New Steve, just like the old Steve.
My great beta, Elle, should take at least 12% of the credit for this chapter.
The next few minutes are a blur of downward spirals, intense heat, and smoke-choked breaths, as Steve leads and Bucky follows him out of this nightmare place.
At one point a section of gangway in front of them had collapsed, damaged by some prior explosion. Steve had barely hesitated before grabbing him by the back of his shirt and virtually throwing him across the gap. It was only his almost total inability to breathe through the acrid black fumes that had replaced all the oxygen, that stopped Bucky yelling at him for that.
None of this was okay. He needed to lie down. No, first he needed to catch his breath. Then stick his head in a bucket of water. Then he'd lie down.
He couldn't see at all now. He held tightly onto Steve's shoulder and simply trusted his friend knew the way to go.
Then an almighty crash and a blissful blast of cold winter air heralded their freedom.
Bucky staggered out, coughing painfully and doubling over as he fought to take in deep lungfuls of clean unpolluted air.
He'd just about caught his breath when he was abruptly shoved up against the concrete wall and pinned. Panic set in, and he tried to fight off his attacker before he realised it was in fact Steve, who had the shield raised, deflecting bullets aimed their way by a black clad trooper firing a sidearm. A trooper who seconds later disappeared in a blue flash of light.
With the threat now gone, Bucky pushed Steve away from him. Harder than he'd meant to. Steve staggered forwards a few steps and looked back at him with a strange expression.
Bucky opened his mouth to apologise. He'd just needed space. He made it as far as "Sor-" before he doubled over again coughing. He gave up standing as a lost cause and sat down heavily.
He looked around, noticing the remnants of a battle all around them, even through his still-watering eyes - scorch marks, craters, smoke and a few isolated fires. And a few bodies. Most wearing the black of the enemy forces-whoever they were-but more than a few wearing the familiar greens of American and British servicemen. He spotted the insignia of the 107th on one. Was it someone he knew? The moisture running from his eyes and down his cheeks, threatened to take on a whole new identity.
Steve looked around, assessing the situation. There were a few distant noises of gunfire, but it sounded like the fighting was winding down. He assumed from the way Steve's posture relaxed that it was their side that had come out on top. Though how he could tell from here Bucky didn't know. But he must have been fairly positive, as he laid down the stars and stripes shield and crouched down in front of Bucky, blocking his view of the casualties. He pulled out a small flask from inside his jacket pocket, unscrewing the top and holding it out. "Here Buck. It'll help."
Bucky sipped the tinny-tasting water. As much as he wouldn't have minded something stronger, the liquid felt wonderful as it trickled down his parched throat. It was helping ease his raspy breathing as well. Finally noticing something was missing, he looked at Steve. "Your asthma?"
Steve gave him a half-smile. "Gone." He wasn't even coughing from the smoke.
Bucky nodded and took another sip of water. Okay, maybe this Erskine gets a pass.
Steve suddenly tensed and then quickly stood up. Someone was running towards them. Bucky accepted the hand his friend held out in his direction, and let Steve do the heavy lifting to get him back to his feet. He handed him back the flask-which was quickly stowed-and stamped down on his irritation when Steve once again put himself and his shield at Bucky's 12. It was the smart move. The shield was the only reachable cover they had right now.
A helmeted trooper appeared from around the side of the factory. The weapon he was carrying was huge, glowing blue and unlike anything Bucky had ever seen. Steve had gone too still. This wasn't good. Maybe he wouldn't…
The enemy soldier noticed them.
He raised the gun in their direction.
Steve's hand was still on Bucky's shoulder, but now it was moving. Three fingers lifted and tapped down. Two fingers lifted and tapped down. But just before the one count, and whatever madness Steve had planned to follow it with could take place, the man in front of them paused, lowered his weapon and scurried away even faster than he'd arrived.
Bucky turned to look at his friend. "Well that was anti-climatic. Please tell me that you knew for a fact that that shield would hold up to whatever that thing shoots?"
Steve glanced back at him guiltily.
"Jesus, Steve!"
The factory choosing that moment to blow up in spectacular fashion behind them, was the only thing that saved Steve Rogers from what was going to be the lecture of a lifetime.
Bucky picked himself up off the ground, this time ignoring Steve's offer of assistance. He was too annoyed with his friend right now, rescue or no rescue. This was a war, and Steve was going to get himself killed if he kept on in his usual fashion.
Then he heard it, the distinct rumbling of a tank drawing closer, and yes, it was headed in their direction. Of course it was.
"Steve, unless you think you can suddenly punch out a tank, get your hands the hell up."
He started to raise his own arms, only to have Steve grab his wrists and hold them down. "Wait a sec."
Bucky flinched. The only saving grace was that Steve was too distracted by the approaching tank to notice. A tank that had now ground to a halt only yards in front of them.
With his eyes still messed up from the smoke, and the flood lights affixed to the tank pointed in their direction, Bucky couldn't see much other than a looming, threatening shape in the darkness. Well that wasn't quite accurate. He shaded his eyes and could make out the figure of a man in the top gun turret. Steve was smiling. Why was Steve smiling?
"Chaps, I do believe you'll want to get out here. Mostly to rub it in my face that 'you told me so'."
Bucky didn't recognise the voice. Should he? But there was no mistaking that accent. A Brit.
More dark shapes emerged as the men inside clambered up and out of the hatch.
"Well look what the Cap dragged in. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes Jimmy."
"Dugan, how many times do I have ta tell y... Ooof!" His complaints were cut short as he found himself half-crushed between Jones and Dum Dum.
"Thought we'd lost you there for a beat or two there Sarge." Gabe's quiet words were as welcome as they were unsettling. What had happened?
After another moment the two men finally stood back and let him breathe again. This it turned out was a bad thing, as it set out another bout of coughing that would have sent him to his knees if Steve hadn't been there to catch him.
Dum Dum tried to step in and take Steve's place but was quickly waved off by the Captain.
Gabe and Dugan shared a look. Gabe shrugged. "It doesn't sound like pneumonia."
"Pneumonia?!" Steve sounded more panicked than someone who'd suffered the infection numerous times, and survived it, should do in Bucky's opinion. Hey it's news to me too pal.
"I'm fine Steve, it's just the smoke."
Gabe and Dugan shared another look. "Why don't you let Jonesy here check you out just to be on the safe side?"
Gabe barely waited for Dugan to finish speaking before he moved in, never mind Bucky's agreement.
"Maybe you should check for a head injury while you're at it Gabe." Bucky scowled at Dum Dum's comment, but also felt a rush of relief. Of course, he'd told them about Steve, no way they'd believe this was the same guy. And it was finally confirmation that he hadn't just imagined this whole thing after all. Reassuring.
He tried to back away from Gabe's outstretched hands, but Steve's grip tightened, holding him in place. "Let him, Buck."
He fought off a surge of panic; these were his friends. And introductions were clearly in order. "Dum Dum, Gabe, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, these two idiots are Private Gabe Jones and Corporal Timothy Dugan."
"Captain America here is your Steve? Short stack Steve from Brooklyn?" Dugan's look of disbelief was almost comical enough to let Bucky ignore Gabe's prodding of his ribs.
"Short stack?"
He turned to look at Steve. "Well you know how I feel about pancakes."
Steve snorted. Then elbowed him. Ow. He wasn't too concerned then.
"Yeah, I've got a whole heap of questions about that too Dugan, believe me."
Steve was scanning the area. "Later, I promise. Any room in that tank for Sergeant Barnes here?"
"We'll make room for him." The Brit's voice was starting to seem oddly familiar.
"What the hell, Steve! I'm fine! Gabe, tell him."
"Buck, I just pulled you off a table. A table you were strapped down to. You're going in the tank."
Gabe suddenly paused and shifted his body to one side. He looked Bucky in the eye and subtly nodded down towards his left arm. Buck realised he'd been reaching to scratch at it again. Okay, fine, he was busted. He rolled his eyes at his friend. Gabe pushed up and then pulled down his sleeve after just a quick glance. It almost looked like he was simply adjusting Bucky's clothing after the exam, but Bucky knew better and was grateful for his discretion. Nothing they could do about it here, and talking about it would just slow them down.
"Fine, but only if there's no-one with actual injuries who needs-"
"No Buck, even then. There's plenty of other vehicles we can secure to carry the wounded."
"After, then. We still need to gather everyone up, secure prisoners, set up a base camp at a safe distance -"
"Which Dugan, Monty, Dernier and I-and Captain Rogers here-can handle. Get your stubborn ass in the tank Sarge, before you fall over and we just carry you in." Et tu Gabe? And who exactly are Monty and Dernier?
"You could just order him in, Captain." The Brit had jumped down, and was now visible in the lights of the tank, and the glow of the still burning factory behind them. He looked like he sounded, a toff. "Privilege of rank and all that." He held out a hand to Steve. "As this dock-working reprobate we can't seem to get shift of failed to introduce me, allow me, Lieutenant James Montgomery Falsworth of Her Majesty's Paras. Just call me Monty."
Well that was one question answered. One of many. And..."Hey!"
Steve shook the proffered hand with a smile, jostling Bucky in the process. "That's my dock-working reprobate you're talking about there Monty."
The red-beret wearing English man crossed his arms. "There's a pity, we've become quite accustomed to him. Maybe you'd consider a shared-custody arrangement of some sort? You can borrow Dugan."
"Screw you, your lordship."
"You can keep Dugan."
Bucky, for once, was not in the mood for witty repartee. "Great, now everyone knows everyone, you've all had a laugh at my expense. Can we please get away from the exploding building and the hell out of here, wherever it is."
'Monty' turned away from looking at Bucky to address Steve, "He does rather have a point."
"He usually does. What's the current situation?"
"We were just making a last round to pick up any stragglers. A number of Hydra's forces, maybe twenty to thirty escaped in some transports, a few on bikes. Seemed to be headed East or North. The majority of the rest have been killed or did for themselves. Only one or two prisoners, no-one high ranking. They don't seem big on surrendering. Can't say I'm overly sad about that fact. Our side are packing up the remaining vehicles in the loading yard with what supplies we've been able to salvage."
Monty knew his stuff. Apparently he also knew Bucky. Bucky could figure that one out later. But right now…
He pushed himself off Steve's left shoulder.
"Buck!"
He ignored the call and walked over to a Hydra (apparently) gun lying on the ground, looked it over, checked the sight, spun quickly, and shot the approaching enemy soldier who'd been coming up on their position around the side of the tank. He vanished in a flash of blue. Bucky looked at the weapon in his hands. "Fuck me."
"Language."
"Don't even start that shit with me right now Rogers."
Dugan scratched his head under his bowler hat. "Guess we missed one." He leaned towards Gabe who was standing next to him in the huddle Bucky had just left. "You know I'm really starting to think that might actually be his Steve."
"You're all idiots." Bucky dropped to a crouch, planted the gun barrel down in the dirt in front of him, closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the stock. He just needed to escape all this, just for one minute, then he'd be good to go.
"Those delightful weapons are the reason we're struggling for an accurate count on our losses. No bodies, not even dog tags left behind. Burial detail's going to be alarmingly quick on this occasion. We've got people checking up on their cell mates. It's the best we can do for now."
Falsworth's sombre words broke through the dark stillness Bucky had retreated into. Oh well, guess his minute was up. He heard footsteps approaching him; he was pretty sure it was Steve.
"Try and carry me and I'll shoot you."
"No you won't, you've spent too many years trying to keep me alive."
He heard Steve crouch down on his right and finally cracked open an eye. "Well, I can still tell them about the time Jenny McGascill dared you to -"
Steve raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay no carrying. You do need to rest up though, Buck."
His other eye opened. "Pfft. I was the only one who spotted that guy, you need me."
"Always, Buck."
"That's low, Steve."
"Humour me Bucky, you had pneumonia-"
"Bad pneumonia." Gabe was clearly not on his side.
Steve nodded his thanks, "Bad pneumonia. What, a few weeks ago?" He looked back at Gabe who nodded back a confirmation.
"Three weeks give or take. There's no way you could be totally over it this quickly."
He'd lost three weeks. That was... That was longer than he'd expected. He felt himself wobble and Steve's hand was on his elbow almost the instant it happened. He steadied himself and shook the unwanted assistance off. "What, are you a doctor all of a sudden? You said it yourself - I had it, I don't have it any more. I'm fine." He wasn't fine.
Dugan suddenly appeared in his direct field of vision, kneeling down in front of him and looking him in the eye. "Hey, Jimmy boy, I know you've probably been through a lot, we all have, but that's no excuse to talk to Jonesy that way. You'd be the first in line to kick anyone else's ass if they did, I know because I've seen you do it."
Bucky winced. "Sorry Gabe."
The Georgia-man laughed dryly. "If you're really sorry, get your ass in the tank. I may not be a doctor, and you may not have pneumonia, but no one with eyes or a lick of sense would pass you fit for field duty right now." He still hadn't mentioned the needle marks. Hell of a guy, Gabe Jones.
He took a deep breath. "Okay, but only to the yard. And I'm on the gun."
Dugan scoffed at that. "No deal. You're in there until we get you to a real doctor, no offence Jonesy."
"None taken. But we can be reasonable, I'd accept a paramedic or nurse."
Gee, thanks. "Not happening."
"Captain, we're all still free to carry him correct?" Monty was a funny guy. Who would'a guessed?
Steve stood up and indicated for Bucky to do the same. He managed it with barely a waver, he was proud.
Steve looked to Monty again. "Who's the most senior officer here?"
"That would be you Captain. We have a few Lieutenants of various colours but nothing higher."
Only someone who knew Steven Grant Rogers back to front and inside out, like Bucky did, would have understood the hints of emotion crossing his face. Panic, relief and determination. Bucky didn't know what Steve was doing here without back-up, or what the hell the getup he was wearing was about, but helping people in bad situations was Steve's wheelhouse whatever size he was. He'd put money on this being Steve's first time out. It didn't matter, he'd follow Steve anywhere. From the looks of it, his friends now would too. He wouldn't have to talk him up to people any more. That was nice.
"We're over 35 miles from the base I left, which is our nearest relief point, and we can't take a direct route due to some heavy artillery between us and there. So, we're probably looking at over 40 miles with diversions. If I'm in charge I want you riding most of the way, Buck. I can't worry about you the entire march too."
He still hadn't ordered him, Bucky noticed. Considerate. He wasn't sure he could take that right now. "I'm it Steve, for the 107th, I'm all that's left."
Dugan piped up, "I'm pretty sure I just saw Hopkins of Charlie a few minutes ago".
Bucky glared at him, but as usual it had no effect on the former strong man. "Fine, I'm all that's left in our Company, point still applies that I need to check-up on them and do what needs to be done. It shouldn't be anyone else."
He saw the resignation form in Steve's eyes. He was right, and he knew Steve knew that.
Steve picked up his shield, which he'd leant up against the side of the tank while Bucky wasn't paying attention. "Fine, we'll compromise. You ride to the yard. You sort out what remains of the 107th with Gabe, Dugan and Hopkins, but then you're back on the tank until we make camp."
Bucky opened his mouth the argue that the men needed to see him.
"We'll have them behind the tank, you can be on the gun. There's probably no-one they'd rather see there."
Damn it. Steve knew him too well.
"After that you switch out with Hopkins on 4 hour shifts if he's not injured. If he is, we'll find someone else to stand in."
"Okay." He could be reasonable too.
"You have two hours to get things sorted out at the yard and then you're retiring until morning."
You bastard.
"Jones, Dugan, I expect you to make sure he does."
You sneaky, sneaky Irish bastard.
He sent apologies to the dearly departed Sarah Rogers, but sometimes her son was just too much. He'd even still managed to avoid ordering Bucky around. He was going to have to get over that. If Steve was stuck in this God damned war there's no way he was leaving his side once the rest of the Company was safe.
"Steve."
"Yes, Sergeant?"
Oh, okay. So, it was going to be like that was it?
"Your shoelace is undone."
Bucky walked past Steve towards the tank, and heard Steve drop the shield and kneel down to sort out his boot, as he (carefully) climbed onto the body of the armoured vehicle and into the gun station. "Come on boys, show me how this lady moves."
The three men had gathered at the front of the tank and were all looking up at him.
Monty shook his head. "And somehow, I'm still glad he's not dead."
"Me too. He kinda grows on you, like foot fungus." Thanks Dugan. "You gonna tell us what happened these last three weeks or not, kid?"
Gabe shook his head before Bucky could come up with a response. "Not the time, Dugan. Let's get him and us safe first, then we can have all the campfire stories you want."
Dugan nodded grudgingly, and Bucky hoped Gabe could read the gratitude in his own expression. He turned to find Steve watching him with a questioning look. He ignored it.
There was only space for two inside, so Falsworth made himself comfortable on the back of the tank. And after a moment of consideration, Bucky passed him the rifle. Or ray gun. Whatever.
"I'm gonna want that back."
Monty took it from him with a nod of thanks. "I'm sure there are bound to be plenty of aspiring Hydra martyrs who're simply dying to get you a new one."
Bucky let out an involuntary snort of amusement. Yeah, he probably liked Monty. The guy still wasn't keeping that gun though.
Bucky settled himself behind the mounted gun controls as the tank shuddered to life beneath him. Looks simple enough.
The tank lurched backwards, reversing before starting to turn and trundle forwards towards the loading yards. Bucky looked up to see where Steve had gotten to. He was walking alongside as if out for a Sunday stroll in the neighbourhood. Couldn't he at least stay behind the tank? Jesus Christ. He was going to have saved Bucky only to give him a heart attack within the first few minutes of operations. "Get behind us, Steve."
Steve had that mulish expression on his face. The one that's haunted Bucky's nightmares since the age of eight or nine. The more things change...etc. etc.
"I'm the officer in charge, I should be leading the way."
Monty snorted and turned to look up at Bucky. "He really is new to all this isn't he?"
Bucky sank down into the rock-hard seat with a sigh. "Captains don't lead, they give orders. Usually from a safe distance. But you're not going to do that are you?"
The question's purely rhetorical and Steve knew it. He smiled up apologetically. If only he was actually sorry.
"If you're trying to get me to relax, this isn't the way to do it, Steve."
Steve finally, grudgingly, moved behind the tank, and instantly started asking Falsworth more questions about the state of the men and the supplies they had left to them by Hydra. But he could feel Steve's eyes returning to him at various points of the conversation. Did he want to ask the Brit questions about Bucky? Bucky wished he would. He could do with a few of those answers.
There was no-one in sight as they rolled slowly forward, skirting the burning shell of the main factory building. Nothing for him to do other than let his eyes adjust to the red-tinged, half-darkness around them. As they rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of the factory's profile out of the corner of his eye and suddenly he was on foot, being herded towards it at gunpoint in a stream of uniformed, defeated humanity, and with a tightness in his chest that he knew wasn't just due to the dread of being captured by this new, unknown enemy.
They'd arrived at night. The flashback faded away, taking the last of his strength along with it. He was back on the tank, he was leaving this place. And now he wasn't at all certain he wanted those missing memories back after all.