A/N: Another three chapter update! This one's a bit longer than usual since we're getting into some meatier plot bits now. Enjoy :D

Bucky's in bad shape. They've managed to get some water into him, but he's not coming around and he keeps thrashing and jibbering, only marginally conscious. Every time someone touches him, he screams like he's been stabbed, and the thrashing only gets worse. His eyes are rolled back in his head and he whimpers in a very un-Bucky-like way every so often, begging some invisible person to stop.
Steve is beyond disturbed. He's horrified.

He walks alongside the truck where they've finally managed to get Bucky more or less settled down, alternating between watching the path in front of them and glancing at the wall of heavy canvas fabric that separates him from his best friend. He tries to let himself believe that Bucky's asleep - that he's getting much needed rest… but the awful groans of pain and the occasional muffled sob drifting through the material destroy that illusion before it gains any traction.

With the transponder Peggy gave him smashed, they've got a long way to go before they'll get any help. He's not sure what he'll do if Bucky doesn't make it that far…

When they call a halt for the night, he climbs up into the cramped truck and weaves his way around sick and wounded men, crouching down between Bucky and the wall.

"Buck…?" He whispers. "C'n you hear me, buddy?"
Bucky's slack, sweat-sheened face rolls slightly in his direction with a muffled groan, but there is no further reaction.
"You gotta drink, Buck. Sit up for me?"
Bucky doesn't move.

Steve sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and willing himself not to break down. God knows he wants to.
Bucky has always been the one person he can depend on. The guy who knows just what to do. Who hauls him out of trouble.
And now Bucky's lying in a shivering heap on the floor of a hijacked truck in the middle of godforsaken nowhere… And Steve's got no idea what he's supposed to do from here.
He just knows he's got to keep himself together. He can't break. Too many people are depending on him. Bucky's depending on him. He's gotta be tougher than the mess they're in.
Desperate to think about something, -anything- else, he casts a weary glance around the truck.

A corporal with a badly burned leg had been idly watching them in silence, propped against a wadded up old ruck-sack across the truck-bed. He nods at Steve, before shuffling gingerly to lie down on his good side, facing away from them both. Allowing what little measure of privacy can be given. Everyone else has already dropped off into uneasy, restless sleep for the night.

Steve turns his attention back to his inert best friend.
"Please, Buck. You gotta sit up and drink something."
Bucky just lies there, shivering, and offers no reply.
"Bucky? Buck, come on…"

Nothing.

Well, so much for the easy way…

Steve gently eases his hands under Bucky's shoulder-blades, relieved that though his friend tenses and shivers painfully, he doesn't start to scream again. Gingerly, Steve slides his knees under Bucky's shoulders and props his friend's head against his chest. It lolls drunkenly until he presses his fingers under Bucky's chin and tips his head back, holding a canteen to his friend's lips.
It's tricky, getting water down an uncooperative throat without choking the patient, but Steve's had practice. His mother was nearly helpless for the last six months of her life. She couldn't eat, couldn't drink… could barely breathe. Bad as Bucky is, Steve knows that at least he's not dying. He knows the signs of that far too well by now.

There's a weak cough and a shudder from the limp form that's slumped against him. He pulls the canteen back.
"...Steve…?" The voice is faint and Bucky's eyes are still dark and listless, but they're focused up on him. Bucky's face crinkles into a grimace and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if he's willing them to focus, then blinks them wearily open again. "The… hell are we?"

"We're a few miles from the factory. Heading south, last I checked. We're stopped for the night right now."

"Oh…" Bucky seems to digest this information for a few moments, before moving awkwardly to push himself up and away from Steve. He sways dangerous, nearly overbalancing and tipping over, but manages to get himself seated upright under his own power. He reaches a hand out for the canteen and Steve passes it over without comment, relieved beyond measure to see Bucky conscious and speaking again.

Bucky takes a long pull from the canteen, gulping water like he hasn't had a drink in weeks, letting up only when he seems to run out of breath. His head falls back for a few moments before he sits up straight again.
"Holy… fuck… feel like I got hit by a tank," he groans, massaging at his eyes wearily. "… An' then it ran my ass over…" He caps the canteen with some effort, voice coming out scratchy and rough when he speaks. "How… how long was I out?"

"A while." Steve evades. Bucky's been hallucinating and feverish for six or seven hours. He's well aware that that's not a particularly good sign.

Bucky, surprisingly, just nods. He still looks woozy, doubling over himself and cradling his head in his hands. Steve reaches out and gently sets a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Bucky recoils instantly, like he's been bitten, lurching as far out of Steve's reach as he can get. His eyes are wide and he's breathing hard, looking like his heart's about to beat out of his chest. He tumbles over himself to the plank bed of the truck in his haste, trying to scrabble for more distance. He looks absolutely terrified for a split second before he seems to realize where he is.

"Jeesus, Steve." Bucky pants, slowly easing himself back up and looking mortified and exhausted. "Don't do that." His face is gaunt and drawn in the shadows. "You scared the hell outta me."

"Bucky-…" Steve knows his concern has to be showing on his face, and Bucky must see it. He knows Bucky hates being pitied as much as he himself does, but he just can't help it. This is going to feed his nightmares for ages. He can tell that already.

"Just startled me…" Bucky says sullenly looking anywhere but at Steve. " 'S'all…"
He struggles off the cap of the canteen and takes another long drink, staring at the hard rounded metal in his hand when he's finished - presumably so he won't have to meet Steve's eyes.

"What'd they do to you?" Steve asks, hushed, feeling his eyes stinging. He blinks away stubborn moisture before it can become obvious. "Bucky… what the hell did they do to you?"

Bucky is silent for a long time, staring down at the canteen in his hands. He doesn't look up.
"I don't know." he says, barely a whisper. "But it hurt like hell. "

"Captain?" One of the rescued men, French, appears just then at the rear flap of the truck. Steve can't determine the man's rank, but he appears to be a low-level officer. The soldier glances apologetically at Bucky before he continues. Apparently they've met before.
"I'm sorry sir," The frenchman goes on, turning his attention to Steve. He speaks with a thick, heavy accent. English is clearly something of a struggle for him. "-but we need your input. We don't have many supplies and we have to figure out what to do."

Steve glances at Bucky, then back at the waiting soldier, torn.
Bucky, still looking shaken and weak, shuffles himself down onto his makeshift pillow and holds up the canteen in a sort of salute, making Steve's decision for him.

"Go do your captain thing. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure you're-"

"I'm fuckin' useless right now." Bucky waves a hand dismissively over himself as proof. "You're not. Go be useful. I'll keep."

Steve nods slowly, climbing to his feet.
"I'm coming." He says. The frenchman turns and leaves immediately. Steve hesitates before climbing down to the ground after him, turning back.

"You're not useless, Bucky. You're never useless."

Bucky snorts at that, but says nothing.

Steve lets it go.