirth because Steve had agreed to them.

Bucky very obviously wouldn't consent to the S.S.R. using him as a benchmark for HYDRA's progress in recreating the serum. So that would be the end of it. They didn't need to know anything. They could tell them what happened in the factory, but that was all. No blood draws, no nothing unless Bucky agreed to it.

Besides, Steve told himself, whatever HYDRA was testing obviously hadn't worked. If anything, they'd weakened Bucky. Made him sick. HYDRA weren't any farther along in successfully making the serum again as the S.S.R. was. Who knew what their process was? What method had gone so wrong as to create Schmidt's red skull? Maybe there were more steps, and they were only testing out small parts on the prisoners. There hadn't been any Vita-Ray tube in that laboratory. They definitely hadn't gotten that far along.

"That's a peachy outlook," Bucky said. His voice was heavy with exhaustion. A sinking feeling in Steve's gut told him that that heaviness might be here to stay for a while.

His fists clenched with resolve and determination. There was no going back from all of this, so he had to start over again with what he still had. Bucky was one of the people that Steve still had. He was one of the only people that still knew him, really knew him, from before.

"I've got you this time," he said.

When the time came to get the column moving again, Bucky walked with him. The first few miles were iffy. Bucky would wobble and miss a step or two. His friends were around, though, and someone was always close enough to steady him. He didn't look like he was on the verge of passing out ever, especially not after he got half an Iron Ration down. (Steve felt relief spread through him when there was no puking after a half hour. So much relief that he ate about three entire rations himself.)

Bucky still looked tired, and Steve could still feel the heat radiating off of him, but he handled it well. Hell, he took a rifle from one of the soldiers nearby and took out a set of Germans ranging through the woods that Steve, frankly, hadn't even realised were there. Major Falsworth stayed back to command the column while Steve took Dugan, Dernier, Jones, and Morita off to investigate the Germans and find out where they came from. They decided the outfit those soldiers came from was far enough away for the men to continue on unthreatened.

And when they crossed through the barrier and back onto the S.S.R.'s base, Steve felt immense relief. These men that had laughed at him and thrown garbage at him, booing, were now celebrating his return. He'd earned their respect, and it felt good to have done it.

It didn't matter, Steve told himself when he got to see Peggy again.

It didn't matter, he repeated when Bucky got the men to cheer for him.

They'd tortured Steve's oldest and best friend. That's all. HYDRA had hurt his friend and made him sick and miserable. He was still Bucky, and Bucky was unshakable. Impervious. He was infallible. HYDRA had taken him down, but he wasn't out. Steve brought him back to the right people. He'd rest and recuperate. The S.S.R. wasn't like HYDRA. Peggy would never let anyone do to someone what HYDRA had done to Bucky. Bucky would be good as new, just like he always was. This was just another rough boxing match. Bucky had lost a few rounds, but the match wasn't over. There was still time for this to turn out right.

Note:

Ay, that's all. Thanks for sticking it out this long. Drop me a line. I'd like that!

Cheers!