Chapter Text

The Sacrifices We Make
(A modern Bucky & Steve AU)

Chapter 1 - A New Mission

Afghanistan, September 2017

“Hey man, you counting the days til you go home?” Clint Barton takes a sip of his beer and leans back in his chair, keeping an eye on his surroundings through his sunglasses without appearing conspicuous. There’s constant hustle and bustle around them, and the alleys are populated by all manner of people. 

The bumpy, unpaved road outside the building often leads to repeated traffic congestion due to the constant flow of pedestrians who simply make their way through the street without paying attention to the countless drivers. They can hear the constant noise of car horns and the unending chatter of the public. His gaze wanders back to his Clint. He’s meeting his former teammate in a street café to find out about the latest developments.

“It's months away at the moment,” replies Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes with a shrug. Even though he's playing it cool, he’s secretly looking forward to the official end of his foreign deployment. At home in Brooklyn, his wife Lily and their two children are eagerly awaiting his return home. Like his buddy, his attention is focused on what's happening around them. Although they’re in a relatively safe sector, caution is always advised, because American soldiers are often targets of fanatical Taliban supporters.

"And?"

“Actually, I've got three more.”

"Really?" The ex-soldier raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought it was only until the middle of next month?”

“Nope,” Bucky replies, popping the “p” particularly clearly. He also takes a sip from his bottle of beer, the content of which is now lukewarm, and grimaces. In his mind, he adds something else to his list of things he’s looking forward to when he gets home: a cold American beer and a BBQ with everything a well-stocked supermarket will sell. “The only one who will be home by the middle of next month is you.”

Clint grins widely. “Well, what can I say? The benefits of being a military advisor, my friend, cannot be underestimated.” Since leaving active service, Clint has worked in the background instead of taking part in combat missions. Subsequently, he’s able to handle many matters from a secure airbase without having to go to the front lines. Which, of course, is a relief to his wife, Laura, and their three children. He had honestly struggled with his fate for a long time, and it’s taken a lot of effort for him to wear the hearing aids he needs now. In the end, reason prevailed. The hearing loss due to an injury from an exploding bomb made them necessary. But in retrospect, the decision was the right one. After all, his buddies trusted him with their lives, and with his physical limitations, he’s no longer able to guarantee their safety or his own in the field.

“You’ve become a damn pencil pusher,” Bucky snickers calmly, lighting a cigarette. After taking two deep drags, he looks thoughtfully at his buddy as he blows out the smoke with relish. A bead of sweat slowly runs down his temple, which he wipes with the back of his hand. This damn heat. Another thing he definitely isn't going to miss when he goes back home.

“What?” Clint laughs, not missing the sly look Bucky gives him.

"Nothing." He shrugs his shoulders.

Clint doesn’t quite buy it but leaves it at that for now. “Hey, I heard the unit has a new mascot?”

Bucky grins crookedly, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "Right." He fishes his cell phone out of the breast pocket of his beige-brown uniform, brings up the picture gallery and holds it out to Clint.

The former sharpshooter leans forward a little, pushes up his dark sunglasses, and narrows his eyes because the sunlight reflects on the scratched display. "What is that supposed to be?"

“What does it look like?”

“Is that a goat?” He looks at Bucky in disbelief. “You’ve got a damn goat as a mascot?” After studying the picture a little more closely, he adds, “At least she seems to be doing well. She’s pretty fat.”

“She's not fat, just pregnant. She’s due any moment.”

“You have a pregnant goat as a mascot.” This time it’s a statement and not a question. Shaking his head, he leans back again. “Then there will soon be baby goats here? Oh boy."

Laughing, Bucky shrugs his shoulders and puts the phone back in his pocket. “Hey, you take what you can get. Times are tough, man. And I can’t help it if someone, whose name I won't mention, is taking our actual mascot with them.”

"For your information," Clint begins to reply, "that someone simply had Lucky's well-being in mind. I couldn't leave him with you idiots. You totally spoiled him.” He still remembers the day his unit found the frightened and injured Golden Retriever during a rescue operation. The male was a trained explosives detection dog in the service of the US Army. He would never forget the events of that day. Lucky's unit had been ambushed and all the men had been killed. Lucky himself had lost an eye in the attack, and if it hadn't been for Clint, the dog probably wouldn't be alive today.

For weeks after the end of his shift he had tried to get Lucky back on his feet. The friendly dog, with an inexplicable love of pizza, quickly became the unit's beloved mascot. After he left, Clint had taken him home to the farm, where Lucky was now enjoying his well-deserved retirement and more pizza. As Bucky had done before, he now shows a picture of Lucky to him.

The sergeant nods approvingly as he studies the photo. “I miss that crazy guy.”

Clint says: “You'll have enough time soon, you can get a dog, too. Just take the goat with you. Didn't you grow up on a farm? The children will definitely like it. You just have to convince your wife of it. Speaking of which, how's Lily?"

A smile crosses Bucky's face. He rubs his bearded cheek dreamily as he thinks back to the last video conversation. “Lily’s fine. She’s been making plans to renovate the kitchen for weeks. And no, I’m from Brooklyn. My grandfather had a farm in Indiana. We always went there on vacation.” 

“And the kids? Can’t wait until Daddy gets home, right?” He knows what he’s talking about and can understand both sides.

“You bet your damn pencil-pushing ass, Barton,” Bucky agrees. Jack was too young to miss him. To be honest, he had spent little more than a few weeks with his son. It pains him to only have to watch the little one grow up from afar. But 8-year-old Anna is a smart girl and constantly asks him when he will finally come home for good. Another reason why this tour will be his last here. His children shall not just know him as the guy on the laptop screen. He has already burdened Lily with enough responsibilities because of his constant absence, and he will be grateful to her for her unfailing support until the end of his life.

“Are ya still coming to our camp?” Bucky wants to know.

Clint stretches a little, pushes his sunglasses back over his eyes, and looks at his watch. “Ah, sorry, man. I have another meeting with the higher-ups soon.”

“You could make yourself useful, and organize us some decent food for Thanksgiving.”

"I'll see what I can do," Clint nods sincerely. He knows how much it boosts morale within the units when the men feel like someone cares about them.

"And while you're at it, also for Christmas, Easter-"

“Don’t be rude, Buck.”

Sighing, Bucky sucks in a breath and grins. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Camp Victory 

It’s still dark when Bucky makes his way to the small gate to check on the snow-white goat that he has named Alpine.

As he gets closer, he can see the animal lying down, sleeping on a layer of straw in a corner, and so he creeps the last few meters closer to it so as not to scare Alpine. Nobody knows where exactly the animal comes from or how old it is. One day, members of a scouting party had reported the goat was wandering around alone, and Bucky had simply grabbed Torres from his team and set off to capture Alpine. He couldn't say why exactly, but in retrospect, it didn't matter. The trusting goat quickly crept into everyone's hearts and was lovingly cared for by the men.

He stands silently at the barrier and watches Alpine for a few moments. A slight smile plays on his lips as he enjoys the peaceful atmosphere. In moments like these, he’s able to briefly ignore the war going on around him and feels transported back to the time when he spent his summer vacation on the farm with his grandparents.

Alpine stirs, cranes her head, sticks her nose in the air, and takes in the scent. Somewhat awkwardly and sluggishly, she struggles to her feet and greets him with a joyful bleat.

Bucky walks towards her through the gate, kneels down, and scratches her dusty fur. He carefully strokes her thick sides. “It’s getting pretty tight in there, huh?” he murmurs. Of course, he has done his research and assumes that at least two fawns were growing up in Alpine. “Can’t wait to meet your babies, Alpy.” He reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a carrot that he has picked up from the canteen.

Alpine grabs it furiously and tugs at the carrot that Bucky is holding tightly until she manages to bite off a piece.

“Morning, Sarge.”

Bucky turns around and recognizes Joaquín Torres, who has just joined their unit a few months ago and is therefore their greenhorn. “Morning,” he nods to him.

“Still no kids, huh?” Torres asks, enjoying his pun. You could clearly see the laughter and anticipation on his face.

“No, Alpy’s certainly making it exciting,” Bucky replies, smirking.

“They’ll definitely come when we’re on tour,” says the young soldier, sounding a bit disappointed.

“We can only wait,” Bucky shrugs, trying to appear calm. But of course, he secretly hopes that he will be able to be there at the birth.

Together they set about cleaning the gate, filling up the water, and providing fresh food. There’s even a work plan within the team to ensure that Alpine is always well looked after.

Almost 20 minutes later they go into the morning briefing.

When Bucky and Torres enter the briefing room, most of the commanders are already present, and it doesn't take long until the leader on duty, Colonel Nick Fury, appears.

As always, the experienced veteran gets straight to the point after looking over the room from behind the standing desk. In quick succession he goes through the plan for the day, hands out some papers, explains the latest satellite images, and discusses previous missions with the men.

After dismissing the other soldiers, he pauses briefly, then turns to Bucky: “Sergeant Barnes, I have a special assignment for you.”

Bucky is irritated for a moment. He knows nothing about a special order; his daily plan had included a reconnaissance mission. Still, he nods at him and waits for further instructions. “Colonel.”

"The State Department has tasked Colonel Beecham with assembling a team to extract a group of NGO volunteers from an area that has been identified as a danger zone following recent developments in the region."

“Sir? Colonel Beecham?” Bucky asks. The colonel commands a completely different battalion.

“Right, this morning the report came that Sergeant Brubaker was killed and now you come into play. The team needs a replacement at short notice. I have all the relevant information compiled for you, Sergeant.” Fury holds out a folder.

A look at the files reveals nothing unusual. Compared to previous missions, this doesn't sound particularly challenging. More like a babysitting job. But of course Bucky keeps his opinions to himself; it’s not his place to complain about tasks assigned to him.

Fury continues: “You know your way around that area, don’t you? That’s why I thought of you first.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bucky confirms after taking a look at the geographical data. “There are some settlements there that are friendly to us.” Not a point to be neglected, because especially in times of crisis, people are grateful for any opportunity to avoid new conflicts.

“Then get ready. Departure is at 0900.”

"Yes, sir."

The sun is beating down mercilessly when Bucky appears in front of the building next to the helipad in full gear, including a helmet and machine gun. He goes over the list Fury had given him again. On it are the names of the people he’s supposed to bring safely back to camp with the other team. In total, there are four men, all of whom volunteered as teachers, craftsmen, social workers, and development workers.

The deafening roar announces the arrival of a helicopter and all the men in the immediate vicinity of the landing point scramble to safety. Fine clouds of dust are kicked up by the landing helicopter and briefly deprive the men of their visibility and air to breathe. After the dust settles, the men begin unloading and reloading supplies into the helicopter.

Air Force Pararescue Sam Wilson walks up and greets Bucky with a handshake. “Hey, Sarge.”

“Sam! Back in action again?” Bucky asks the soldier who serves as a rescue jumper in the 58th unit.

“Looks like it,” Sam nods and grins broadly. “Hey, I have the concentrate for Alpine with me. Are the fawns here yet?”

Bucky has to grin at him also. Alpine is known far beyond the camp boundaries. He’s pleased that Sam has remembered his request to look for suitable food. "Not yet. There are already bets on which day it will happen. You can still join us. And thanks for the food. Alpy can really use it when she suckles the young ones.”

“No problem, man. I’ll take it to your quarters?” There's never a question if Sam will help others when he can.

"OK."

Sam looks at his counterpart and recognizes the combat gear. “New operational order?”

“Yep, I was assigned to Bravo Company at short notice. We need to collect some civilians before the situation on site escalates,” Bucky informs him.

Two Humvees drive up, with Joaquín and Lemar Hoskins at the controls. John Walker begins loading equipment into the two vehicles.

Sam nods goodbye to him. “Let me know if you need anything else for Alpine. I’ll be here for a few more days.”

“I’ll get back with you, Sam.” Then he goes to Torres. “Change of plans. I have to go over to the 3rd Battalion,” he informs him and then walks over to the helicopter. He plans a maximum of 2 days for the mission, so he says: “See you Friday. Take good care of Alpy!”

“All right, Sarge.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Uncertainties

The journey in the heavily armored military vehicles is anything but comfortable. The Humvees rumble along the unpaved country roads, past jagged rock formations, and the stuffy air builds up inside the cabin.

Bucky takes advantage of the ride to let his mind wander a bit in the passenger seat. They are still on safe ground in this part of the region, so he’s able to turn his attention briefly to continuing his plans for his return home to the States. After all his time in Afghanistan, it’s still hard for him to imagine spending Christmas with his family in snowy Brooklyn.

In just under three months he will be able to spend time with his family and hold his children and his youngest nephew in his arms. He'll be able to hold the kid the first time since he only knows of him from photos and video chats. His sister, Rebecca, had become a mother for the second time four months ago, and she has taken on the task within the Barnes family of keeping him up to date on all the developments at home via Messenger. That's how he knows that his father, George, is planning a fishing trip with him ever since he found out the date of Bucky’s return. In fact, he has already packed up all the equipment for it and is just waiting for his return.

Winifred, his mom, has already drawn up a menu for the Christmas holidays and wants to spoil him with home-cooked, delicious food and all kinds of scrumptious cakes. The idea makes his mouth water.

After two hours of driving around 100 kilometers, they take a short break. His commanding officer, Master Sergeant Daniel Miller, instructs Bucky and his partner, Travis Bell, to climb a small hill and get an overview of the situation.

While both are lying on the ground, Travis searches the area with his binoculars while Bucky, trained sniper that he is, secures the surrounding area with his weapon at the ready. Sergeant First Class Tom Jackson remains below and radios in their position.

“And?” Bucky wants to know.

Travis slowly lowers the binoculars and puts his sunglasses back on. “Nothing suspicious,” he reports thoughtfully. He doesn't have much experience as a so-called spotter and the fact that he is now being asked by the sergeant to give a situation report obviously makes him nervous.

Bucky narrows his eyes thoughtfully, and scans the horizon through the scope of his rifle. So far he's been able to confirm Travis' conclusion but with every mile they advance deeper into the interior, the risk of encountering enemy tribes and coming under fire increases drastically. They are only a few kilometers away from their destination. The quicker they get to the settlement to collect the civilians, the better.

Miller’s voice comes over the radio: “We’re leaving in 15 minutes.”

Primary school

“Okay, we still have a few minutes until break,” Steve says looking at his students, “but I think you’ve learned enough for today. You were all very, very good,” he praises his class, which consists of 15 boys and girls between the ages of 10 and 14. With an appreciative smile, he thanks the local man who serves as translator. He's learned a few words in the language since he’s been here, but his vocabulary is not yet sufficient enough to be able to converse fluently with the others. He’s about to add something else when there is a babble of voices and a loud rumble from outside. Although he hasn't been in Afghanistan for long, he still knows the sound very well - heavy American army vehicles have just arrived.

Frowning, he looks out the windows and can actually see two Humvees driving slowly down the dusty road toward the town square. The younger children run alongside the military vehicles, beaming with joy and shouting loudly, because the soldiers usually have some sweets with them, which are always a treat for the kids.

Soldiers always come through the town on patrol, so Steve thinks nothing of it and turns back to his charges. “So…who wants to play a game?”

When his watch signals the break, Steve claps his hands to get his students' attention. “Lunch break!” he announces and no further prompting is needed for the boys and girls to quickly pack up their things and leave the room one after the other. Within a few minutes, Steve is left alone in the room, tidying up his paperwork with a grin.

But then he pauses. Heavy footsteps echo through the open door down the hallway. Seconds later, he jumps as someone knocks forcefully on the wooden door frame.

Bucky recognizes the man based on his description in the documents, but he still wants to be certain of the man’s identity. “Steven Rogers?”

Steve turns around and finds himself face to face with two armed soldiers. Frowning, he says, “Um, yeah? What is it?"

“Sir, I am Sergeant Barnes, and I have instructions to get you and the three other staff members to safety.”

Blinking, Steve tries to understand the meaning of the words. “I- what? Safety…? But why …?"

“Sir, do you know where David McMillan, Kyle Kenan, and Jeffrey Goldmann are right now?” Bucky doesn't want to get involved in a time-consuming discussion, even if he has sympathy for the man in front of him.

Steve nervously strokes his dark beard. “Um, Dave is...out in the fields somewhere and Jeff...should be at Ahmed's carpentry shop. Why? What’s going on here?” he asks again.

Bucky relays the information via radio. “Actual. Falcon 6-2. We have target number 3. Over. Negative. They aren’t in the building. We will take Target number 3 to the staging area and then deploy. Over.”

Steve still doesn't know what’s going on because the communication is a one-way receiver nestled in the soldier's ear so he can't hear the answers. Confused, he turns to the officer who is obviously in charge. However, in his excitement he has forgotten his name. “Ser-Sergeant…? Could you please tell me what on earth this is about?”

“Please put this on,” Bucky says, holding out a bulletproof vest to Rogers. The situation isn’t yet serious, but he knows from his own experience how quickly the tide can turn. He can see how the man is going to reply and raises his finger. “We will explain everything to you once you and the others are safe. But for now, I ask you to just follow us.”

Steve’s pulse quickens as he takes the vest and after a few moments pulls it over his head. His fingers tremble slightly as he adjusts the vest.

“Okay,” Bucky nods. “Everything is fine, no need to panic. We're going to go outside now and then make a beeline for the Humvees. You will get in and stay there. Then we go looking for McMillan and Goldmann.” He briefly explains the situation to Steve somewhat so as not to be bombarded constantly with questions. "Understood?"

Steve nods silently and notices his palms starting to sweat.

"Let's go."

Suddenly, Steve feels like he’s in some kind of war movie as he follows the sergeant - flanked by the other soldier. After a few meters they reach the military vehicle. Then something else occurs to him. "Wait! What about my things and what-”

“Sir,” Bucky shakes his head. “We’ll worry about that later. Now please get in.”

A good 15 minutes later, David is sitting in the back of the Humvee, while Kyle and Jeff are in the second vehicle. David is somewhat stocky, but from his erect posture, Steve can tell that he’s tense. He sympathizes, his nerves have him completely soaked in sweat under the bulletproof vest.

David takes several audible breaths and shifts nervously back and forth on the seat. “This is an evacuation operation. I’ve experienced this before,” he murmurs uncomfortably.

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. This is his first time abroad as a volunteer in a war zone. He’s well aware of the risks, but so far there had been no signs that the situation is dangerous.

“Yeah, but…” Steve begins, “shouldn’t we have been informed beforehand?”

At that moment the front doors open and the sergeant and the other soldier climb inside. From the passenger seat, the sergeant turns to them and looks directly at Steve. This gives him the opportunity to study the dark-haired man with the full beard and blue eyes more closely. Steve guesses he is in his early to mid-30s, while the blonde driver looks significantly younger.

Bucky wipes the sweat from his forehead. In full combat gear and a helmet, it isn't exactly pleasant to be in the Humvee. “We just received word from headquarters. A rain front is approaching. In fact, a rather large rain front. We are still waiting for further orders. Since we have time,” he says, lifting a bag that he passes over the back seat, “you can grab some snacks.”

David, who is sitting closest to the sergeant, accepts the bag and takes out a water bottle and a prepackaged granola bar.

Steve leans forward slightly, unscrewing the cap from a bottle and greedily takes several sips of water. Then he turns back to the soldier. “Sorry, Sergeant… I forgot your name and the name tag,” he points to the right side of his chest, “is unfortunately covered by the vest.”

“James Barnes,” Bucky nods before pointing his thumb at his companion. “And this is Corporal Travis Bell. The chick of the company,” he says with a grin.

Travis rolls his eyes at the comment but stays quiet. Apparently he isn't hearing this for the first time.

“I would say it's nice to meet you,” Steve smiles nervously, “but by nice I mean something different. No offense."

Bucky just nods. The first drops of rain fall on the windshield, causing him to turn forward again and look through the bulletproof glass towards the sky. Gray clouds have gathered overhead. “Let’s hope it stays just a few drops,” he tells Travis. “If the rain front actually moves in, we can forget about the return trip.”

“Why?” Steve wants to know.

“Because,” Bucky turns his head a little to the side to look at Steve, “there’s danger of debris falling and we run the risk of getting stuck halfway into enemy territory in the middle of the night.” When he looks into Rogers’ wide eyes he has to sigh. Sometimes he forgets that he’s dealing with civilians who aren't used to such scenarios. His radio crackles to life and he reaches for the transmitter attached to his vest. Miller speaks in the earpiece and informs him that the base camp has given the order to stay in the village for the night. After confirming the radio message, he takes a deep breath. “Well then, let’s get settled in at school.”

Due to the heavy rain and dark clouds, the sunlight has rapidly diminished. The rain hammers down on the surrounding buildings in thick, heavy drops. It seems as if the water masses are constantly increasing. The storm pushes against the window panes and causes the simple wooden structures of the buildings to crack menacingly several times. While Jeff, Kyle, and David apparently manage to come to terms with the situation without any problems and to even find sleep, Steve's mind is spinning, and he can't seem to calm down. In the semi-darkness he sits with the three of them in one of the two classrooms, which is only dimly lit by an emergency light.

The four soldiers sleep in alternating shifts, so that two of them always ensure the security of the unit by patrolling outside the building and inside the room. Although it gives him some sense of security, he can't stop worrying.

Sergeant Barnes is replaced by Corporal Bell who then leaves the room to patrol the area.

Countless flashes of lightning illuminate the night and deep rumblings of thunder make the windows vibrate at irregular intervals. Steve stands up restlessly and paces back and forth. As he passes the door he pauses, watching Barnes standing in the hallway smoking a cigarette.

Bucky notices the movement in his peripheral vision and turns around. Rogers has been a bundle of nerves the whole time, and he hopes that his behavior will not have a detrimental effect on the group. If one of the four loses his nerve, it won't be helpful at all. Smiling, he reaches into one of the pockets on his uniform and pulls out the pack of cigarettes. Nodding, he offers it to the teacher. Maybe it'll calm him down a little.

Steve raises his hands defensively. "No thanks. Not good for my asthma.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows in surprise. His counterpart doesn't exactly seem ailing, quite the opposite actually. The blonde man is probably as tall as himself and maybe even a little more muscular. “Oh, I didn't know. I’m going somewhere else,” Bucky says.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve answers, not wanting to drive the other man away.

“You should lie down and get some sleep,” Bucky suggests. “You need to take advantage of every opportunity for rest that comes your way.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Yup.”

The exchange makes Steve pause for a moment. “Brooklyn?” he guesses out loud.

"Yep."

“Me too,” Steve grins brightly.

Smiling broadly, Bucky chuckles, “It’s a small world. Confirms itself again and again.”

“How long have you-” Steve wants to know before he stops mid-sentence as he realizes something. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from your break.”

“No problem.” Bucky waves him off with one hand. “What did you wanna know?”

"It’s not important. Good night, Sergeant.” Even though the man he’s talking to doesn't seem to mind the discussion, Steve prefers to end the conversation because he doesn't want to delay the soldier any further. He nods goodbye and goes back to the others. Sighing, he lies down and tries to make himself somewhat comfortable on the hard floor. The storm is still raging outside, and he gradually realizes that the soldiers' decision to spend the night in the village had been the right one. Nobody should be out and about in this weather.

He twists from side to side several times, but with only a thin blanket as a “mattress,” he can’t get to sleep. He rises from the floor again and meanders to the restroom.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Opening Up 

“The third time it costs a beer.”

Startled, Steve turns around and sees the sergeant standing at the sink in the toilet anteroom. “I’ll buy you a beer when we get back to camp. We’re going back to camp, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms and runs a washcloth over his face, his beard and finally his neck. In the mirror, he studies Steve's reflection. The man still looks upset. “I’ll get you back to camp, you can count on that, Mr. Rogers,” he says calmly.

“In that case, I insist, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

"I'm sorry, what?"

“My name is Bucky. Actually, it's James Buchanan Barnes, but Bucky is better than Sergeant Barnes.”

Nodding, Steve replies, “Then please call me Steve. Only my students in the States call me Mr. Rogers.”

Bucky carelessly throws the rag in the trash and starts to leave, but he stops and asks, “Still not sleeping?”

“Do I look that bad?” Steve tries to sound amused, even though he doesn’t feel it.

“You seem tense,” Bucky replies and follows up with: “Which is completely legitimate. Still, it would help if you stayed calm. Driving yourself crazy doesn't help. Think positively: We’ll sit at the bar tomorrow night and get drunk.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“If I wasn’t, I’d have to put a bullet in my head every day,” Bucky replies with a shrug. He looks into the questioning face of the man before him. “I just have to believe that what we are doing here is accomplishing something good. That the world will become a little better as a result. For my children and all the other children in the world, too. That's what motivates me. That’s what makes me get up and go out there every day.”

Steve listens carefully to every single word the man says. Although he sometimes seems callous, the soldier also has a lot of empathy.

“That’s what drives you as a teacher, isn’t it, Steve?”

“I haven't thought of it that way before,” Steve admits. "Interesting."

Bucky lifts his arms a little, smiling. “Well, I’m a pretty smart guy.”

“Indeed,” Steve says smiling. He feels the tension ease a little.

“I'll have a go then,” Bucky nods and turns back to the second classroom where his squad is quartered.

“You must be really into it.”

Astonished, Steve stops and looks at Bucky, who’s sitting in the makeshift lounge with his back to him but doesn't turn around. “I…um…what?”

Bucky grins but keeps his gaze focused forward on the screen in which his visitor is being reflected. "No harm done. But I'm starting to think you're sleepwalking."

The fact that he isn't wearing a helmet and has his assault rifle leaning against the wall tells Steve that the soldier is probably taking a break. “That would imply that I’m at least sleeping,” he replies with a sigh. He’s finally given up on trying to rest, but he doesn't want to disturb his friends, so he left the room to... to do what? He has no idea.

"And?"

Steve blinks, trying to understand the meaning of the question.

Bucky turns around with a serious expression. “Where’s the beer?” He makes his request more specific.

“Oh!” Steve breathes a sigh of relief and grins. “Unfortunately, I don't have any beer on hand right now,” he admits, but then he thinks of something else. "Just a moment! I’ll be right back."

“Don’t worry,” Bucky mutters, “I’m not running away.”

Steve quickly goes back to the classroom, carefully creeps to his place where his backpack with the few belongings is lying, rummages around in it, and pulls out a small cloth bag. With that, he walks back to the sergeant but stops in the doorway. Bucky is still sitting at the table, seemingly engrossed in work. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?” Steve announces his arrival. As he steps closer and sees that the soldier is sitting in front of a laptop with several small windows open. To the left is a half-empty water bottle and to the right, within easy reach, is a handgun.

Bucky turns his head and replies, “Oh, Steve. I wish there was another option. But you have seen top-secret footage, and unfortunately, I have to kill you now.” With a steady hand, he reaches for the pistol and aims it at Steve's head. His previously stern tone gives way to an amused chuckle, but it dies in his throat when he looks into the ashen face of his companion. He lowers the weapon, puts it back in the holster, and stands up to place both hands carefully on Steve's shoulders. "Hey, man. Calm down. It was just a joke!”

Only gradually does Steve’s brain start to work again as the shock slowly fades. He tries to swallow several times, but, suddenly, his mouth is bone dry.

“Sit down before you pass out on me,” Bucky says, pulling up a chair and gently but firmly pushing Steve down. "I'm sorry. I...that was supposed to be a joke. We… do this all the time. I'm really sorry. I sometimes forget that y'all aren't used to this." He bends down to pick up the small cloth bag Steve has dropped.

Only then does Steve notice that his hands are shaking as he takes the bag. He hadn't even realized he'd lost it.

“You probably need something stronger than a beer,” Bucky states, patting Steve’s cheek softly. “And breathe, for heaven’s sake!”

The touch brings Steve back to the present. Blinking, he greedily sucks in air, which results in a coughing fit.

“Hey, I really didn’t mean to do that,” Bucky apologizes sincerely and sits down in his own chair, which he's pulled up so he's directly across from Steve.

“Can’t -no air,” Steve chokes out between breaths.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Bucky says, familiar with such a sight. "Close your eyes. Try to breathe in calmly. Inhale for four seconds. Good. Now stop for seven seconds,” he instructs Steve and places his hand on his thigh so that he can set the pace with his index finger.

Steve tries to coordinate his breathing with the gentle tapping of Bucky’s finger, but he can't quite manage it.

“Ah, too fast. Never mind. Just try again. “Inhale…hold…exhale,” Bucky gives instructions, nodding approvingly at Steve. "Just like that. Once again …"

Bucky's deep, calm voice is soothing, allowing Steve to focus on the instructions. His heart is still pounding wildly against his chest, his vision is blurry, and his whole body is tingling with nervousness. But with each new round, he feels the tension disappear, and his lungs begin to work normally again. After a few minutes, he nods. "Back on track."

“Phew,” Bucky exhales in relief and leans back. "Sorry again. It was really stupid of me to do that.”

“I've never experienced anything like that before,” Steve says. “At least not that intensely.” Now exhausted, he rubs his hand over his forehead.

“It’s not the first panic attack I’ve experienced,” Bucky shrugs. Then he stands up, takes a water bottle out of his backpack, and offers it to Steve. “Guess I owe you a beer now.” He waits until Steve has taken a few sips before drinking from the bottle himself. “That wasn’t meant seriously. Like I said, I sometimes forget that we’re dealing with civilians who are not used to this kind of stuff. We do this nonsense all the time,” he apologizes again. “Guess that’s our way of dealing with all the crap around here.”

“It’s okay, honestly. I’m sorry I scared you.” He's been holding the bag in his hands the whole time and now offers it to Bucky. "As a small apology."

“You don’t have to apologize for it. Really.”

"I insist."

With a raised eyebrow, Bucky accepts the bag but then stops in his tracks. “There’s no bomb in there, is there?”

“No,” Steve smiles.

Curious, Bucky inspects the contents. “Dates!”

“I hope you like dates?”

“It’s no substitute for a juicy burger,” he sighs. “But yeah, I like dates. Thanks."

“Ayla's mother always brings me some, and they're really good.”

The laptop beeps, causing Bucky to turn to the screen. As before, the expected outcome does not materialize. He puts the dates aside. “By the way, these are not top secret recordings,” Bucky explains and turns the laptop towards Steve. “I'm trying to reach my wife. Anna, our daughter, has a school performance today. I was hoping to be able to talk to her first. But the connection always breaks.” He turns the laptop back towards himself and sighs. “I guess I’ll have to wait until we get back to camp.”

"How old is your daughter? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“She’s 8,” Bucky readily informs him. “And Jack, my son, is 2.” With his right hand, he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, calls up the picture gallery, and searches for a specific photo. Smiling, he shows it to Steve. “That’s the two of them with Lily, my wife.”

Steve studies the picture with interest. The two children - the little girl with beautiful blonde tresses and the boy with the same dark brown hair as his dad - are beaming. The black-haired woman is smiling lovingly into the camera. "It's a great picture. Thanks," he says quietly.

Bucky proudly puts the phone back in his pocket. “I have the same photo laminated in the shoe under the sole.”

"Yeah?"

“Uh-huh. It’s so I can see them any time the battery runs out or the phone dies. A lot of soldiers do that.”

"That's a good idea."

"What about you? Do you have a family too?”

“Not of my own, no. At least not yet. I'm, um, engaged and well... I'd like to have kids at some point," Steve confesses.

Nodding, Bucky listens. “Children are wonderful.”

“Isn’t it hard being away from them?”

"Of course. But like I said, I hope my actions here do some good - make a difference.”

“But you could do that in the States too.”

"Same for you."

“Touché,” Steve grins.

"So, why are you here?"

Steve has often asked himself the same question. "It just feels right. The children here…they didn’t choose to be victims of war. They were simply drawn into this conflict.”

“All of us have been,” Bucky objects.

“That's probably true. Well, but as a soldier…” Steve doesn’t continue.

"What?"

Embarrassed, Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Well… you don’t become a soldier assuming you’ll never be deployed to a war zone.”

Bucky chuckles. “I joined the army because it was my last resort. I...my academic performance was...subpar, to say the least. There weren’t many options other than maybe ending up as a drug dealer.”

“I doubt that,” Steve contradicts him. “You seem educated to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Bucky shrugs. “In any case, I wasn’t a model boy.”

“But people can change.”

"Allegedly." Bucky leans back and has to stifle a yawn.

It’s then that Steve realizes he has once again stopped the soldier from his break. "Oh damn. I’m stopping you again, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. If I hadn’t talked to you, I would have talked to my family,” he nods briefly towards the laptop. Then he looks at his watch. “It won’t do any good to lie down now. And I can definitely get by without a break. Once I was on the road with my company for almost 72 hours without any real breaks. This is nothing. But that doesn't mean you have to do the same as us. You could still lie down for,” he does a quick calculation, “five hours.”

“It's not the first time I've had an all-nighter. And by this time tomorrow, at the latest, I’ll be in a deep sleep, and you’ll be rid of me.”

“Ah-ha, then we’re dealing with a partygoer?”

“No, quite the opposite.” He thinks for a moment. “As a child, I was often sick and - even though I don't like to admit it - I was a late developer. I was at home for weeks at a time and had to endure a lot of scorn and ridicule. I had to work twice as hard to be accepted by other people and not left behind at school. I studied late into the night and was still mostly laughed at.”

“That sounds harsh,” Bucky sighs.

“It was. My father died before I was born, my mother supported the two of us all by herself, and as soon as I was old enough to earn money, I did one job after another to support us - to help at least a little financially. It wasn’t easy, but we did it.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. I’m sure your mother is proud of you.”

“It might sound unempathetic, but you can’t miss what you don’t know,” he replies with a shrug. “As for Mom, I hope she is. She became ill and died shortly after my 18th birthday.”

"Oh." Bucky can't imagine what it would be like not to have his parents around. “That’s…” he exhales clearly as he searches for the right words. “Life really sucks sometimes.”

“You just gotta make the best of it,” Steve replies. “For my part, I try to give children the academic support that I didn't have. Many parents these days are simply overwhelmed and abandon their children to their fate. Education is fundamental when it comes to life later on.”

Bucky laughs. “I am a living example of how things don't always work out.”

Steve looks at him dumbfounded: “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, “today, I know that I screwed up a lot. The army was only supposed to be an interlude. But at some point, I found myself in this rut. I don’t even know what it’s like to live a ‘normal’ life anymore.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “And that thought really scares me. After my service ends, I’ll have to start from scratch again.”

“It’s never too late to start something new.”

“Now you sound like my dad,” Bucky chuckles. “He always hoped I would become an engineer one day. He’s a simple employee and has worked hard to get us all through some tough times. He wanted his children to have a better life.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

“Yeah, they are.”

"Siblings?"

“Three younger sisters.”

This time it’s Steve who gives an astonished “Oh.”

“Well, it’s not that bad. I like the three of them,” he smiles. "At least most of the time."

The conversation is interrupted by Miller: “Barnes, changing of the guard.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - Departure

The early morning hours are characterized by a spirit of optimism. The storm front has dissipated, the sun is sending its warming rays to the earth, and for a moment, Steve thinks it will all turn out to be just a big misunderstanding. But when he looks at the serious faces of the soldiers who are going through the operational planning together, he gets goosebumps. When the men take their rifles, he can no longer sugarcoat the situation.

“Is it really necessary?” Steve asks, sitting in the Humvee while the soldiers load the few belongings into the two vehicles. "The children ... what about their lessons?" The well-being of his charges is very important to him and the uncertainty about their fate is one of the reasons why he didn't get any sleep last night.

Bucky pauses for a moment. “What should happen to them?”

“We can’t just leave them here?”

“Should we take them with us? Away from their families? And then?"

"Well, I... I don't know," Steve has to admit that he hasn't thought the matter through. “You can’t tell me this doesn’t affect you.”

“I’m just following orders,” Bucky says with a shrug. Of course, the situation is anything but a harmless outing, but there is nothing he can do about it.

“There haven’t been any incidents yet, maybe-”

“So far,” Bucky nods. With quick steps he goes back to the entrance to the school, where the troops have gathered their equipment that now has to go back into the Humvees. He grabs two backpacks and carries them to the vehicles.

Steve exchanges silent glances with David, who is also supposed to be riding with them, while the other two men are assigned to Miller and Jackson.

“That’s just how it works,” David finally says.

Steve raises his eyebrows questioningly. “I didn’t say anything?”

“Your face speaks volumes,” David replies with a shrug. “I know you don’t like leaving everything here. Neither do I. But that’s just the way it is.”

"That's not acceptable." Steve juts his chin defiantly. As Bucky sits in the passenger seat like he had the day before, Steve makes a decision. “I won’t come with you,” he announces and gets out again.

“What the hell!” Bucky swears and hurries after him. In just a few steps he catches up with Steve and grabs his arm. “Get back in the vehicle!” he growls.

“I’m staying here,” Steve shakes his head.

“Sergeant Barnes! What’s going on?” Miller calls out to them from the other Humvee.

“We’re almost ready,” Bucky replies calmly, even though Steve’s behavior is really annoying him. He turns and looks directly at him. “Why do you want to play the hero so badly?”

“I’m not doing that,” he shoots back and manages to wriggle out of Bucky’s grasp.

“Then get back in.”

“I can’t, Bucky. I can't leave the kids behind.” Steve hopes the soldier recognizes the urgency in his voice. “It’s just wrong.”

Trying to maintain his composure, Bucky takes a deep breath. Dealing with civilians is always a challenge. “It’s the only right thing to do,” he says.

“I see it differently,” Steve replies, willing to defend his position.

“You can look at that however you want,” Bucky snorts. "I have my orders and I-"

“I don’t care,” Steve cuts him off and stares stubbornly at Bucky.

"Sergeant!" Miller's sharp tone doesn't bode well.

“Get back in,” Bucky growls his demand. "Either you do it voluntarily, or I'll have to change my tune." He’s still friendly, but if Rogers continues to act like this, he can't guarantee anything anymore.

“You can’t force me to do this.” He demonstratively crosses his arms over his chest.

"What the … ? Fuck!” Bucky sucks in a breath and then says: “All right, I warned you. Listen carefully, Steve, because I'll only say this once: The Taliban make short work of Americans who support Western principles. No matter how noble your views are, the Taliban have very little interest in that. For them we are unbelievers who need to be persecuted and wiped out. This isn't a fucking school trip, for God's sake! It's a matter of life or death. So if you don’t get your damn ass moving in the next five seconds,” Bucky grounds out, pointing his index finger at the vehicle, “I’m going to kick your ass myself. Understand?" Bucky assesses his opponent with his lips pressed together. He breathes deeply - in and out - calmly and wraps his hands around his assault rifle.

With his broad shoulders and unwavering gaze, the soldier seems downright intimidating. At first Steve doesn't know what to do.

“Get.The.Fuck.In.The.Damn.Humvee.” Bucky emphasizes every word extra clearly. “Now!” He waits a moment. “Otherwise I’ll tie you to the fucking bumper.”

If looks could kill, Steve is sure, this would be the end him. A cold shiver runs down his spine, and he can no longer hold Bucky’s gaze. He reluctantly moves towards the vehicle and takes a seat inside.

David leans toward him. “It’s not worth it, Steve. Believe me. The children can cope without us. But we can't do it without the military. We depend on their support.”

With more force than necessary, Bucky slams the passenger door shut and stares outside in silence. With a nod of his head, he motions for Bell to drive toward base.

Steve's pulse slowly calms down as they drive out of the settlement. The whole time, Bucky doesn't look at him and only exchanges a few curt words with Bell.

The barren landscape passes them by. The longer they drive, the denser the forest above their route becomes. Steve can practically feel the tension in the air. He debates with himself whether he should apologize to Bucky, but can't find a good opportunity. None of them speak, the awkward silence only gets broken by the occasional radio message from Jackson in front. The two drivers exchange information about sightings on the side of the road and Bucky comments on the reports either with approval or disapproval. Apparently, the aim of assessing the danger of the situation is paramount.

After about two hours of driving, the front Humvee suddenly comes to a stop. Due to the size of the vehicles, Steve initially can't figure out the reason for this as he looks curiously through the windshield. They find themselves at a point that leads over a small hill. To their right it’s going downhill. To their left a rocky wall rises high against the skyline.

Bell also slows down but keeps his distance.

Then comes the radio message from Miller, “The road is blocked. We can't  get any further. Barnes, I need you up here.”

“Shit!” Bucky curses, grabs the rifle and turns to Bell: “You stay here. I’ll take a look at it.” Then he gets out.

The previously tense atmosphere is now marked by nervousness, as Bell shifts restlessly in the seat, his weapon at the ready. “This isn’t good,” he mutters.

“What?” Steve asks. "What do you mean?"

Bell owes them an answer, but, for now, his attention is directed outside.

Although only minutes pass, Steve feels the time is indescribably long until Bucky appears again and the first thing he does is to take a deep breath before opening the passenger door, placing his assault rifle across the seat, rummaging around in the glove compartment, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and then leaves the door slightly open.

Leaning his back against the side of the Humvee, Bucky scans the area and lights a cigarette. At least the rock wall to their left offers some protection, but they still have to get away from this area. The Taliban have their scouts everywhere, and the fighters have long known about their presence in the area. Bucky goes over the map in his mind. He knows the local conditions, and the only alternative is to make a detour around the area. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. God, he hates this damn heat.

“Bucky?” Steve turns to the soldier, who is now looking at him for the first time since the incident in the village.

“We have to go back a bit and take side streets,” he answers the unasked question. “The road is impassable due to rubble.”

“Okay?” Steve says with a frown. “Then the return journey will take a little longer?”

“I’m not worried about that,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Bucky snorts briefly before taking another drag from the cigarette and blowing out the smoke. “The problem is,” he begins to explain, “that the side roads, unlike the main road, go through wooded areas. It increases the risk of being ambushed a hundred times over.” His voice is calm, but inside he’s tense.

“Oh my God,” David groans, rubbing his forehead. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

"Dave," Steve says, putting a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. “There is no reason, no signs that indicate danger.” His gaze goes to Bucky, who flicks away the half-smoked cigarette. “Or sergeant?”

Even though it is on the tip of his tongue, he holds back a comment. Nothing is safe here, but he certainly can't tell the two of them that. It would only cause them to panic. Instead he nods. “No signs, no.”

The suddenly deafening sound of an explosion causes everyone to jump in shock.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - Ambush

The shock wave knocks Bucky off his feet, the heat of the explosion sweeps over him, and he’s hit by several flying rocks. Luckily, he has enough presence of mind to immediately get up and dive into the Humvee. "Drive back! Go back!” he shouts at Bell. "Back! Away from here!"

Bell frantically puts the car in reverse and floors the accelerator. The wheels spin for a moment before the vehicle lurches into motion and skids over the uneven terrain. Another mortar shell hits where the Humvee had been just moments before, creating a huge cloud of dust. Debris rains down on the vehicle, some of it bouncing off the bulletproof windshield.

Bucky orders Steve and Dave to get on the floor. Fortunately, behind them there’s a wide bay just a few meters away, which is used as a checkpoint by the American forces and now enables them to turn around. Then he instructs Bell: “Turn around! You have to turn around!”

Bell nods excitedly, stops, shifts into gear, and turns the steering wheel. The heavy vehicle reacts slowly, but powerfully.

Steve and Dave are thrown around in the rear seat, their bodies colliding.

The next shell hits, missing the Humvee by only a few feet spraying the vehicle with rocks and debris. 

“There’s a turnoff ahead!” Bucky points in the appropriate direction.

“But what about-” Bell asks, his voice filled with fear. “Master Sergeant Miller!”

The young soldier has not yet grasped the magnitude of the attack and is obviously in shock. Bucky shakes his head. “There is nothing more we can do for them. We have to get out of here!” He uses the radio to contact the nearest base and relays their approximate location and current situation.

For Steve, everything seems to be happening in slow motion and, yet, so many things are happening quickly that he is unable to grasp the severity of the situation. He hears Bucky's panicked voice, but he doesn't understand the words. His brain seems unable to process the surustion. He and Dave are jolted roughly as the Humvee speeds along the rough and dusty road.

Meter by meter the off-road vehicle climbs further up the hill. The path takes them through wooded area lined with boulders. The mortar fire has stopped, but Bucky obviously is still worried. Their adversaries are well-connected and every man in the area now knows that a Humvee is on the run, and the only road that leads away from here will inevitably move them from one danger zone to the next.

Bucky unconsciously wipes sweat from his face again. As he lowers his hand, he pauses, blinking. It’s bloody. Apparently a splinter hit him in the face. He quickly wipes his hand on his pants and feels the left side of his face. A burning pain becomes noticeable when he touches a spot on his cheek below his eye. Yes, something definitely hit him and left a bloody cut. He runs his jacket sleeve over it again and jumps in shock when a handkerchief is handed to him from behind. He glances over his shoulder and peers at Steve. He nods silently to him, takes the cloth, and presses it to the wound.

"Sarge?" Bell speaks up for the first time in several minutes.

Bucky looks outside and sucks in the air. In the distance he can see a roadblock consisting of two cars standing sideways. “Go on. Don’t stop,” he instructs Bell. Then he turns to Steve and David. "Hold onto…"

The force of the impact shakes all the occupants violently, but the Humvee's sturdy construction prevents serious damage. The vehicle continues its journey with a rumble.

They barely have time to catch their breath before another explosion right in front of the Humvee causes the vehicle to lurch sideways.

“Shit!” Bell curses and tries to stay on the desert road, but the steering seems to be locked up. “I can’t maneuver anymore!” he shouts desperately.

Bucky courageously grabs the steering wheel and pulls on it with all his strength, thereby preventing a collision with a group of trees, but just a few seconds later they slam into a giant boulder and the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt. It all happens so quickly that Bucky doesn't have time to duck or brace before the impact. With the full force of his momentum, Bucky’s upper body slams against the windshield before falling back into his seat. His protective helmet prevents serious head injuries, but his shoulder suddenly sears with flaming hot pain. Groaning, he sits up and tries to move his right arm. It hurts like hell, but he doesn't appear to have broken any bones. He closes his eyes for a moment to try to ease the wave of dizziness that engulfes him, but he can't quite manage it.

Again it’s Bell who breaks the silence with his shrill voice. "Sarge! What …"

“Get out!” Bucky orders. Only then does he regain his senses enough to look around for his fellow passengers. “Are you hurt?” he asks the group.

“My wrist…” Bell replies. “I think it’s sprained.”

Steve's chest hurt too, but as far as he can tell it’s  just a bruise. His gaze goes to David, who is crouched on the floor. “Are you okay, Dave?”

David slowly nods silently, yet seems anything but coherent. His lip is split and his nose is bleeding.

“Three o’clock, Bell,” Bucky says, reaching for the rifle. Then he says to Steve and David: “We have to get out of the vehicle. It's compromised. Three o’clock,” he repeats, pointing in the appropriate direction to be on the safe side. “Run as fast as you can. Don’t stand still. I’ll provide cover fire.”

With a nod, he opens the door, jumps out and barricades himself in front of the hood. It’s impossible to say exactly where the attackers are hiding, but their only salvation is to keep as far away from their opponents as possible. He quickly fires a volley and sees in the corner of his eye how Bell stands protectively in front of the two men with his rifle at the ready and ushers them towards the forest.

Their attackers return fire. The bullets hit close in front of them, and some lodge in the body of the Humvee.

Steve drags David along, trying to stay as calm as possible. As calm as you can be when you are running around as a living target. He curses as David stumbles and falls. Relentlessly, Steve pulls his colleague up by his arm and urges him to run. 

“I-I can’t!” David cries out. "I …"

“Come on - now!” Steve demands. Only a few meters remain, and there is no way he is going to leave his buddy behind. "Stand up!"

Bell has already reached the edge of the forest and struggles briefly, then opens fire in an effort to give Bucky the opportunity to catch up with them.

When Bucky sees Steve struggling with David, he curses, “Fuck!” And without hesitation he runs to assist.

Another volley of gunfire causes the earth to splatter at Steve's feet. Moments later he feels an unspeakable pain in his right thigh and falls to the ground, groaning loudly. Before he knows what’s happening, someone grabs him roughly by the collar of his shirt and pulls him up. He loses his footing again as Bucky picks him up, pulls him over his shoulder, and carries him away at a breakneck speed.

Breathing heavily, Bucky sets Steve down on a dip in the ground and provides cover fire for Bell as he leaves the safe spot to rush back to David, who has made it to the side of the road behind a boulder but is under constant fire.

"Come on! Come on!” Bell shouts to the frightened man and seeks shelter behind a tree trunk, all the while firing his machine gun in the direction of the enemy.

Steve gasps as he struggles to his feet and looks around, searching for David. His eyes widen in shock as he realizes that Dave is running in the wrong direction, back towards the Humvee. "No! No! Don’t!” he shouts as loudly as he can, but his shouts are lost in the cacophony of rapid gunfire. He watches helplessly as David is struck by several bullets in the middle of the road and collapses.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - Escape

“Take cover!” Bucky calls and drags Steve back down into the depression in the earth that offers them little protection. “Stay down!” 

Trying to get his breathing under control, he inhales and exhales deeply as he slowly raises his head to look over the ridge. The attackers have a clear advantage because they know the terrain well, unlike the soldiers. He knows where the main traffic routes are, but the hinterland is unknown territory for him. With his radio he calls Bell, directs him to the depression, and then provides cover fire again.

Just moments later, Bell rushes over to them and, after a courageous jump, lands next to Steve, trying desperately to catch his breath. Leaning his back against the small earthen wall, the machine gun at the ready, he audibly blows out air.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky wants to know in a whisper.

“No,” Bell shakes his head and asks the counter question in a whisper. "You?"

"No. Hold your position,” he instructs Bell quietly, then turns to Steve who is clutching his thigh with both hands. They don't have much time. They have to get out of here as quickly as possible. He maintains the low volume as he saya, “Let me see.”

The pain is intense as it throbs through his entire leg, and he feels the squish of blood between his fingers. His heart is pounding against his chest, and sweat is streaming down his face. Steve barely suppresses a cry as Bucky pushes his hands away. His pulse only increases with the pain, as does his fear.

Still careful not to give away their hiding place by speaking too loudly, Bucky whispers to Steve: “Stay calm. If you pass out on me here, I won't be able carry you.” With practiced movements and with the help of his hunting knife, Bucky slits open the fabric of Steve’s pants and examines the injury. “It's just a flesh wound, Steve. Hurts like hell, but at least it’s not life-threatening,” he explains. He pulls bandages and disinfectant out of his vest. “I’m going to apply a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding.”

Steve nods but is only vaguely aware of what Bucky is telling him. He’s too busy trying to suppress the rising panic. Out of reflex, he reaches for the injured area again when he feels a touch that makes him jump.

"Hands off!" Bucky goes to work with deep concentration. He flicks open the cap on the disinfectant with his thumb and opens the foil packaging of the wound dressing with his teeth. He has seen such injuries countless times and knows from experience how to deal with them. Within a few seconds he has treated the wound and secures the bandage. From one of the pockets of his vest he pulls out the scarf he occasionally wears as a mouth and nose mask to protect against dust and wraps it tightly around Steve's thigh. When he's  done, he allows himself to take a deep breath.

It’s as if all of Steve's strength has suddenly drained away. Instead, his whole body tingles unpleasantly. His fingers tremble as he touches the bandage and then he briefly closes his eyes.

“Situation report?” Bucky whispers to his comrade, Bell. Only a few minutes have passed since the end of the attack, but the longer they stay in one place, the greater the risk of being discovered. They have to keep moving.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“We have to try to get to one of the camps. The closest one would have to be to the northwest.” He looks at Steve. “Sorry, buddy. No rest for you.” Without waiting for his response, he pulls him up into a sitting position. “Bell! You take the lead. I’ll back you up.” He cranes his neck and stretches  so he can look over the edge. “Run!” He gives the command and sees movement a few meters away. He immediately points the barrel of his gun in the appropriate direction and fires several shots in quick succession.

One of the attackers has located their hiding place and aims at Bell and Steve, but he is hit by Bucky's bullets before he can fire a shot at them. A second insurgent appears, this time targeting Bucky.

Taking cover again, Bucky slides down a few centimeters, grips the handle of the gun tighter, and looks after Bell and Steve, who are already ahead. Taking a deep breath, he waits for an opportune moment to jump up and open return fire. He manages to take out two other men as Bell announces over the radio that he should follow.

He waits a few seconds, jumps up, and sprints off.

After catching up with them, he nods and gives the signal to continue walking. So far Steve seems to be holding up fairly well, so Bucky pushes to cover as many meters as possible. There has been no resistance from the attackers since then, but that doesn't mean much of anything. “Go, go, go!” he urges the two of them, always scanning the area for a place to hide.

They has been walking for a good 30 minutes when Bucky slows down. Apparently the attackers have called off pursuit for the moment, or else they are already surrounded and the enemy groups already have them in their sights. Either way, he has to make sure they don't exhaust themselves and use their energy reserves too quickly. They certainly will have to travel for several hours on foot and it would be better to spend the night in a sheltered position if possible.

"I need a break." Exhausted, Steve leans against a tree. His leg burns like fire and the blood pushes out through the bandage, turning the beige scarf dark red. He slowly slits down the trunk.

Bucky looks around, giving Bell a questioning look. The situation seems to be under control. "OK. 15 minutes."

“I'll check the surroundings,” says Bell and moves a few meters away from them.

Bucky takes the opportunity to look at the bandage. The bleeding has stopped, but as expected the wound has become red and swollen from the constant strain. He grimaces sympathetically. He carefully wraps the bandage back around the injured area.

"So? Am I going to die?” He means it as a joke, somehow the soldiers' dark humor has rubbed off on him, but his voice gives him away. He’s really afraid of dying. He has never experienced this feeling so intensely before.

“Yeah, someday for sure,” Bucky nods grimly. "But not today. Not under my watch.” Unlike Steve, however, every word he says is meant seriously. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And then, without any warning, it comes over him. The realization that he is still alive and David isn't. His eyes fill with tears, which he tries with all his might to prevent.

“Let it out,” Bucky says, all too familiar with the sight. “Otherwise it will eat you up inside.”

“David…” Steve looks past him. “What… we… he can’t… be left behind…?”

“We can’t go back,” Bucky replies, knowing exactly how Steve feels. He too has lost comrades and had to leave their bodies behind on the battlefield. As a result, the families had to bury an empty coffin at home. For a moment he thinks about Miller and Jackson and Steve's other two colleagues. After a short pause, he adds quietly: "I'm very sorry."

And so it happened that Steven Grant Rogers, a seasoned man in his mid-30s, sits on the ground crying and letting his emotions flow for the first time since he lost his mother almost 20 years ago. Within a few hours, his entire worldview has come to a halt.

Bucky stands next to him in silence. He knows there isn't much that can make the grief any more bearable. He slowly crouches down and swings the rifle with the strap onto his back so that his hands are free. Sighing, he places his hand on Steve's shoulder.

With the tears comes relief. It’s good to know that he isn't alone. He feels Bucky's quiet sympathy and nods gratefully to him after he has regained his composure. Sniffling, he wipes the trail of tears from his face. Clearing his throat, he asks: “How far is it?”

“We’ll set up camp somewhere overnight. We'll continue tomorrow morning. I estimate it will be another 3 to 4 hours of walking. Depends on how your leg is doing. So it’s probably not a mistake to rest for a few hours beforehand.”

“Unfortunately we have to ration the provisions.”

Steve takes the shared protein bar from Bucky, along with a pack of energy drinks. After what felt like another 100 kilometers, they found shelter in an abandoned tunnel for the night. According to Bucky, they have only walked about 2 kilometers, but the route was so impassable that every step put more and more strain on his injured leg. Everyone was relieved when they found this hiding place.

After Bell had made sure no one was in close proximity to them, Bucky had insisted on stitching the wound. The conditions were anything but ideal, but Steve wasn't complaining. He knew they were in an exceptional situation. Although the soldier had worked quickly and efficiently, he now feels completely exhausted and is glad to be able to lie down for a moment.

He silently watches Bucky sit down next to him and eats the other half of the bar. He shiveres slightly, but the risk of being discovered by a campfire is too great.

After lighting a cigarette, Bucky asks, “How’s that leg doing?”

“It hurts, but it’s bearable,” Steve answers honestly. “You lost a doctor.”

Bucky looks at Steve appraisingly. In the fading sunlight, it’s difficult to make out details in the dark tunnel. "Not really."

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”

“You inevitably learn something like that,” he says calmly. He reaches into the front chest pocket and pulls out two autoinjectors. “Morphine,” he explains. “This would allow you to sleep pain-free through the night.”

“No, thanks,” he shakes his head. “I really appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want to waste valuable resources.”

“Your decision,” Bucky shrugs and puts the injectors back away.

“What about you?” he asks, pointing to the cut on Bucky’s face.

Bucky automatically grabs the affected area. "This? It's nothing." He has already been through completely different things. “And you should finally sleep. There are still a few kilometers ahead of us. If you don't take care of yourself, you will collapse sooner or later. The body is capable of amazing feats, but at some point, it stops.”

He knows Bucky is right. Steve thinks about how long he has been awake for a moment... he doesn't like the result at all. 30 hours. More or less. “You sound like my mother,” he says with a faint smile on his lips. “She was constantly worried about me when I was little.”

“She would still be today. My mother…” Bucky pauses for a moment, feeling homesick when he thinks of his parents and family. “I think every parent feels that way. My family is in the States and I can’t stop worrying about their well-being.” He laughs briefly before adding, "While I'm sitting here in this fucking cave."

“That’s all too human,” Steve says quietly. “You miss them.”

“Every damn day,” he admits. "But not for long. This Christmas we'll all be sitting around the big table, Mom will be serving up enough food for a company and Dad will be carving the turkey and telling me all about his new fishing gear and I'll just listen because I don't know any of that stuff." He finishes the sentence with a laugh. “He thinks I like fishing. I'm only accompanying him because...", he crumples up the empty packaging of the protein bar and throws it away, "...well, because I like being with him. Women are clearly in the majority in our family. We men have to stick together.”

"Right. Three sisters,” Steve recalls.

"What about you? Any plans for the holidays?”

“Basically the same process as yours, only smaller - Jennifer, my fiancée - her parents and her brother. And without fishing Latin. Her father is a lawyer and has nothing to do with such things.”

“My dad would be delighted with you,” Bucky grins. “Would lecture you for hours about which bait is the best.”

“A nice idea,” Steve smiles. “I know I said I don't miss my dad - and that's basically how it is. But of course, as a child, I was jealous when my classmates talked about their fathers. And about what they did with their children on the weekends.”

“Hm-mh,” Bucky mumbles. Now he feels guilty towards Steve for speaking so cavalierly about his happy family. So he tries to backtrack a little. “But there’s nothing wrong with just celebrating in small groups. I'm still not sure if I can handle having so much family around me at once."

“Are you going to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them? Or do you have to go back after the holidays?”

“Oh, there’s no turning back. This is my last tour. I've left Lily alone for far too long. Not anymore."

“Really?” Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Well then… maybe we’ll run into each other in Brooklyn.”

“You’re not staying here?”

“I think I need some time off. Gotta think about some things,” Steve evaluates. “Or rather, the last few hours have helped me reset my priorities.”

“Good,” Bucky nods as he stands up. “I hope the first one will be to finally shut up and sleep.”

“Hey! You're the one chatting all the time!" Steve promptly shoots back, laughing. He can't say exactly why, but he is confident that everything will be okay.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Raid

When Steve opens his eyes the next morning, he first has to orient himself. Blinking, he looks around as he slowly stands up. The tunnel is still dark, but he can make out the first rays of sunlight gradually penetrating deeper inside. Exhaling a deep breath, he stretches carefully. Every single bone aches from spending the night on the hard ground, but he feels surprisingly good. He’s confident he can make it to the next camp along with Bell and Bucky. This newfound confidence is probably why he fell asleep at some point last night. That and the sheer exhaustion, he thinks wryly. After all, it isn't every day that he is shot and then has to walk several kilometers to safety.

A sharp pain shoots through him as he puts weight on his injured leg, but for the moment he consoles himself with the prospect of reaching camp in a few hours and receiving proper medical treatment. Until then, he will grit his teeth and bare it. After all the crap he's experienced in the past few hours, the upcoming walk will hopefully be child's play. He takes a cautious step forward and then limps towards the entrance to the tunnel. There he sees Bucky sitting on a small tree trunk, facing outside.

Bucky notices movement behind him and turns around. “Well, well. Look who we got there,” he says and looks at him curiously. "Slept well?"

“Surprisingly - yes,” Steve nods.

“Good news at least,” says Bucky.

“Why?” Steve asks worriedly.

“My radio gave up overnight. Apparently it got damaged in the explosion. And the other one died because the battery is empty. We have a solar charging module, but no time to charge the battery. Cell phone isn’t working either, due to no reception. We will be on our own for the next few hours.”

“Is your unit looking for us yet?”

“The area is too spacious. This is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Unless we can provide a clear fixed point, a rescue operation will be very difficult. We could stay here, but I don't like being a living target. Our best chance is to get to camp.”

“Okay, then we’ll stick to your plan,” Steve confirms Bucky’s suggestion.

“Then you should enjoy our 5-star breakfast first.” He tosses him half a bar and then says, “We’re leaving in 15 minutes.”

Bell approaches the two. “No enemy sightings so far, Sarge.”

"Understood." He thinks for a moment and then reaches for his pistol, which he pulls out of its holster. Standing up, he positions himself directly in front of Steve. “Can you handle a weapon?” he asks as he holds it out to him.

Steve almost chokes on the dry bar. He stares at Bucky in disbelief. “I... am not a pacifist,” he clarifies after a few seconds, “... I know how to handle weapons. But I’ve never shot people.”

“Well, it would probably be wise to get used to the idea. We are crossing enemy territory. The silent post here works excellently. Every man is looking for us. They know we have to be here somewhere. It would be a lot easier for us if you could defend yourself.”

Steve takes the gun somewhat cautiously. He understands Bucky's motives, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Nevertheless, there is probably no alternative. He studies the weapon in his hand thoughtfully.

“Unlock the safety, aim, pull the trigger,” Bucky makes appropriate hand movements, reaches for a second magazine and hands it to Steve. “Reload. And then do the whole thing again.”

As soon as the words are spoken, Bell, who has previously been patrolling outside, hurries into the tunnel. "We have visitors!"

“Fuck!” Bucky curses and grabs his assault rifle. “How far away?”

“We only have a few minutes left,” Bell pants, visibly agitated.

"How many?"

“From what I saw, three men in a pickup truck.”

“Could be the vanguard,” Bucky speculates. He quickly comes to a decision. “You stay here,” he orders Steve. “Bell, you’re coming with me.”

“What - what are you planning to do?” Steve asks, but doesn't get an answer because the two soldiers have already run outside.

Bucky lays motionless on his stomach on the ground. They have taken a position above the entrance to the tunnel in order to get a better view. Using the rifle scope, he aims through the trees at the driver of the pick-up truck, who is chasing a car at high speed along the unpaved road. He is still a few hundred meters away, but it is only a matter of minutes before enemy contact would be made. “I don’t have a clear field of fire,” he informs Bell, who is crouched next to him. Since they are in a forest, there is no open space. Still, he doesn't panic. As a trained sniper, he has learned to wait persistently and patiently for his chance. Breathing in and out calmly, he keeps the driver of the car in his crosshairs through the scope, concentrating on Bell's indications of distance and wind direction as a spotter, their enemies approaching meter by meter.

When the first shots are fired, Steve retreats deeper into the tunnel, hoping not to be discovered. His heart is pounding heavily against his chest. Surrounded by darkness, he fights hard to keep his breathing under control, with an occasional gasp for air. He clutches the pistol with sweaty hands. With his back pressed against the wall, he stands stiffly staring into the black nothingness. The only course of action is to find a safe place to hide and hope for the best. For the second time in one day, his life and those of others are in acute danger.

Gunfire and screams repeatedly break the tense situation. The fear Steve feels expands, and he doesn't know what to do if he is going to be captured. Horror stories come to mind about Taliban prisoners being tortured to death.

And then… silence.

It’s so sudden that at first Steve thinks he’s dead. Has a bullet hit him? Surprised, he feels around, but apart from his leg wound he can't make out anything in the darkness. The blood is rushing in his ears, and his heart is pumping like crazy. Is this what it feels like when you are dead?

“Steve?” Bucky's voice is barely more than a whisper.

“I-I’m… I’m here,” he stammers back, relieved that Bucky has returned. Suddenly he’s illuminated by a blinding light. He puts his hand over his face to protect his eyes. He sees Bucky standing a few steps away from him, the flashlight on his rifle illuminating the area, bathing everything in a ghostly light.

“We have to get out of here.”

“O-okay.” He carefully steps out of the niche into which he has pressed his back. Above them is a wooden support structure that leads into the tunnel and is intended to prevent the ceiling from collapsing. He holds onto a beam with one hand as he climbs over a barrier. All in all, the construction dosen't seem very solid. There are creaking and cracking noises in the rafters.

Bell comes towards them, stops halfway and secures the entrance.

“The others are certainly alarmed by the shots and are on their way here,” Bucky continues. As he leaves he turns off the flashlight. “We-” he stops as shots ring out again. Instinctively, he raises the gun and pushes Steve back with one hand.

Two men attempt to storm the tunnel, and Bell opens fire. Two other men attack him from behind with a knife.

Without hesitation, Bucky runs to help his comrade. In the confusion he can't shoot without the risk of hitting Bell. He pulls his own knife, lunges at one of the attackers and plunges it into the man’s side.

Steve stands there in shock, paralyzed. The gun in his hand weights heavily and when he raises it to aim at one of the men, he immediately stops because he’s trembling so badly. Swallowing hard and breathing through his mouth, he tries to force himself to remain calm.

As sudden as the attack was, it ends just as abruptly.

Bucky spits out blood that comes from a split lip that he sustained during the altercation. He quickly goes over his injuries in his mind, but other than a sore chin, and a few bruises and abrasions, he has come through the fight relatively unscathed.

He then gets an overview of the current situation.

The four intruders lay dead on the ground around them.

Bell kneels off to the side, holding his side.

“Are you okay?” Bucky wants to know.

“Yeah, I’m…just…a little out of breath,” Bell replies. “Damn…” he continues, “… I didn’t see that one coming!”

“Steve?” he now calls.

As before, Steve emerges from the semi-darkness, still somewhat shocked by the events that have unfolded just a few meters away from him. If he isn't going to die from a bullet, he will definitely gonna die from a heart attack. “I’m okay,” he murmurs without being asked directly. His brain seems to be in some kind of emergency mode. Everything around him seems surreal. He’s still gripping the gun so tightly that his whole hand aches.

Bucky walks towards the visibly shocked man. “Hey,” he says to him, gently touching his shoulder. “It’s okay, you hear me? Take a deep breath."

A slight smile appears on Steve's lips, because Bucky is with him. The soldier has assured him that he will look after him. Everything is gonna be fine.

Bell's scream makes him jump. “Hand grenade!”

Something slams into him, sending him stumbling back.

A deafening bang shatters the silence and then everything around him goes black.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - Rude Awakening

The unrelenting and annoying ringing in his ears is the first sensation Steve notices as he comes to. The air is filled with fine dust particles that scratches his throat. He looks around, coughing and spitting.

Next he notices Bell kneeling in front of him.

“-kay? -an -ou hea-m-?”

“W-what?” he gasps.

Bell comes close to his left ear. "Everything okay? Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Yes!” he nods, although his hearing has still not completely returned. Then his breath catches in his throat. “Where’s Bucky?!” He straightens up too quickly and almost falls to the ground with dizziness. Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself together and shouts, “Bucky?!”

“He has to be here somewhere,” Bell says.

"What happened?" Looking around, all Steve can make out is chaos. 

“One of the guys obviously wasn't dead yet. Tossed a damn hand grenade," answers Bell, working on the wooden beams. “The structure collapsed. The Sarge must be under there somewhere. Help me look for him!"

Suddenly, it feels like something is hitting him with full force. His chest tightens and he gasps for air. “H-he… pushed me away!” It takes a moment for his legs to obey, but then Steve runs to Bell and begins clearing away pieces of rubble and broken wooden beams. “Bucky! Answer me!"

“Where did you last stand?” Bell wants to know.

“I was…” Steve looks around, perplexed. "No idea. Maybe…over there?” He points to a pile of rubble about 2 meters away.

“We’re splitting up.” Bell suggests and goes to the location indicated by Steve and gets to work digging again.

Blackness.

That's what Bucky sees when he opens his eyes. His entire body seems to be clamped under a press. His lungs are burning and his entire left side seems numb. He touches his head with trembling fingers. The helmet is no longer there - a blow to the head would explain the deafness. “He - ll - o?” he croaks hoarsely. But he doubts whether he has even spoken out loud. Exhausted, he lowers his head and closes his eyes. He is incredibly exhausted.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks, stopping a moment  and instructing Bell to stop moving. He listens intently. “I thought I had…”

The young soldier frowns. He shakes his head silently. Then he reaches for the next piece of wood.

Steve has already sustained countless splinters in his fingers and lacerations on his hands by the time he pauses briefly to take a breath. The dust clogs his lungs, forcing him to take a break.

"Sarge!" Bell's voice echoes through the vault. “Hey man!” he calls to Steve. "Come here. I found him!"

Steve immediately starts moving. He stops close to Bell and looks down. Two large beams lay across several other, thinner beams, which in turn bury Bucky under them. He can't see any movement coming from Bucky in the dim light. “I-is he…?” He can't bring himself to say the word.

Bell shakes his head. “He’s breathing,” he announces. “I felt his pulse. We have to get him out of here.”

With their combined efforts, they manage to lift the heavy support beams and place them beside Bucky. “It’ll be best to pull him out by his feet, ok?” There are still several pieces of rubble lying on top of Bucky, but they don't seem to be hurting him any further.

“Okay,” Steve nods.

The blackness is still there when Bucky coughs and opens his eyes. He still can't move and the oppressive feeling causes his pulse to skyrocket. At the same time he notices something on his legs. Instinctively he tightens his muscles. 

“Hey Sarge!” Bell's face appears above his.

“Bell,” Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. A strange calm spreads over him. "Thank god!"

“We’ll get you out of there, Bucky.” Steve's face now appears. “We’re almost done.”

He doesn't see either of them for a minute as they grab his legs, he feels the jolt that goes through his body as they begin to pull. Immediately his left arm and shoulder seem to explode in fire. The agony that shot through his body is unbearable, and a shrill scream escapes his throat. “STOP!” he shouts, kicking them in panic. “Stop it! Please stop!”

The agonized cry makes Steve step back in shock. He rushes to Bucky's side. "What’s wrong? What’s going on?"

“M-my arm! Stop!” Bucky groans, his face contorted in pain and tears gathered in his eyes. There seem to be a thousand white-hot needles stuck in his flesh, each one causing him untold misery. “Stop it! Please!” Groaning, he attempts to turn on the ground. Every movement of his arm triggers new agony. Finally, his body can no longer withstand the strain and his vision goes black.

“We're not doing anything,” Steve says, casting a worried look at Bell and then back at the sergeant, who has stopped moving. “Bucky? Hey, Bucky?”

“Wait a minute, I’ll get a flashlight,” Bell says, runs towards the entrance, grabs his rifle, and runs back just as quickly. He removes the flashlight and gets on his knees next to Bucky. “Oh shit!” he curses after realizing the problem. “His forearm is caught between a wooden beam and a metal support,” he explains to Steve and then slowly stands up again, giving him a discouraged look.

"What do you mean?" Steve grows impatient and grabs the flashlight to get a look for himself. His blood freezes in his veins, and he can barely suppress a gag reflex. He swallows hard at the sight. He isn't a doctor, but all that blood pooling out doesn't bode well. “Damn,” he curses quietly. Moving the flashlight beam into Bucky's face, he immediately notices his pale, cold-sweaty skin. “We have to tie off his arm, otherwise he will bleed to death!” He looks around hastily. “Bring me his belt!” he instructs Bell, pointing to one of the dead men.

His whole body seems so incredibly heavy, it’s torture to move. It’s only with great effort that Bucky manages to crack open his eyes. He can make out movement around him, sees Steve right in front of him, apparently talking to him, but he can't understand any of what he is saying. He tries to fight against the encroaching darkness, but he loses the fight again and closes his eyes, completely drained.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stay with us!” Steve calls Bucky. The gravely injured man appears to be in a state of shock and shows no significant signs of awareness. He boldly slaps Bucky’s cheeks, but apart from a brief flicker of his eyelids, he can’t rouse the soldier. 

"Here! The belt!"

Nodding, Steve accepts the leather belt and now tries to gain access to Bucky's left upper arm. But there’s still a lot of rubble lying around, which makes the task hard to accomplish. “This stuff here has to go!” he tells Bell to continue cleaning up.

The young soldier immediately follows the instructions and hastily removes the debris piece by piece.

With a firm grip on Bucky's upper arm, he manages to place the belt and close the noose forcefully. When he hears a pained groan, he feels a pang in his heart. “I’m sorry, Bucky. But it has to be done,” he mumbles an apology. There’s no alternative if he wants to save the man's life.

Thanks to Bell's constant work, Bucky's body is now largely exposed. As far as Steve can tell, no extremity other than the left forearm is trapped or injured. He places two fingers on Bucky’s carotid artery to check for a pulse. "He's in hypovolemic shock from blood loss," he tells Bell. "We need to get out of here ASAP."

"How do you-?"

“Among other things, I am also a sports teacher and have experience in first aid,” he replies. “But that’s…” he looks at the still unconscious Bucky, “…this is far beyond my pay grade.”

Bell kneels next to Bucky and carefully reaches for the metal support that lays on his comrade’s forearm. He tries several times to lift the piece, but it doesn't move. “It’s totally intertwined.” His hands are shaking, his voice is barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think…we’re going to get him out of there.” He swallows hard. “At least not…without…amputation.”

It takes a moment for Steve to understand the significance of Bell's words. The thought briefly makes him feel sick. “There must be another option! Come on, let’s try it together!” he insists and stands next to Bell, kneels down, and pulls on the support. He’s well-trained and often does strength training, but after a few seconds he has to admit that they can't get any further without heavy rescue equipment. "Fuck!" He feels anger at his helplessness.

“We’re running out of time,” says Bell, his voice becoming shrill. “They’re coming back! If we stay here they'll kill us for sure.”

“That’s not gonna happen!” Steve counters. “I won’t leave him here!” His gaze frantically scans the partially destroyed tunnel and stops on a toolbox. He immediately runs to it, picks up the box, and dumps the contents. He quickly rummages through the screwdrivers, pliers and hammers until he finally finds a hatchet and a saw. His stomach churns again as he becomes aware of his intentions. But after a deep breath, he calms his nerves enough to go back to Bell.

“W-what…?”

Steve recognizes the fear on the young man's face, but if they both panic now, it won't help anyone. The next words don’t come easy for him, but he forces himself to stay calm: “We're gonna need a lot of bandages. Disinfectant. And morphine.”

Bell stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open.

"We have no other choice."

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 - Despair

"Okay." As clear as his decision has been before, Steve now feels miserable and scared as he kneels down next to Bucky. He can't make out any details in the dim light of the tunnel, so Bell has given him a headlamp to provide the necessary lighting. After a moment of deliberation, he decides on the saw, even though he has absolutely no idea what to do next. They lack pretty much everything. They have no anesthetic, no IVs to compensate for the blood loss. The disinfectant is enough either for the wound and his hands, or for the rusty saw. But definitely not for anything that is about to come into contact with Bucky's arm. “Okay,” he repeats himself again. Ignoring his own pain from the leg wound, he stands still for a moment. The stitches tug uncomfortable in this position, but he focuses his attention on the task before him.

Eerie silence arises.

“First the morphine,” he finds his voice again. Steve's heart is pounding wildly in his chest, the nervous tension causes an unpleasant ache in his stomach.

Bell presses an injector into his outstretched hand. They have four of them in total, but Steve doesn't know how long the effects will last or how strong the dosage actually is. He definitely doesn't want to overdose, so they have to try one vial first. He only manages to pull off the protective cap on his second attempt, because his hands shake so badly. He hesitates for a second, even though he knows that the needle prick is probably the least of their problems.

With a deep breath, he rams the hypodermic needle into Bucky's right thigh and pushes the trigger. “How long until the drug takes effect?” he wants to know from Bell.

“Up to 15 minutes, I think?” Bell replies doubtfully.

“We can’t wait that long,” Steve shakes his head. “You have to hold him so he doesn’t move too much.” He sits on Bucky's pelvis, but he can't block his right arm. Bell will have to take on this task.

Bell complies with the request somewhat hesitantly, appearing unsure while he places the flashlight on the floor. In the cold white light of the headlamp he looks even paler and doesn't seem particularly composed.

Steve can't blame him. But now there is no going back. He checks the fit of the belt again and places the saw on Bucky’s forearm just about 10 cm below the elbow joint. Nausea overcomes him and he stops what he’s doing. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His fingers open and close around the bow handle of the saw. Then his head jerks up. “We need something for him to bite!” he proclaims.

“The belt,” Bell replies. “It’s long enough.” He has sat down at Bucky's head, ready to press his shoulders down with both hands. With his left hand he reaches for the part of the belt that isn't wrapped around Bucky’s upper arm and nods.

Bucky's breathing shallow and there is no other movement.

Steve hopes it will stay that way, but he can't rely on it. He looks at Bell one last time, then closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, starts the saw and presses the saw blade into the flesh with all his strength.

Pain.

Uncontrollable, burning pain.

All-consuming pain.

The blackness around him is gone, replaced by the feeling as if someone has poured acid on his arm.

He’s trapped. Can't get away from the pain no matter how hard he tries. Only his legs are free. He desperately pushes himself off the ground. He wants to slide upwards, but something holds him, puts pressure on him, literally presses him against an unyielding wall.

With a loud cry he gives verbal expression to his torment.

Steve recoils in shock. The bloody saw is stuck in Bucky's arm as the man writhes beneath him and screams at the top of his lungs.

Bell has the presence of mind to press the leather belt between his teeth. He pushes Bucky's shoulders down with his knees and holds the soldier’s head in place with his thighs. “Bite it, Sarge!”

He feels something in his mouth, hears a voice.

But the pain covers everything.

He just wants to get out of here.

But he’s trapped.

There’s no escape.

And then there’s the blackness again.

Even though everything inside Steve is screaming for him to stop what he’s doing, he forces himself not to quit. Inch by inch he works his way through flesh, muscle and bone. The smacking wet sounds make him gag several times. When he hits the hard bone he pauses for a moment, but he can't afford to waste time. Every second he hesitates is another second of agony for Bucky. The sooner he’s finished, the sooner he can help Bucky and bandage the bloody stump of his arm.

“Oh God,” Bell keeps choking on the bile rising in his throat, but he’s able to control himself enough not to throw up, which Steve thoroughly appreciates.

Steve can't say how long it finally took him to saw through Bucky’s arm. If it seemed like an eternity to him, how must Bucky feel? Disgusted, he drops the saw and instead reaches with blood-stained hands for the bandages he has laid out. He almost drops them - he’s shaking so much. The whole time he’s wondering if his decision has been right and in his head he still can hear Bucky's muffled screams of pain, before he lost consciousness again.

“Lift his upper body,” he tells Bell. “And hold that arm.” His voice trails off as he realizes he has just sawed off Bucky's left forearm. “We have to try to fix the upper arm. The less he moves it, the less painful it will be.” Or so he hopes.

The two of them bandages the stump of the arm and positions it at an angle on Bucky's chest, placing a sling around his upper body so that the stump is immobile and at heart level. Then they carry him a little further up the tunnel where there are better lighting conditions. They carefully bring him into a sitting position, leaning his back on the cave wall, all the while being careful not to cause him any further unnecessary pain. Since Steve no longer needs the headlamp, he turns it off and pulls it off his head.

He can see Bucky's breathing quickening. Apparently he’s slowly coming to. He prays fervently that the morphine will take away the worst of the pain. Kneeling next to him, he feels for his pulse with his fingers and checks Bucky's temperature on his forehead with the back of his hand. Not ideal, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

“How is he?” asks Bell, who has grabbed his rifle again and takes up a position at the entrance.

“Let’s give him a few more minutes,” Steve breathes out as he wipes his bloodied hands on his pants. “He seems to be coming to.” He’s extremely grateful for that, although he doesn't dare imagine how Bucky will react to the situation if he realizes he’s missing his left forearm.

“We can’t stay here much longer!” urges Bell.

“I know that!” Steve snaps. He hangs his head, exhausted. After everything that has happened, he doesn't want to fall into the hands of the Taliban now. But they can't carry Bucky either. He trusts that the soldier will regain consciousness. They have no other options. He grabs Bucky's right wrist again to check his pulse.

After the pain comes the cold.

Cold is not good.

Pain means life.

Cold means death.

There is something on his hand.

Something warm.

Warmth is good.

Steve keeps a careful eye on Bucky, noticing the movement of his eyelids. “There you go, Bucky. Come back to us,” he encourages the injured man and pats his bearded cheek. “Open your eyes.”

His eyelids are so heavy.

Was there a voice?

A touch?

His whole body feels strange.

But the voice is still there.

And then there’s blinding light.

Steve holds his breath tensely and a smile appears on his face. “Hey! Welcome back!"

Groaning, Bucky closes his eyes again, his head seems to explode in agony. Instinctively he raises his hand to shield himself from the brightness, but it didn't quite want to obey him.

“Alright, nice and slow.” Steve positions himself to the side of Bucky to shade him a little from the intrusive sunlight, even if it means crouching with his back to the entrance. By now he has learned to keep an eye on his surroundings, but at this moment Bucky is more important. "Would you like some water?"

“W-what… hap-pened…?” he croaks.

“There was…an incident,” Steve begins, pulling the backpack closer to him so he can pull out one of the energy drinks. Their rations are slowly running out. Either way, they have to get out of here and try to get food and water. “You…were hurt.” It will probably be better to describe the situation as simply as possible.

“Hurt?” Bucky whispers.

“We tried to help you as best we could, but we absolutely need to get to the camp so you can receive medical attention. Do you understand?" He holds out the straw he had put in the foil wrapper. “Here, have a sip - slowly.”

His body still doesn't obey the way he wants, and all he can do is open his mouth and then close his lips around the straw. Only then does he realize how thirsty he is, and he greedily sucks in the liquid. However, he does it much too quickly and chokes. Coughing, he leans forward slightly, shifting his weight, then doubles over as a sharp pain shoots through his left arm. Groaning, he grabs the spot with his right hand and notices a bandage.

"Wait!" Steve has the presence of mind to hold him by the shoulders with both hands to prevent Bucky's upper body from tipping to the side and him grab the stump of his arm.

Bucky frowns in irritation. His left shoulder and entire arm seem to be constricted. “What the...?!” he blurts out when he notices the dirty bandage. "What is that? What-"

Steve sees the confusion on his face and the panic rising within him. He carefully places a hand on Bucky's cheek to get his attention. “Bucky! Look at me,” he asks quietly but urgently.

The hand on his cheek prevents him from lowering his head. Steve's tone sends a chill down his spine and he feels a lump in his throat. The next sensation is an uncomfortable throbbing in his left hand as he returns the look.

“We were ambushed. There was an explosion. You were trapped. Your left arm was under too much debris. We couldn't move it. There was no other option... I... it..." Steve’s voice trails off.

Bucky narrows his eyes, trying to focus on Steve's words, but he doesn't understand the meaning. His hand is... just gone? How can it be gone?

"I'm sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes and takes his hand back.

Bucky slowly lowers his gaze, studying the bandage that is wrapped around his entire chest and pressing his arm tightly against it. He tries to remember what has happened, but he can't. Instead, he realizes something else. He suddenly feels hot and cold at the same time and he can't stop his eyes from moistening. "My hand … ?! What…where…Steve?!”

“God, I'm so sorry. There was … There was no other choice,” Steve repeats, but even the second time he finds it difficult to say the words. “I had to amputate your forearm to save you.”

All strength seems to drain from his body as reality hits him like a gut punch. Gasping for air, he looks at Steve and then notices Bell standing next to him for the first time. Something warm runs down his cheeks, but he has no strength left. Unable to move, he stares straight ahead in silence. His hand is gone. Away. It’s just gone. How is that possible? Gone. Just like that.

“He probably saved your life, Sarge.”

“Are you in pain?” Steve wants to know, but gets no answer. He snaps his fingers in front of Bucky's face. No reaction. Sighing, he rubs his own face. The situation is dangerous. “He’s in shock,” he tells Bell.

"So, what's next?"

Steve doesn't really know that either. His medical expertise is limited to sprained ankles and bruises. Certainly not amateur amputations. “I have no idea,” he admits quietly. Somehow he has to get Bucky out of his state of shock. Taking a deep breath, he slaps his cheek a little harder. “Hey!” He repeats the process two more times until he finally sees Bucky blink. “Bucky?”

In the cloudy distance Bucky hears someone say his name. “Hm-mh?”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Apparently the man is slowly coming to again. He grabs Bucky by both shoulders to get his attention. “Are you in pain?” he repeats his question.

Little by little his thoughts clear up, and he’s able to answer Steve's question specifically. Sniffling, he rubs his face before saying in a hoarse voice, “No.”

“The morphine has started to take effect,” Steve nods, grateful to at least have this glimmer of hope. Then he becomes more serious again. “I hate to say this, but... we have to get out of here. However, we have no possibility of transporting you lying down. At least not at the moment and-"

Bucky shakes his head. He doesn't know what has happened. All he knows is that he has to get the others to safety. The analytical part of him has come to life, and the rules of behavior he has been trained in are automatically replaying in his mind. “You two go. I'm staying here. We have to seize the opportunity. Hopefully, the Taliban will think that none of us survived the explosion and their people will leave. That will give you a head start.”

“Absolutely not!” Steve protests. “We can only do this together.”

“I’m just holding you back,” Bucky counters. “You two go. That’s an order."

“Unfortunately, I'm not a soldier, and I can be an extremely stubborn son of bitch when I want. Either we go together, or we stay here together.”

Bucky’s gaze goes back and forth between his subordinate and Steve. One is still inexperienced and doesn't dare argue, and the other is a civilian and a pain in the ass. Nevertheless, he’s responsible for them. And what is even more serious - they are both counting on him. But in this state, there isn't much he can do other than cover the two of them as best he could by staying here and keeping their attackers at bay. “And die together? No. You’re leaving without me.”

“No! We’re not leaving. Not without you! You have a mission, Bucky!” Steve talks to him. “A few more hours and we'll reach the camp. You can't give up now! Please. Not so close to the finish line. I won't leave you behind. Not after-” He stops. “Your unit…risked so much…for us. David and the others… was that all for nothing?”

The words make him cave in. Steve is right. If he gives up now, all the previous sacrifices his comrades and friends have made would be in vain. He doesn't want to give the damn Taliban that satisfaction. Bell can probably make it back on his own. He isn't sure about Steve. Yes, he has a mission. A plan forms in his mind and he puts all his hopes on it. It’s risky and he absolutely has no guarantee that it’ll work, but this chance is the only one they've got. Taking a deep breath, he wipes the tears from his face and says, “Gather the things we need. Where is your weapon, Steve? You actually have to take care of yourself now. I…can’t do that any longer…” He clears his throat. “Help me up,” he finally says.

Relieved, Steve nods to him and stands up, feeling the sharp pain in his leg, but he doesn't let it show. He can see the determination in Bucky's eyes as he holds out his hand and pulls himself up. He hasn't missed the fact that Bucky is now giving him commands and using his first name. Immediately, he notices the incredible effect that the change of his attitude has on him. Now Steve is part of the team and no longer a just a stranger or a rescue. 

He grabs Bucky’s right forearm to stabilize him as he wobbles and staggers back a few steps. “Careful,” he murmurs.

The upright posture demands a lot from him - almost too much. Bucky fights the dizziness and nausea. He probably would have fallen to the ground by now if Steve wasn't holding him up.  Almost in slow motion, he leans his upper body forward, rests his right arm on his thigh and greedily sucks air into his lungs. Breath by breath, he struggles to regain control over his own body. Various mantras are floating around in his head, encouraging him to keep going. Adrenaline floods his system. 

Giving up is not an option . 

Keep moving . 

You can do that. 

Pull yourself together . 

Stay focused.  

Steve sees the internal battle that Bucky is currently fighting with himself. He can't even begin to imagine what the soldier is going through right now.

After a few moments, Bucky straightens up and looks into Steve's expectant face. “Take my rifle and give me the pistol,” he instructs with a firm voice.

Steve does as he is told.

“Same game as this one,” Bucky says as he picks up his pistol and watches Steve handle the rifle. “Simply aim and pull the trigger. Just watch out for the recoil. Bell, you lead the way.”

“Still heading Northwest?”, the soldier wants to know.

“Not quite,” Bucky replies, rasping. “Change of plans.”

“Are-… are you okay?” Steve asks.

“I guess I have to be,” Bucky replies as he puts the gun back in the holster, knowing for sure he will fight until his last breath.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 - Danger

As they emerge from the tunnel, Steve feels a brief panic. His fear of being shot on the spot is huge. He looks around frantically, but even if an attacker is standing right in front of them between the trees, he probably won’t spot him right away. He’s just a city boy with no enthusiasm for firearms and no hunting experience. The assault rifle weighs heavily in his hands, and as much as he hates having to use violence against others, he has no other choice. That’s especially true now that Bucky is dependent on both of them for protection, it’s up to him to do his part.

He stops at irregular intervals and checks Bucky's bandages, as well as the belt, which he loosens little by little to supply the tissue with blood again. So far the soldier is holding up well, giving them directions where to go, but Steve can see that he’s in pain and that his strength is slowly but surely failing him. They have been traveling for about two hours, but have only covered a short distance because Bucky can't keep up the pace due to his injury and blood loss.

They just stop again. “Sit down for a moment,” he says to Bucky.

“We have to...keep going,” Bucky pants. He feels dizzy, but he can't allow himself to cave in now. "Don’t stop."

“Sorry, but that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Steve interjects. “Just for 5 minutes, okay? You have to drink, otherwise your circulation will collapse.” His counterpart already looks as if the slightest breath of wind could knock him off his feet. He studies Bucky's facial features closely, and he doesn't like what he sees at all. The man is pale, his skin is clammy and after a quick touch at Bucky’s right wrist Steve’s suspicion becomes reality. Bucky’s remaining hand is cold and his peripheral pulse is feeble. Those signs are symptoms of a decompensated shock, caused by the blood loss. The sergeant also staggers threateningly, his steps are uncoordinated. “How about over there?” Steve asks, not expecting an answer but pointedly directs Bucky towards a fallen tree. “Careful,” he tells him and helps him sit down. And if he is honest with himself, he needs a break too. His leg wound burns and throbs unpleasantly.

Being able to sit down elicits an unwanted, but relieved sigh from Bucky. Leaning his back against the trunk, he briefly closes his eyes. As long as he was on his feet, he could focus his attention on moving forward. But now he realizes how much the stump hurts. The unnatural posture causes him additional pain. A touch on his forehead makes him jump and start.

The brief touch from Steve has been an automatic gesture to brush away a strand of Bucky's wet hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he says quickly, raising his hands apologetically. Then he reaches for Bucky's backpack, which he is carrying in his place, and pulls out the packet of isotonic solution, which he offers him after he opened it. “Here, drink.”

Bucky's hand is shaking so hard that he can't get a hold of the drink carton. “Damn…” he mutters, unable to even curse out loud.

As he has done before, Steve holds the pack for him. It hurt his heart to see Bucky suffering. He prays in silence, and asks that they find help for the seriously injured man as soon as possible. If the condition remains untreated, it will progress into irreversible shock which ultimately leads to death.

A soft cracking noise makes Steve turn around in shock. When he recognizes Bell patrolling around them, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Phew,” he says, turns around and is startled again when he looks down the barrel of a gun.

Instinctively, Bucky reaches for his pistol and aims it at the spot where Bell had previously emerged from the undergrowth.

Without being asked to do so, Bell has taken over the task to patrol the area. Steve looks after him briefly and shows the young man great respect. The situation isn't easy for any of them; the soldier has lost comrades from his unit and has seen another man's hand being sawed off.

The pistol lands on the floor with a loud metallic clack. Holding the gun has further drained Bucky’s energy level. “He’s a… good man.”

Steve lets out a breath of relief when he sees that Bucky has put the gun down. It almost seems as if Bucky has read his mind. “That’s right,” he agrees and continues to assist him with the drinking. “He also has a good role model.”

Bucky shakes his head in silence after sucking the last sip from the carton and then closes his eyes weakly.

“Hey! Stay awake!"

“Mhm?” Bucky mumbles as his shoulder is shaken.

“When we get to camp, you can sleep the rest of your time here for all I care, but for now you have to stay awake.”

“Then… don’t make me take breaks,” Bucky replies with half-open eyes and then falls silent.

Steve is familiar with the behavior. He himself has taken part in marathons several times and knows about the power of mental self-motivation, which, when necessary, can truly move mountains. But he’s also just as familiar with the deep valley of exhaustion that follows the high. Bucky is right about having to keep going, but apparently he isn't aware that he’s missing a part of his forearm and at least a pint of blood. He won't be able to keep up the march for much longer.

“Just keep …swimming,…swimming…swimming…”

Steve narrows his eyes in irritation, his alarm bells ringing. Is Bucky starting to hallucinate? Decreased mental status would be another symptom of decompensated shock, as he frantically tries to recall his First-Aid knowledge. Another fact is lowered body temperature. As far as Steve can remember, the hypothermic is caused by the body's attempt to drain the remaining blood from the extremities and instead transport it to the vital organs. However, on top of all of this, infection in the wound is unavoidable simply because of the contaminated saw. Steve just hopes they will get to camp in time for Bucky to receive much-needed medical attention.

“Eh-just… keep swimming… swimming,” Bucky repeats continuously in a barely audible whisper.

In the meantime, Bell has come toward them. For the first time, Steve sees him smile as he announces in a lowered voice, "Found a little spring." As he speaks, he pulls a small tube from the shoulder strap of his backpack. At the end there’s a small piece of plastic, which he then squeezes with two fingers. Immediately water drips out and he moves closer to Bucky so he can give him the mouthpiece. “Hey, Sarge. Here’s some water!"

Bucky doesn't respond, but continues to mumble to himself with a blank stare. “Uh-just… keep swi… swimming…”

"What about him? Why is he quoting Dory?”

Steve shrugs. “Dory?”

“Finding Nemo?” Bell asks. “Dory always says that in the movie to encourage her friends to persevere.” Without prompting, he adds: “I think it’s his daughter’s favorite movie. Even has it with him on the laptop. I saw it when he lent it to me to contact my family. His comrades made fun of it at first. In the end, half the camp watched."

“Oh,” Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. At least he now has an explanation. At the same time, a sigh escapes his lips. They’d had to leave Bucky's laptop and all of their other personal belongings, including his own cell phone, behind in the crashed Humvee. Ashamed of crying for material objects, he shakes his head to clear away these thoughts. However, his concern grows. “He's showing clear consequences of a decompensated shock. Above all he’s also dehydrated. Try again to see if he drinks.” What makes matters worse is that none of them has eaten enough food.

Shrugging, Bell turns to Bucky, “Sarge, drink some water.”

This time there’s a barely noticeable nod from Bucky and he accepts the suction hose. But he doesn't drink.

“You have to bite the valve,” Bell explains, who has identified the problem. “Otherwise the water won't flow.”

Bucky's increasing disorientation is causing Steve a lot of concern. If the sergeant doesn't get help quickly, he will probably become delirious. “Run it over his head, maybe it will help cool him down a bit,” Steve suggests.

“Okay,” Bell confirms as he removes the suction hose from Bucky’s mouth and holds it above his superiors head. “You’re about to get wet, Sarge.” He activates the valve, causing a small trickle to run down on Bucky. 

At first he shows no emotion, but eventually he lifts his chin upwards, indicating that he wants to wet his forehead.

Without being asked, Bell complies with the silent request. “Feels good, huh?”

After a few minutes, the contents of the plastic bladder are empty and Bucky's hair, face and large parts of his T-shirt are soaked. His vision seems to clear as he assesses Steve. “What?” he finally asks.

A relieved smile plays on Steve's lips. “You were just miles away,” he says quietly, glad that Bucky is feeling better.

With the words, “I’ll go get some more water,” Bell stands up and disappears between the trees.

“How you feeling?” Steve wants to know.

It takes some time for him to answer, but his tone gives Steve confidence.

“Fantastic,” Bucky replies, muttering.

Steve dares to doubt that, but doesn't say it out loud. He reaches once more for the backpack, convinced he has seen one last protein bar earlier and rummages through the contents. He doesn't find what he’s looking for, albeit he comes across something else - the small cloth bag with the dried dates that he has given Bucky a few days ago. Gratefully, he sends a prayer to heaven. It isn't much, but the handful of dates are better than nothing. He quickly pulls one out and shows it to Bucky. “How about a little snack?”

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is holding the sweet fruit to his lips. He hesitantly takes it between his teeth and presses it back and forth with his tongue. The soft texture and sweet taste briefly distracts him from the pain. He chews slowly until everything is mushy enough to swallow.

"Good?"

“Mhm-hm.”

"Another one?"

"What about you?"

“I’ll eat later,” Steve simply states, without knowing exactly when that “later” will be. Right now it’s important to keep Bucky’s blood sugar as high as possible. His own hunger can wait.

A few minutes later Bell is back. They sit side by side on the ground leaning against the tree trunk and take turns drinking until the ration is also empty. Steve has never drunk such delicious water before and enjoys every sip of it.

“Give me the backpack,” Bell announces, standing up. "I will-"

A shot breaks the silence.

Bell's head seem to explode and at the same time he collapses and falls to the ground - dead.

Steve reflexively grabs the assault rifle and fires at the spot where he thinks the shot has been fired. “Take cover!” he calls to Bucky and is relieved when he sees, in the corner of his eye, that Bucky is actually taking shelter behind the tree trunk. Seconds later he hears the sergeant return fire. Taking advantage of the situation, Steve jumps over the trunk and takes a deep breath in order to stay calm.

More shots ring out. Some of them splinter the wood in front of them. Others whistle over their heads.

“They’re… coming from… the left,” Bucky pants.

Steve gives him an astonished and irritated look. If that is true, then there is more than one shooter. And they are trapped.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 - Glimmer of Hope

The rifle’s recoil hurts his shoulder, but Steve doesn't let it deter him. He fires again and again at their opponents, but without really aiming. Finally there’s a click as he pulls the trigger again.

“The clip…” Bucky gasps for breath. “You have to…reload!”

He frantically pats his vest in search of a new clip. He pauses as Bucky places it in his hand. With trembling fingers he inserts it into the slot and reloads. With his back pressed against the trunk, he takes several deep breaths, waiting for the best time to fight back. After seemingly endless moments, something strikes him. Surprised, he turns his head and looks at Bucky, who also looks back at him with raised eyebrows.

As quickly as the shooting began, it ended just as abruptly.

Have they hit their attackers?

Bucky's gaze goes from side to side as he waves his pistol, but then lowers it and finally places it on the ground. The magazine is empty and he can't reload with one hand, so the gun won't be of any use to him either way. Something isn't right here, that's what his gut feeling tells him.

His breathing is still rapid, and Steve has to force himself to take deep breaths. In contrast to Bucky, he’s a complete bundle of nerves and is greatly unnerved by the unnatural silence.

Bucky listens intently and tries to scan the surroundings. A cracking sound to his right makes him spin around. His suspicions are confirmed - there are several shooters.

Steve also senses the movement - and raises the rifle. The barrel is aimed at a figure who in turn aims at him. His heart seems to be jumping out of his chest, his gaze is focused on the person in front of them, standing at least 50 meters away.

"Stop!"

For a split second, confused, he looks at Bucky, who has put his hand on the rifle and makes him lower the barrel. What is that about? "But …?"

Bucky raises his hand soothingly and starts talking to the person in incomprehensible phrases.

Is Bucky starting to lose touch with reality again? What if the person sees them as dangerous and attacks them because they feel they have no other choice? Steve licks his lips nervously, as his gaze goes doubtfully back and forth between the person and Bucky. It takes Steve a moment to realize that the soldier is speaking Dari. Not fluently, but apparently well enough to be able to communicate with the person.

The weapon is lowered and the person now slowly approaches them. “Mr. America?”

Bucky nods wordlessly. He feels his strength whittling away and is grateful he’s already sitting on the ground at that moment.

“That’s…” Steve blurts out after realizing something important. The closer the person gets to them, the more obvious it becomes that it’s a teenager. “That’s still… a child?!”

Once again the boy repeats: “Mr. America?” He has a thick accent, but he clearly means Bucky.

He can't believe it himself. “Fahim,” Bucky whispers, touched by the sight.

“Who is that?” Steve wants to know, but gets no explanation at first, so he can only watch in amazement as the boy, who he estimated to be around 12 or 13 years old, stands in front of them and looks intently at him, but especially at Bucky.

Fahim kneels down, puts the gun aside and takes Bucky's face in both hands as if to convince himself of his existence. The disbelieving expression turns into a joyful smile and is emphasized by a full-body hug.

The unexpected gesture causes Bucky extreme pain as the boy presses against the stump of his arm. Choked, he squeezes out an “Ow!” But at the same time he feels relieved that Fahim is there.

Steve can't quite understand what’s happening, and he’s left with the role of observer. The boy, Fahim apparently, lets go of Bucky and talks to him in the local language and now he regrets not having studied the language extensively enough because he doesn't understand anything.

The boy nods every now and then, shakes his head again and speaks at a speed that causes even Bucky problems with following the conversation. At least, that's what Steve’s surmised judging by the look on the soldier’s face. At some point the boy turns around and whistles shrilly through his teeth.

Moments later, two more armed men appear, with whom the boy sparks a heated discussion. He keeps pointing at Steve and Bucky. The men seem annoyed, and unhappy about their presence. But after what felt like endless minutes, it seems as if the three have come to a decision.

Steve looks helplessly between the others. “Bucky? What does that mean? What are you talking about? What did you say to the boy?” he asks impatiently.

“Fahim,” Bucky replies, his voice cracking. “He will help you. You go…with him…I…stay here.”

Steve shakes his head vehemently and kneels down in front of him. "No way!"

Bucky doesn't have the energy to argue with Steve. In a serious voice he says, “They are taking... big... risks. They killed the attackers. If the Taliban... find out that Fahim and... his family... helped... a soldier... they... they... will... the whole village... will... be... punished..."

“Then I’ll stay here. We’ll find another way.”

“Go!”

"No! I said it once, I’m saying it again - I won’t go! Not without you!" He firmly defends his point of view once more in case Bucky didn’t hear it the first time back in the cave. “I won’t leave you behind.”

Bucky hasn't expected so much resistance. But there’s no other option. “Fahim’s family… they still owe me a favor. I-I…claimed that one. They're taking... you back... to the camp-"

"No. You can’t do that.”

Undeterred, Bucky continues speaking. "It has to be … this way. There's no other … choice."

“I can make a stretcher and pull you,” he babbles, close to tears. Hell, he'd even carry the man himself if there’s no other option. Anything so he won't have to leave him here.

“Steve…”

"We'll stay here for a moment and then-"

“Steve!”

A touch on his chest makes him stop and look down. Bucky's hand clutches at his vest. Then he looks at his face. He has never seen such determination in anyone and it gives him goosebumps. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“I’m… not going to make it,” Bucky explains calmly. He has done everything he could to keep Steve safe. His mission ends here. It’s as if a great burden has been lifted from him and his reserves of strength are suddenly discharged. “You can…do…three more things…for me.” He gasps for breath, realizing he doesn't have much time left. “Give me a dose of morphine. You keep the rest in case you’ll need it ... And then... I need a new... magazine. I'm going to... hold these guys off as long as I can. Give you a head start. I’ll spare the last bullet …that one’s for me.”

“No, no, no,” Steve sniffs and places his hands imploringly on Bucky’s shoulders. “Please don’t do that. We will find a solution. It must-"

Shaking his head, he grimaces. The pain increases in intensity and makes him groan loudly. His hand is shaking so badly that it takes him several attempts to pull the laminated piece of paper out of his side pocket of his pants. With the last of his strength he holds it up, pressing it against Steve’s chest.

This gesture makes Steve frantically search through the pockets of his vest for the injector. He administers the pain killing medication to Bucky faster than last time.

“Please…tell my wife,” Bucky’s voice trails off as Lily appears in his mind’s eye, and he can no longer hold back his tears. Once again, he clings to Steve's vest as if it, or rather Steve himself, is his lifeline. He says in a whisper, “Please…”

Steve’s retorts get caught in his throat. He can't ignore the dying man's final wish. He carefully accepts the piece of paper. It’s folded several times to the size of a credit card. The name Lily is handwritten on one side, the rest is hidden inside, unreadable. Without destroying the protective cover, you won’t be able to access the contents. But Steve can guess what it is. Bucky has given him a farewell letter for Lily. He bows his head dejectedly.

“Please...tell her that...I'm...sorry. I-I wanted…” Swallowing hard, he searches for the right words, but they just won’t come. Tiredness overcomes him and he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open. “I-I’m... it’s...” New tears stream down his cheeks and get caught in his beard.

Completely focused on Bucky, Steve jumps when Fahim comes next to him.

“We has to go,” the boy shudders in broken English .

Steve looks up briefly, but then turns his attention back to Bucky. “I understand,” he whispers to him and, to underscore the meaning behind his words and give the increasingly weakening man some small comfort, he places his hand on his cheek and touches his forehead to Bucky’s. He can't hold back his tears any longer either. "I’ll tell her. I promise to you."

Fahim shakes Steve's sleeve.

Everything in Steve screams to do something. But all he has left is to support Bucky in his final moments. His chest tightens painfully, his breathing rags as his tears flows unabated.

“Go…” Bucky whispers with his eyes closed.

The voice is so quiet that Steve doesn't know if Bucky has really spoken or if he is just imagining it. Without warning, he’s pulled upright by the two men. “Hey! What's that supposed to mean?! Let me go!” he protests. In the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky slump, unconscious. "No!" He struggles against the two men who are still holding him and pulling him away from Bucky's lifeless body.

Before he understands what’s happening, he’s bound and gagged. Suddenly everything goes black before his eyes as someone puts a sack over his head.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 - MIA

Camp Victory

“Hey, yo man!” Clint's voice shows his good mood. He smiles and greets the soldiers who cross his path. Casually walking through the camp, just the sight of the familiar buildings and the constant hustle and bustle brings back old memories for him. A touch of nostalgia is in the air and makes him pause briefly to turn around.

He has completed countless missions with Bucky and the other guys; they have been a well-rehearsed team in which everyone could rely on the other. Returning from missions was always special. After all, at the beginning of an assignment you could never tell whether you would make it back unscathed or even alive. He’s aware that this came with the job, but it often was overlooked that this brought a lot of tension to relationships back home. He’d experienced that too often.

Just like Bucky had. But both he and his friend do their best to establish a working relationship with their significant other despite all odds. And so far everything has gone fairly well. Nevertheless, he understands Lily all too well and knows that she was already longingly counting the days until her husband's return.

Who could blame her? Laura had done exactly the same thing.

After leaving active service, Clint had tried to live a normal life at home on his farm for a while. But what’s the definition of normal? Surely Laura had breathed a sigh of relief when he had completed his last tour. And he really tried. After his return, he began to spruce up the farmhouse and then the extensive area around the house.

But it was difficult for him. His thoughts were constantly circling back around to his company. As a sniper, he was something of a guardian angel for his comrades. And God knows, he loved his job. He helped to eliminate dangerous men, always hoping to make the world a little bit safer.

Unfortunately, this was a fallacy. The war is still in full swing and every day he hears about the official losses on both sides. He knows all too well from his own experience that reality is often different. Therefore, he’s lucky to have someone who can assist him in special cases without the bureaucracy. When it comes to obtaining reliable information unofficially, all he has to do is turn to Natasha Romanoff and he would gain access to data obviously not intended for the public.

The former secret agent works in the background, pulling the strings necessary to make the interactions between everyone involved as smooth as possible. Over the years they had built up a close relationship of trust, and they are always in close contact.

“Hey, pencil pusher!”

“I'll never get rid of that title, will I?” Clint laughs out loud as he walks past a group of soldiers. He can't blame them, though. When he was still in the service, he had felt the same way about those whose job he’s doing now. But now, he has experienced himself how hard the job of the “pencil pusher” actually is. Some fought against the enemy, others - including him - against the bureaucracy.

"No, that’s for sure."

“To each his own!” he shouts after them without any resentment. He’s looking for Bucky to tell him good news. It’s just after 0100 hours, so most of the crew has already eaten lunch. Which in turn means that the sergeant will most likely be at Alpine's to give her some treats he has picked up from the canteen.

Pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead, Clint steps to the gate. “What are my decrepit eyes seeing?!”

Alpine doesn't come running towards him as usual, because she’s busy taking care of her kids.

“Since when?” he asks Torres, who is adding fresh straw to the small shelter that serves as sun and rain protection.

“It started last night. The two of them were there this morning,” Torres replies, brushing off his dusty gloves and walking towards Clint.

“And where is the new father?” Clint wants to know, letting his eyes wander.

Torres sucks in a sharp breath.

“What?” Clint asks immediately, noticing his counterpart’s reaction. “Don’t tell me he passed out? How will he react when I tell him that there’ll be a serving of a big, fat turkey on Thanksgiving? But hey,” he winks at Torres, “you didn’t get that from me, okay? I mean, I-"

“Didn’t you hear?” Joaquín interrupts his flow.

Clint frowns. "What do you mean?"

“Bravo Company was attacked and went missing.”

“Oh shit,” Clint blurts out. “But Miller is a tough guy who will-”

“The Sarge was there,” Torres adds. “Miller last clocked in 48 hours ago. The last radio messages from Sarge or Bell came almost 24 hours ago. Since then … nothing. Miller's Humvee was found burned out by aerial surveillance. There were no survivors.”

“Stop bullshitting,” Clint says. “You’re kidding me?”

Torres shakes his head in silence.

“But why… is Bucky with Bravo Company?” He can't really believe it yet.

“He was assigned at short notice,” replies Joaquín.

They are now facing each other. Clint can see the concern on the younger man's face. "Wait a minute! You said there were no survivors. And yet… there was a radio message from Bucky?”

“The unit was traveling with two Humvees. Miller's was destroyed, all occupants ... Miller and Jackson, as well as two civilians ... were found dead. There is no trace of the Humvee in which the Sarge was traveling with Bell and two other civilians.”

Clint raises his chin defiantly. “Okay, that’s a ray of hope.” In fact, a completely different scenario is running through his mind at the same time. Kidnapping and torture of foreign, especially American soldiers are not uncommon. However, he decides to rule out this option for now. “Bucky knows what to do.”

“I still have a really bad feeling about it.”

“What do you know about the mission?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Torres shrugs. “It was a very short-term thing. Some NGO workers who should be brought back. Colonel Fury isn't giving out any information. I only know about the Humvees from hearsay.”

“Fury,” Clint rolls his eyes. Then he puts his hands on his hips, looks at a point in the distance, narrows his eyes, and mulls over the situation at hand. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles, going through the options in his head. He needs more information to assess the situation better. In these kinds of cases, the right people who can give you this data are worth their weight in gold. “Maybe I should call in a few favors.”

Joaquín has secretly hoped to hear something like that, but he also knows that it’s difficult - or rather, forbidden - to act arbitrarily within the chain of command. A hopeful smile appears on his face. "Thanks."

“I can’t promise anything,” Clint reminds him.

“Understood,” Torres nods. “But at least I know you’re doing something. Nothing’s coming from the leadership.” He looks at his watch, “I have to go. Thanks again.”

“No problem, man.” As he watches Torres leave, he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. With just a few clicks, he has established a secure connection and is waiting for his call to be answered. After the third ringtone the voicemail starts. “Hey Nat. Call me as soon as you hear this." Then he hangs up and puts the phone back in his pocket.

In the meantime, Alpine has trotted towards him and lets out a loud bleat.

Clint opens the gate and enters to kneel in front of her. In return, she immediately nudges him, smells him, and licks the material of the T-shirt. Whatever the reason, she finds it interesting enough to chew on a corner of it. “Don't do that,” he says with a grin, which Alpine takes as an opportunity to complain loudly. The animal seems restless. With her golden yellow eyes she keeps a careful eye on the surroundings, her ears steadily turning like she probably is waiting to hear a familiar voice. “Hey, old girl,” he whispers to her as he scratches the shaggy fur. “You miss him, huh? But don't worry. I'll take care of it."

“I don’t know that it’s any of your business, Barton.”

“Oh come on, Fury.” Clint sits on a chair in front of Fury's desk and casually throws his arms back. “You can tell me.”

“The information is classified,” the colonel replies unmoved, giving Barton an appraising look before delving back into his documents. The eye patch makes him seem intimidating to many people he’s talking to, and in this case he hopes that he has made his point of view very clear.

“I can get the information just like that, you know? Just thought I’d save myself all the running around and a lot of time and go straight to the right person.” He winks at his former supervisor. He’s aware that his appearance will be interpreted as disrespectful by outsiders, but he doesn't care. He has served under Fury for several years and they both know each other's qualities.

“Ah, Romanoff,” Fury rolls his remaining eye.

Grinning, Clint replies, “Exactly.” He leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “So… between us. What’s going on?”

Fury considers. The much-vaunted camaraderie among the soldiers is something that shall not be underestimated. Barton is loyal, sincere, and doesn’t shy away from any task. But he is also reckless when it comes to his own safety and a bit of a daredevil. During his active duty, he and Barnes has been a feared sniper pair. The two had a considerable number of confirmed kills and were therefore a well-coordinated team. “We are working on an evacuation,” he finally reveals.

“Then you know where Bucky is?” He cranes his head up attentively.

“There are guesses, based on his last radio message. But that's all. The search radius is immense.”

“What was his last position?”

“Barton,” Fury threatens.

“That’s my name,” Clint nods. “And the name of at least 25 locations within the USA. I once googled it. But I guess that’s not what you meant.”

"Correct. What I meant was: 'Get out of here’.”

“You really are a tough guy, huh?” Completely unaware, Clint has changed his formal form of address. “You would be really great in interrogation with the Taliban.”

Fury looks at him. “There is a good reason why the mission is classified. We can't just show up there. The area is controlled by the insurgents. One wrong move and everything blows up in our faces.” After that he’s silent again. He has already said too much.

Clint has already thought something like that. “Then let me take care of it.”

"You're a civilian, that would be-"

“A damn good idea. Yes, I think so too,” he nods to him.

“That wasn't what I meant. But you only hear what you want anyway,” Fury grumbles.

“Huh?” He holds a hand to his ear questioningly. “What did you say?” He has now come to terms with his physical limitations, so he’s able to joke about it. "Let's play it out - purely hypothetically."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You really weren't listening to me," Fury states.

Clint shrugs apologetically. But then he becomes serious, straightens up, and stands directly in front of Fury's desk. “Buck is my friend. He's out there somewhere - in the middle of enemy territory - risking his life with Bell to bring two civilians back to camp. And you're sitting here twiddling your thumbs. But tell you what - there is a simple solution.”

Now Fury also stands up. He towers over Clint by a few inches and looks down at him, crossing his arms behind his back. "Unacceptable."

“I haven’t even started yet.”

“You don’t need to. I said we're working on it." His voice brooks no argument. “I think that settles everything.”

For the moment, it seems like Clint is stuck. But he doesn't think about giving up. His cell phone rings and with a triumphant smile he pulls it out of his jacket pocket. "The final word hasn't been said yet," he grins and walks out of Fury's office.

Shaking his head, Fury watches him go. Once Barton becomes obsessed with something, it’s almost impossible to dissuade him. Nevertheless, he calls after him: “The job is actually a little ambitious for you to handle.”

Clint's attention is elsewhere, but he can't resist waving at Fury with his free hand as he steps into the blazing sunlight and puts on his sunglasses. “Hey, Nat,” he greets his caller and walks purposefully back to Alpine’s gate in order to have as few listeners as possible.

“You owe me a favor.”

“You don’t even know what it’s about,” he counters, smiling.

“No matter what it is, you still owe me a favor. And now one more. You disturbed me during my spa day.”

The redhead's voice sounds cold and distant, but Clint knows her better. Her interest is definitely piqued. In the meantime he has reached his destination and places his left hand on one of the support posts. Before he continues, he looks around again. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

"It's nothing. Without any problems to solve, life is somewhat boring.” There’s a short pause . “So, what’s up?”

A smile appears on his face, but it disappears again when he mentions the reason for his call. “It’s about Buck. There has been no sign of life from him or Bell in 24 hours.”

It takes a while to hear back, but her voice sounds determined. “So where do we start?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 - The Search Begins

Time’s the most important factor in their planning.

The more of it that passes, the more dangerous the situation becomes. Likewise, if Bucky and the others are in captivity, there’s a high chance they will be tortured. Worst case scenario, they are wounded or no longer alive. The longer it takes to come up with a plan, the greater the risk that Fury will get in their way and ruin everything.

“First we need to know what Miller's mission orders were,” Clint muses, looking at Nat on his phone screen during their video chat. He has retreated to a quiet corner and is sitting on a wooden stool in the shade. “Based on this, we may be able to narrow down the area where we need to look for Bucky.”

“Wait a minute, I'll get it.” At the same time, Nat is typing commands into a laptop. Without looking up from her work, she asks, "Does Lily know about this yet?"

“I don’t know,” Clint shrugs. He can’t decide which option is better. A clueless Lily who assumes everything’s okay, or a distraught wife and mother who has to trust that the military will do everything they can to save her missing husband. "If she doesn't know, it would probably be better to leave it at that for now."

“And what if she does…?”

Thinking about what the woman on the other side of the world is going through in this case makes him close his eyes for a moment. He shakes his head wordlessly. He can't let such thoughts influence his planning now.

"OK. I’m in. Boy, they don’t have their firewall up to date either. Lucky for us.”

Clint carefully notes the coordinates he receives from Nat and compares them with a map that he has spread out next to him. For good reasons, he tries to leave as few digital traces as possible.

“You can’t do this alone.”

That’s a perfectly valid point. “I don’t exactly have a lot of volunteers vying for the job, Nat,” he admits. "Where are you now?"

“Washington DC”

"Wow. In the lion’s den.”

“Home sweet home.”

“But why DC?”

“You have to maintain contacts, Barton. And besides, it's fun to hack into the system right in front of those responsible.” A smug smile plays on her lips. Then she looks directly into the phone camera, and her features harden. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get to you in time.”

"I know." He blows air through his teeth as he studies the area. "Hm. All right then. OK. Even if it's obvious - cell phone tracking?" Even the military would be smart enough to look at this option first.

"Negative. Either the batteries are empty. Or reception is not possible.”

“That would have been too easy. Next point: What can you tell me about the mission?”

“Four NGO workers. The area they were in was considered dangerous. The State Department has given the order to get the four out of there.”

“Is there any information on the men traveling with Bucky?” The more background knowledge he has, the better he can adapt to the situation.

“Unless they have changed cars, David McMillan - development worker - and Steven Rogers - art and physical education teacher - are with James and Bell. These were the last radio messages before they left.”

“Can you get the bios? How old are they?"

“McMillan was born in 1950, Rogers in 1981.”

“67 and 36. One could set the group back from a purely physiological point of view. Rogers is a gym teacher? He’ll probably be fit enough.” Clint tries to consider all eventualities. "Where was Miller's Humvee attacked?" He checks the data Nat gives him again and nods when she says what he’s thinking.

“This is in the middle of Taliban territory.”  

“Yeah,” Clint grumbles. This would be anything but a walk in the park. He has already done operations solo, but he hasn't had a family of his own back then. Now, with a wife and children, the situation is different. “And in the middle of nowhere, too,” he states. “They can be anywhere. Is there any clue as to where the second Humvee went? Did they go back to the settlement? Have you checked that?”

“The aerial photos show no army vehicle in the village.”

“There aren’t many alternative options. If I remember correctly, there is a road going over the pass that would be wide enough for a Humvee.” He traces the passage on the map with his finger. "The road runs through forested areas for large stretches, which would mean that the 

vehicles can't be spotted from the air."

“James will probably try to lead the group to the nearest camp.”

“That’s how I would do it too,” Clint confirms her suspicions. It’s always helpful to talk to military personnel. That makes a lot of things easier. A look at the map reveals a possible destination. “That would mean he would have to be traveling in a northwesterly direction.”

“Still too large an area to effectively search. As long as we don’t have confirmation of his whereabouts, it’s almost impossible to manage.”

“He knows they have to avoid the main roads. This means they will take advantage of the protection of the forests.”

“Do you think they are on foot?”

"Possible. If they were traveling in a Humvee, they would have been located at least temporarily through aerial photos by now.”

“Point for you, Barton.”

“Which doesn’t get us anywhere,” Clint sighs and leans back against the wooden wall with his arms folded behind his head to think. “Damn!” he curses. “Where are you, Buck?”

"Hawkeye?"

Clint's head jumps in surprise at the mention of his codename. He has been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hasn’t heard the visitor approach. He quickly tries to make the map disappear and pockets his cell phone. When he recognizes John Walker, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks as innocuously as possible.

The tall soldier enters the shed but stands near the entrance. "Torres told me you wanted to get information about Sarge." He makes a circular motion with his index finger and raises a doubtful eyebrow. “It’s not exactly top secret here,” he says smirking.

“There aren’t too many alternatives to work undisturbed,” Clint replies. “And why did Torres even say something like that?”

“The boy is a bit confused. I don't know why, but Barnes is like his big brother. Torres isn't handling the situation very well.”

Surprised to hear this, Clint frowns. “And you came specifically to tell me that?”

"No."

"I thought so." Clint knows about Bucky and John's rivalry and that Walker's attitude often offends others.

“I’m here to offer my help.”

Clint looks at him in surprise. “I didn’t expect that. Do you mean that seriously?"

“Barnes and I have had our differences in the past,” Walker admits openly.

"You don’t say. I didn't even notice." It’s no secret that Bucky and Walker doesn't get along particularly well. Once they even ended up in a fist fight over a weapon.

“Look, we've made peace,” John continues, without elaborating on Barton’s objection. He knows that many view him as arrogant and self-centered. Which is a little bit true. Nevertheless, he remains loyal to his unit. “And if he needs help, I won’t look away.”

“Barton?” His name comes quietly from his jacket pocket. "Hello?"

“Oh, talking clothes,” Walker chuckles. “I thought things like that only happened in movies.”

Rolling his eyes, Clint pulls out the phone again. “Hey! Good news, Nat. There are now two of us for the suicide mission!” he tells her with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Yay!” Engulfed with a fighting spirit, he balls his hand into a fist and stretches it upwards. “The only thing missing is a helicopter, the pilot, a paramedic, and all the other equipment you need for a rescue operation.” He puts the cell phone back on the table and tries to adjust it.

“I could help out with all the other equipment you need.”

Clint almost drops his phone in shock when he hears the voice coming from outside. "Fury?!"

John also turns around and nods to the officer. "Colonel."

Clint looks at Walker doubtfully. “Is this a trap? Did you rat me out?”

John raises his hands defensively. “I have nothing to do with this.”

He studies the two of them for a moment. Somehow it all seems strange to him. But he can't detect any hostile intent in the two men's faces. Clint quickly catches himself and grins at his former superior. "Wait a minute! Did you just say you would provide a helicopter?”

“You really should check your hearing aids,” Fury replies calmly. “No helicopter. All capacities have been exhausted. A major counter-offensive is currently underway in the east, which is demanding all available resources.”

“Maybe I could help out with the helicopter, if anyone’s interested?”

Fury stands close enough to Barton to hear Natasha's voice. "Yes, I'm interested. Where are you going to get a helicopter, Romanoff?"

“Hey Nick, long time no see. How are you doing?"

“This company will take me to the grave, but otherwise I can’t complain. And yourself?"

"Also good thanks."

Clint can only roll his eyes in amusement at this casual conversation. “Kids, can we perhaps get back to business as usual? Nat, are you serious about the helicopter?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

"Well, I, um-"

“Shut up, Barton. I can organize it, but it will cost you something.”

“I don’t want to be a spoilsport,” Walker says. “But the helicopter is only good as long as there is a pilot.”

“Has anyone here requested a pilot?”

"No shit, Torres?!” Clint can’t hide his surprise. “One more and it becomes a conspiracy.”

“I'm good to go,” counters Sam, looking into the shed from outside. “Always wanted to take part in an illegal operation which could leave me ending up in prison.”

Clint can't believe his luck. “Guys, I don’t know what to say,” he says, moved by so much loyalty. "But how do you …?"

Torres grins. “The moment you said you'd take care of it, I knew you'd stick with it. So I asked the others.”

“You do know what’s at stake, right?” he makes sure and lets his gaze wander around the group.

Everyone present nods resolutely.

“Oh wow ,” comes Natasha’s voice from the cell phone. “Now I’m really jealous. Too bad I’m not there.”

“So, what are we waiting for?” Walker rubs his hands together, full of energy.

They step outside together. Clint holds Fury's arm back and steers him to the side. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I wish there was another way.” The action is risky and unauthorized. And there’s no guarantee of a successful outcome. “But the wheels of bureaucracy grind too slowly, and you know that too, Fury. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come.”

"Me? Was here purely by chance. Wanted to see the goat and the babies with my own eye. It's become a bit of an attraction. There was even a report on TV,” says Fury with a mischievous smile on his lips. Then he lifts his chin a little and adds quietly: “I don't need to emphasize that we have to fly under the radar. If this action goes wrong, then…”

"It won't, Colonel," Clint replies firmly, putting on his sunglasses as he catches up with the others.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14 - State of shock

Steve‘s heart almost jumps out of his chest as he lays in some kind of wooden box. He had been led into the room; still tied up, gagged and with a cloth bag over his head. And then he got pushed into this box that was so tight he couldn't move. Did they want to bury him alive? The noise of engines had reached him from outside. Frantic voices had spoken over each other and once he even thought he had heard a gunshot. He has absolutely no idea where he is, except that he’s lying on the ground in complete darkness and now there’s silence around him once more.

His breathing has calmed down a bit since then, but is still ragged. The images of his fiancée, Jennifer, replay in his head. He sees visions of his friends and work colleagues, and he can't stop himself from crying. More and more tears make their way down his bearded cheeks, just as he had seen Bucky do before.

So that is his end. He would die lonely and alone. Just like the other soldiers and his colleagues. He has come here to Afghanistan because he wanted to do something good, and now he’s the last survivor of the group. The other soldiers died because they had tried to bring a few NGO workers to safety. Guys who had been naive enough to believe that nothing could happen to them.

Steve's sobs are significantly hindered by the gag and he can hardly breathe under the bag over his head. He has to be careful not to have an asthma attack. Without the nitro spray from his backpack he will probably die. But does it matter? He will die either way, and everything he has endured up to this point with Bucky and Bell will be for nothing. Will his story really end like this?

No one will know about the hardships Bucky has endured. Nobody knows about his determination to complete the mission successfully.

And all of it because of him. It isn’t fair. And besides, he has made his promise to the dying man. He has promised to give Lily a message. Bucky's last words, which have been addressed to his wife and which she would now never know.

Every noise makes him jump nervously. He can't say for sure how much time has passed since he was left here, but he estimated that it has been at least an hour.

He has been driven through rough terrain in a cart - judging by the speed, pulled by a donkey. He has been brought here after a seemingly endless odyssey. Since then he has waited in fear for his life, while the anxiety in his chest tightens even more.

Suddenly he hears steps come from outside, getting closer and closer. He realizes a door has opened and someone is entering. But instead of leaving the room again, the person walks around very slowly, stopping again and again.

Should he draw attention to himself? The blood rushes in his ears, he feels hot and cold. Something tells him to stay still and so he resists the urge to move.

After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps move away again and the door closes with a loud bang.

Doubts begin to rise in his head. Maybe he should have called for help? He listens intently, but he can't make out any other sounds. Endless minutes pass in which he struggles with the uncertainty. He jumps when the door opens and someone enters again. This time the footsteps come straight towards the box he’s in and end above him.

Something above his head is removed. Boards? Dust falls on him. A breath of fresh air hits his sweaty arms. Then he’s grabbed by both shoulders and pulled upwards. He stumbles and falls to his knees. A strangled cry escapes him as the cloth bag is pulled from his head. Steve squints against the brightness, trying to orient himself. And freezes.

Fahim stands in front of him and eyes him critically. A man lingers in the doorway behind the boy.

Sweat streams down his face, but Steve doesn't dare move. Breathing heavily, he tries to remain calm, but in the face of death it’s a hopeless endeavor.

His gaze wanders around the room. He’s surrounded by brick walls and a wooden ceiling. There are a few pieces of furniture inside; he can see a small chest, a table and two more chairs, and even a second bed. To his side he discovers an opening in the ground. There are some boards next to it. Has that been his dungeon? A hole in the ground? He shifts nervously on his knees. He’s so tense that every movement of his thigh pulls uncomfortably at the stitches of his leg wound.

The man pulls out a knife and walks towards him. Out of pure reflex, Steve raises his clenched hands to block the attack. He tries to get up, but his legs wouldn't obey him. Instead, he lands on his butt and pushes himself backwards until his back hits the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut in terror and whimpers, as he is being pulled forward. He holds his breath in panic. And waits for the death blow.

But that one doesn't come.

Instead, the bonds come loose and his hands fall limp. Next the gag is removed. Steve stares in disbelief at the man, who has withdrawn again.

“P-please… I… am not a soldier,” he croaks, assuming he’s being interrogated. He brings his hands together pleadingly. “I-I don’t know anything!”

Fahim grabs Steve's wrists. Without a word, he pulls his hands apart and then pushes a water bottle into it. In the background, the man with one hand on the butt of the knife, which is tucked into his belt, waits anxiously for his reaction.

Steve looks at the bottle, perplexed. Unsure what to do, he alternately looks between the bottle and Fahim. What if the water is poisoned? Is this a ploy to gain his trust? Do they expect him to reveal military secrets that he doesn't even know in return for the water? They have something planned for him; after all, they have let him live and haven't killed him on the spot.

His desire for the water grows the longer he stares at the bottle. They will probably take it away from him again, and torture him with it to make him submissive. But the water is so tempting and his throat is so dry. With trembling fingers he fiddles with the plastic fastener. But he’s so clumsy that after unscrewing the lid, it falls to the floor and rolls a few inches away from him.

All eyes are on him. He looks at his two visitors again. The man keeps raising his hand as if to encourage him to drink. Is this a trap after all?

Completely unexpectedly, Fahim touches his shoulder.

Steve jumps in shock, the water sloshes out of the bottle, runs over his fingers and then drips onto the floor.

“Taliban not good. Was here. Evil. Want you. We hide you. We say, you not there. Taliban go again. It's all ok. OK?"

He doesn't really understand exactly what’s going on. But none of those people around him exudes the slightest hint of aggression. On the contrary. Steve swallows and clears his throat to answer Fahim's question. “O-okay.”

The man starts talking to Fahim. The boy's head keeps going back and forth during the discussion. Finally he looks Steve straight in the eyes and nudges him again. "You drink!"

Steve finds himself conflicted. His gut feeling tells him that despite everything that has happened so far, he can trust Fahim. However, images of torture and murder that he recognizes from war films arise in his head.

With a sigh, Fahim grabs the bottle.

With that Steve has his confirmation. They want to humiliate and degrade him. But to his great surprise, Fahim takes a long drink, nods to him and holds out the bottle.

Blinking, he reaches for it and then brings it to his mouth. After a second, he finally drinks almost half of the contents in just a few gulps. “Thank you,” he nods to him and wrecks his brain feverishly until he remembers the corresponding expression in Dari and repeats it again.

A grin appears on the boy's face. Then he rubs his stomach with the palm of his hand and points at Steve, then back at his own mouth. "Eat?" The boy has probably been sent to him because he can communicate with him on some level.

Steve increasingly suspects that they have taken him hostage and are now trying to keep him somewhat happy by offering him food and water. Which raises more questions in his mind. Will one even conduct negotiations over a simple NGO employee? Do the kidnappers realize that he’s virtually worthless to them? Will they kill him as soon as they find out? Sniffling, he wipes the remaining tear tracks from his face with the back of his hand.

Fahim takes the initiative again, grabs his arm and drags him behind him - out of the room.

To Steve’s surprise, the man in the doorway doesn't confront them as he follows Fahim. The boy leads him through the house to a room in which there’s also a large table, at which an older man with messy gray-white hair is sitting dressed in traditional clothing. Steve makes an educated guess that the man is in his early 70s. Fahim motions for him to sit on one of the other chairs, but he hesitates briefly. Is that man another hostage?

A smile appears on the man's weathered face as he makes a welcoming gesture, inviting Steve to take a seat at the set table. He’s still smiling at them, revealing a few teeth gaps in his mouth.

Steve hesitantly reaches for the back of the chair, pulls it into position and slowly sits down. He can't yet assess the situation and is confused by the events that make no sense to him.

Within a few moments, Fahim brings several bowls from the adjacent kitchen and places them on the table, as well as a large carafe of water, a pot of coffee and tea.

Steve recognizes rice, fried meat, flatbread, vegetables and some local spices. The wonderful aromas flood his nose and literally make his mouth water. After several days without enough food, it seems like paradise to him.

"Eat! Eat!” says the old man and spreads his hands invitingly. He waits a moment before putting his hand on his chest and nodding at Steve. “My name Ahmad. This Jamila.” His gaze goes over to the kitchen, where a gray-haired woman, probably the same age as Ahmad, is standing in the doorway. Then he points to the man who had accompanied Fahim and who is now also sitting down. “Hamid.” Little by little, the seats fill with other people, who Ahmad all introduces by name.

In the end all the seats are occupied, but no one starts to eat. Instead, he’s given expectant looks.

“Taliban gone. Safe now.” Ahmad nods to him. “We friend. You name?”

Overwhelmed, Steve can only nod and takes a moment to compose himself.

The family radiates a warmth that makes him sigh briefly. “My name is Steve Rogers,” he finally responds to Ahmad’s gesture with his hand on his chest and a slight nod, his voice becoming shaky.

Ahmad smiles kindly. "Eat. Eat."

As tempting as it seems, after just a few bites Steve is unable to eat any more. He’s too upset, his mind can't seem to calm down. The babble of voices at the table irritates him, and he feels the exhaustion in every bone taking over his body. He can't stay here any longer and act like he doesn't care about Bucky's fate. “I have to go back,” he says finally.

Jamila’s the first to notice his discomfort. "Not good?"

“I-I…,” he stammers, putting the fork aside. His eyes fill with tears again. "My...my friend...he's out there," he points through one of the windows.

Fahim shakes his head. "Not good."

The words hit him like a punch to the stomach. But he can't stop thinking that Bucky might still be alive. Steve tries again and again to convince the men that he has to go back. He can't just leave Bucky there. However, his words or their meaning are not received, at least no one shows any signs of having understood him. “Please,” he whispers hoarsely. "Please."

Jamila turns to the others, and a short discussion ensues, at the end of which she waves Fahim over. She speaks to him quietly.

Nodding, he agrees to one of her comments, walks over to Steve and takes his hand. “I show you.”

"What? No, no," Steve says, even though he’s aware that he’s anything but grateful in the eyes of his hosts.

But the boy isn’t impressed by his objection, and leads him through the house, down several corridors and stops in front of a closet. He motions for him to help him push the cupboard aside. A breakthrough in the wall becomes visible behind it.

After they both slipped through, Steve sees a windowless room lit by an oil lamp. He can't make out much in the flickering beam of light. There are two beds in it, one of which is empty. He strains his gaze into the semi-darkness. Someone’s lying there motionless in the second bed. The blanket pulled up to their chin. A folded cloth lay on their forehead and to his surprise he sees a bag with a clear substance being mounted to the bed. Could that be a IV line? Steve frowns, but forces himself to focus back on the man. The facial features are unmistakable. Snapping out of his state of shock, Steve blurts out, “Bucky?!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 - Still around

Steve immediately storms into the room, rushes to the bed, and kneels next to it. “Bucky!” His hand shakes as he places it on Bucky's bearded cheek, trying to convince himself that he isn't imagining it and that his friend is actually lying in bed before him. Immediately he notices the fever, the clammy, damp skin and a slight tremor.  “Oh my God!” he breathes a sigh of relief, despite the dense situation.

“Is-is that …” It takes a while for Bucky to react, but he finally cracks open his eyes a little. 

“It’s me.” He explains. “It’s Steve.”

“Ste-ve?”

A smile of relief appears on his face. "Yes. Yes, it's me." Tears of joy form in his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

“Steve.” Life slowly returns to Bucky and with it the pain. He manages to lift and turn his head a few centimeters. His gaze goes to Steve and then to Fahim, who is standing next to him. He tries to reach for them, but he’s too weak, and his hand falls back onto the bed. “I-I thought…” he strains, “…you were smarter.”

Frowning, Fahim tilts his head before shrugging his shoulders.

Exhausted, Bucky lowers his head again and closes his eyes. “If they find me… here…” His voice trails off.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Steve shakes his head, hoping to allay some of the man’s fear of being discovered. “The Taliban were already here looking for us. But Fahim’s people hid us well.” Little by little everything’s starting to make sense. The enemy group must have followed them and as soon as they arrived in the village, everything had to happen quickly. Only now does he realize what a great risk the village community has taken to help them. 

Everything in Bucky screams to get out of here. But he’s tired. So, so incredibly tired. Breathing through his half-open mouth, he lays there trying to think clearly. His eyelids are too heavy to open, so he doesn't try a second time. His left arm appears to be on fire. Without meaning to, he groans softly.

Steve's stomach clenches painfully as he hears the strangled sounds. Especially since he knows he’s responsible for it. “Shhh-shhhh,” he tries to calm Bucky and strokes his cheek. He carefully lifts the blanket and notices that Bucky's injury has apparently been taken care of. So far  - it seems - someone with medical knowledge took care of Bucky by also giving him an isotonic saline drip. At least that’s what the label says that is attached to the bag. Where does the equipment come from? Steve shakes his head. He can wonder about that later. Now he tries to get as much information as possible about Bucky's current condition and he takes a closer look. The bandage is new and Bucky is no longer wearing the vest. He’d also been given a new T-shirt. The stump of his arm is slightly elevated on a small pillow and is no longer attached to his upper body. Steve hopes that whoever has taken care of him has done so without aggravating the injury any further. 

The sight seems to unsettle Fahim and he quickly looks away.

Steve takes the opportunity to ask the boy for something. "Water? Drink?” He tries to make himself understood and emphasizes his words with a hand gesture in which he brings an imaginary glass to his lips.

Nodding, Fahim starts moving.

Steve is just about to tuck Bucky back in when Bucky's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

“W-we have to... radio contact...” He doesn't get any further when an excruciating pain shoots through his arm. He quickly lets go of Steve's hand and instinctively grabs his left elbow, holding the stump of his arm tightly to his chest as he rolls his upper body slightly to the side. The damp cloth also slips from his forehead. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut.

Seeing him suffering like this breaks Steve's heart. His thoughts are racing. The pain seems to increase in intensity, telling him that there’s no adequate pain relief available right now. How much time has passed since the last morphine injection? A glance at his watch reveals that it is early afternoon. In all the chaos he has lost all sense of time. He tries hard to remember the events of the past 24 hours. They had left shortly after sunrise and walked for how long? And after Fahim found them, how long did the journey to the village take? How long had he remained in hiding? He can't say. He only knows one thing for sure; they still have two injectors left which-

Without thinking, he reaches for the pockets of his vest and sticks his hand inside. He suddenly becomes aware of something and it makes his breath catch. He frantically feels the vest from top to bottom. His heart seems to skip a beat, because all the pockets are empty. Then he remembers that he had been searched for hidden weapons before he was dragged onto the cart. He quickly looks around, bends down, and even looks under the beds on all fours, but can't see a backpack or anything like that. “Shit!” he blurts out.

Camp Victory

“Shit!” Clint curses, closes the laptop, and throws the headphones on the table that is in front of him.

Sam looks up from his medical backpack, which he’s carefully checking the contents of. "What’s up?"

“A storm front is coming. The helicopter cannot take off from the base.” He’d just heard the bad news from the pilot.

“How long will the start be delayed?” Sam wants to know.

“At least 3 hours. By the time he gets here, it’ll be too dark to leave. It's dangerous even during the day. But entering enemy territory at night without any air support,” he shakes his head, “is like a suicide mission.”

“And without exact coordinates anyway.”

“Still no contact?”

“No,” Sam sighs. He has been trying to reach Bucky and Bell's radios for some time. But so far, without success.

They have moved into quarters with the others and are called away by Fury on a “mission”. Clint knows they are already moving in a gray area. Without an official operational order, their plan can be seen as insubordination, with all the potential legal consequences.

Walker sighs. “When it rains, it pours.” He stands up from where he has been cleaning the weapons and walks over to the bulletin board that has a map pinned to it. “But I think we can limit the area despite everything. I’ve played through different scenarios.”

"Really?” Clint grins, turning towards him on the swivel chair and leaning back expectantly with his arms folded behind his head. “Well, enlighten us.”

Narrowing his eyes, Walker grumbles, “Seriously?”

"Guys!" Sam's voice sounds impatient.

Before John begins his explanation, he clears his throat. "OK, well. Bell’s last radio message came from here.” He points his finger at a circled spot on the map. “Of course, the calculations only make sense if Bucky is actually traveling in a northwesterly direction. But I don’t see why he would run in the opposite direction.”

“So far it’s all just suppositions we’re making,” Sam shrugs. “But we have to start somewhere.”

"Correct. So…if he sticks to the coordinates, this,” he slides his hand up, “would be the most likely route. Give or take a few meters.”

“There are some settlements further north,” Clint muses. “But that would mean a detour.”

“My biggest concern, however, is...if they are actually in this sector, we have no way of landing. This is all forested area. If we assume the worst case scenario and one or even all of them are wounded and unable to walk, what then? I mean, sure, Sam can jump off and give first aid, but even that’s tricky with all the trees,” John explains. “We have to get them out of there somehow. And within a very short amount of time if we don’t want to run the risk of being shot down.”

Clint buries his face in his hands. The more he thinks about it, the more difficult it all becomes. But giving up isn't an option. His friend, Bucky, is counting on him - just as he would if he were in the same situation.

A feeling of helplessness comes over Steve as he watches Bucky curl up more and more, trembling. Panic surges through him. Without morphine, Bucky will have to endure hellish torture. Maybe there’s alcohol around? Certainly not an adequate means of combating pain, but he clings to every straw. “I-I’ll be right back,” he says, hurrying towards the exit.

“Fahim!” He hurries through the house searching and almost collides with the boy who is just turning the corner and is holding two canteens in his hands. Steve looks at him with wide eyes and bends down so that he can speak to him directly. “Where is…where are our things?!” He places his hands imploringly on the boy's shoulders. "The medicine? Where is the medicine?” he wants to know.

Ahmad and Jamila also appear, looking in his direction, a surprised expression showing on their faces. Apparently he has raised his voice, attracting the others' attention. But that doesn't matter to him. “He’s in pain!” he says urgently to the adults. "Please! I need the medicine!”

The old man nods, turns to Jamila and sends her away.

With his heart pounding wildly, Steve stands in the middle of the hallway and can only hope that he has been understood. His whole body is shaking with tension. In order not to completely lose his composure, he goes back to Bucky. And he has to use all his willpower to suppress his own feelings. As soon as he enters the room he can hear him moaning and the closer he gets, the harder it’s to hold back his tears.

As before, he sits down at Bucky's side and takes his hand in his. The response is weak, but Steve feels Bucky squeeze his hand. “I'm back,” he speaks quietly to the pain-stricken man, hoping to be able to help him a little by persuading him. “You’ll feel better soon, do you hear me?” He carefully wipes the sweat from Bucky’s face.

The voice is far away and Bucky doesn't really understand much. Someone holds his hand, strokes his cheeks. It feels good, familiar. He isn't alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 - The calm before the storm

Slowly, the tension leaves Steve.

He keeps his eyes on Bucky carefully watching his friend. Fortunately, within a few minutes Fahim brings them the few belongings that the soldier had carried in his vest. Including the two injectors. When he rushes to the soldier’s bedside to administer the medicine, Bucky is no longer responsive.

A few minutes after he gives Bucky the injection, he thinks he sees the man's breathing quieting down and the tension leaving him. In the dim light of the small oil lamp, however, it's hard to tell. Bucky hasn't come to since he was given the painkillers. On one hand, Steve's happy about it and hopes that the loss of consciousness also means freedom from pain. On the other hand, his concern grows as to whether Bucky will ever wake up again.

Jamila sits on the edge of the bed and dabs the feverish man's forehead, cheeks, and neck with a damp cloth, which she constantly dips into the bucket of water, wrings out, and runs over Bucky's face with gentle care.

Something's been on Steve's mind for a few minutes. He turns to Ahmad, who's sitting on the second bed behind him. "Can we...can we move him to another room?" he asks the man who he believes is the head of the family and therefore has the power to make decisions. “With... a window?” He draws a square window in the air with his two index fingers. He knows he’s asking a lot, but this dark room with no natural light is just depressing. During his childhood and adolescence, he spent a lot of time in impersonal hospital rooms due to his poor health. This feels like a morgue, and Bucky isn't dead yet.

The old man seems undecided as he tightens his arm around Fahim, who’s snuggled close to his side. The boy cranes his head a little and looks up at him. The two talk quietly to each other. Ahmad then gives Jamila an instruction, whereupon she stands up with a nod and leaves the room.

Steve looks at the two helplessly. An interpreter would be very helpful right now, and he curses himself for not having studied the local language more intensively beforehand. He shifts restlessly on the cold stone floor while holding Bucky's hand. He doesn't know how much the unconscious man is aware of what’s going on around him, but it's important to Steve to let him know that he's there for him.

Jamila appears again. With her are two strong men. Hamid and... Khadim, if he isn't  mistaken. She gives the two instructions and sits back down next to Bucky. She pulls out a large cloth from her bag, folds it into a triangle and ties the two ends behind Bucky's neck. Then she carefully takes his bandaged arm stump in one hand and guides it into the fold of fabric that acts as a sling.

Steve stands up and lets go of Bucky's hand when he sees the two men position themselves at the head and foot of the bed. Khadim carefully grabs Bucky's upper body and pulls him towards him so he can lift him under his armpits, and Hamid grabs Bucky's legs. At that moment, Steve sees that Bucky has been changed into a different pair of pants and he's no longer wearing his military boots.

It takes a while for them to maneuver the still unconscious man through the opening without jostling the IV , but then everything goes pretty quickly, the two men carry Bucky through the house, across the yard, to a small hut a little off to the side. Steve follows them in silence, letting Jamila do her best to care for the injured soldier after Hamid and Khadim put him in bed. The latter searches the room with his eyes and then smirks as he finds a rusty nail that he rams into the wall right next to the bed with the end of the shaft of his hunter knife in order to hang the IV bag. After that, he and Hamid exit the room. Jamila steps up and brings various things with her in a bag that are stored in clay pots or cans and which she drapes on the small side table next to the bed. Then she pulls out bandages that must have come from Bucky's vest and piles them on the table with the other things.

Steve suspects that there are some kind of tinctures and ointments in the containers.

The interior of the cabin is sparsely furnished, but there’s two windows that let in natural light and it's so much better than the darkness of the other room. Even though Steve is aware that he's given up the safety of his hiding place, he sticks to his decision.

He presses his palms together and bows to Jamila, expressing his thanks in Dari.

The old lady nods at him with a kind smile, stands up, walks over to him, gently places her hand on his upper arm, pauses briefly to look him directly in the eyes, and then goes outside.

Ahmad stands in the doorway and watches everything silently. He also nods briefly to Steve and then turns away to follow Jamila. By now he thinks he has figured out that the two are married to each other and that they are Fahim's grandparents.

For a moment, Steve also stands in the middle of the room, perplexed. He takes off the vest and hangs it on the back of a chair. Although it isn’t heavy per se, he feels relieved after putting it down. His T-shirt underneath is completely sweaty, but he breaths freely now. His thoughts are racing, and he must do something to keep himself from going completely crazy. Suddenly, Bucky's words come to mind and he abruptly has a burning realization. Radio contact! Bucky had said that before he passed out.

Electrified by his inspiration, Steve turns and strikes to the door, pausing briefly to take another look at the still motionless figure in the bed. Then he steps outside, because he desperately needs to get ahold of a radio and has no time to waste.

The sun blinds him and he takes a moment to orient himself. A smile appears on his face when he sees Fahim tugging the pulley at the well to bring the bucket up from its depths. The boy carefully pours the water into a canister that stands on a small cart, places the empty bucket on the edge of the well, and then pulls the vehicle a few meters further to a gate in which there are some sheep and lambs. At any other time this would have been almost idyllic. But the bitter reality is very different.

So far, Steve hasn't figured out how Bucky and Fahim must have met each other and built such a level of trust that the entire village is apparently willing to risk their own safety for the soldier's sake. After a few steps he reaches the gate. “Fahim,” he addresses the boy.

The boy looks up at him expectantly.

“Do you know where the radio is?” he asks, emphasizing each word. “Radio? Backpack?" He can only think of the word for bag in Dari, but either way communication is very difficult. So he repeats it twice, indicating with his hands the straps over his shoulders.

"Uh!" The boy's face lits up. He quickly looks around, whistles through his teeth and calls something to one of the men. Then he grins broadly and goes back to his work.

Steve has no choice but to wait. Fahim has exchanged something with the man, now he can only hope that they haven't made fun of the stupid American, but had understood what he was trying to tell them.

“Steeefee.”

Steve turns around, searching. Someone has called him by name, even if the intonation and pronunciation sounds strange.

Hamid stands in front of the hut and holds something in his hands.

Without hesitation, Steve walks towards him and sucks in a surprised breath as he realizes what it is. The black-haired, bearded man, who he estimates to be in his mid-20s, has the soldiers' backpacks and body armors with him, as well as a few loose items that obviously belonged to Bucky, including his pair of boots. A shiver runs down Steve's spine as he recognizes Bell's vest. They must have taken it from the dead soldier before they set off for the village. He quickly pushes the thought aside.

There is a bench in front of the hut on which Hamid puts down everything.

After searching through a backpack, Steve finds the radio, a solar charging station and some other items, such as his nitro inhaler , which he promptly tucks in his pants. Next he triumphantly pulls out the radio but and then frowns at it. Once again he has to admit that he is helpless because he has no idea how to use the device. And didn't Bucky say the battery was dead? To be on the safe side, he presses all the buttons and operates the dials and what he assumes is the talk button. But nothing happens.

With a desperate smile he looks at Hamid, asking him: “Do you know how to... use that?”

The man eyes the radio before picking it up himself, then shakes his head.

"It's okay, I-"

“Battery no good.”

A glimmer of hope comes to Steve. Maybe Hamid knows how it works after all. Before he can reply, the man already holds the charging station in his hands.

Without a word he walks inside the hut, moves a table closer to the window, opens it and places the charging station and the radio on the table top. He connects the charger to the radio with a cable without any problems, places the solar panels in the window frame, adjusts them slightly, and looks at Steve with a grin and nods "OK."

Apparently, saying OK always gets you further, so Steve nods and nods in return.

“You wait.”

“Yeah, I have to wait now,” Steve confirms, as he lets out an audible sigh of relief. Gradually everything seems to be changing for the better. He feels the tension leave him, but in contrast he becomes aware of how much his injured leg is throbbing and how dizzy he gets. His whole body tingles and he’s starting to get weaker. “I think I should…” he says before everything around him goes black.

When he comes to, he is laying in a bed. It takes a while until he can think clearly again and remembers his surroundings. A look around the room tells him that some time must have passed because the position of the sun has changed. The feeling of heaviness slowly disappears, but he still can't manage to sit up, since all the energy has left him. Which, when you think about it, isn't surprising, considering he hasn't  eaten much in two days. As if in confirmation, his stomach begins to rumble. He jumps a little when someone comes into his field of vision and it takes some effort for him to finally sit up. 

Jamila smiles at him.

An infinitely liberating feeling comes over Steve when he recognizes her, because these kind people were all so helpful and friendly, even though they have no obligation to them at all. On the contrary - the family is exposing themselves to great danger and he will be grateful to them for their selfless support until the end of his life. After all the hardships, it feels so good to forget everything for a moment, but the very next moment hits him like a jolt of electricity.

"Bucky?" His legs are already halfway over the edge of the bed when Jamila's hand on his chest prevents him from rising.

She points to the second bed with her other hand. Ahmad sits with Bucky, whose upper body is slightly elevated on several pillows, and watches the elder man giving Bucky something to eat. Then she raises her index finger in warning before pointing her chin at the table on which there are several bowls and a carafe of water. “Food!” Her tone brooks no contradiction.

Her resolute demeanor reminds Steve of his grandmother's, and it briefly brings a smile to his face. "Yes, ma'am," he replies quietly, before he carefully stands up. His circulation is actually a little weak, as he feels his fingers tingling and his knees shaking as he slowly walks to the table under the watchful eyes of Jamila and sits down. His gaze falls on the radio that is still there and he secretly wonders whether the battery is already charged, but that has to wait for now.

He picks some of the flatbread and dips it into the bowl of hummus. It's warm and delicious and homemade- so much better than anything he's had in the States. Somewhat cautiously, he allows himself more bites in the presence of Jamila, who is filling a glass with water, until he is surprised to discover that he is actually famished. He then wolfs down a piece of cheese and pickled vegetables quickly.

The old woman nods happily at him and asks him to eat more. In the meantime, Jamila has set up a small gas stove in the other corner of the room and is heating water in a small pot. She adds some leaves and roots and proceeds to stir them with a wooden spoon. After a few minutes, she pours some into a dented tin can and brings it back to the table.

Meanwhile, Steve’s eyes keep flickering to Bucky. Apparently his condition hasn’t worsened, at least he seems to be able to drink something with the support of Ahmad and, if his eyes don't deceive him, he is chewing slowly on a piece of apple right now.

It’s only now that he registers the IV bag must have run dry and someone removed the IV port. Fear rises in Steve, since it hasn’t been replaced, they obviously ran out of supplies. He still has no clue where the IV bag came from. “You have more?” he asks Jamila while gesturing to the empty bag on the wall.

“No good,” says Jamila, obviously not recognizing his thoughts. “Fever,” she runs her index finger up and down, apparently having trouble finding the right expression, grimaces, and then shrugs her shoulders. 

In doing so, she confirms Steve’s observations. The fever progresses in spurts, rising and falling at irregular intervals. At the moment, Bucky seems to be doing reasonably well. However, no one knows how long this phase will last. He grimly acknowledges her statement with a nod without getting an answer to his question . 

Ahmad joins them and speaks quietly to Jamila before looking at Steve.

A shy smile appears on Jamila's face. She gestures with her hand to the steaming contents of the tin can. “Drink many.” Then she gets up and goes to the door, joining Ahmad.

“Jamila! Ahmad!” he calls after them and waits until they have turned to him. So many things are on his mind, but all that comes out of his mouth is a heartfelt “Thank you.”

Ahmad's reply comes in Dari, so he doesn’t know what the old man has told him. Helplessly he shrugs his shoulders with incomprehension. “Sorry, I-”

“He said 'Of course he...helps those who need help’,” Bucky translates, pausing in his pronunciation. His brain and his mouth seem out of sync. He's having a hard time finding the right words. Despite everything, he tries to explain his point of view to Ahmad, speaking Dari. He still isn’t happy that Ahmad and the others are putting themselves in great danger because of him, but he expressly thanks the head of the family for taking care of Steve.

The old man just smiles kindly, nods, and leaves the hut.

Astonished, Steve lets his gaze wander back and forth between the two. Although he didn't understand what the conversation was about, the mere fact that Bucky was able to hold a conversation at all makes him smile with satisfaction. Jamila's words come back to him, so he grabs the can of tea and walks over to Bucky, who is sitting half-upright against the headboard. Even though he seems very exhausted, his mind apparently works without problems. The effects of the morphine seem to linger, which makes him incredibly relieved. “It's not particularly tasty,” he admits as he hands him the can, “but you heard Jamila's instructions, right?”

“Hm-mh,” Bucky hums, takes the can and drinks the tea without making a fuss. He had truly drunk worse things.

“Can I get you anything else? I still have some food left.” It's only small progress that Bucky has made so far, but at least he makes some and many small steps eventually leading to the goal.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 - We have a deal

The room is dark when Steve opens his eyes and listens to the silence.

After Bucky had fallen asleep for the umpteenth time, Steve had spent the remaining hours trying to reach someone by radio, but had been unsuccessful so far. Meanwhile, he had also tried to make himself useful - offering to help was the least he could do after the hospitality shown to them both. So he and Fahim looked after the sheep - and it felt good to be able to contribute something to the community.

Afterwards he treated himself to a cold shower by pouring the well water straight from the bucket over his head. He had never been so grateful for an ice-cold shower. Tahira, a young widow, at least that's how he understood it, had noticed this, put a bar of soap into his hand, and then gave him fresh clothes from her late husband. Tomorrow he would ask Jamila again for soap so he could at least offer to wash Bucky's greasy hair.

After Bucky had woken up sometime later in the afternoon and, much to his relief, was lucid again, he had had another snack with him. Ahmad's family spent the rest of the evening with them and kept them company. Although Bucky was too weak to take part in long conversations, Steve got the impression that the man had overheard large parts of the dialogues. At some point the family said goodbye, and he went to bed exhausted and soon fell asleep.

Now he lays in the darkness with his heart beating rapidly. Something has woken him from his sleep, but he can’t figure it out.

Has he just imagined the sound? Where did it come from?

The only source of light is an oil lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling, its wick turned so low that it cast only a dim beam of light.

“Steve?”

In an instant he’s wide awake and at Bucky's side. He can't make out much in the diffuse light, but he thinks he can see that Bucky is conscious. Still, he holds his breath in tension as his mind runs through all the possible scenarios. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly, but nevertheless full of nervousness.

His mind is still foggy, but a feeling is all the more clear and brooks no delay, so Bucky stammers: “I…I, um, need to pee.”

Steve laughs involuntarily. “That are… good news,” he grins with relief. Then he becomes serious again. "OK. Then…” he looks around. “There’s nothing here where you…do you think you can stand up? We’ll go out if that’s possible?”

Since he doesn’t want to wet himself, he has no other choice, but to comply. “Hm-hm,” he grumbles.

“Wait, I’ll help you.” Carefully, he reaches under his arms and slowly pulls Bucky into a sitting position. He automatically puts his hand on his friend’s forehead. The fever has gone down, which also explains Bucky's relatively good condition. Still, he wants to be on the safe side, so he asks: "How do you feel?"

“I’ve felt worse,” Bucky replies, muttering. That isn't entirely true, as he hasn't  been in a situation like this before, but he also doesn’t want to panic Steve too much. In truth, he feels bad, but he keeps that to himself.

Steve waits a moment to see how Bucky's circulation is doing. Apparently he copes with the action quite well, so he proceeds to lift the man’s legs over the edge of the bed.

It isn't easy for him to ask for help, but Bucky is so exhausted that he has to surrender to the situation. With his right hand he presses his aching left arm against his chest and breathes deeply in and out, in order to try to overcome the growing dizziness.

“Are you okay? Or do you need a moment?”

"If we... wait any longer, I can't guarantee... anything," he huffs.

Steve nods, but then frowns. In this position he won’t be able to properly support Bucky. He remembers the sling that Jamila had put on him when he was transported here and finds it hanging on one of the bedposts. So he quickly grabs it and holds it out to Bucky to see. “I think it's easier if you use it to stabilize your arm. This way I can hold you better.”

Without a word Bucky lets the sling be put around him, but then winces with a groan when Steve lifts the stump of his arm a little to place it in the sling.

“I’m sorry!” He apologizes sincerely and with a guilty conscience. The arm feels swollen and hot.

Silently breathing away the pain, Bucky shakes his head. There is no point in getting upset or worrying about something that he can't change anyway.

“Ready?” Steve asks once his nerves have calmed down. Bucky obviously is managing better with the situation than he is. He sits down next to him and takes Bucky's right arm, which he puts around his own shoulder. Luckily they are the same height, so it’s easier for both of them to support each other. He rises slowly and pulls his friend up with him. “Then let’s try.”

It certainly isn't a great performance that Bucky puts on to get out. More than once, without Steve's help, he would have tripped over his own feet as he pads around barefoot. In the dark of night, the area is only slightly illuminated by the moonlight. But at the moment all that matters to him is that he fights his way forward, step by step. He doesn't know how long it has taken them to walk around the hut so he can relieve himself. In the end, he doesn’t care. He doesn't even care that Steve is standing right behind him, holding his torso tightly while he urinates. At a certain point he has given up worrying about his dignity.

Steve tries to give the man some privacy, but the fact that he is standing right behind him doesn't make it any easier. That's why he closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, contentedly listening to Bucky relieve himself. He sends a prayer to heaven and thanks whoever is in charge that Bucky seems to be feeling better.

The way back is equally strenuous. The stress of the last few days and not least his injury are taking their toll. Exhausted, Bucky stops a few steps from the door and tilts his head back. Countless stars twinkle above them, “W-wait,” he asks Steve breathlessly.

“No problem,” Steve replies. He can feel Bucky sweating from the exertion. Although he can't see his facial expressions well, he can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s in pain. “Take as much time as you need.”

"Can...can you...put me down on the wall?" he asks shyly.

“It’s only a few steps to the inside. You can do that-“

“I want to see the… starry sky one more time,” he cuts him off.

The words make Steve's throat tighten up and at first he can't respond. Swallowing hard, he nods. “Y-yeah, sure,” he stammers helplessly, trying not to let himself go. His previously felt optimism about Bucky's recovery progress is gone in an instant. He quickly pushes his thoughts away once more. Surely Bucky has just expressed himself wrong, and he’s misinterpreted the words. Steve carefully maneuvers him towards the wall of the house and helps him sit down before sitting down close to him so that Bucky can lean on him.

“I loved… the stars as a child,” Bucky whispers, keeping his gaze glued to the sky. He leans against the still slightly warm wall of the house, which had previously been warmed up by the sun. “My father... he painted all the planets... on my walls when I was little. Jack has...his whole room...is full of astronomy stuff. He probably inherited it from… his dad.” He sniffs briefly, feeling the exhaustion constantly increasing . “I-I wanted to do that too. Paint the stars for him. But I… never got around to it.”

“Well,” Steve nods with a lump in his throat, “there will definitely be an opportunity for that later.”

Neither of them speaks for a few minutes. For a moment, Steve thinks Bucky might have passed out again or fallen asleep from exhaustion, but is even more astonished when he hears him speak again.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs hoarsely.

"For what?"

“For… this?”

“That goes without saying.”

"No, it's not. Especially not when…”

He turns his head slightly to get a better look at Bucky's features, but in the dim light it’s almost impossible to make out any details. "When… what?"

"When... it's hopeless..."

“You're like a marathon runner who gives up four hundred meters from the finish line. We've made it this far. And we will make it to the finish line, we’re going home. I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

"Mhm." He certainly is by no means a pessimist, but he can't deny reality either. Unless some miracle happens, things will not end well for him.

The mood threatens to change. Steve reaches up a little and places his hand on Bucky's. "You're still here. Something or someone keeps you going.”

“Lily,” Bucky breathes, moved by the thought of his beloved wife.

"Correct. And it's precisely because of her that you won't give up so easily, do you hear me? She’s waiting for you. Just like Anna and Jack. And your parents. Your sisters. You will all celebrate Christmas together. Your mom will throw a feast and your dad will talk for hours about the right baiting methods for fishing - even though you don’t know anything about it.”

The idea gives him goosebumps. Sighing heavily, he closes his eyes. “Yeah, he definitely will do that …,” he confirms quietly.

“And Jack - how big do you think his eyes will be when he sees the painted ceiling? You could use fluorescent paint for the stars that lights up at night,” Steve continues to talk to him. “And there’s definitely something that makes Anna happy. Am I right?"

“A pony… Anna… wants… a pony,” he answers out of breath.

“Well, that sounds like a good-”

“Don’t even think…about it.”

"Mhm, let's talk about that again sometime later."

“You’re pretty… stubborn,” Bucky finally says.

“Hey, I have to deal with a bunch of unmotivated teenagers at school and get them to take art and physical education classes. This...is nothing compared to that. I can do this all day.” He thinks he notices a change in his friend’s behavior. From his sitting position, he kneels next to Bucky and taps his thigh with the knuckles of his closed fist. “Let's make a deal - after we make it home, we'll paint the ceiling together. I provide the material and colors. Deal?" He holds out his hand invitingly.

“You’re the art teacher,” Bucky counters. “You’ll…paint…I’ll get the beer.”

A smile appears on Steve's face. "I can live with that. So we have a deal?” He’s still waiting for the handshake, which, to his great relief, actually comes.

"Deal."

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 - Difficult time

When Steve opens his eyes the next morning, he feels full of energy. His confidence in making it out of here alive has increased significantly due to the deal he’s made with Bucky last night. Basically it’s nothing special. Just a quick idea that popped into his head.

No, that isn't true.

It is special.

It is a promise.

They had promised each other that they would go home together. And Steve believes that with all his heart. They will make it. There simply is no alternative and he refuses to think otherwise.

He stretches a little and lays there for a moment. The night had been short. They sat outside the hut for some time. Bucky hadn't said anything else, but Steve has the impression that the short conversation had achieved a lot. At some point it got too cold outside, and he put Bucky back to bed before lying down himself.

Someone is outside the door, he can hear that.

So he stands up and quickly glances over at Bucky, who still seems to be sleeping, before he starts moving towards the door. As he opens it, he looks down at Jamila, who is a good two heads shorter than him. With a little smile on his lips, he greets her in Dari and wishes her a good morning.

She nods her head in recognition and returns the greeting with a small smile, too. She holds a jug in her hands and hands it to him.

"Milk. Power. Please drink, okay?” There’s also a basket with more food sitting at her feet.

Still a little bit sleepy, Steve is nevertheless deeply moved by the caring nature and thanks her profusely for it.

“James good?”

“He’s still sleeping,” he replies, surprised that she knows Bucky’s first name. Did he mention that?

“Go to look for arm. Later? Yes? You? You okay?”

So far everything is fine, unlike Bucky’s injury, his leg wound is downright ridiculous. “Yes, it’s good,” he says, hoping to convince her, but the woman is a force of nature you don’t want to compete with. Despite her small stature, she has a very strong personality and somehow wormed her way into Steve’s heart from the start, and he can't shake the feeling that’s mutual.

“I look, okay?” And with that she is already in the hut.

Smiling, he takes the pot and basket with him as he follows her. After putting both things on the table, he sits down on his bed - following Jamila's hand signals. It won't do any good trying to convince her otherwise, so he lets her be.

After taking a look at Bucky, she now turns to him.

Yesterday, when he changed his clothes, he put on a new bandage. It hadn't been pleasant because the wound secretion had crusted on the gauze bandage. Hopefully, that isn't the case again today.

With clear hand movements, Jamila indicates that he should take off his pants.

He hesitates for a moment, but now isn’t the time to be a prude. So he stands up, unbuckles his belt, unzips the pants, and slides his pants down to his knees. Then he sits down again and unwraps the stained bandage, and carefully tugs on the wound dressing before removing it completely. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of the pus that has formed since yesterday. But basically he hasn't expected anything else.

Nodding silently, the old woman reaches for one of the bottles she had brought with her yesterday, pours some of its content generously onto a rag and begins to clean the wound.

The liquid burns like hell, but Steve now just hopes that the people here know about medical matters. After all, there’s no hospital anywhere near. Gritting his teeth, he breathes deeply in and out. All in all, the wound looks good, at least as far as he can tell.

Jamila then dabs away the freshly oozing blood and examines the injury before taking another pot and using two fingers to scoop up a yellowish paste to spread on the wound. A few moments later, a fresh, crisp bandage is wrapped around his thigh while the wound starts throbbing.

His personal nurse seems to be pleased. The old woman smiles at him. Again her gaze goes to her second patient, and she exhales a worried sigh. There is no question that she cares deeply for Bucky.

Steve is worried about him, too. By now there’s only one morphine injector left and he doesn’t know what to do after that to make Bucky's pain bearable.

“He good man,” she says after she went to him. “He save Fahim.”

Hearing this amazes Steve. “Yes?” he asks as he buttons his pants and pulls up the zipper.

Either she didn't understand him or she doesn't want to talk about it, because Jamila makes no move to elaborate. Instead, she tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and sits on the mattress next to Bucky. She carefully strokes his forehead. “Fever always there.”

He catches up with her in just a few steps, frowning thoughtfully. Bucky isn’t going to survive without adequate medical treatment, but without radio contact he doesn’t know how to help him. One option would be to set off on foot, but he would need a guide to do that because he has absolutely no idea which direction the camp is. And he doubts whether people are willing to take the risk. In addition, he’s somewhat injured himself; although his injury isn’t life-threatening, it is limiting him considerably.

A soft groan brings him back to the present.

Jamila has started to take the bandages off and the touches seem to have woken Bucky up. She speaks to him in quiet words.

The scene seems very loving to Steve, reminding him of a mother caring for her sick child.

To make himself useful, he assists Jamila. “Hey, Bucky,” he says quietly. “Let’s take a quick look at the arm, okay?” he comments. "We're trying to be as careful as possible." Hopefully his words will help prevent Bucky from panicking.

Bucky feels miserable. More miserable than he's ever been in his life. He doesn't like the feeling of having someone tamper with his arm, but he can't defend himself against the actions either. Nodding his head, he grumbles his consent. And even though he knows that Jamila is acting very carefully, he can't stop himself from flinching at every touch. He closes his eyes helplessly and surrenders to his fate.

The sight of the bloody stump makes Steve gag. But he can't allow himself to be weak now. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath and pauses. Then he exhales slowly and opens his eyes to examine the wound more closely. The flesh looks strangely discolored in places and at first he fears the worst - the wound looks necrotic. In any case, it’s inflamed and festering.

“We has burn. Fire." Jamila sighed. “English not good.”

It takes Steve a moment to understand. The tissue isn’t necrotic, but burned. The arm stump has been treated with a red-hot iron, thus closing the open blood vessels. Without this measure, Bucky would probably have bled to death, but that doesn't make things any more pleasant. Added to all this is the bone pain, which has to be hellish. He had broken his leg as a teenager and knows firsthand how painful it feels. Swallowing hard, he looks at Bucky, whose jaw muscles are working. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I-I…” he feels miserable when he thinks that he’s the one responsible for Bucky’s torment. His voice brakes. “I-I didn’t have…”

“It’s okay,” Bucky presses out. He has followed everything, but prefers to keep his eyes closed. He hasn't seen the open stump yet and quite frankly, doesn't want to. He has no memory of the procedure that Jamila had mentioned. At that point he probably still had enough of the second morphine injection in his system that he didn't notice anything. Now he becomes even more aware that the pain is increasing again. He gasps desperately for air and notices the tears running down his cheeks. “You did what the... situation called for...” he groans hoarsely.

“B-but...but I...maybe-”

“Steve.” Bucky raises his shaking hand. "It's okay."

Steve can't quite tell whether Bucky is serious or just saying it so he wouldn't go crazy. Nevertheless, he grabs his hand and squeezes it.

Jamila puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him sympathetically.

And he understands. They have to move on. “I can’t promise this won’t hurt. Should I...we still have one injector left. Do you want morphine?”

The statement scares the crap out of Bucky. Without morphine he won't be able to bear the pain. It wouldn't be the first time that soldiers put a bullet through their own heads to save themselves. And he's willing to take this step when the time comes. However, not yet. Therefore, he says no to Steve's question. They have to use the last ration wisely. Instead, he tries to mentally distract himself from thinking about what's going to happen next.

His thoughts wander to his grandparents' farm in Indiana. He sees the extensive terrain, smells the country air, and feels the dewy grass under his bare soles. Hears the deep rumbling voice of Grandpa Henry and the gentle voice of Grandma Clara.

Steve has secretly expected such a reaction, but still hopes Bucky will agree to the injection. He notices how Bucky's gaze changes, and how he goes into a trance-like state. Once again he realizes what incredible willpower Bucky has. With one last look at Jamila, he takes a deep breath before he narrows his eyes briefly as she begins to clean the wound, just as she had done with his injury.

Exhausted, Steve leans back and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Bucky's muffled cries of pain are still echoing in his ears. He feels nauseous, and his whole body trembles as his tension slowly fades. The last few minutes had been terrible - for him, but of course, especially for Bucky. Despite his instructions not to give him morphine, Steve gave in and administered it. Only to be shocked to discover that the injector was defective and wouldn't work. Instead of the full dose, he had been able to give him only a fraction of it.

Despite her best efforts to be as careful as possible, Jamila's touching has irritated the sore tissue in some areas again and caused it to bleed. All color had drained from Bucky's face and tears had made their way down his cheeks, while Steve could only try to hold the writhing man in place so that Jamila could do her job. Although he knew that cleaning the amputation wound was necessary, it doesn't make him feel any better. He thanks the higher ups that Bucky has lost consciousness after a short time.

The old lady seems to be just as shaken as he is. She also needs a moment to catch her breath. Her sad look speaks volumes as she applies ointment to the stump and then re-bandages it. “He very bad,” she says quietly and lovingly strokes his bearded cheek.

These words cause a thousand small but no less painful stabs in his heart. Just as he is about to say something, the door opens and Hamid enters.

The younger man purposefully goes to the table and grabs the radio. He flicks a few switches and a hissing sound can be heard. “Battery good!” he announces, beaming with joy, before becoming more serious. After pressing the transmit button a few times and holding the device to his ear, he shakes his head, showing a remorseful expression on his face.

Steve is immediately on his feet and walks towards the man. The radio! He hadn't even thought about the radio, his mind had been so focused on Bucky's well-being. The feeling of happiness he had previously felt disappears just as quickly as it had come when he notices Hamid shaking his head. “What is it?” he asks nervously.

"Not good. Hear no good.” Hamid looks briefly at Jamila and exchanges a few words with her before nodding to Steve. "Come!"

“Come with you? Where-what?” he asks slightly irritated.

“We go up!”

Without knowing exactly what that meant, Steve hobbles after the man as they walk through the village at a fast pace. Soon, they both leave the small settlement behind them and climb along a small path. Meter by meter they walk behind each other in silence. Now Steve understands what Hamid was trying to say. By going up they will hopefully increase the chances of better reception.

The path led them up the mountain to a small clearing. Once there, he needs a moment to compose himself. The short walk has taken more toll on his leg than expected. Using breathing techniques, he concentrates on combating the flaring pain through targeted exercises. Little by little he also becomes aware of their surroundings. And the longer he looks around, the more fascinated he is by the sight that greets him. Around them he can see hilly landscapes with snow-capped mountain peaks. Far and wide there are no signs of the bloody and merciless conflict that has been shaking the country for years. 

However, the peaceful atmosphere is disturbed by threatening dark rain clouds in the distance. Before long it probably will start to rain. Was everything conspiring against them? He silently debates with himself for a few seconds before he feels a hand on his upper arm and he comes back to the present.

Hamid nods to him and presses the radio again. As before, there’s a whoosh and some other background noise. A smile appears on his face. He takes a few steps away, turning in a different direction every now and then he walks around.

Steve blinks at him, trying to understand the reason for Hamid's behavior. His heart almost stops when he hears a strange and distorted voice on the radio.

"Hello?"

Beaming broadly, Hamid waves him over.

Steve looks in disbelief at the radio that Hamid hands him when he catches up with him.

“Can anyone hear me?”

An endless feeling of gratitude comes over Steve. With his heart beating rapidly, he presses the radio button and replies with a shaky voice and tears in his eyes: “Yes! Yes, I can hear you!”

“This is Sam Wilson, Pararescue, 58th Unit. Who am I talking to?"

“M-my name is…” he’s so excited he has to gasp, “Steve Rogers. Oh my God!" Overwhelmed by his feelings, he can’t believe his luck in the first place.

“Steve! Are you with Sergeant Barnes and Corporal Bell?”

"Yes! We...we need help! Please!"

"OK. OK. Calm down. We will do everything we can to get to you.”

Relieved, Steve sinks to the ground, clutching the radio that is currently his only contact with the outside world. The stitches on his thigh pull violently as he sits down, but he ignores the pain. Tears of joy are running down his cheeks. Maybe luck is on their side again after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 - Contact

Camp Victory

“A new morning. A new opportunity.” Sam Wilson had always been a positive person. After breakfast he had talked to the others. So far they hadn't been able to make contact with Barnes or Bell. And they still have no clue where the troop is. Now he makes his way to their small interim base and sits down at the radio station.

As he had experienced several times before, he hears the familiar static after every announcement, but he doesn't let that discourage him.

John nods at him. The helicopter that Natasha had organized had landed at the camp last night. Together with Clint, he’s loaded the equipment and is now collecting weapons and ammunition to take to the landing site. “Still nothing?” he asks as he passes.

“No,” Sam shakes his head.

Without a word, John goes outside. He hates the feeling of inactivity and tries to make himself useful by loading the equipment. But the items are limited, so he will not be distracted for long. Plus, Fury is breathing down their necks. The longer their search remains fruitless, the greater the risk that they will be ordered back.

Clint meets him halfway.

“Have you seen Sam?” Clint wants to know.

“On the radio,” John says, pointing to the tent that houses their base.

“Thanks,” Clint acknowledges. Without further ado he sets off. He has the current weather data for the surrounding area with him and stops in the doorway to analyze the situation.

"Hello? Does anyone hear me? This is Sam Wilson, pararescue from the 58th Unit. Please come.”

“Shit,” Clint mutters. Apparently there’s still no breakthrough.

Sam puts the handheld microphone aside and waves him over to let his visitor know that he's seen him. “Do you have the information?” he asks.

Nodding, Clint picks up the rolled-up cards, pushes himself off the doorframe, and enters the room. He then walks to the conference table and lays out three of the cards. “The prognosis isn’t good,” he heavily sighs. “There are some really massive storm fronts on the way.”

“Everything else would be too easy.”

“Still no contact?”

“Nope. Nothing. Nada. They seem to have been swallowed up by the earth.”

Clint doesn't want to give up hope completely. "Oh well. It could also mean that Bucky is trying to smuggle them behind enemy lines unnoticed. Would suit him. Can you imagine his face when he shows up here like this? He’ll be grinning so broadly that he won’t be able to get through any of the doors.”

“Quite possibly, from what I’ve heard about him.”

“Oh, I could tell you stories,” Clint chuckles. “One time, there-” He falls silent when an unexpected noise comes from the speakers. "What was that?"

"Oh, just frequency interference."

"You sure?"

Sam adjusts some settings. "Hello?"

There is a noise again, but it’s different from the usual static. It's as if the radio was being passed back and forth. He asks: “Can anyone hear me?”

"Yes! Yes, I can hear you!”

As if electrified, Sam sits upright. “This is Sam Wilson, Pararescue, 58th Unit. Who am I talking to?"

Clint rushes to the radio and leans close to Sam, listening intently.

The speaker sounds excited. “M-my name is…Steve Rogers. Oh my God!"

When the name Steve Rogers is mentioned, Sam closes his eyes briefly and sends a prayer of thanks to heaven. Without hesitation, he gets down to business and talks to Steve as if they were old acquaintances. In such situations, this approach is sometimes helpful in quickly building trust. “Steve! Are you with Sergeant Barnes and Corporal Bell?”

"Yes! We...we need help! Please!"

With that, all their fears come true. But at least they have contact now. Before he answers, Sam has to take a deep breath himself. "OK. OK. Calm down. We will do everything we can to get to you.” With a quick glance at Clint he says, "Can I talk to Barnes or Bell?" As excited as the man is, it would be easier to communicate directly with his comrades.

“Bell is dead. And Bucky…he…is seriously injured. I-I don't know how much longer... he can last. Please…Please hurry!”

Sam blinks. Did he understand that correctly? The desperation is clearly audible in the other man’s voice. "Please come again?"

“Bucky is seriously injured. There was an explosion. His left arm was trapped and we couldn't free him. I…I-I had to…with a saw…it was…please…we need help!”

Clint grabs the handheld microphone. “This is Clint Barton. Can you give me your position?” Like Sam, he refrains from using polite phrases. “We are ready to go and just need the coordinates to pick you up.”

“W-we are in a village. I-I don’t know exactly where.”

Sam takes over the conversation again. “Steve,” he says as calmly as possible. “Try to get your breathing under control. OK? If you panic, it won't help anyone. So… take a deep breath and take a few seconds to calm down. And then we'll try again. I'll suspend the conversation for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

“W-what? No! Ple-"

Despite hearing the pleading, Sam disconnects, raising his brows questioningly as he eyes Clint. “That sounds pretty damn tricky.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “I’ll collect the others. Joaquín should start the helicopter.”

He brings Steve back with the push of a button. "I’m back. Sorry, Steve. I had to have a quick word with Clint.” He gets no response. “Steve?”

“I-I’m still here…”

Sam can hear a tilt. "It's all right. Take your time."

"We don’t have time!"

Surprised by the angry objection, Sam sucks in a breath.

"I'm sorry. I...I didn't want to sound rude. Please! You have to send help!”

“I assure you, everything here is ready to go. We can get started right away. But for that I need coordinates. And yes, I know that's a lot to take in right now. But we still have to try, okay? Is there any distinctive feature in the immediate area? A river? A ruin? A rock formation?”

"No. No. There is only forest here. Just forest everywhere.”

Clint returns with Walker in tow, who looks at Sam expectantly.

Sam nips his unspoken question right from the start by shaking his head. He runs his hand across his forehead as he thinks. "OK. We'll find a solution. You mentioned a village? Which direction were you heading?”

“Before we left, Bucky mentioned a camp to the…northwest. He wanted to take us there.”

John nods triumphantly. “Yes!” he utters quietly. “Then at least we have a clue.”

“Still, there are too many uncertainties,” Clint points out. “We can’t waste any more time.”

“Hamid led me to a clearing. But his English isn’t good and my Dari is even worse. Do any of you speak Dari?”

“Do we have an interpreter?” Clint asks no one in particular.

“There’s definitely someone around the camp somewhere,” John shrugs.

“Is there anyone else from the residents who speaks English?” Sam asks over the radio.

“I-maybe I could ask Fahim. But for that… I would have to go back to the village. But there is no reception and-”

"Wait a minute!" Clint has pricked up his ears and motions for Sam to give him the microphone. “It’s Clint again. Did you say Fahim? Isn’t that a 13-year-old rascal by any chance?”

There’s a brief silence. Steve probably didn't expect the question. “Y-you know Fahim?”

Clint nods. “Oh, yeah, I know the guy.” His smile grows even wider. “And I know exactly where you are.”

Within moments, Clint has marked the settlement on the map. Finally being in touch has everyone involved elated, but now they are faced with the next problem. “We can't land in the immediate vicinity. The only chance I see is this clearing here. That’s probably where Steve is right now.” He circles the area with his finger on the map.

“That’s not enough space to land,” Walker interjects.

"Correct. We'll have to abseil and bring Buck up the same way using the winch.”

“Which we don’t have,” Walker continues to comment. “The helicopter does have a winch, but it’s not designed for what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m aware of that,” Clint nods. “But we have no other choice.”

“You know Joaquín has to circle over us the whole time? It's an invitation for the Taliban to play around with their rockets to knock us out of the sky?”

“Yeah, otherwise this mission would be too easy and boring,” Clint counters with a grin. Of course he’s aware of the dangerous situation, so he clears his throat before saying, “If anyone wants to get out, now is the last chance.” In the background he’s half listening to Sam talking to Steve. The Pararescue tries to find out as much information as possible regarding Bucky's health. “We've done more with much less.” His gaze goes to John. “Sam will go first, you second. I'll have your back. At best, the op will be over in 15 minutes.”

John raises his hand. “Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed here? You have a wife and kids and basically…” he hesitates. “Well, if something happens to you…”

Clint looks straight at him. Even without John saying it, he knows what he's getting at. If something were to happen to him, his family certainly wouldn't receive much financial support from the Army. Officially he’s a military advisor and his salary is accordingly. And what they are about to do is extremely dangerous and unauthorized. “But that’s not possible with two people on the ground. Sam will have to take care of Buck the whole time and then he won’t be able to cover for you, too.”

“That's why I asked Lemar. So we’re back in business.”

Clint wasn't expecting that comment and is speechless for a moment. “That’s… wow… but I-”

"No buts. Everything has already been discussed. And I think it's a good thing if you stay in touch with Steve. He could really use some encouragement, I think.”

“You’re not such a bad guy after all,” Clint smiles. Then he rubs his hands in anticipation. "OK. That sounds like a plan.”

Sam turns to them, but remains seated at the radio. “I hate to be the one to ruin the plan. But I don't think 15 minutes will be enough time for us. Bucky is unable to walk. Especially not up the mountain. We’re going to need a stretcher.”

“There should be enough men to do this,” Clint says. “Do you have everything else you need to make him transportable? Infusions, pain medications, anesthetics?”

“Yes,” Sam confirms.

“What exactly happened to him?” John wants to know.

Even though Sam is used to a lot of things, he has to take a deep breath before repeating what Steve had told him a few minutes earlier. “Steve had to saw off his hand. Apparently the arm was trapped under a piece of metal and that was the only option.” He looks briefly at his friends, seeing their dismayed faces. “You can perhaps imagine that the amputation was not carried out under sterile conditions. Buck has a high fever and is weak from blood loss. The wound is infected. And they’re out of morphine.”

There’s a brief awkward silence in the room.

“Holy crap,” John finally mutters. Then he lifts his chin defiantly. “Let’s bring him home.”