Chapter Text
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Sunlight slides through his eyelids like a knife, and the blackness that’s had him in a chokehold fades to a murkiness on the edges of his vision. He feels baked into the ground, as if he’s been here for centuries, covered over in sand. It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know how long he’s been here. Shit, where is here?
Sam. Steve. His eyes snap open only to meet the full scorching glare of the sun overhead and he has to shut them again and blink away the sunspots to clear them. He rolls his head to the left, trying to get his body to follow, but he doesn’t have that level of control yet. His head begins to spin as he remembers the gap beneath his vest, and he shudders and lies still. Don’t move, don’t make it worse.
Bucky cracks an eye again and scans the ground beside him, looking for the familiar red, white and blue. The sand glitters dazzlingly white, almost too bright to look at, and he can feel the taught skin across his face where the sun’s been beating down and burning him while he’s been out.
“Steve? Sam?” he croaks hoarsely. Gritting his teeth, Bucky makes to roll onto his side and manages to get an arm beneath him. He rolls over, feels something very wrong, and moving anyway because what else is he supposed to do, lie here forever? Clearly help hasn’t arrived yet so it’s up to him.
He manages to raise himself enough to see a few feet further and he lets his eyes flick across the surrounding scrub which Sam had identified as mostly creosote bushes and yucca. Still no sign of either of them. His eyes land on a branching prickly pear some five yards away and his stomach, or what’s left of it, drops. The landscape might be fairly unfamiliar to his eyes, but from the scuff marks in the sand at the cactus’s base, he knows he dragged Steve to that exact spot before he collapsed. Now, he’s nowhere to be seen. In the shape he was in, he doubts Steve would have been able to move himself, which means somebody moved him. And he has a feeling it wasn’t an ally.
He gives himself a moment to panic and then rolls over onto his back with a shuddering moan and turns his head to the right.
There. There about three yards to his right, Sam is sprawled on his back, arms spread-eagled in the shadow of a sand dune. His uniform is dirty and torn and Bucky can see dried blood smeared across his jaw and lower lip. He feels his own heart beating too quickly.
“God, Sam, you’d better still be alive!”
Right, there’s nothing for it but to get up. Bucky keeps his eyes fixed on Sam as he forces his body to roll, scrambling to get his feet underneath him. That awful feeling cuts through his abdomen again and he screams, tears of pain collecting at the corners of his eyes. His throat hurts like he’s been strangled and he can feel bruises all across his body. There’s definitely a hole through his right thigh. And his arm, the metal one, is crumpled and torn and from the stinging, he guesses at least a few of the nerve receptors in his shoulder have been ripped or severed. It’ll take more than wishful thinking to get it working again.
Doesn’t matter. Bucky shoves himself into an upright position with his right arm and manages, shakily, to stand. He looks back at Sam, who suddenly seems impossibly far away, and maybe he’s imagining it, but Sam’s face is now turned towards him, eyes still closed, when it wasn’t before.
“Sam!”
Sam doesn’t so much as twitch. Breathing as steadily as he can, Bucky staggers forward across the uneven ground and pitches into the sand beside his partner. “Sam, hey hon, wake up…”
At the sound of his voice, Sam’s eyelids flutter and they flick open, revealing confused brown eyes. Sam stares up at Bucky for a second before he seems to grasp the situation and he grimaces painfully. “Bucky. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
Bucky nods and places a couple fingers on Sam’s bruised cheek, relief washing over him as he feels the warmth radiating beneath his skin. “Yeah, Sam, I’m okay. I don’t know what the hell happened, but Steve is gone. We gotta get you medical attention, you look awful.”
Sam makes a pained face. “Ouch, Bucky, that’s a fucked-up way to tell your boyfriend you’re worried about him…”
Bucky manages a tiny smile. “Sam, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still unbearably hot covered in blood, you just look like you’ve been through a train wreck.”
“Maybe I have, it feels that way at least,” Sam groans as Bucky helps him struggle to his feet. He looks at him, and frowns. “Baby, your arm is real fucked up. Can you even move it?”
Bucky shakes his head and is hit by a wave of nausea that nearly knocks him over. Sam grabs his good arm and steadies him. “Whoa, Bucky, what’s wrong?”
Bucky swallows, bile burning the back of his already painful throat. “Abdominal injury, I’m alright.”
“Yeah, no you’re not!” Sam snaps and Bucky feels instantly guilty. The angrier Sam gets at him, the more worried he usually is. “Really gotta find a hospital for your sorry ass while we’re both still almost in one piece.”
He’s right.
They barely make it a hundred feet before Bucky collapses into a dune. He’s shivering all over and the murk at the edges of his vision has started to spread. Whatever’s happened to him, it’s sending him into shock.
“Bucky!” Sam somehow manages to lower himself to the ground beside Bucky and grab into his shoulders. The shuddering turns to heaves, and Bucky feels bile and whatever’s left of last night’s dinner coming back up.
“Oh Buck,” Sam mutters softly and drags Bucky’s hair out of his eyes as he vomits into the sand. Bucky hears him softly whisper, “shiiit” and through half open eyes, he can see what’s got Sam worried. Mixed in with the throw-up are bright spots of his own blood. Not exactly surprising given the hole he can feel beneath his uniform. He can’t seem to remember how it got there.
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Sam, un-super soldier that he is, manages to half carry Bucky two-hundred feet to the edge of the road that Bucky somehow knows is there despite his own injuries.
By now Bucky’s pieced together that their mission — and he has no idea why he can’t remember it — had something to do with scouting this remote location, probably a military base given the arid landscape and the U.S.’s tendency to dedicate open desert to military purposes as if that’s all it’s good for. Strangely relatable.
“Sam?” he asks as they collapse into the shade of the road embankment.
“Yeah Buck?” Sam is breathing heavily and the cut on his lip has reopened. Bucky reaches over with his functional hand and wipes the blood away.
“Sam, what do you remember about the mission? I don’t know why but I’m drawing a complete blank and I don’t like it…”
Sam shakes his head ruefully. “Don’t remember anything. I know Steve was with us and now he’s gone, and we’ve definitely been in a nasty fight. Other than that, I’ve got no idea what we’re even doing here.”
“I’m not really sure where here is…”
Sam nods towards the tall spiky plant growing out of the sand across the road. “Based on the flora, I’m gonna guess we’re somewhere in Texas, Arizona, maybe New Mexico, probably close to a military base. I’d say we should go looking for help there but given the shape we’re in, I think they might’ve already tried to kill us…”
They sit there in exhausted silence for a few minutes, feeling profoundly lost. When Sam tries to use his earpiece to call HQ, all he gets is static. Apparently, they’re in the middle of nowhere and also in a dead zone, which isn’t exactly surprising. Neither of them has water or supplies, but Sam finds a small first aid kit in his belt pouch and they set to work patching each other up where they can.
Sam’s covered in abrasions all across his chin and jaw as if he was slammed into something, and he’s got a bullet wound in his upper right arm. Bucky pries the bullet out with a sterilized knife while Sam grits his teeth and curses under his breath, and then gently smears it with antiseptic. Sam guesses that at least a few of his ribs are broken and he’s got lacerations down his back that seem as if they were gouged by claws except that his armor hasn’t been pierced. Bucky frowns as he swabs the wounds, disturbed that he can’t figure out how his partner was injured like that.
Sam confirms that Bucky’s also in pretty bad shape. The strangulation marks on his neck are deep enough to have drawn blood and there’s a cut across his left cheek Sam suspects was caused by something jagged like torn metal. He’s got a bullet wound clean through his right thigh that Sam cleans and bandages. And his left shoulder is dislocated above the prosthetic attachment, leaving his metal arm severely damaged and nonfunctional. Who or what could possibly have done that?
And then there’s whatever the hell’s happened to his stomach. Sam insists on taking a look based on Bucky’s nausea attack earlier. As he peels back the padded shirt, Bucky takes a sharp breath and groans, and Sam’s eyes grow wide with shock.
“What is it?” Bucky manages as he glances down at his abdomen.
Sam shakes his head. “Buck, what did they do to you?”
Another wave of nausea hits Bucky as he gets a glance at what Sam’s seen. Where the skin of his abdomen should be, there’s a translucent blue substance that shimmers over a clean-cut hole about eight inches in diameter just above the periumbilical region. His organs are visible beneath the blue barrier and the walls of his abdominal cavity leak blood into the space and down his belly around the edges of the substance. He’s not certain, but it looks as if parts of a few of the organs are missing, as if they’ve been neatly cut away. Bucky can feel his head begin to spin.
“Sam…” His vision’s fading as he fumbles with his vest, trying to close it over the hole in his stomach. He can feel his partner’s warm hands on his, stopping him.
“Sorry Bucky, I have to clean it.” Bucky shakes his head, but he knows Sam is right. On the slim chance that sepsis hasn’t set in, they need to disinfect as much of the area as possible. He grits his teeth and lies back into the sand bank, trying to steady his breath as Sam reaches out and touches the edge of the wound. Bucky can feel the blood drain out of his face, but Sam, to his credit, doesn’t stop, daubing antiseptic all around the opening and then stretching gauze across it, and tapping it in place. If he’s lucky, whatever the hell the blue shit is, it’s air-tight, but given the blood seeping around the edges, he doesn’t think it is. Together they manage to refasten his shirt and vest as tight as they can to keep Bucky’s guts together. When they’re done, Bucky vomits onto the roadside sand, and Sam rubs his back gently.
“God Bucky, who are these people?” he mutters in disgust. “Who would do that to somebody?”
Bucky wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “I dunno Sam, but I’d bet you a month’s worth of date night dinners that they’re the ones that took Steve.”
Sam grimaces. “As good as that sounds, I don’t care about who’s paying as long as we can get him back in one piece.”
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“Well damn, guess we’re not as alone as I thought,” Bucky mutters.
Sam lets out an exaggerated sigh. “There go my plans of making out with you. Sorry, Buck.”
Bucky snorts and immediately regrets it when a jolt of pain runs through his abdomen. They’ve stumbled to the end of the sand-covered road where it intersects with a highway, and the cars speeding past are a jarring reminder of the existence of perfectly normal lives going on all around them. There is no sign indicating where the road they’ve just walked down leads, and no road signs near enough to identify their location, but Bucky catches a glimpse of a handful of the passing cars’ license plates.
“You were right, Sam, it’s either New Mexico or Texas. Ever been here as a regular civilian?”
“Texas, yeah,” Sam nods as he adjusts his arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling more of his weight onto his shoulder. “It’s not my favorite place, though they do have some damn good hurricanes at this restaurant in Austen. Not as good as the ones back home but…”
A little slow on the uptake, Buck realizes he means drinks not weather phenomenon. He knows exactly what Sam’s doing and he knows Sam knows he’s doing the same thing. Their half serious banter was one of the first things that had made Bucky hopeful Sam didn’t hate his guts back in the early days, and now it’s one of the things he likes best about their missions together. Frankly, when they get going, they can leave Steve pretty far behind in the dust. Not that Steve always gets left behind…
Bucky tugs on Sam’s arm, “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah, Buck?”
“I-I need to sit down…”
“Alright.” Sam helps him down onto the sandy road and sits down beside him. A puff of white dust billows away into traffic as he settles. Sam’s face is drawn, blood still glistening on his lower lip, but there’s a set to it that somebody who doesn’t know him better might read as stubbornness. He’s not about to give up on their situation, not by a long shot. Bucky’s head hurts and the brightness is messing with his eyes. He can feel himself losing consciousness and he leans over and drops his head onto Sam’s shoulder. “Shit, hon, not sure I’m making it outta this one…”
“Don’t be like that!” Sam murmurs, but there’s a tiredness to his own voice that Bucky recognizes. As dark spots fill his vision, he feels Sam’s hand slip around his own and squeeze. He’s not sure if it’s meant as encouragement or a goodbye, but it’s the last thing he feels as the world fades out.
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Bucky wakes up to voices he doesn’t know. The sun’s heat feels almost pleasant as he cracks an eye gummed by sand. He’s lying on his side in the powdery roadside sand and Sam’s standing a few feet away, leaning on the side of a dark green chevy pickup and talking to somebody through the window. Bucky struggles into a sitting position, ignoring his body’s protests, trying to get a better look at the truck’s occupant.
There’s a kid of about twenty wearing a black beanie and t shirt despite the heat in the passenger’s seat and an elderly woman with long white hair behind the wheel. The kid notices Bucky sit up and waves in his direction. “Hey dude,” they call, “you’re alive!”
Sam’s at Bucky’s side in an instant. “Baby, take it easy. I was just telling these folks you couldn’t move on your own.”
“Yeah, well that still might be true,” Bucky groans. “They know who we are?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, kid was impressed their grandma recognized me, but I told ‘em I’m popular with the old folks.” Bucky lands a weak punch on his chest and Sam chuckles. “What? I’m dating two of them!”
From the truck, the kid hollers something and Sam gives them a thumbs-up. “Mrs. Baca and Arlo are gonna give us a ride, okay?”
“Are we gonna fit?”
Sam drapes Bucky’s arm across his uninjured left shoulder. “In the back, yeah.”
Bucky laughs. “Sam, wait ’til Sarah finds out you’re a hitchhiker…”
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There’s wind rippling past, almost painfully loud, making his ears pop. He can feel it, on his face and in his loose hair. Sam’s hand is still wrapped around his.
Arlo’s shouting over the wind. “Hey man, your boyfriend gonna be okay?”
Bucky snaps awake. Ouch. Most of him still hurts. Definitely still a hole in his belly where it shouldn’t be and his shirt feels sticky and wet… Sam?
“I don’t know, kid!” Sam’s also shouting over the wind, and Bucky remembers that they’re in the back of a pickup. Somewhere above him and to his left, Sam continues more quietly, “He sure as hell better be…”
Bucky opens his eyes with some effort.
“Hey, sunshine, glad you’re still with us!” Sam leans over him and kisses him lightly on the lips. Bucky tastes iron and sand and he finds the facial control to smile.
Remembering Sam’s threat of making out with him earlier, he manages to give a little tongue, and Sam’s eyes widen with surprise. Unfortunately, Bucky’s plans are sabotaged by a spasm of dizziness that makes him black out momentarily and when he can see again, Sam’s moved back a couple inches and is watching him with concern.
“Lost you there for a second, didn’t I? Okay, no more kissing.” When he seems sure that Bucky’s hearing him, he goes on. “Mrs. Baca says we’re about twenty minutes from a hospital, okay? We’ll get you checked out and maybe we can figure out what happened…”
“You too,” Bucky growls.
“Huh?” Sam raises a dark, perfect eyebrow.
“Yeah, you.” Bucky does his best glare given the circumstances, which he knows is not insignificant. Unfortunately, both Sam and Steve usually seem to be immune. “You’re putting on …a brave face but I know you’re in just as much pain as… me. I won’t let ‘em… look at me ‘til they see you.”
To Bucky’s relief, Sam doesn’t argue. “Okay, Buck. We’re gonna figure this out, I promise…”
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