Road to War Part III: I Would For You

There Was a Place That Could Have Been

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It was a dark moment. Possibly his darkest thus far. The battle had been terrifying, horrifying. Unlike any of the others he'd been in. The march behind enemy lines was exhausting, endless. Until it had ended, and he'd been forced to work. He couldn't remember ever being so tired, not in basic, not in battle, not working several jobs in Brooklyn to make ends meet. But here he worked, automatically, endlessly, until he couldn't work anymore.

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He'd wondered, vaguely, what would happen to him now as he was moved from the prisoners' cells to some sort of medical bay. Maybe he would die. Maybe he would live. Somehow, he couldn't seem to care which one happened. Any end to this experience seemed like an improvement. Until they started hurting him and he realized things could get worse. Things could always get worse.

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When Steve appeared as if by magic above him, he ignored him. It was some trick, from the enemy or from his own fevered brain. Never mind the fact that he'd been steadily gaining his strength back (and maybe more?) during his time in this strange room. There was no way Steve could have gotten himself over here. It was far more likely that Steve had succumbed to his poor health, and they were both dead. He decided that was okay, then, if Steve was here. At least he wouldn't be alone. He was halfway into wondering who else he would soon see again when Steve pulled him to his feet and he was forced to focusing on moving forward, on getting out of here. It sure felt real, but who was he to say that meant anything?

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Steve explained his appearance in what could certainly be a fabrication of his confused state of mind. But he started to think maybe he was really being rescued, maybe Steve really had done something incredibly stupid to get himself here. It wasn't exactly out of character, since he'd been trying everything possible to go to war before he left. But then he saw the man who had hurt him, who'd done things to him while he was strapped to that bed. And he knew that much, at least, was real.

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After, when they'd gotten back to camp, the reality of what happened came crashing down on him. He wanted to sleep, but couldn't. The war hadn't been exactly easy to adjust to, but, even then, he found that he could somehow blend into the chaos and violence. It was almost easy. He really took to soldiering, he thinks bitterly. But the addition of gods and monsters was hard to bear, to come to terms with. And he'd struggled to keep Steve from knowing.

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"What's going on, Buck?" Steve asked, sitting down on the cot across from where he was seated. Back from debriefings or whatever super soldiers did. Steve seemed almost shy, looking at him as though he thought he'd never see him again. Which was accurate, he supposed.

"What the hell, Steve," he answered, not knowing how to express what he was thinking.

Steve's smile shifted to grim amusement. "I may not have thought this through."

His jaw clenched at that, and he'd glared at his friend. "What did you expect to happen to you, once you let the government – once you'd let them – " He stumbled over his words, trying not to admit what might be different about himself. What they might have been doing to him in that dark room. "Once they'd changed you," he finally muttered, looking down at his hands. Clenching and unclenching.

"I don't know," Steve admitted, looking as though he hadn't given it any thought.

When they'd cheered for him, when he'd led them to cheer, he'd thought about it. He'd thought about how his gentle friend was now a weapon. How they wouldn't let him go after this. How Steve would be working for them the rest of his life, and who knew how long that would be now? Steve may have gone to war to join him, allowed this to be done to be able to do what his friend was doing, but it had put Steve far above where he could ever reach. He'd spend the rest of the war, the rest of his life, trying to catch up. But how could he tell his friend that? Steve was excited, happy. Pleased with himself. Because he had no idea what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

"Well, maybe you should have at least asked about the retirement plan," he said, aware that Steve was starting to look concerned at his silence.

Grinning, Steve sat back. "I figured I should do something for them before I asked. You know, like rescue my best friend's sorry ass."

And he'd forced himself to joke back and smile, and make Steve think nothing was wrong. But Steve knew. As time went on, and the Howling Commandos was formed, it became harder and harder to keep how he felt from his friend. Steve didn't understand, though. He didn't know why they were no longer as close as they used to be. But he was too busy to dwell on it much.

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It was better working with the Howlies. They were good soldiers, good men, dedicated to the cause. They were also fun, especially Dugan. Most of his best memories were from that time of his life. Sure, they were risking their lives on a regular basis, and killing people on an equally regular basis, but it was to make the world a better place. HYDRA was unequivocally evil, at least the endgame, and had to be stopped. And that was easy to get behind.

Steve stuck by him, keeping an eye on him, though he tried not to act like he needed it. He couldn't admit that it upset him to consider that there was no going home for them. When the war ended, and it must end eventually, Steve would still be a national symbol. An asset to his government. Right now, he was being used to serve in a way that was clearly good. But who knew what they would want him for next? Politics were messy, and he'd unwittingly thrust himself into the hands of hundreds of politicians. He couldn't stand thinking about it.

There was more than that, of course. When the war ended, he'd go home to Brooklyn. To what he thought was going home to get hitched and set Steve up until he was, too. And then things would go back to normal. But he knew now that it wasn't an option. Steve might be easier to set up now, but it was unlikely they'd let him go enjoy a civilian life. Assuming Steve wanted that, which now he didn't know.

They'd wanted to be soldiers. They'd wanted to serve their country, but his father had been killed on base after spending most of his time serving their country rather than being at home. And he didn't want to do that to his own children. It was fine while they were young and unattached, but he didn't want to be a soldier for the rest of his life. He wanted something more than that. But did Steve? Or would he be happy this way? He couldn't go back, even if he wanted to. And he couldn't endure the idea that Steve might have gone through all of this and still not get what he wanted.

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So he kept his worries to himself and followed his best friend. Followed him into the jaws of death, but he'd been far more concerned with life. With what life they could have after this. But Steve hadn't seemed to care, to think about what happened after this, so he'd stayed focused. He'd focused on this fight, on this mission, on this recon. And he hadn't thought about how he seemed so much stronger, how quickly he healed from injuries, or how terrible nightmares invaded his sleep until he was too tired to think.

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And, when he fell, he couldn't help but think it must all have been a dream. He was still on that bed, strapped down and being tortured. How could he have thought his best friend was turned into a super soldier, a hero, that he'd been part of a team with a noble cause? It was the daydream of a broken soldier, and the reality was far more likely that he'd never escaped, that he'd always been in that factory, being experimented on by faceless men. So it didn't come as a surprise when he woke up.