𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

༻ ❁ ༺

March 5th, 1945

          BUCKY HAD ONLY BEEN in the Swiss Alps for a couple of days and already he couldn't wait to leave it behind forever. This place was supposed to be picturesque and beautiful. Charming vistas, mountain goats, and people yodelling. This was none of those things.

The Sergeant looked over the cliff's edge towards the train while Steve checked his gun. During hurricane season, his nerves were jangling like wind chimes. Since the formation of this squad, they'd done a lot of wild things, but he felt zip-lining across a frozen abyss in the middle of Russia had to be the most insane. He belonged in Bedlam for agreeing to go along with this.

"You remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" Bucky asked suddenly.

Steve glanced up at him with a rueful smile. "And I threw up?" It had been a good day other than that. They'd saved up their pocket money for months for that outing and had blown through much of it on corndogs and cotton candy. Most of it unfortunately just before that disastrous Cyclone ride.

"This isn't payback, is it?" Bucky shifted the grip on his rifle. He officially hated Switzerland.

Steve laughed, a glint of mischief in his eyes helping to cover his own nerves. "Now why would I do a thing like that?"

The shriek of a train whistle cut through the wind, audible ever from their distance.

Steve, Bucky, and Gabe were silent as they attached their T-bars to the cable. Bucky tugged on his just to be sure it was in position.

Deep breath, Barnes. You can do this. Just a few more little adventures and this nightmare is over. Steve can be with his girl, and you can finally be with yours.

As they readied for the jump, Steve turned to address their small company. "Okay, We've got a ten-second window. Mistime it and you're a bug on a windshield."

Which only counted as one of his immediate fears about this plan. The cable could snap, the anchor could disengage - Damn it, no! He had to keep calm. He was the leader. His friends were relying on him. Bucky was relying on him.

Falsworth chuckled. "Mind the gap."

Next to them, Dugan checked the speed of the train against his watch. "Better move it, bugs."

The three guys stiffened, their gaze fixed on Jaques, who would signal their departure. When Jacques dropped his hold, Steve took one final steadying breath and hurled himself down the precipice, Bucky and Gabe close after.

There was nothing but the sting of snow against his cheeks and the shriek of wind in his ears for a tense moment. He gripped the T-bar with a white-knuckled grasp until he could feel the strain, and he prayed that his buddies would be able to hang on for a few more precious seconds until they reached the other side.

He released his grip, and for a few breathless seconds he was in freefall. His booted feet hit the train solidly, and he tucked into a roll to absorb the force of his landing. Two more solid thuds told him that Bucky and Gabe had made their landings too.

Steve glanced back, just to be sure. To his desperate relief, his friends were crouched on the same car, just a few feet behind him.

Cautiously, they pushed themselves to their feet, and the three commandos made their way towards the front of the train.

A ladder was fixed to the side of one of the cars in the first row. As Gabe kept watch from above, Steve climbed down with Bucky close following. Bucky slammed the door behind them once they were inside.

The train's interior was more futuristic than anything they'd seen previously, with a black matte finish and solid metal construction. They appeared to be in a storage container. Heavy black metal shelving ran the length of the car, each containing cases of what they guessed were more Hydra blue beam guns. It's a decent score, but it's not their main goal. They could take it all if they could get to Zola and take command of the train.

Steve and Bucky crouched on opposite sides of the carriage, rifles drawn and ready for any movement. The next car's door was open, and the one beyond it was unoccupied. They came to a halt in front of the doorway. Something wasn't quite right. This was far too easy. Zola was a top scientist for Hydra. This train, with its empty cars crammed with troops, should have been heavily guarded.

It was too late to turn back now. They'd caught the train. Now they had to see where it would take them.

Steve moved cautiously through the covered passageway, Bucky trailing a few feet behind, checking to make sure no one was approaching from behind. But he strayed too far. The train carriages' two connecting doors slammed shut, isolating them with two hefty iron walls.

Steve threw himself against the heavy door and watched helplessly through the tiny window as Bucky whirled to face the figure that had entered from the other side.

The sound of metallic grinding and the high-pitched whine of a beam canon told Steve that he had company of his own. He whirled to see a heavily-armored Hydra trooper, armed with a shoulder-mounted rig that held two canons, pointed directly at him.

Steve fired with his pistol, then dove behind a stack of crates, shield raised as the trooper shot back.

༻ ❁ ༺

Bucky was outnumbered, two masked troopers firing at him from the other side of the train car. He ducked past the central shelving, firing as they turned to adjust their aim. His first volley took down one of them, and he ducked behind a stack of crates to reload his weapon.

Damn it, he knew this had been too easy. Zola had been the perfect bait for a trap.

Unfortunately, the death of his companion hadn't deterred the other trooper in the slightest. Bucky was forced to curl up on the floor to avoid being struck by the ricochet when he launched on his hideout. He had him fully pinned and made his way to the back of the car, utilizing the shelves as cover.

Pinned, terrified, but far from done, Bucky took his shots where he could, popping up to fire at the Hydra trooper whenever he had an opening.

Steve was having an equally bad time.

He was a decent shot, and had some cover between the crates and his shield, but they could only hold up so long against the cannon. The blue rays shattered the metal on the wall behind him, burning and distorting it. He pounced on the opportunity, sprinting out from behind the boxes and flinging himself at the ceiling-mounted crane. It took him across the car like a zip-line, giving him just enough time to raise his shield and intercept the trooper's second fire before smashing into his chest with heavy booted feet and sending him to the ground.

He had to stop this. Experience with the canons had taught him that there was a period of recharge time necessary between each volley.

A blow to the helmet with his shield reassured Steve that this man wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

But he couldn't stop to rest. Bucky needed him.

He crouched down next to the unconscious soldier and maneuvered the canon so it was aimed at the door of the car. It only took a single shot to blow the thing wide open.

The final trooper crept down the length of the train towards where Bucky was hiding.

Not wanting to give him any openings, Bucky pressed himself against the far wall, crouching so that he was all but invisible against the dark metal of the train. Waiting for his opening. He only got one shot at this.

There.

He threw down his rifle and fired with the small pistol he carried, crossing to the other side of the train until he could duck behind another pile of crates. He hadn't hit the trooper, but at least he had better cover now. 

That's right, Barnes. Look for the silver lining. Not like you're up shit creek without a paddle or anything.

Bucky's options were rapidly dwindling. He was in a firefight against a man with a rifle, armed with nothing but a pistol. He quickly counted up shots in his head. And he was rapidly running out of ammo. He had to keep fighting. For Steve. For Alice. For their friends and everyone back home.

As a kid, he used to play Shootout at the OK Corral with the other neighbourhood kids. Had imagined daring wild-west adventures and heroic battles against evil black-hatted men with large curling moustaches. If he'd known then what he knew now, he would have stuck with baseball.

Bucky took two more shots. Missed again. He was panicking. That was no good. He knew that was no good. Panicking was what got you killed. Thinking about panicking was only making things worse.

A deep breath and he fired again. One shot missed, ricocheting off his target's cover. His gun clicked uselessly on the second shot. He was out.

Bucky sighed and buried his face against the box's lid. He had counted incorrectly. He'd used up all of his ammunition. Pinned down. Alone. Everything is a sham.

I'm not going to die in this place. 

He clenched his eyes and attempted to regain control of his breathing. He opened his eyes again. He just had to think. That was all if he could think he could – something moved in the window of the door.

Steve. That idiot had found a way back to him.

Steve pressed the door button with his elbow, keeping himself out of sight from the back of the car. Through the glass, he'd seen Bucky's final shots. He saw the look of panic on his face as he realised his clip was empty.

Steve held up his own gun in offering. Bucky was a better shot and they both knew it. Bucky nodded, reading the plan in Steve's gesture. Now that he wasn't on his own, things didn't seem quite so daunting. He snagged the gun out of air when Steve tossed it to him. Turning and firing in one smooth motion.

Steve moved almost before the metal touched Bucky's hand charging in, shield up. He snarled and slammed a heavy crate down the shelves, slamming it into the guy who was pinning them down. The falling crate made the Hydra soldier break cover. Bucky's shot caught him between the eyes. Those masks weren't good for much more than looking scary.

He lowered the gun and stepped up next to Steve. Just like old times. Except Steve was the one saving his bacon these days. "I had him on the ropes."

"I know you did."

Something whirred behind them. Panic flashed through Steve. The guy with the cannon - he wasn't finished with them yet.

"Look out." Steve grabbed Bucky's arm and shoved him towards the far end of the train. Bringing his shield up at the same time. The blast hit him at an inconvenient angle. He and his shield flew in different directions, tearing the side of the carriage apart.

Steve sprawled helpless on the floor; wind completely knocked out of him as the gunner lined up another shot.

"Fire again. Kill him now."

Bucky was chilled to the bone by the voice that reverberated from the overhead speakers more than anything else they had faced on this mission. He lunged for the shield that had fallen on the ground. He needed to keep them both alive until he was able to save them. He braced himself resolutely behind the circle, firing two rounds to attract attention.

The blast that was meant for Steve ultimately caught Bucky squarely in the stomach, sending him flying backwards with the shield sailing off his arm. His back collided with the peeled back wall's corner, which he slid along and out into open space. 

Bucky -

Steve pushed himself to his feet. He slammed his palm into his shield and flung it at the still-recharging cannon, not waiting to assess the damage. He didn't mind as long as it kept the man preoccupied long enough for him to reach Bucky.

He yanked his helmet off and tossed it aside as he dashed towards the jagged gap where he had last seen his friend. Despite the speeding train and swirling wind there was no way he could have lost Bucky like this. Not to a stray shot meant for him.

"Bucky!" He was there, clinging desperately to a torn rail over the precipice. "Hang on!"

Steve slid his foot through a small crack in the metal and moved closer to Bucky. He'd exhausted his foot and hand grips, but he was still too far away from Bucky. He extended his arms as far as he could. "Grab my hand!"

Bucky reached. The rail bent under the stress of Bucky moving. Bucky grabbed it with both hands again, gasping. Get to Steve. Nothing else matters right now. Just get to Steve.

He reached again. The rail groaned.

"No." Steve was adamant that nothing awful could possibly happen just now. Bucky would take his hand at any moment now. He'd toss them back into the train with a swing. They would finish this damn mission, go home to their girls, get married, settle down in neighbouring houses in the suburbs - just like they had talked about only days before.

Bucky stretched as far as he could. Fingertips almost brushing Steve's glove.

The rail snapped. Fell away from the train car.

And so, did Steve's world.

Bucky's scream echoed in Steve's ears long after the wind should have carried it away.

༻ ❁ ༺

March 6th, 1945

"No." Alice's hands shook uncontrollably. She had heard Peggy speak, but the words didn't make any sense.

Gwen had caught Alice as her knees gave out.

Alice let Gwen lower her onto the edge of a cot. "He can't be. It's some sort of mistake. He'll be back. He always comes back, no matter what."

"I'm so sorry, lovely." Peggy sank to her knees in front of Alice. Cupping her hands softly. "I thought it would be easier to hear it from a friend."

Alice turned her head into her friend's neck, the tears breaking through. "He promised to come back..." 

Gwen wrapped her arms around Alice, cuddling her close. She felt guilty, as if she were selfish for being thankful that her own husband had returned home unscathed. The pain and heartbreak that Alice must have been experiencing in that moment was unfathomable. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to leave." Peggy said, putting her hand on Gwen's elbow and taking her a few steps away from Alice's grief. "I need to track down Steve. The others have no idea where he is. When they landed, he simply walked away. He's having a hard time with it."

"Go. We've got her." With a soft touch of the shoulder, Gwen reassured Peggy. 

Bucky's death was a tragedy for them all. But the sorrow she and his other friends felt was nothing compared to what Alice and Steve had to be feeling right now. 

While Alice had her friends, Steve would need someone too.

༻ ❁ ༺

The wind plucked at a scrap of paper, lifting it off the red-stained snow. It tumbled erratically over the surface, following a set of drag marks along the valley floor.

It drifted to a stop face up in a pool of blood, the sticky red liquid slowly drowning the carefully written words.

Dear Bucky,

I love you.