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Chapter 11
Brothers in Arms
Somewhere,
Sometime…
Steve rose from the bed, feeling fine. He walked out of his room, stepping lightly down the stairs, not quite skipping, but almost. The warm smell of apple pie filled the air, sweet, tart and delicious. There were big wedges of sharp cheddar cheese to be laid on the slices of pie, and milk to wash it down with, cold in the icebox. Aunt Penny had the radio playing, but Steve couldn't quite place the song. It was a good one, and he picked up the melody, whistling along.
It was a beautiful summer day, warm, but not hot, sunny and dry, with bee's buzzing in the July clover. The cattle were dozing in north forty, the new pasture he and Uncle Mike cleared just this past season. The horses were neighing gently in the barn and Bandit and Goldie were sleeping in the shade of the big elm in the front yard, dreaming their dog dreams of lame rabbits and low flying birds. It was a perfect summer day.
As Steve walked through the living room, he saw a leg brace leaning against the wall, steel bars with brown leather straps—an ugly thing, but powerless to harm him. He didn't need it; why would he? His leg was fine. He kicked the brace to the floor and headed to the kitchen, where the pie was cooling on the table. Uncle Mike and Aunt Penny were out, so Steve helped himself, pouring a tall glass of milk and cutting an extra big triangle of pie. As he sat, the screen door opened. Steve looked up, happy to see his old friend.
"Bucky! Just in time for some pie."
Jimmy Barnes smiled and walked to the sink. He pumped the jack handle, bringing a gush of water, and then picked up the strong lye soap, washing the grime off his hands.
"Boy, that tractor is a bear," he said. "Thought I'd give your Uncle a hand, try to get her running, but that alternator is just shot."
"That's what I told him," Steve replied. He looked at Buck, puzzled. "You know my Uncle?"
"Sure. Good egg. Aunt Penny too."
"But, you can't know them. I don't even know you yet. Not for a few years, right?"
Bucky grabbed a slice of pie and took a seat. "Now, then, sooner, later…it's all pretty much the same thing."
Steve considered that for a moment. He looked around the room, and then turned to his friend.
"Buck…is this Heaven?"
"No," Bucky answered, digging into the pie. "Not exactly."
"Is there a Heaven?"
"Oh yeah, there's a Heaven."
"So, is there a Hell?"
"Not that I've seen," Bucky said, taking another bite. "Except maybe back in the world. You remember Sicily, and those 88's the Nazis burrowed into the mountain?"
Steve sighed. "That was sure enough Hell. That was the mission we lost Will Sturgis on. I liked Will. He was the last guy from the program to survive."
"Except us," Bucky said. "Now it's just you."
Steve fell silent for a moment. "Was it hard on you? That the serum worked for me, but not you? We never talked about it, and I always wondered."
Bucky shrugged. "A little. I mean, nobody starts out thinking, 'I hope I get to be the sidekick.'" They both laughed. Buck went on. "But I understand it now. It was meant for you, Steve. Not me, not anyone else. You're the one."
"The one what?"
Bucky took another bite of pie, and then pointed with his fork to something behind Steve's shoulder. Steve turned to look.
It was an American flag.
"It all happened for a reason," Bucky said. "You, the serum, the shield. Even me."
"So, everything is fate? There's no freewill?"
Bucky laughed, gently. "Fate and freewill are just made up words. People made them up because they don't understand what it really is."
"What is it, really?"
"God. God is both those things, existing at the same time. And God is what life is. Sounds like a fortune cookie, I know, but it's the truth. Weird, huh?"
Bucky finished his pie with an enormous bite and wiped his mouth on a linen napkin that smelled of fresh Oregon air. "I have to go," he said, his tone darkening. "So do you. You've got work to do."
Again Bucky pointed. Steve turned, seeing a blood red serpent coiled around the brass flagpole. It hissed at him, a smoking poison dripping from its curved fangs. Anger welled in Steve, the anger all good men feel when confronting evil. The serpent's eyes were like pin pricks against the veil of space and time, hiding a powerful intelligence, calculating and planning. And then it disappeared, leaving behind a haze of smoke, which in turn vanished on the breeze coming from the kitchen window. The flag gently ruffled.
"The Skull's walked the earth for too long," Bucky said. "You need to crush him under your boot heel."
"I…I'll try. But, Buck…I'm not at my best. I'm sick."
"A lot of good people are working to get you well, Steve. Lean on them. As for the Skull, there's help there, too. You'll find it in the book."
"The bible?"
Bucky laughed. "No. Sir Richard's book."
"Will it be enough help? Will I win?"
Bucky paused, his expression serious. "I don't know. The Skull's grown powerful. He was bad enough when he was just a man, but now he's something more. No, that's wrong. He's not more, he's something…other. Evil is very powerful. I don't know if you'll win."
Bucky laid his hand on Steve's shoulder, grinning that cocky grin of his. Steve felt an ache in his heart at how much he had missed his friend.
"But I know this much. You'll fight the good fight. You always have."
Bucky opened the door, but stopped and turned. "One last thing. Don't beat yourself up any more about not saving me. You did the best you could. My number was up, that's all. You were a good brother, Steve. The best any dogface ever had."
James Buchanan Barnes walked out of the farmhouse and into the dazzling sunlight.
Steve finished his pie, thinking of all that Bucky had told him…but the song on the radio distracted him; he just couldn't place it. Suddenly it clicked. It was the Beatles. He loved the Beatles; they were one of his favorites. Steve started to sing along.
'Once there was a way, to get back homeward…
Once there was a way, to get back home…
Sweet little angel do not cry…
And I will sing a lullaby…'
A flash of white light. A stab of pain. Steve drifted in and out of awareness, trying to remember who he was just talking to. The smell of apple pie was in his mind. In the distance, he heard voices calling out…
"We've got a pulse! He's coming around!"
And as the doctors and nurses rushed about, Steve Rogers closed his eyes and slept, dreaming of an endless, perfect summer day.