Chapter 16. Voices
Content warning: Graphic description of a physical struggle with a wolf resulting in death. Further description of actions necessary for survival may be difficult to read.
He woke with a start, aware of several things; he hurt everywhere, he was cold as hell, and the brightness of the snow was too much to bear. Closing his eyes to deal with that Bucky breathed then opened his eyes again and looked up at the wall of mountain that surrounded him. There was the sound of water rushing nearby but when he tried to turn his head to see where it was the pain made him cry out.
"Fuck!"
He tried to move his legs, but they didn't respond, even though he could feel them. Then he tried to raise his right arm, managing only an inch or two before the pain was too much to deal with. There was no response from his left arm at all, no feeling of any kind below his elbow. Slowly, he turned his head to look at his left arm, far enough until he could bear the pain then continuing on trying after several torturous breaths to bring his arm into view. When he saw the red stained snow, he stopped and put his head back. It was bad, really bad.
Above him the snow swirled lazily, as the wind gusts blew the light snowfall around. He tried to see the railway tracks but everything up there was blurry, and he gave up trying to estimate how far he fell. Then he remembered being blown out the side of the train, and falling, while hitting rocky outcrops, hearing his bones crack, then break as he tried and failed to grasp anything he could hold on onto. It could be worse.
"No, this is pretty bad," he thought to himself. "You'll come for me, Steven, won't you?"
Eventually, he passed out then woke up when an explosion sound reverberated off of the mountains. He could feel the vibrations of the echoes in his chest, but he had no way of determining what made the noise or where it originated from. Taking stock of himself he tried to raise his head, then his arms but it still hurt like hell. This time he was able to see his left arm, or what was left of it. The bleeding had stopped but he could see the bone sticking out and stifled a sob that came out of his throat. He'd really done it this time. Aware of hot tears dripping down his face and freezing on his skin he talked to himself, trying to stop crying. Eventually, he got control of his emotions and took still painful but deep breaths, then looked up at the sky. It was dimmer down here in the shadows and colder. But far above, where the peaks of the mountains were still visible, he could see the sun lighting up the snow caps of the Austrian Alps. It was still day, and he was still alive. If they were on their way for him all he had to do was stay that way.
It was night when he woke again and the quarter moon was high overhead, its glow still bright enough to make the snow around him gleam in the dark. He was so cold and tried to clench his fist on his right hand, trying to gauge whether he still had feeling in his fingers. It was numb and the movement of trying to make a fist was difficult as he couldn't really feel his fingers other than a sense of pressure as he clenched them. Wiggling his toes was painful but at least that indicated he still had feeling there. Then he looked to the side with his head, noting it wasn't as hard now, but was startled to see eyes watching him. Blinking his own eyes several times he tried to focus on whether it was a person or an animal, but he couldn't tell. All he could see was the eyes. Then the eyes drew closer, and he reached with his numb hand for his pistol, hoping it was still in his holster, suddenly remembering that he had thrown it away as he had emptied it against the HYDRA soldiers on the train.
"Shit," he muttered.
As the eyes came closer, he saw they were attached to an animal, a wolf, and a flash of fear filled his belly.
"Steady," he thought. "You can do it. You can take him out. Just stay calm and breathe."
As the wolf approached, he could see the moisture from its breath condensing in the frigid air as it slowly came closer. A low growl emanated from its throat as it began its preparation to attack. Never taking his eyes away from it he placed his right hand on his chest, preparing himself to take the creature by the neck and hope that he had enough strength left in him to crush the life out of it. There would be only one chance and it had to be timed for exactly the moment the wolf attacked. When it did finally make its move Bucky grasped it under the jaw, feeling the trachea right there under his clenched hand. The wolf snarled and snapped at him, trying to get to his neck and tear it apart but he used all of his energy keeping it as far away from his throat as possible, while squeezing the animal's throat, willing himself to take its life. When his fingers dug deep enough into the animal's flesh for him to actually feel the ridges of the trachea, it began to whine and struggle to get away, but Bucky didn't let go until it ceased its efforts and slumped. Only then did he stop and allow the weight of the dead creature to fall on him. As warm blood trickled out of where his fingers had torn into the wolf's throat, he let the heat of the liquid warm his fingers then his hand, tearing into its fur so that he could bury it in the still warm carcass of the once living predator.
As the feeling returned to his fingers and hand, so did the pain but he ignored it, and instead withdrew his hand and placed his fingers in his mouth, licking the warm blood from them. At first, he gagged on the taste, but he stifled the instinct, knowing that if he could keep his body temperature warm it would increase his chances of survival. He had no doubt the others were on their way, trusting that Grant was already in an aircraft, using his own memories of where his Bucky fell to parachute into the narrow chasm. Whether they would get there before the enemy did was another matter, one that he wouldn't think about. Returning his hand into the body of the wolf he let the blood pool on it then brought it back to his lips, licking the warm liquid until it was too cold to give him any benefit. Then, with as much strength as he could muster, he dragged the body of the dead animal onto his own body, hoping the fur would add another layer of insulation that would protect him from the bitter cold. By the time he felt he was covered he was also exhausted at the effort. The thought occurred to him that he had done more damage to his right arm as he could feel the bones grinding against each other during the struggle with the wolf, and while moving the body. Yet, somehow, he had managed to hold off the attack of a wolf with just one arm, a broken one at that. For this time, he was thankful for the serum that gave him the strength. But now he was so tired that it wasn't long before he slept once again.
"Bucky? Love?"
"What darlin'?" He could feel Vera's body pressed up against his in her bed, her hand tracing circles on his chest as they both caught their breath after the energetic lovemaking they had just engaged in. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, you never hurt me, Bucky," she answered.
She was quiet and he shifted so that he was facing her, noticing by her breathing in the dark room that she was trying not to cry.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked. "You can tell me anything, you know."
"Do you love me?"
He breathed out noticeably, trying not to upset her. "We talked about this Vera," he said gently. "I like you; I really do but I don't love you. This, what we have, is just fun."
"I know. Just forget I said anything."
"Vera, talk to me. Why did you ask me that?"
"I just ... I heard another of my girlfriends got herself engaged to a Yank, a pilot," she said. "They only knew each other a few weeks and they're getting married in a month."
She rolled away from Bucky, covering her face with her hands. Gently, he pulled her back towards him, as he spooned behind her, covering her with his arms. Kissing her on the back of her shoulder a few times made her relax slightly then he rested his chin on her soft skin.
"My job is dangerous," he explained. "I can't even really tell you about it because it's classified. I wish I did love you enough to ask you to marry me because you're an incredible girl, Vera. But the chances of me not coming back are high and I wouldn't want you to go through that pain. That would be cruel."
"What about after the war?" she asked. "If you make it through, would you think differently about me?"
"Honestly, I don't know," he admitted. "I'm being truthful here, because I think you deserve that. Just like I was truthful that I see other women. I never made that a secret."
"That's true," she sighed. "I just worry that maybe the right bloke is out there for me and because I'm waiting on you, I'm missing out."
"Then you shouldn't wait on me, Vera," said Bucky. "I like your company, but you know that if you do meet the right guy that I won't stand in your way. He'll be a lucky man to get your love." He could feel all the emotions going through her body at that moment and waited before he said his next words. "Do you want me to leave?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I think we should stop seeing each other."
"Alright." He got up and dressed in the dark, then came around to the other side of the bed, kneeling down in front of her. "I'm sorry. I will miss you. You are lovely."
"Just not enough to love," she answered bitterly, then rolled away from him.
He touched her shoulder then went to her bedroom door and silently opened it, stepping out onto the landing. She shared a house with four other girls, and he didn't want to wake them, not wanting to add to Vera's woes. Quietly, he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool May night. Looking up at the window to Vera's bedroom he grimaced sadly then began the walk back to the base.
"Vera," he said out loud, opening his eyes.
It was morning, he thought, but he couldn't tell for sure because it was snowing, and the mountain peaks that were visible yesterday were now obscured. He thought back to the dream he just had, where Vera told him she didn't want to see him anymore. Two days later he was on his way to France for D-Day. When he got back it was in the middle of HYDRAs infiltration of the base. Hours later he learned that Vera was dead. He never had a chance to find out how she was, or whether she was alright, and he wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for that. Why couldn't he have lied and said he could consider being more to her than just using her for a good time? What was wrong with him that he was like this, unable to actually love someone the way they wanted? A sob erupted from him, surprising him with how loud it sounded in the chasm where the falling snow seemed to make everything seem quiet. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will his mind away from thinking about Vera, but it was no good. He had visions of her trying to attack the false MP with a knife, of him turning back and grasping her neck roughly, then ...
"I'm sorry," he whispered then he spoke it over and over again, louder and louder, until it became a scream of fury, hoping that somewhere she heard him and would forgive him.
His anger at the violence inflicted on Vera seared his mind and he howled in frustration when he realized that he hadn't even found out which of the false MPs they took prisoner had been the one who took her life. No doubt the others had kept that from him, because he would have gone into the man's cell to make him pay for his crime.
"No, you wouldn't," said a voice, out of nowhere. Bucky looked everywhere for the person who just said it, ready to give them a piece of his mind. "You're a coward. Too afraid to love. Too wrapped up in your own pleasure to do right by that girl. If you were a real man, you would have gone yourself and found out which of those monsters was the one. Then you would have given him double, no triple the pain he gave Vera, killing him slowly so that his HYDRA brain would know that there are worse things than death."
"Stop it," said Bucky. "Whoever you are, stop talking to me. I'm not a coward. I'm not a killer, not like that."
The laugh interrupted him. "Not a killer? It's exactly what you are, exactly what the army made you. All that extra sniper training they gave you, so you can just calmly line up your victims in your sights, pull the trigger and watch them fall, then move on to the next one." There was no voice for a bit; and the only sound was that of the heavy snow landing on the ground around him, reminding him of the beginning of a heavy rainstorm in the summer, when the first fat drops would hit the bone-dry pavement, which had baked under the hot sun. "This is your punishment. It always was meant to be like this. Your friends can't help you now. Better to let go before the others find you."
"No," replied the wounded soldier. "They're coming for me. Steven Grant came back for me just so HYDRA wouldn't get me. He'll come ... he has to come."
The seed of despair, now planted in Bucky's mind, sprouted, taking root in his thoughts, like a weed left unchecked. The tendrils of anguish, that despite everything that had been done to keep him out of the HYDRA factory and the first rounds of serum treatment, then disobeying the direct order from a superior officer to stay off the trains, his failure to keep Vera safe, were all proof that he wasn't a good man. A good man wouldn't have had this happen to him, would have died first before letting that little monster inject him with the serum, would have fought back more when they strapped him down on that table and placed that machine on his head. A good man would have taken the scalpels they cut his skin with when they wanted to see how fast the cut would heal and ... wait, where did that memory come from?
"NO!" He screamed out loud. "What did you do to me?"
More memories came pouring back into his mind; horrible, terrible memories of things the guards at the factory did to him, things they made him do, laughing and jeering at him while he desperately tried to stop their twisted games of torture. The sound of the stun batons they used to beat him down into the floor rang in his ears, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop any of it as it overwhelmed him, drowning him until he had only one thought.
"Let me die. Please God, just let me die. End this."
"Did you hear that?" asked Grant, to Howlett, who didn't answer. "A scream." He pulled his sleeve up, revealing his watch and checking the time. "They can't be there already."
Bradley approached and spoke, as did Murphy and Costello. "You heard that right?"
"He's close but it can't be the time when they found him," said Grant. "It's too soon."
"That's the sound of a man who wants to die," said Bradley, looking out over the snow in the direction they were moving. "He's given up." Grant made eye contact with him. "I made that sound when I was in solitary and realized I was never going to see daylight again."
"Hey!" They all looked back towards Raines and Rumlow, who were just catching up. "Voice sounds behind us. A mile away, maybe more, but it sounds like a full squad."
"Bradley, you're with me," said Grant. "The rest of you cover us. Do what you have to, but they don't get to Bucky first, understood? Give us the collapsible stretcher and the splints. Quick!"
Rumlow pulled off the backpack he wore that carried the portable stretcher, an invention of Howard Stark's after Grant described a future version to him, handing it to Bradley. The splints, inside a canvas bag strapped to the stretcher, were made of corrugated cardboard, meant for quick stabilization and transport, enough to protect the patient from further injury. The lightweight creased sheets, compared to similar splints made of wood were meant for use in difficult terrain as they were lighter to carry. It was still going to be painful for Bucky, but it was what they had to work with. Raines gave the medic's kit to Grant. Leaving Howlett to organize the rear defence Grant and Bradley plowed through the deep snow, towards the spot they estimated Bucky had fallen. Cursing the amount of snow that was obviously freshly fallen and the blowing snow that reduced visibility the two men searched continually ahead of them for any sign of an injured man. It was some time before Bradley nudged Grant and pointed near the edge of a ridge that overlooked the river below. An unnatural looking shape lay there.
"I think that's him," he said. "I can just barely hear breath sounds coming from it."
Grant calmed himself to hear them then hurried towards the shape covered in snow, after confirming the sounds. Brushing the mound off they were both surprised to see the frozen remains of a wolf, atop an unconscious and bloody Bucky. For a moment Grant was furious, wanting to shake the young man for his recklessness, but he stilled his emotions and began rousing the young sergeant while Bradley carefully peeled away the carcass of the dead creature, which was difficult as the blood had frozen it to Bucky's clothes.
"Bucky," said Grant, placing his palms on the frostbitten cheeks of the injured man. "Talk to me." He looked back at Bradley. "He's almost frozen."
Moans were the only answer he received from Bucky as he pulled his one glove off and put it on Bucky's stiff right hand, hoping there was enough residual heat to start warming him. The dead wolf was finally pulled completely away, tossed aside by the corporal like it weighed nothing. Opening the backpack, Bradley took out the stretcher and assembled it, making sure all of the fittings were tight.
"Is he frozen to the ground?" he asked Grant. "We should get the splints on after we transfer him to the stretcher but if he's still frozen to the ground, we might have to use the bayonets to pry him off."
Behind them, they heard the sounds of rifle fire and they both glanced in the same direction. Yes, they were in a hurry, but they also had to get this right the first time. Pulling his bayonet off his rifle, Grant gingerly slid it under Bucky, trying to slide it into the snow so that he didn't snag his clothes. Bradley did the same starting on the other side. Both men worked their way down from the shoulders, with Grant grimacing at what was left of Bucky's left arm. They continued on towards Bucky's feet, then Bradley aligned the stretcher next to his body. On the count of three they lifted him onto it. One leg was still stuck in the snow and bent awkwardly, causing a cry of pain from Bucky that roused him. He began panicking, flailing with his right arm until Grant trapped it on Bucky's chest.
"Stop, it's us," he said calmly. "We're here."
"Steve?" Bucky's voice rasped. "Thirsty."
Bradley put his hand on his canteen, prepared to give some water to the injured soldier. Grant nodded his permission.
"Just a little to wet his mouth," he said then looked back at the young soldier. "I should court-martial you for disobeying a direct order."
Bucky greedily took what he was allowed from the canteen then focused on Grant. "Sorry, Falsworth fell. I was closest. Fucked up." He closed his eyes and for a moment didn't breathe then he gave a sudden breath. "Let me go. Not worth it. They hurt me, Steve ... horrible, terrible things. I didn't remember until ... They broke me, I'm broken."
"You don't get to say that," said Grant, the anger rising in him again. "God damn it." His eyes filled with tears then he looked at Bucky, the anger visible on his face. "Decide right now. Do you want to live, or do you want to die? I can end it for you, right now." He placed his hand on Bucky's throat, prompting a reaction from Bradley but Grant looked at him in a way that said to back off. "What's it going to be Buck? You're here because of the choice you made but this time you get to choose what happens next. I can end your suffering, or I can help you live. If you live, you get another chance to fight HYDRA for what they did to you. But it's all on you to deal with the pain if you choose to live. You hear me?"
He began to squeeze Bucky's throat, crying as he did it, knowing that he didn't come back all this way for it to end like this. At first Bucky was passive about it then as he realized that Grant was serious, he opened his eyes and raised his right hand, trying to push the older version of his best friend out of the way.
"Stop ... stop." Weakly, he began hitting Grant in the face. "Fuck, let go of me. Let me live. I'll live."
Dropping his head in relief, Grant let go while breathing heavily. When he looked at Bucky's face, he was satisfied that this is what his friend wanted; he still had enough fight in him to live. They made eye contact and although there was anger in Bucky's eyes it was better than seeing the defeat and despair he had earlier.
"We're going to splint you which means we'll have to set your breaks as best we can," said Grant. "Chances are they'll have to break your bones again when we get to a hospital if they heal wrong. You're frozen, and once you begin to thaw out it's going hurt like hell. We'll give you what morphine we have but it might not be enough. Do you understand?"
"Yes," mumbled Bucky. "Just do it."
From a pocket in his trousers, Grant pulled out a metal case, taking out a syrette of morphine. Knowing that Bucky's system would metabolize it quickly he and Bradley assembled the splints first, having them on hand so they could work faster.
"You ready?" He looked at Bucky, who nodded, gritting his teeth. "Bradley?" The corporal nodded. "Alright, this is going to hurt."
As soon as he injected Bucky, they started splinting his legs, straightening them, while grimacing at the sound and feel of broken bones scraping against each other. They slid the cardboard splints under his limbs and folded them up to cradle his legs, hoping it was enough to keep them immobile. Bradley had pulled out numerous straps with buckles to fasten the splints in place and they quickly tightened them. Even though it was still bitterly cold out they could see the sweat forming on Bucky's forehead as he tried not to cry out during the process, the effects of the morphine lasting only minutes. When the young sergeant cried out in agony, Grant injected him with a second syrette of morphine, then Bradley splinted the right arm while the older man cut away the remains of Bucky's jacket on his left arm. He winced again at the damage done to the arm and sprinkled sulfanilamide powder on the wound before applying some dressings to cover the stump, knowing that as soon as they got to a warmer location that the bleeding would start again. To lessen the bleeding, he used one of the straps as a tourniquet over the dressing, buckling it in place as tightly as he could.
"Tie him to the stretcher," said Grant. "We have to get out of here."
"Grant, he's not breathing," said Bradley, leaning over so his ear was at Bucky's mouth. "We're too late."
"No, he survived worse in my timeline," said the agent. He laid his head on Bucky's chest trying to hear his heartbeat. It took a moment until he finally heard it, but it was slow, dangerously so and even he had trouble hearing Bucky breathe. Reaching inside his jacket he touched the box that held the serum, and took it out, pulling out the vial, to Bradley's surprise. "It's the only one but Dr. Erskine said to take it and use it if I had to. They'll have more soon. It will buy him time." He tapped the young sergeant on the cheek again. "Buck! I have to give you serum. Show me you heard that!"
Bucky moaned which Grant decided to take as a yes. Placing the vial against Bucky's neck he pressed the injector on it and watched as the liquid slowly drained out of the container and into the young man's body. Leaning over Bucky's face he watched closely for any signs of it working. There was nothing for several long moments then his eyes opened in a panic.
"Burns," he whined. "Fuck, it burns."
"I just injected serum into you," said Grant. "Your heart rate was low, and your breathing was too shallow. The pain will pass then it will start repairing your body."
"Fucking burns, Steve," mumbled Bucky. "Fucking serum. Some friend you are."
Grant looked up at Bradley with a grim grin. "Well, anger is better than despair." He stood up and whistled to the others, waving them over. "Time to go."
As the others made their way through the deep snow Bradley picked up the medical kit and slid the strap over his shoulder crossways. Murphy and Costello arrived first, each of them taking a handle of the stretcher. Bradley took another and Grant took the final one. With Howlett, Rose, Raines and Rumlow covering the rear they pushed forward towards where there should be a way down to the river. Grant had memorized every geographical detail of the chasm, part of his obsession after the Snap, to truly understand how almost impossible it would have been for him to return to find Bucky then if he had known his friend survived the fall. The guilt over his failure had lessened once he accepted that Bucky would have already been in the enemy's hands before the Howling Commandos could have launched a search and rescue mission. As the group waded for several hours through the thigh-deep snow on their downward path, Grant felt a new guilt replace that long standing one. Despite everything he did since coming back, Bucky still fell, and Grant didn't know if he would ever get over that.
"You know where you're going, right?" asked Murphy.
"Yeah, there's a narrowing of the river and it should be iced over enough for us to cross and go up the other side," replied Grant, shaken from his own thoughts. "We follow that pass, then another and we should come out somewhere near Trieste."
Murphy looked at Costello, rolling his eyes somewhat. A gun shot rang out and Murphy turned his head just in time but still felt the bullet whizzing past him. Howlett raised his rifle and fired off a few shots in the direction the shot came from as the four men carrying the stretcher took cover behind a rocky outcropping.
"How did they get above us?" asked Costello, grasping his rifle as he looked up to the ridge above them.
Howlett stood there for some time, seeming to smell the air. "This is a different patrol," he said. "There was no easy way up to that ridge from this level so they must have come from a different direction. I'm guessing the ones behind us radioed for help before they retreated." He looked at Grant. "Bradley and I could probably get up there and take care of them."
Before he was even asked Bradley took the medical kit off, pulled his rifle around and moved closer to Howlett. With a nod of his head, Grant agreed to let the two men take care of it. Raines, Rose, and Rumlow looked like they needed a break anyways and he advised everyone to have some of their rations while they could. Taking the opportunity to check on Bucky, he found him awake with his eyes wide open.
"How are you doing?" he asked, bending over as if to adjust the straps on the stretcher.
"Hurts like hell, but the burning is less," replied the young sergeant, sounding a little better. He breathed shakily a few times. "Were you really going to end it for me?"
They made eye contact and Grant saw a lot of different things in Bucky's eyes, anger, pain, and fear, for starters.
"I was angry when I made that offer," he replied. "Seemed like you had given up."
Bucky's mouth set in a firm line before he answered. "I did give up. Had a moment where I doubted, thought I wasn't worth the trouble."
"Well, that would have screwed me over good, wouldn't it?" said Grant facetiously. "I come back from 2023 to 1943 to save you, then don't get that done because you've decided otherwise. Trying to make me look like an idiot?"
"Fuck you," grinned Bucky. The grin faded. "I remembered that I couldn't stop them, Steve. God, I tried but they used those electrical sticks on me until I was almost unconscious, put me in that machine, sent a charge through my brain over and over again until I didn't know what was up and what was down. They cut me open with scalpels, just to see if my skin would heal, then how long it would take. I would watch the cuts close up and heal with no scar marking the spot. All I had was the memory of the pain I felt when they did it."
"I know." Grant placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezed it. "When they got the other Bucky back, they did far worse things, but it was all bad for both of you. I didn't want to frighten you with everything I knew about what they did to him, because I really thought I could prevent it. Instead, I failed, again."
"No." Bucky was emphatic in his declaration. "Maybe some things were just meant to be. You came for me and that means everything. No matter what happens after this I'll be thankful that you were here." He winced as he shifted slightly, making some of his bones grind against each other as he tried to hide how much it hurt. "When I'm better, I want to be part of the fight. They can't be allowed to do this to anyone. HYDRA has to be destroyed, once and for all."
"You got it," said Grant.
They continued waiting then heard gunshots from above them and a couple of bodies landed near but not on them. About thirty minutes later Howlett and Bradley appeared, looking like they had just taken a short walk.
"The other patrol called for help as the snow got too deep for them," said the sergeant. "Radioed this unit to take over the hunt. It will be a while before they realize we took the second unit out and send for reinforcements. We should get going while we can."
"How many?" asked Grant.
Bradley and Howlett looked at each other. "Ten," said the Corporal. "Not a problem."
They resumed their downward trek towards the river, finding the iced over section actually had a small bridge then began making their way up a trail on the other side. The path was noticeable, even though it was covered in fresh snow, making them all a little uneasy as it seemed to be well used, but they followed it upwards until it was almost dark, finding a space that was enclosed on three sides by rocks, forming an alcove that was out of the wind. Raines and Rumlow had their pocket stoves with them and set them up, scooping up snow into the covers that doubled as cooking pots. While one made coffee from their combined K Rations the other made some food, opening several tins of meat and combining it with water from melted snow and rice he produced from his kit. It wasn't the best tasting, but it was warm and that made a difference. Bucky managed a few spoonfuls then shook his head, not wanting any more. He sipped some coffee but refused that after a short time. Grant leaned over him, concerned.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"My gut," moaned Bucky. "Hurts."
That was worrisome as the serum should have begun fixing any internal injuries. Suddenly, Bucky leaned his head to his side and vomited, bringing up some of what he had taken in by mouth. Quickly, Bradley turned Bucky onto his side to make sure he didn't aspirate as he threw up more, then covered up the evidence with snow. He made eye contact with Grant, worried at this turn of events.
"Bucky doesn't get anything by mouth," said the Special Agent, looking at everyone. "The odd sip of water, that's it."
The others didn't say anything, but they understood that this was unexpected. The serum should have stabilized the young sergeant but it either hadn't begun working yet or it wasn't working at all. Grant thought through everything he knew about the original Bucky's survival, from the HYDRA files that had been found, wondering if he had missed something. The only thing that was different was there had been no mention of a wolf carcass found with the original Bucky, so this Bucky had changed his timeline himself. Kneeling down close to the injured man he tapped his cheek, calling to him to look at Grant.
"What?" Bucky's eyes were unfocused as he answered the older man.
"The wolf, who killed the wolf?"
"Me, it wanted to eat me, so I ate it first," slurred Bucky. "Blood was warm, felt good."
He looked at Bradley. "Says he ate the wolf's blood. Do you think that's what's making him sick?" The other man shrugged. "Check the medic's kit. See if there is syrup of ipecac or activated charcoal in it."
There was neither. Grant searched the medic's kit for a thermometer and took Bucky's temperature, but it was only slightly elevated, at a temperature known to be normal for a super soldier. If it had been a clear night, he would have taken the risk of moving on but with the heavy snow and cloud cover it was too dangerous. They had to bivouac there for the night. They divided into two shifts; Raines, Rumlow and Howlett would sleep first, with Rose, Murphy, Costello and Bradley sleeping next. When he was asked when he would sleep Grant looked at all of them but didn't answer verbally. They all understood that for this night sleep wasn't planned by him.