Chapter Text
Bucky was high up a tree for this HYDRA raid -- Now that Steve's no longer asthmatic, he seemed to have a thing about leaping improbably out of fiery infernos, so now it's Bucky's job to keep the exits clear for Steve's heroics.
As if on cue, a series of small explosions shook the concrete building and Bucky could see flickers of fire from the doors as agents streamed out. Bucky methodically took down each one with a single shot. Some of the HYDRA agents were sufficiently ablaze that he just let them be -- no need to waste a bullet when they're at least a week from supplies.
The stream of agents turned into a trickle, and Bucky finished with a few bullets to spare. And that's when he saw it -- a blooming white light in the middle of the sky, a figure silhouetted against the light, then plummeting down just over the trees. For a second the figure seemed to sprout burning wings. A year ago he would have just dismissed that as too little sleep, but now he was fighting against weapons that vaporized humans in one shot and his best friend can probably jump a city block. So Bucky mentally marked the direction and distance and tried not to think too much abut the flaming wings. There used to be a time when things weren't always on fire.
------
Bucky knew where to look on their march the next day to spot the limbs spread akimbo in the bushes at the base of a tall pine. They were taking a break and the others were a bit pre-occupied -- Dum-Dum was surreptitiously munching on some ham and refusing to share with Monty, Dernier was trying to convince Morita to let him add some newly acquired gadget to the radio (with Gabe as the hapless translator,) and Steve was flipping through some HYDRA papers. So Bucky just slipped a dozen yards to the base of the tree.
He wasn't sure quite what he expected, but it turned out to be a Negro soldier in a rather strange getup, sporting some dark bruises and knocked out from the fall. Clearly not HYDRA, but no Allies insignia either. At least he didn't have wings or a red skull.
The man's eyes open blearily when Bucky prodded him, but snapped to focus once he saw Bucky's face. His eyes took in the rest of Bucky's uniform, then darted a quick glance at Bucky's left hand. "Bucky?" the words slipped out of the man's lips as a half-whisper.
Bucky's eyes narrowed. Men falling from sky portals shouldn't know his name, much less call him Bucky. He leaned in, digging his knee into the man's solar plexus. "You. The light last night." Bucky hissed. "You're HYDRA. I should just kill you and tell Steve I found you dead from the fall."
"If you thought I was HYDRA you would have killed me already." The man chuckled, "James Buchanan Barnes does not take prisoners." The way he said that, the weight of certainty behind it... Bucky took a few steps back. Why does he know these things?
"Bucky, what's going on?" Steve called from behind. "Who is it? Does he need medical help?"
The way the man's eyes lit up at the sound of Steve's voice sent a shiver of familiarity down Bucky's spine. The man scrambled to his feet and delivered a friendly salute at the approaching commandos.
"Hi, I'm Sam Wilson. Paratrooper. I... uh... dropped in last night. Lost the rest of my team." Wilson looked around. "You must be the Howling Commandos. I've heard so much about you --" He went around naming everyone and some of their exploits, drawing curt nods from Monty and Dernier, and a hat tip from Dum-Dum. From Wilson's odd metal pack to his shirt that hugged his torso too tightly, no one was fooled by his claims about being a paratrooper, but one man posed no threat, so they waited for Cap to make the final call.
Steve had on his best Captain America face as he shook Wilson's hand. "I didn't think the newsreels got into such detail, but ... yeah. Nice to meet you, airman." Wilson flashed Steve another one of those smiles. Steve looked bewildered, but when he smiled back, it was a Steve smile and not a Captain America smile. The Commandos relaxed as Steve slapped Wilson on the back and said, "Come along, Wilson. Let's get out of enemy territory."
Bucky got the distinct feeling that Wilson didn't get his information from the newsreels, but he held his tongue about what he saw last night. Steve was right: he wasn't an enemy, and that's enough for now. Bucky needed some time to figure out the rest of it. Thankfully he'd gotten very good at watching and waiting since he became a soldier.
- *- * - *-* - *-* -
Life stopped making sense after he met Steve Rogers on that routine run around the Monument, so all things considered, schlepping through a random chunk of German forest was practically normal. If Sam ignored his aches and pains from that fall from the trees, and didn't think too hard about how it's 1944 and Hitler might be behind a bush somewhere, it's *almost* like the time when he took Steve hiking the Appalachian Trial with his cousins.
If his cousins were the freakin' Howling Commandos. Sam couldn't help beaming when he looked at his companions. He's read Howling Commandos biographies as a kid, and also played all the Howlers video games, even the one where they took on Dracula. And of course, Steve's been talking his ear off about them ever since he found Sam's stash of Howlers trading cards. And the reality didn't disappoint. Sure, he wasn't quite prepared for Dum-Dum's bad breath, or Monty's love of English poets, and all the cigarette smoke everywhere. But Steve also didn't tell him about Gabe's wry humor or Morita's potty mouth. Sam made a mental note to punch Steve when he gets back.
Getting back -- maybe he should have stayed by the tree and waited for the portal to re-open. That woulda been the smart thing to do. But Steve was there, and if nothing else made sense, Sam knew his place was by Steve's side. Except that's where Bucky Barnes is.
A year of searching and reading everything he could find on the Winter Soldier didn't prepare him at all for the man marching ahead of him who was cheerfully trying to get Dugan to share some of his stash of roast beef by insulting his mother. "C'mon, Dum-Dum. I'll swap you 1 pack of cigs *and* my chocolate bar. I coulda had your mom twice for that price. Monty, back me up here." "Indeed, the price of Dugan's mother was established last week when Dugan lost at cards and refused to pay up. I believe I myself am owed three fucks in lieu of two packs of cigs."
Dugan reluctantly pulled out a paper package and shoved it at Barnes. "Here. Now we're even." Barnes gleefully unwrapped it, ripped off a hunk of the beef, then ran up to share the ham with Steve. Steve said distractedly, "Thanks, Buck, but I think our guest might need the nutrition more."
Steve calling him guest. That hurt. Especially when Sam wanted nothing more than to be walking by his side.
"Steve, all you had this morning was 3 crackers." Barnes said softly. "Even Captain America needs food."
Steve gave Bucky a warm look that made all of Sam's last year of searching worth it. The ham quickly disappeared down Steve's gullet. "Thanks, Bucky."
Sam's stomach chose at that time growl loudly, and he suddenly realized that he was following embarrassingly close behind the two. They glanced back sharply, faces instantly guarded. Right. Don't break too many things. This is 1944 and Steve already had Bucky at his side. "On your left," Sam said gruffly, and plowed forward past them.
- *-* - *-* - *-* -
Bucky watched as Wilson stalked into the woods ahead. He half-expected Wilson not to return -- maybe that light would reappear. But instead Wilson came hurrying back, face grim. "We need to backtrack and head west."
Bucky was coming up with the perfect jab when the wind shifted and he smelled it: the mix of engine oil, gunpowder, and smoked rotting flesh that meant there was a battlefield up ahead. "Yeah, let's go, Steve," he tugged at Cap's uniform. Dum-Dum was already tucking his bourbon back in his vest, and Gabe and Dernier moved to scout westward.
"Wait. What's up ahead?" Steve frowned, confused. By now the smell was everywhere, and Bucky wished Steve were smaller so that he could drag the idiot away. He pulled at Steve harder. "Nothin', Steve." His throat tightened as he recalled his last battle -- HYDRA marching them past the dead and dying 107th. "Come on, we need need to go." He wanted to vomit. He wanted to get Steve away from that nightmare.
"No. Not until I find out what's going on." Steve squared his shoulders and plowed forward. Shit.
Bucky had no choice but to follow.
- *-* - *-* - *-* -
Sam had seen his share of war and death on his tours, but the geography here made it different. The trees were so good at hiding the mass carnage from sight, and the soils and ferns added a certain earthy musk that muted the scent of death.
He's also used to a different vantage point. Sam tried to imagine what he would see from above: a giant smoldering gash in the middle of the forest, tank paths spreading outwards (or was it inwards?) like cracks on a broken glass. The Germans were losing but that just made the battles bloodier.
If his wings weren't broken he could follow the tank tracks to find the next engagement, do his part to save what meager lives he can from the groaning, surging forces of war. He was trained to swoop in and pull wounded out of firefights, not stand helplessly at the edge of the exploded earth, looking at the aftermath. The war had moved on, leaving behind people beyond rescue.
"It's all right, Steve." Bucky said into the silence. "The clean-up crew will be here soon enough. They'll all get proper burials and letters home." Steve made a choked noise beside him.
At first he thought Steve wanted to see the battlefield out of some sense of patriotic duty. But now Sam turned to really notice the way Steve stood dumbfounded, mouth open and breathing too hard. This was Steve's first battlefield. "This... this is what you didn't want me to see." Steve's voice was quiet. Steve went from USO tour straight to leading the Howling Commandos. Right.
Then Steve swallowed and started resolutely picking his way further into the carnage, checking each body for signs of life. Of course Steve would do that: stare death and war in the face and try to recover its humanity.
Barnes clenched his fists beside him. Gone were the cheerful smirk he had with the Howlers. Gone even was the sharp assessing look that Sam awoke to this morning. His eyes were hooded, his mouth a thin, tight line. Sam's seen that look often enough in the mirror and at the VA to know what that meant.
"Hey," Sam used his warmest voice. "I got this. I'll bring him back." And before Barnes could say no, Sam scurried after Steve.
Steve was crouched over a body. A boy with light brown skin and straight black hair. He was wearing a uniform that Sam didn't recognize. "On your left." Sam said quietly as he approached.
"From one of the French colonies." Steve said without looking up. "Vietnam, I'm guessing."
"Shit, man. My dad fought in..." Sam mentally slapped himself. "My dad fought in the last war. Doesn't talk about it much." Sam squatted down next to him. "I can see why."
"Y'know, after I was ... made, Colonel Phillips told me the he needed an army, and that I wasn't enough." Steve shook his head and smiled bitterly. "He was right. I'm wearing a costume and fighting a guy who calls himself Red Skull. And even if I take him out, so what? There's still Hitler. And Hirohito."
Steve turned to face him. "And even if I could stop them, so what? Have you seen the newsreels about Central Henan and Saipan? Can I undo Stalingrad and Nanking? Could any of that have stopped a Vietnamese boy from dying in a foreign battlefield halfway around the world?" Steve was yelling, now.
"Whoa there, Cap." Sam laid a hand on Steve's back. That worked in the future so maybe it'd work now. "The world isn't yours to save. In fact, people who believe that tend to be the ones who end up almost destroying the world."
Steve sat back on his heels. "But I'm fighting fake Nazis with blue lasers while the real war goes on."
"I think the word you're looking for super. Super Nazis." Sam corrected him. "HYDRA isn't fake. And they're hella insidious."
Steve shot him a sharp look at the mention of HYDRA, and Sam scrambled to redirect. "Look, all I'm saying is that these deaths aren't on you. You don't need to avenge the death of this boy, or any of the people here. People kill each other. Have been for as long as there have been people. All you can do is just... do what you can." Sam knew how lame that sounded coming out of his mouth. But really, inspirational speeches are Steve's thing, not his.
Sam saw a stirring at the edge of the clearing, and gestured at the Howlers gathered there. "You inspire other people to be better, you know? All those people had a chance to go home and instead chose to follow you. I mean, hell, I just met you and here I am, following you into death." Sam laughed a bit to ease the tension, and tried not to think about all the times he *did* follow Steve into near-certain death. Or of the man waiting at the edge of the clearing with death written all over his face.
"C'mon, Cap." Sam stood up and reached out a hand. "Folks are waiting. Don't let the strange newbie do all the work around here."
"Thanks, Sam," Steve smiled as he took Sam's hand, and Sam smiled in return, though somewhat tinged with regret. Steve's eyes looked a bit harder, now. Resigned. Closer to the Steve he knew from the future.
- *-* - *-* - *-* - *-* -
By the time they camped for the night, Wilson was joking with the rest of the Commandos, and even managed to get Dum-Dum to share some of his good bourbon and get Gabe drunk enough to sing the French song he'd written for his girl in college. He made the appropriate grimace at the can of Ham and Lima Beans, and Steve took great joy at showing Wilson how to set up a pup tent -- never mind that he'd just learned it himself a few months ago. By now it was quite clear that Wilson wasn't standard Army, or even standard Air Force. But neither was Dernier or Monty and this war was strange enough that it didn't matter. Especially since Cap likes him and he shared his poker winnings.
Bucky watched and waited.
"Hey, I'll take first watch," Wilson offered around bedtime. "You're short a bedroll cause of me anyway."
"I'll take second watch," Bucky offered.
Bucky watched Wilson as he waited for Steve to fall asleep in the bedroll beside him. It wasn't anything special -- Wilson just kept watch like someone who'd done it a thousand times: body relaxed, hand firm on the rifle, eyes alert. Quiet, watchful, easy.
After he was sure that Steve's asleep, Bucky crawled out of his bedroll and joined Wilson, who straightened up immediately.
"Whatever's on your mind, just say it." Wilson was apparently waiting for this. "I'll try to be as honest as I can."
Bucky picked up a stick and poked at the dirt in front of him.
"This isn't your first war." It was a simple enough observation -- Wilson's eyes were hard and calculating when he surveyed the surroundings for danger. And it's no accident that Wilson could hit the right tone of soldier's banter.
"No." Wilson admitted. He smiled. "A very different war, though. And I didn't lie about the paratrooper part. I was para-rescue. Had to stop after my wingman was shot down beside me." Bucky marveled at how easily Wilson carried that weight. He could sense the pain in Wilson's words, but they're a quiet pain. Bucky tried to imagine how it'd feel like of he had to see Steve die next to him. Couldn't. Well, there were other things to ask Wilson.
"This is not the first time you've met me and Steve." Another observation. The way Wilson's eyes lit up when he saw Steve, the way he comports himself around Steve... all spoke to someone who knew Steve very well.
"Right." Wilson's eyes were guarded.
"But it's the first time I've met you."
"First time for Steve, too, if that's what you're wondering." Bucky raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. It's probably some H.G. Wells or Jules Verne thing involving time travel or lizard men.
Wilson shrugged. "Look, I can explain, but I'm not sure if you'd even want me to. Just roll with it and trust me when I say this: I'm on your side. Steve's the best thing that's happened to me, and I'd never do anything to jeopardize that."
Bucky nodded. That felt real. Real like when Wilson was talking about his own war. One last thing, then. "Thank you, for today."
Wilson gave him a long, searching look, and Bucky glared right back. Finally, he sighed. "No problem, man. You gotta take care of yourself, Barnes." Bucky got the feeling that Wilson wanted to say something more, but instead he just said, "You've got a lot on your plate."
Bucky thought back to the darkness of the factory, the lab, the table. The darkness that wasn't burned away by the fires of the subsequent HYDRA infernos. He'd thought that following Steve would be enough, that training his eyes on that one spot between Steve's shoulder blades and ignoring everything else could help him through the darkness and the nightmares. But today proved that it wasn't. He couldn't follow Steve all the way. At least not yet. And when he looked at Wilson, it seemed that he understood, in a way that Bucky is not yet sure of himself.
Bucky nodded to the bedroll he'd vacated. "Go, my turn to keep watch." Wilson laid an understanding hand on his shoulder before shimmying into the pup tent. Steve made a contented noise at the return of body heat beside him, and Wilson scooted a bit closer. Bucky turned his attention back to surveying the surrounding forest. Maybe it's better to have someone who has tamed his darkness to sleep beside Steve. Meanwhile, Bucky did what he does best: wait and watch.