thekidfrombrooklyn | [OOM: Marching back to Itay]

Entry tags:

james 'bucky' barnes

[OOM: Marching back to Itay]

Previously:

"I thought you were dead!"

"I thought you were smaller."

Getting four hundred men safely out of Austria and to Allied territory is not easy, but somehow it's happening. The worst of the wounded are on the tank (driven by Jones and Dugan, two men Steve intends to keep track of) and everyone is helping each other along, sharing water, telling each other of home. They're not only from all over the US but from Europe as well, Free French and English and more.

Steve moves through the group periodically, making sure no stragglers are left behind, but mostly he's at the front of the long, uneven line, leading the way south.

Best of all, he's got Bucky by his side.

He's going to bring Bucky home.

To be continued...

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"Fair," he admits.

"I'm okay, I think. Still would have loved to have gotten a shot at Redhead and especially that little weasel doc partner of his, but."

"Maybe you'll get your chance."

Another pause.

"Basically, I'm AWOL, so I expect I'll be arrested when we get back. But they'll send you home, I'm sure. No reason not to."

"You gotta be kidding me," he argues. "I'm not that bad off -- I'm on my feet, aren't I? No one's shipping me back to Brooklyn, Steve. No way."

He doesn't say anything about the chances of court-martial; both of them know it depends on how hard a line the brass wants to draw.

Better not to think about it, not right now.

"Yeah, you're on your feet," Steve says fondly, and proudly. "And you look like you could go a few more rounds."

Despite what Philips said about the area being heavily fortified, Steve truly hopes they've done all the fighting they need to do.

"But you've been a POW. They may send you home as a matter of policy."

"They need people too badly to do that, if I don't want to go," Bucky counters.

Steve slings an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

(Largely because he can.)

"If it were up to me--"

To be honest, if it were up to him Bucky would be home, safe, having served his duty with honor. But if there's anything Steve understands, it's the drive to serve for as long as you're needed.

"--you'll be where you need to be."

He grins at Steve.

"That's more like it."

Steve beams and lets him go.

It increases his resolve to tell him about the bar at the end of the universe. If Bucky is too stubborn to go home, then he's got to have the same safe place Steve has had all this time.

"And if they don't toss me in the clink," he says lightly, "you'll get to see the USO show."

"Front and center," Bucky assures him. "Count on it."

"You'll get a great view of the tights."

"... on second thought..."

He elbows Steve in the ribs, showing that it's all in good fun, and does another scan of their surroundings as they march.

It's hard to see too far in the dark, and there's no way their little convoy can move silently, but so far so good.

Steve laughs softly and ducks, and does a quick scan of his own.

The enemy could sneak up on them pretty easily, what with the tank--but on the other hand, they have a tank.

"So, uh," he says. "I told my story. How about yours?"

Gently, because, yeah.

"Right."

Whatever humor he'd had fades, leaving only a grim look.

"Hard to say how we got cornered in the first place. It was an ugly fight. Too many of us didn't make it. But I'm guessing you know that already, or you wouldn't have known where to find us."

He scans the treeline ahead of them as though expecting the enemy to appear any second.

"I saw a map. Enemy lines, the factory location, the lay of the land..."

Roads, passes, checkpoints, where to get water for the injured.

"Yeah."

"They marched what was left of us from Azzano to that factory. There were other guys there already -- some of them are here now, even." He jerks his head backward at the column behind them.

"I don't know what they were doing with those munitions, Steve, but that's some pretty ugly stuff they're making. And they're making a hell of a lot of it."

He shakes his head.

"Glad we burned the place down. Besides the fact that it's keeping them off us now - I hope - there's no good that comes out of something like that."

Steve digs in his pocket and takes out the little rectangular instrument he picked up on his way into the factory. Its little blue light is still glowing.

"So you have no idea what this is supposed to be, or what's powering it?"

"Never saw the source they were using, but I can tell you it packs one hell of a punch when they zap you with it. Kind of like what being hit by lightning must feel like, I figure."

Bucky nods at the thing in Steve's hand.

"Not that one exactly. They were using the same whatever-it-is in some of the stuff they had in... where you found me."

A beat, and he adds,

"Dialed back more than the stuff in the guns and tanks, though. Which is probably good. Else I'd be glowing in the dark."

Steve forces a smile at the (admittedly mild) joke, and puts the instrument back in his pocket.

"Did you notice the map in the lab? And they had a self-destruct mechanism in place--they wouldn't do that if that was the only factory."

"Saw they had it on the wall, but I didn't have a good angle on it. Had some kind of equipment blueprint pinned up next to it, too."

He thinks that over for a second or two.

"Bet you're right, though. Not as fast as they were churning out weaponry, or trying. Think the boys got some of almost everything breaking out of there - maybe they can figure out what it all is."

Bucky looks down at the gun in his hands.

"I didn't get a great look at all of it. Maybe between us we can put the pieces together. They used some of us for grunt work, not where we could do any real harm, but moving scrap around. I know I saw some bombs being framed up when they dragged me into the room, but I didn't get a chance to see much after that."

"We'll turn all this over to the SSR," Steve says. "Stark can figure it out. He's brilliant."

He studies Bucky, and says, "Did they give you any clue about why they chose you to experiment on? There's hundreds of guys here. Why you?"

"Not like I was the first," he points out, dryly. "Guess it must have been my pretty face."

"Must've been," says Steve, but it's an automatic response.

It all troubles him. The machinery, the bombs, the sheer size of the factory, the experiments.

Schmidt's face.

"By the way, no, I don't have one of those under my skin."

"That's a relief," Bucky deadpans. "Seems it'd make it rough to look in a mirror."

A hard smile flashes.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

"Good becomes great," Steve murmurs. "Bad becomes worse."

He shivers.

Someday--probably someday soon--he'll tell Bucky about how he knew he and Schmidt would meet someday. His dark half--who thought, of course, they were one and the same.

Never.

He looks over at Steve.

"You okay?"

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