Well, I meant to post this a week ago. Obviously that didn't work out :P
Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to ChildofGod, who requested it! I hope it's everything you wanted! :D
The last time Bucky saw Steve, the little punk was standing in the yellow lobby of the recruiters office, trying so damn hard to follow his best friend across the ocean. They argued, they embraced and that was the last he saw of him. When he came back from his dance, Steve was nowhere to be found so Bucky went home to an empty apartment and dreamed of fireworks in a black sky.
The next time Bucky saw Steve, he wasn't sure it wasn't another dream. Somehow, between the needles, the straps and 32557038, Bucky lost track of reality. It slipped away from him as easily as the sweat rolling down his temple to drip into the collar of his tattered uniform. So when the face of his best friend suddenly loomed over him in the darkness, he merely smiled because this illusion was more pleasant than the other visions he'd been having. He knew it couldn't be real because he'd been praying for a rescue until the words 'God, let me live' had lost their meaning. And the thing before him wasn't a very convincing image either. It was Steve's face but it wasn't. There was something wrong with it. Bucky's mind was little more than canned tomato preserves so he couldn't come up with an explanation for how only a second's glance could tell him there was something off but he knew there was a problem.
But despite what his brain thought it knew, his body was beyond its reach. Limbs moved of their own accord, going through motions they'd done a thousand times for the past two decades. If there was pain, reach for Steve. Steve equaled pain because Steve was too dumb to keep his nose out of trouble. Stupid kid always thought he had to stand up for what was right, meaning what was wrong always knocked him down. So Bucky reached for Steve but when his arm should have gone down to reach thin shoulders, it went up to catch on bulky ones and the change in position made him lose his balance almost as much as being lifted off that damn slab of metal did.
He looked down because down meant blue eyes, a bloody nose and a quite smile. Instead, he got a face full of leather. A single sliver star gleamed dully in the shadows and Bucky blinked at it. The last time he'd seen a star was from the deck of a ship riding the waves of the Atlantic ocean, carrying him away from his home toward a land of snow and Nazis. The speck of silver light scarcely pierced the blackness as the sky slipped away overhead. After that night, there were only clouds that dropped snowflakes and bombs.
The man with Steve's face but not his body grabbed Bucky and dragged him away, hauling him down the long corridors of the prison where Bucky had spent an indeterminable amount of time bound to a table. From there it was faltering steps along gloomy brick and desperate snatching at thin metal rails and glimpses of impossibly high ceilings before deafening explosions that rocked the world. The earth trembled and the foundations of the factory groaned, metal shrieking and collapsing, the very air splitting in half with the thunder. His skull was rattled with the concussions and something vile clung to the blood in his veins, threatening the tenuous control he had over his weakened limbs. Nothing made sense to him but one thing. Help Steve.
Except that Steve was nowhere to be seen. A solid figure in a bomber jacket charged ahead of him through the confusion. Leading, guiding. Confidence and focal point and compass. Bucky pressed fingers to his temple and struggled to connect the jagged edges of the puzzle pieces of his mind. Steve was safe, back in New York. Back home. Yet someone who urged him, in Steve's voice, to continue running was here. With him.
Racing heart and panting breath left little room for conscious thought so Bucky simply surrendered to instinct. Steve, whether real or imagined, was still Steve. That was a good enough reason to charge through fire, crawl under debris and march through a frozen forest. Night turned to day, panic to dull contentment as Bucky wrestled with the evidence before his eyes and on his arms whenever he stumbled and strong hands steadied his body, anchoring on shoulder blade and chest.
Eventually, Bucky came to the realization that it was indeed Steve Rogers who had rescued him. It only took a thirty mile march through enemy territory to stimulate his mistreated brain back into normal reasoning processes. Thirty miles and many intense whispered interrogations involving secrets only he and his childhood friend could possibly know before Bucky believed in miracles. Skinny, sick Steve was now smart, strong Steve. And boy, if it didn't make Bucky damn proud when an entire camp of United States soldiers cheered for Steve like he was the hero Bucky had always known lay beneath the asthmatic.
Food, rest and warmth worked wonders and soon Bucky was deemed healthy enough to return to duty. Or at least, he proved stubborn enough to refuse to let anyone stop him from doing so. It was a relief to reunite with his men after weeks of separation. It was a surprise to find them already reorganized and confident in a way they had only been while under his command. His need for recuperation had left a gaping hole that needed to be filled and Steve's new bulk fit that hole like a key into a lock.
Having earned their respect by saving their lives, Steve had effortlessly slipped into the leadership role the 107th so desperately needed after their dramatic escape and all the trauma that had preceded it. Relief for the stability his men were receiving and unease at the thought of anyone besides him providing it warred inside Bucky's mind, stirring his stomach into a constant state of nausea.
Conflict regarding Steve's position as Captain America seemed to become Bucky's new state of mind. He was caught in a tug-of-war between disbelief and acceptance, bitterness and pride, resentment and joy. It was natural for him to be happy for Steve, happy Rogers was no longer confined by the limits of a frail body, happy his best friend was beside him, healthy and whole. It was instinctual for him to be angry at Steve, angry that Rogers garnered more attention than he did, angry that his best friend had usurped his position and was now a successful commander not only of what used to be Bucky's regiment but of Bucky himself. The turmoil in his head matched the contrast between his numb fingers and the hot blood in his veins when he stared through his sniper's scope.
Deep down, in the places Bucky didn't dare venture, in the shadows of his heart that his subconscious locked him out of to protect him, where scarcely remembered pain lurked in carved crevices, the root of his displeasure lay. The true reason for his ire was fear. A fear of loss, loss of his identity. His whole life had been centered around Steve Rogers, protecting and assisting him. Who he was had been shaped around filling the roles of champion, provider, comforter, care-taker, friend and anyone else Steve had needed. Bucky was alive to make Steve's life easier. But now, Steve was self-sufficient. He was bigger, smarter and stronger than Bucky now. Steve no longer needed Bucky to chase off bullies, work an extra shift so there would be money for a new jacket to replace Steve's torn one, promise that tomorrow would be better, administer medicine, pay for a pair of tickets to Ebbets Field for a Phillies and Dodgers game or set him up with a date. Steve had become his own hero. So what was Bucky's role? Where did he fit into Steve's life now?
A pattern was established for him and, without an anchor and lost, Bucky fell into it. Colonel Phillips called Steve into war councils, behind closed doors where Bucky used to be invited. Bucky would remain in the hall, seated on a chair with his arms crossed, waiting for decisions to be made without him. News reporters, journalists and cameramen flocked to Steve, smothering him in questions and compliments and demands for pictures and signatures. Bucky stood to the side, quietly observing the crush of the adoring mob. Senators and other political figures awarded Steve medals, honors and accolades. Meanwhile, Bucky discovered he had an affinity for sniping. It was a silent position, far away from the glamour of leading the charge. He was still looking for his place and it appeared as though he belonged in the tucked away corners, the hidden places no one looked, in the shadows and darkness and silence.
Whether Steve needed him to or not, Bucky still watched Steve's back. He watched his back because a surface tension of resentment could not erase twenty years of habit. From his position on snow covered ridges, or the eaves of a church, Bucky defended Steve from threats. As unwelcome or unnecessary though the actions might have been, Bucky couldn't help himself. His imprisonment in Krausberg had broken something inside of him and he was desperate to reclaim what little bit of James Barnes he still could. Looking out for Steve was a fundamental building block of who he was and he couldn't let it go.
The war went on, the fight continued. Captain America led the Allied forces to victory as they pushed their way deeper into the heart of Germany. Although Hydra was on the defensive, in full retreat, it didn't stop them from continuing their heinous acts of violence. They bombed, razed and destroyed every city, town and village they came across in their mad dash back to their capital.
On one occasion, an intercepted radio message warned the Allies of an impending attack on an innocent town. Despite the distance between the town and where the Allied base had been set up, Steve and his men were dispatched to rescue the inhabitants before Hydra arrived. A harried midnight journey took place, the jostling convoy of trucks leaving no opportunity for rest among the troops as they raced against time. Bucky crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the swaying structure of the canvas-covered transport, eyes on Steve and mind on the fight ahead.
Dawn was just breaking across the horizon, pale sun struggling to gain supremacy in the sky as heavy clouds appeared, when the Allied convoy rolled down the main street, engines growling and tires groaning. Sleepy townsfolk poked their heads out their windows as soldiers flooded the town, banging on doors and shouting to rouse the slumbering. Like a flock of sheep, the townspeople were rounded up and, through arduous conversations by translators, made aware of the need for evacuation. With quick efficiency, under Steve's direction, the process began to load the people into the trucks.
Lingering sleep made the population compliant. The operation was progressing smoothly and soon all would be ready for departure. Until dark smears on the landscape caused murmurs of alarm to rise from the crowd. The indistinct shapes sharpened into figures. Monstrous tanks and row upon row of foot soldiers became visible marching steadily for the city, causing a panic to blossom among the natives. Hydra's appearance evoked widespread chaos. Bucky assisted Steve in his effort to maintain control of the fearful crowd.
Just as the first of Hydras tanks began rolling down the ridge toward the town, Steve gave the order and the Allied trucks, now weighed down with civilians, began their flight back to safe territory. Clouds overran the sky, blocking the sunshine and dipping the temperature. Despite the assurances of the soldiers helping them, the townsfolk would not be comforted and continued to weep and wail. The noise of the crowd was near deafening, added to the thunder of truck engines, the creaking of the bench seats and barking of domestic dogs being left behind.
Bucky rode next to Steve, scanning the panicked crowd as Steve assured them in halting Deutsche that everything would be okay. It didn't escape his notice that Steve was simultaneously speaking to them while monitoring Hydra's inevitable approach. The wind picked up as the clouds opened. Snow dumped down on the road, blanketing the world in hazy white.
Steve abruptly straightened and cocked his head, as if listening to something. Bucky waited. When Steve leaped out of the back of the truck, Bucky wasn't as surprised as he thought he should have been. Then Bucky rose and jumped out of the lumbering vehicle and spotted Steve weaving though the parade of trucks, stopping occasionally with the same intent expression on his face. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for as he sprinted to a truck and hopped up onto the bumper. Bucky followed. Inside was a woman, tugging on the sleeve of the nearest soldier and sobbing the same phrase over and over, 'stopp, bitte! Meine tochter, meine tochter!' Steve laid a hand on her arm, pulling her attention to him. It amazed Bucky that through the cacophony of sound, Steve had been able to discern that single plea.
Bucky did not understand what she was saying, nor Steve's responses to her. They exchanged a few hurried sentences, the woman's voice pleading, yet urgent. Steve took a moment to explain to Bucky that the woman was begging for the caravan to stop and return for her daughter. Then, in the blink of an eye, Steve was launching himself off the truck. Bucky followed, racing through the thickly falling snow toward the town. Steve went back for the little girl. And Bucky went back for Steve.
With enhanced physical abilities, Steve easily outpaced Bucky, reaching the town first and bolting down the narrow streets. As Bucky drew closer, a primal flash of rebellion reared in his chest as he caught sight of the Hydra company nearing the town's edges. He quashed his sense of self-preservation and increased his pace. He was pummeling across flagstone roads when he heard crying in a nearby house. As he made his way to it, a blur of motion crossed his line of vision. It was Steve, already kicking in the door of the house. Bucky came in behind him, squinting in the gloom of the unlit dwelling. The source of the noise appeared to be a low bed frame. Steve knelt and carefully pulled out the small child that had been cowering beneath the piece of furniture.
No sooner had Steve gathered the girl in his arms than the entire house shook from the force of an explosion. Hydra was firing on the town. With a gloved palm, Steve turned the girl's head into his shoulder, pressing her face against him. He rose and gestured to the door. Bucky nodded and exited, waiting just outside the threshold. Steve emerged, holding the quivering girl securely. A second explosion burst in the air, making the earth tremble. Bucky blinked the snow from his lashes and turned to the right, the direction the Allies were traveling. Ahead of him, he could hear Steve gently hushing the child's tears.
Together, they moved only a handful of paces before the structure in front of them, an old stone bell tower, shattered into pieces, ripped apart by one of Hydras missiles. Chunks of debris plummeted to the ground. Steve pivoted, sheltering the girl beneath him as he exposed his back to the destruction. Bucky ducked, even as Steve gave an audible grunt of pain. Raising his head, Bucky gazed with dismay at the large rocks filling the road, blocking their path back to the trucks.
A gust of frigid wind rushed through the town, whipping the snow into a frenzy. Squinting his eyes, Bucky stepped forward to examine the rubble, searching for a path through it. He turned, expecting to find Steve beside him. Empty air met him, causing his breath to catch in his throat. Glancing to the last place he had seen the captain, Bucky jolted forward. Steve was on the ground, the giant brass bell pinning him to the street.
For a moment, Bucky was certain his friend was dead. The thought made his heart stutter and he could hardly move to investigate. However, as he drew closer, it became apparent that the bell had not crushed Steve. Other bits of the tower, scattered around Steve, held the brunt of the massive structure's weight. Relief swept over Bucky, easing the tight bands from his lungs. Steve coughed and Bucky launched into action. He knelt next to the captain, reaching out a hand. Carefully, slowly, mindful of the enormous weight positioned above him, Steve shifted the child in his arms, pushing her toward Bucky. Bucky frowned. The girl began sobbing and Steve urged her toward Bucky. Bucky shook his head.
The stomp of boots over frozen ground yanked both soldier's gazes up the street. The snow made it difficult to see, but the noise of the approaching army was unmistakable. Steve shoved the girl into Bucky's arms. The child instantly clung to him. With a jerk of his head, Steve indicated Bucky should go. Go and just leave his friend trapped and helpless with a contingent of Hydra troops coming straight for him. Bucky shook his head. Steve's eyes narrowed, stubbornness settling into his facial muscles. The expression was so achingly familiar, Bucky was transported back in time, across the ocean and into a back alley in Brooklyn.
Shouts carried on the wind, orders being given to the enemy men. Bucky craned his neck to attempt to see through the swirling snow. Unable to catch even a glimpse of the approaching threat, Bucky returned his attention to Steve. Letting the girl clutch his shoulders to hold herself up, he grabbed Steve's nearest arm and tugged. Steve's body didn't budge, held in place by the massive bell. Steve ripped his arm away and glared at Bucky in anger tinged with worry. Unwilling to risk giving away their position by attempting conversation, Steve simply motioned again that Bucky should take the girl and catch up with the retreating Allies.
Bucky refused. A desperate shine glimmered in Steve's blue eyes and he pointed to the shivering, weeping child hanging on Bucky's chest. Confident there was still time to save both the girl and Steve, Bucky leaned over to try again to free the trapped captain. Steve flinched away from his touch and gestured to the other end of the street once more. Nearby, a section of houses got blown away by Hydra's tank. The girl shrieked in terror. Bucky clapped a hand over her mouth but it was too late. Her scream had drawn the attention of a nearby patrol.
A pair of Hydra soldiers appeared further up the road. Steve's eyes widened. Bucky grunted, removing the girl from his body. He drew his pistol and shot at the advancing threat. One of the men dropped, dead. The other returned fire. A blaze of blue fire slipped with lethal grace toward Bucky. He dropped to one knee, the bolt passing over his head into the building he crouched near. The wall disappeared in a flash of smoke, eliciting another scream from the girl. Setting his jaw, Bucky rested his fist on his raised knee, steadying his arm as he took aim. His bullet sailed harmlessly past the enemy, as the man swerved out of its path. Another blue bolt streaked in his direction. Bucky folded his torso over his knee and shoved off the ground with his other foot, rolling into a clumsy tumble to avoid the danger.
When he regained his feet, he swung his gun up, searching out his target. The street appeared empty. Cautiously, Bucky inched forward, boots sliding through freshly fallen snow. The air was thick with snow, muting sound and reducing visibility. Bucky crept forward slowly, straining for any sign of his missing adversary. A shape suddenly emerged from between two houses, the barrel of a gun a black menace amidst the winter weather. Reflexes had Bucky recoiling from it, ducking into the nearest door frame. He waited a moment, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. When a blue haze evaporated the window beside him, he leaped out of his shelter and squeezed off three rounds from his pistol. The German gave a stunted cry and dropped to the street.
Breathing heavily, Bucky returned to find the child sitting by Steve's head, her small hand resting on his shoulder. As Bucky approached, Steve lifted his eyes. They bore the same message as they had before. And Bucky knew Steve would not forgive him if he hesitated any longer. Silently promising that he would be back for his friend, Bucky scooped the girl up in his arms and turned away, ignoring her soft protests and the feeling that he was betraying Rogers.
He traveled up the street, aware of the swarms of Hydra soldiers infesting the city. At the end of the block, he peeked around the corner and cursed inwardly at the sight of five men in black uniforms marching toward his position. Pulling back into the shadows, he scanned his surroundings for a viable way out. His gaze rested on the soldier he had just shot. He glanced beyond the body to the narrow path that snaked between the two buildings the corpse lay in front of.
Pausing only to hush the crying girl, Bucky sprinted to the opening. It was hardly wide enough for him to fit through. But if he twisted his shoulders and angled his body, he could make it. Even as he did so, his shoulder blades scraped uncomfortably against the structures. It was a short passage and he soon emerged on a deserted side street. The rumble of an engine sent a jolt through his bones. He sneaked up to the corner where the street joined the main road just in time to watch a uniformed man dismount a motorcycle, leaving it idling as he hurried toward a knot of Hydra officers, who were overseeing their troops' search of the town.
Recognizing the opportunity, Bucky sprinted across the open street and swung himself and the girl onto the bike. As soon as the girl was settled in front of him on the seat, his left arm across her thin middle to hold her in place, he launched the motorbike forward, jerking the handlebars sharply to change direction. Shouts of surprise preceded the hail of bullets that rained around him. Bucky swerved and pushed the bike faster down the road. Snowflakes dived at his eyes, smacking off his cheeks. He grimaced and squinted against their onslaught.
Yells echoed around him, the word spreading of his escape. Blue energy filled the air, along with rounds of metal, as Hydra attempted to kill him. They weren't going to succeed. Bucky wouldn't let them. If he died, Steve died and that was not acceptable. Steve was America's New Hope, the symbol of courage and virtue and nationalism, the face of the war effort, the one who was going to crush Hydra beneath his boots and bring peace to the world. Steve was also Bucky's old friend, his symbol of courage and honor and perseverance, the single beacon of light in the darkest depths of war, the one who was going to crush the hell out of Hydra beneath his boots and bring peace to the whole damn world because that's just who he was and no one knew that better than Bucky Barnes. Bucky was going to live so Steve could live and have a life after the war was over. Steve would settle down, marry Peggy Carter and have a hell of a lot of kids who would call Bucky 'uncle' because he and Steve were brothers, blood relations be damned.
Clutching the girl tighter, Bucky gunned the engine, urging more speed from the engine. The bike lurched forward, tires churning the powdery snow into slush. He whipped around a corner sharply, tilting his body against the pull of gravity to maintain his seat. They were nearing the edge of the town. Through the snow, he could just make out the vague shape of the Allied caravan. All that separated him from them was a bridge set over a gushing river. Deftly, Bucky guided the motorcycle over to it. The wheels bumped along the uneven surface and the girl whimpered. No sooner had they reached the other side than the bridge exploded behind them, having been fired on by one of Hydra's tanks.
Ducking low against the spray of debris and displaced water as large chunks of the bridge dropped into the water, Bucky willed the bike to go faster. Wind yanked at his hair and tugged on his jacket, while tossing fat snowflakes at him. Feeling adrenaline pumping in his blood, Bucky drew in deep lungfuls of frigid breath, relieved to find himself gaining on the large trucks. A few more minutes passed before he was close enough to draw up behind the vehicle in the back. He shouted over the noise of the traffic, alerting those within to his arrival. Faces, filled with fear and curiosity, popped out from behind the canvas. Hugging the body of the bike tighter between his legs, Bucky lifted the young girl with his left arm, using his right to alternate between steadying the bike and the child. Many willing, astonished pairs of hands reached out to grab the girl. Hardly waiting to make sure they had her, Bucky spun the bike around, sending snow, dead leaves and gravel flying out from beneath the wheels.
His grip curled over the handles, fingers fisting, knuckles bleached as white as the thickening snow. The ground was swallowed beneath the speeding motorbike. He soon found himself approaching the swollen river and the gap where the bridge used to be. Piles of rock littered the path, forcing him to swerve madly to avoid them. The wind changed direction, scattering the snowflakes out of his path and allowing him a clear view of the impossible divide between himself and the town. He still had time to stop the bike, slow it down before it reached the end of the road. He still had time to halt his suicide mission. He would rather chop off his own arm than abandon Steve.
Rapidly evaluating the scene around him, he spied a slanted chunk of bridge lying on his side of the bank. Without taking the time to dwell on what would happen if he failed, of the ice water that would fill his lungs, drowning him while freezing him from the inside out, he angled the front of the motorbike toward it. Using it like a ramp, he sailed over the tumbling water, avoiding a slow and painful death. He landed on the other side with a bone-jolting thud, his tongue sliced when it caught between his clattering jaw. Blood seeped into his mouth and he refused himself the luxury of gagging.
Mind set on the single goal that had always occupied it, Bucky stayed true to his course, accelerating toward the town. Toward Steve. His return caught Hydra by surprise and they were not prepared to stop him. The only thing they could do was leap out of the way of his charging vehicle. Expertly guiding the bike through the streets, Bucky wound across the town, confusing any onlookers and losing any tail, hoping to keep Steve's location a secret for as long as possible. Only once he was certain no one was following him did he return to the sight of the bell tower explosion.
His heart skipped a beat as he gazed at the scene, feeling hopelessness burrow into his veins. He carefully picked his way through the destruction, avoiding jagged stones and piles of dust. Dismounting the bike, he hurried to the enormous bell and the man pinned beneath it. When he crouched by Steve, the blond head jerked up and the blue eyes flooded with surprise. Bucky grinned at him, teeth stained red with the blood seeping out of his tongue.
Holding his finger to his lips in a gesture for silence, Bucky leaned forward, peering through the dropping snow and lengthening shadows to ascertain the exact position of the bell in relation to Steve. The great curve of the bell was resting on Steve's spine, covering his back from the shoulder blades down. Bucky moved around to the other end of the structure where, beneath two stones acting as pillars, he could just barely see the tips of Steve's boots. He walked back around and stretched out his hand. Steve stared at it a moment. Then he grabbed it.
Bucky braced himself as Steve tugged on his arm, attempting to use it as an anchor to pull himself up on. Gritting his teeth, Bucky slid his grip down, fingers curling around Steve's forearm, feeling the drumming of the captain's pulse striking against the skin at the base of his pointer finger. Steve's body scraped forward an inconsequential amount of space. The movement bolstered Bucky's determination and he settled more firmly into his stance.
A flash of blue streaked over Bucky's head. He jerked away reflexively, wrenching Steve's arm. Steve gave a grunt of pain before letting go, waiting for Bucky to release his arm. Reluctant to do so, yet having no choice, Bucky removed his hand, already moving to draw his pistol. He ducked behind a large chunk of rock, glancing around it to see his target. A lone Hydra soldier stood in the center of the street, blaster pointed unerringly in his direction. Bucky squeezed off a shot. The enemy returned fire. Bucky dodged, swinging around his shelter to gain a new angle. His bullet grazed the other man, causing him to stagger in pain. Without giving the Hydra gunman time to recover, Bucky rose and sprinted closer to ensure he wouldn't miss. Near enough to see the blood darkening the black uniform of the enemy soldier, Bucky pulled the trigger. And felt a sickening moment of horror when his gun merely clicked.
The German regained his balance and swung his weapon up to point at Bucky. Bucky retreated, diving under a section of fallen tower. His fingers shook as they struggled to reload his pistol. The stones he hid beneath suddenly disappeared, having been hit by the enemy. The air shifted, as if thrown forward. Bucky was pushed over by the airwave, ammunition flying out of his grip. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he frantically searched the area for his bullets. Hydra's soldier advanced. Unable to find his clip, Bucky leaped to his feet and charged the approaching enemy. He slammed into the man, sending them both crashing to the road. From his position atop the Hydra soldier, Bucky shoved aside the man's weapon. It skittered into the side of a nearby building. The disarmed man wriggled and squirmed. Bucky leaned forward, using his weight to keep himself astride the bucking body under him. The soldier aimed a fist at Bucky's temple. Bucky jerked his head up and the blow connected with his mouth, splitting his lip and refreshing the taste of blood.
He deflected a second punch with his left arm. In the same instant, his right brought his pistol slamming down toward the soldier's head. The first hit snapped the man's head to the side. The next broke his nose. Bucky swung once again, rendering the enemy unconscious. Climbing to his feet, Bucky gave the sleeping form one last parting kick before turning his attention to Steve.
Despite his desperate struggles to free himself so he could help his friend, Steve had made no further progress. Bucky surveyed his predicament with a thoughtful frown. Wordlessly, he scooped up the discarded Hydra weapon. With focused calm, he directed the blast into the bell. It disintegrated, leaving Steve gratefully gasping lungfuls of air. Bucky quickly snatched his arm, hauling him upright. Steve's chest rose and fell in a tide under Bucky's steadying palm. The motion was eerily similar to the effects of an asthma attack.
Shaking off memories of late night medication and just breathe, Steve, Bucky draped Rogers' arm over his shoulder and practically dragged the captain toward the motorcycle. Unexpectedly, blue lightning erupted around them. Bucky snapped his head up to find a small company of Hydra soldiers sweeping into the street. Cursing, he mounted the bike, yanking Steve up after him. As soon as he felt Steve's arms circle around his middle, he gunned the engine and the motorbike surged forward. With debris blocking the road behind him and the alleys being two narrow for the bike, Bucky had no other direction to go but straight ahead.
Steve shifted behind him and Bucky felt a fresh spike of protectiveness flare in his stomach, determination igniting and spreading to his limbs. He raised the stolen gun and returned their volley with one of his own, the motorcycle wobbling as he struggled to hold onto both it and his weapon. The knot of hostile soldiers scattered. In preparation for the sharp corner he needed to navigate next, Bucky tossed aside the blaster and grabbed the handlebars with both hands. He steered out of the side street, aiming for the main road.
One of Steve's arm left his waist, causing Bucky to momentarily panic, sure the captain was too injured to hold himself up. But the loud retort of Steve's handgun soon reassured him, the sight of their enemies dropping as they passed them doing the same. Snow blew in his face, obscuring the path and Bucky relied on his instincts to navigate his way back to the rest of the Allies. His memory served him well, his brain reminding him of the streets he had traveled.
As they weaved their way toward the edge of town, the opposition thinned, most of Hydra's company concentrated in the center of the city. The bike tires glided smoothly over the road, in spite of the amount of snow blanketing it, as they raced toward safety. When they approached the destroyed bridge, Bucky felt Steve's grip tighten around his stomach, a small gesture of apprehension. Yet the captain remained quiet, offering no protest. That display of trust was a needle and thread, stitching together the broken pieces of James Barnes.
Expertly, Bucky launched the motorcycle off the rubble. As they left the ground, Steve's right arm immediately swung around Bucky's middle, the pistol still clutched in his hand pressing into his friend's abdomen. For a surreal moment, they flew through the air, hearing the gurgling of the churning water beneath them. Then they slammed down on the other bank and Bucky opened the throttle on the bike, sending them speeding off after the convoy there was no trace of. Steve sagged against him and Bucky shifted until the soldier was comfortably supported.
The ground sloped up before them, the hill blocking any sign of the Allied trucks. Bucky pushed forward through the twirling snowflakes. They crested the rise, finally escaping the snow-clogged valley the town was nestled inside of. As the ground leveled off, the ferocity of the elements impact was lessened and Bucky was grateful for the respite. The sun was brighter on this side of the snowstorm, the world seemingly glowing in a gentle gold.
On the horizon, a line of crawling insects indicated the position of the convoy. Bucky felt the knot of tension uncurl from his intestines. Checking once more that Steve was in no danger of falling off, Bucky urged the motorbike forward, the machine easily consuming the distance between itself and the army vehicles. Tire tracks and crushed vegetation marked the passage of the caravan along the same path Bucky was now hurtling.
In a short amount of time, the sleeker, faster bike overtook the weighed down cargo trucks. Bucky gave a shout, calling for attention. Steve jerked at the unexpected voice. Risking a hand off the handlebars, Bucky gripped Steve's wrist tightly for a second before releasing it. After receiving no response from the vehicle before them, Bucky zoomed ahead to the front of the line. He pulled up parallel to the lead car before attempting to yell again. Dugan's face appeared in the window of the truck's cab. His expression shifted into both happiness at seeing his commanders and confusion as to their mode of transportation. Brushing aside the man's befuddlement, knowing that an explanation would not be possible in their current positions, Bucky instead used hand gestures to communicate their need to stop at the next available checkpoint. Dugan nodded his understanding.
Gradually, Bucky brought the cycle's speed down to the same level as the trucks. He drifted just down and to the left of the lead one, content to let Dugan head up the convoy. Lack of sleep, an ebbing sense of urgency and the warm weight of Steve against his back combined forces, smothering Bucky's brain in a swatch of fatigue. The rumble of the engine beneath him was a humming lullaby and he felt himself losing the battle against sleep.
But Steve needed him. That simple truth sent an electric current sizzling through his neural pathways. It snapped him to attention, banishing all thoughts of rest from his mind. Bucky yanked himself away from exhaustion and focused on keeping the motorcycle as steady as possible. The ground slipped past, landscape blurring to the side as the Allies made their way back.
Eventually, Steve sagged forward completely. Bucky twisted around to glance at his friend's face. The snow and wind had flushed Steve's cheeks a raw pink, his hair was scattered across his forehead, brushing lightly against a thin cut at his temple, and his lips were slightly parted under his closed eyelids. Rogers was sleeping. In spite of the fact that he was on the back of a stolen enemy bike, surrounded by trucks packed full of refugees, with snowflakes still dropping gently, Steve was sleeping. Steve was sleeping, even after nearly being crushed to death by a bell tower. Steve was sleeping, slumped against Bucky. A soft smile curled Bucky's mouth and he faced front again, slipping his hand around Steve's arm to anchor it in place.