This is to fill a request by Trekkiehood! I hope it's everything you wanted and I apologize for being so late with it!

"Rogers' been hit! He went down!"

For a moment, Bucky stood on the ridge stupidly, rifle limp in his hands, while the rest of the Howling Commandos swarmed around their leader.

"He's not getting up!"

"Jones, grab his feet. I'll get his arms. Geez, he's heavy."

Bucky watched as Dugan and Jones struggled to pull Steve from the exposed road into the relative shelter of the trees. Another crack of gunfire echoed through the ravine, bouncing off the sides and seemingly growing louder. Morita swore, scattering with Falsworth and Dernier. The next shot jolted Bucky out of his stupor and he dropped to his belly, rescanning the ridge opposite him. He saw nothing but the spindly shapes of trees and the bulky outlines of rocks. Frustrated, he sighted to where Steve had been only a minute before, tracking the line up the side of the valley. More trees. More rocks. And there. A tiny shift of motion in the shadows. Another round of gunfire confirmed his theory and he took a shot of his own. He hit his mark, evidenced by the corpse that tumbled down the side of the ravine.

He lay in the dirt, panting, until movement below urged him to abandon his position. The valley was steep and the descent wasn't easy. His boots slipped through fallen leaves, brambles, and clumps of dirt, while the incline threatened to dump him headlong onto the road. He finally made it to the bottom and sprinted over to join his team in the treeline. Pushing aside hanging branches, he found them crouching behind a large trunk, weapons in hand, warily keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"How is he?" Bucky gasped, kneeling at Steve's side.
At first, he couldn't even tell where Steve had been shot. Then Dugan rolled Steve over flat on his back and Bucky's mind went blank. The right half of Steve's neck was a mess of blood. By a stroke of bad luck, the Hydra sniper had managed to find the one flaw in Steve's uniform: the small gap between his helmet and armored suit. The spot where his throat was exposed. Jones pushed past Bucky's frozen form, already unzipping his first aid pouch. He pulled the metal tin out of the bag and hesitated.

"Is the bullet still in him?"

Dugan grimaced, prodding carefully at the wound. "I can't see anything. There's too much blood."

"Captain," Falsworth called, removing Steve's helmet carefully and tapping his face in an effort to rouse him. "Captain!"

"Steve?" Bucky gripped Steve's shoulder. The sturdy chest piece slid around unnaturally under his fingers, already soaked with blood. Disturbed, he looked to the other men. "Why won't he wake up?"

"Well, he did hit the ground pretty hard. Maybe he bumped his head on a rock or something," Jones suggested.

"Hey, Barnes, next time you might want to hold off on the all clear until it actually is all clear," Morita snapped, stomping up behind him.

Bucky bristled, but there was little he could say to the accusation. It was true. Making sure the ravine was safe had been his job. But he had been so sure he was right, that the path was free of danger, that the trees held nothing more threatening than the usual badgers and rabbits. He was wrong. And Steve was paying the price.

Jones glanced uneasily between the two men. "Watch your mouth, Morita. That's Sergeant Barnes you're talking to."

While Bucky appreciated the man speaking up, it didn't escape his notice that Jones hadn't denied the accusation either.

"Less gum flapping, ladies. The captain's hurt pretty bad and I can't concentrate with all the gabbing," Dugan said, face pinched with effort as he attempted to remove the chest piece of the suit to allow better access to the wound.

Subdued, Bucky lowered his eyes and turned his head away. When Dugan's grumblings only grew in frequency and volume, he turned back to find the other man struggling with the unwieldy armor.

"Not like that," Bucky corrected quietly.

He reached forward and began undoing the various buckles and straps that held the top part of the uniform in place. As he worked, he realized that no one else was assisting him because no one could. No one else on the team knew how to remove the armor. Bucky was the only one to have ever helped Steve out of his armor. The only one allowed to. The thought was oddly flattering, yet simultaneously frustrating. Steve's infuriating need to always appear strong in front of his men was turning out to be the hindrance Bucky had always feared it would be.

Eventually, he finished his task and the wound was visible in its entirety. Dernier murmured something that needed no translation. It was the same thing they were all thinking. The sniper's bullet had punched straight through Steve's neck, leaving a gaping hole that was releasing an alarming amount of blood at a frightening speed.

Jones fiddled with the small tin in his hands. "I don't suppose a tourniquet is a good idea."

"Oh sure. As if getting shot isn't bad enough, let's go ahead and choke him," Morita said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We have to stop the bleeding somehow. And fast," Dugan pointed out.

Bucky hesitantly placed his palms over Steve's neck. He took a deep breath before leaning forward, allowing his weight to fall on his hands where they were positioned over the wound. Steve's face tightened, a grimace quickly transforming his lax features. But he didn't wake.

"Gabe. Can you fix this?" Bucky risked a quick glance at the most medically experienced commando before returning his focus to stemming the tide of blood.

The others turned to face Jones as well and he faltered beneath the scrutiny. "I've never seen a neck shot before but I know they're a devil to treat. I don't think I can do it. We need to get him to a medic as soon as possible if he's going to have any chance-"

"Wait. Quiet, quiet," Falsworth abruptly demanded.

The group stopped talking, though their faces expressed their confusion. Falsworth held up a hand, signaling for them to maintain their silence. Eager for a distraction from the warm liquid bubbling up between his fingers, Bucky gladly strained his ears. It took a moment, but then he heard what had caught the Brit's attention. The familiar thud of marching boots. The groaning thunder of a single tank. The noise of an army close by, coming in their direction.

"Is it any of ours?" Dugan whispered.

Falsworth darted away into the trees, cautiously staying in the shadows as he made his way closer to the road for a better vantage point. Bucky exchanged a nervous look with Jones. The commotion grew louder as the troops came closer. Craning his neck, Bucky peered through the woods. His heart sank. The telltale black uniforms dashed his hopes even before Falsworth rejoined them, shaking his head. Bucky pressed even closer to Steve, dragging his knees through the dirt and leaves until they were directly against Steve's ribs. He sheltered his friend's body with his own, just in case one of their enemies happened to look over and spot the handful of Allied soldiers hiding in the trees. Before long, the entire platoon had passed by them. Even as the dull thump of their movement faded, the Howling Commandos converged on Bucky.

"You know there's only one place they could be headed," Falsworth said. "Triesenberg."

"We don't know that for sure," Bucky countered, returning to his kneeling position and pressing harder on Steve's throat.

"Hydra's falling back, that much is clear. That's been our plan and it looks like we're accomplishing it a little too well. They're on the run and they've demonstrated time and again that they will destroy everything in their path." Falsworth crossed his arms.

Bucky pointedly avoided looking at him, instead twisting around to peer intently at Jones. "Can you do anything for Steve?"

Jones splayed his hands. "I already told you. If he's going to live, we have to go back. Meet up with the rest of the army."

Bucky cursed under his breath. The Allied troops, accompanied by the SSR agents on assignment in Europe, were several miles behind them, packing up the camp in preparation for the scheduled battle the following day. The Commandos were on a routine scouting mission. The seemingly simple task had lulled Bucky into a false sense of security. He had let down his guard, become complacent and sloppy.

"We don't have time," Falsworth argued, though the skin around his eyes creased with unhappiness. "If we're going to save Triesenberg, we need to stop those troops."

"Maybe we could split up. Some of us could take Rogers back while the rest of us deal with those soldiers," Jones suggested.

"Did you see how many there were?" Morita crossed his arms. "We're already outnumbered five to one. Let's not make those odds even worse for ourselves."

"If we're outnumbered that bad, is it even worth trying?" Dugan asked glumly.

Bucky shut his eyes, inhaling slowly, exhaling purposefully. He could hear Steve's voice in his head.

We have to try.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, gaze settling on Dernier. "How many explosives do we have with us?"

The Frenchman shrugged the shoulder over which his pack hung. "Assez."

"What are you getting at, Barnes?" Jones asked.

Bucky didn't answer, mentally reviewing the map of the area he and Steve had glanced over that morning.

"You're not seriously considering fighting, are you?" Morita shook his head. "It'd be crazy to try. We are not prepared for a fight. This was supposed to be reconnaissance. There's no way the six of us can take on all of those Hydra goons. Especially without our captain."

"This valley narrows in about half a mile. If we can get ahead of them, we can blow it up. Block their way to the city," Bucky explained.

Jones immediately objected. "Rogers doesn't have time for that. We need to get him back to camp as soon as possible. He's going to die if we don't."

"And if we do, all those people in the town will," Falsworth countered. "One life for all of theirs?" He shook his head.

"But he's not just anyone. He's Captain America. That has to count for something. His decisions shape the future of the war. We might lose one town, but with his help, we can win the war," Jones argued.

The rest of the Commandos joined in, shouting their own opinions louder and louder, each trying to make his voice heard above the others. Bucky crouched in the dirt, Steve's exposed throat under his blood-stained fingers. The debate raged around him. Time was slipping away from them. A hard decision had to be made. An impossible choice. Save Steve or save the town. Save America's New Hope, or a handful of Austrians who were probably going to die as soon as the weather turned and harsh frost stole their crops.

Heart clenching, Bucky rose. He cleared his throat. No one heard him, too caught up in their argument. He hesitated, feeling inexplicably guilty and overwhelmingly nervous. After forcing himself to remember that these men had been under his command up until Azzano, he gave a shrill whistle. That caught the team's attention and they turned to him curiously.

He squared his shoulders and raised his chin, doing everything he could to appear calm and confident when, on the inside, his stomach was a tangled length of yarn and the thump of his pulse was far more noticeable than normal, and the sticky wetness of Steve's blood on his hands was nauseating and disturbing and wrong, and it was his worst nightmare to have Steve hurt, even though he'd been hurt before, spent his whole life getting hurt, but not like this because this was so much worse than a busted lip and a black eye or even some of the minor injuries Steve had already suffered in this war that he wasn't even supposed to be fighting since he was supposed to be safe in his apartment in New York, not marching through some no name forest in Austria and getting sniped by the enemy that Bucky had failed to notice in time.

He failed and Steve got shot and Steve was bleeding and Steve was dying and he had to take command because Steve couldn't and there were innocent lives at stake and he knew Steve well enough, knew him better than anyone in the whole world ever could, to know that he would never forgive him if he allowed the people of that town to die for his sake, because that was just the particular brand of nobel idiot that he was and Bucky knew what he had to do. Knew it and hated it and feared it.

"Falsworth, I want you to run on ahead to Triesenberg and start evacuating. If we can't stop Hydra here, at least we can give those people a head start. Dernier, Jones. As soon as he's through, blow up the pass. Dugan, Morita. You two will deal with the tank."

The men exchanged glances, surprised by his orders.

"What are you going to do, Sergeant?" Jones asked quietly.

The rough fabric of his pants did little to absorb the blood from his hands as Bucky ground them into his thighs. When he had gotten as much of the horrifying liquid off them as he could, he picked up his rifle. "I'm coming with you. Now let's move out."

"What about Rogers?" Jones pressed.

"There's no time," Bucky insisted, clamping down hard on the bile that rose in his throat.

"We can't leave him!"

Bucky drew himself up to his full height, quickly crowding into the other man's personal space. "I said move out."

"He's going to die!" Jones threw out a hand to gesture at Steve's prone form.

"We've done everything we can for him. Now it's time to do our duty," Bucky said, tone cold and eyes hard.

"Has the bleeding stopped, at least?" Falsworth bent over Steve, surveying his neck.

There was so much blood already coating the captain's throat that it was impossible to be sure.

"Commandos! Move out! That's an order," Bucky barked.

Finally they obeyed, reluctantly taking off at a sprint through the trees. Bucky made to leave with them, but paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at Steve. Steve, lying in brittle fallen leaves, eyes shut, mouth slack. Blood drenched and dying. Bucky turned and ran.

The Howling Commandos stayed close to the trees, using the shadows and gloom to their advantage as they raced past the more moderately paced Hydra soldiers. Ahead, it was easy to see the narrowing sides of the ravine. Dernier and Jones were already preparing the charges by the time Bucky caught up to them. Jones caught his eye. Though his expression was blank, Bucky knew he was angry with him. The other man's ire couldn't compare with the anxiety and guilt already taking up residence in his mind. But he couldn't afford for it to affect his actions. With a vicious ease that would frighten him when he brooded over it later, he shoved all thoughts of Steve aside.

As soon as the explosives were set, Dernier nodded to Bucky, clearly expecting to be given the order to set them off. Bucky shook his head. The Frenchman's eyes widened and he glanced between the rapidly approaching troops and the stoic face of his commander. Bucky repeated the minute motion, lifting his hand slowly. By now, the Hydra platoon was close enough that the skull emblems on their uniforms were visible. The Commandos shifted restlessly around him. Still, Bucky held off on the order. Just as the first row of soldiers was passing by where the charges were hidden, a man further back in the line turned his head. Behind his helmet, his eyes met Bucky's.

"Untersturmführer! Drüben!" he cried, pointing frantically.

Bucky dropped his arm. Dernier activated the detonator. With a thunderous bang, the walls of the ravine collapsed, tumbling down in an avalanche of earth, rocks, and tree. The first few rows of Hydra's troops were crushed beneath the rubble. The whole company erupted in chaos as the Howling Commandos initiated their ambush, racing out of the treeline, guns firing on the unsuspecting Germans.

The element of surprise afforded them an advantage over the larger enemy force. The Hydra officer was bellowing at his men, struggling to organize his panicked troops. Scattered as they were, Bucky found it difficult to target the soldiers. Gritting his teeth, he abandoned his rifle's sniper's scope and focused on speed rather than accuracy. The longer the skirmish went on, the more the Commandos' advantage slipped away. The lieutenant was bringing his troops back into some form of order, and the haphazardly formed ranks were returning fire. Ducking back into the shelter of the trees, Bucky reloaded his gun. The tree bark behind him scratched at the nape of his neck when he took a moment to plan his next move. He sprang out of his hiding spot, skirting the edges of the fray. As he ran, he caught sight of Morita, who was baiting the tank, drawing it to follow him straight into the wall of rubble. At the last possible moment, Morita jumped out of the way, and the large vehicle plowed into the debris, metal groaning as it crumpled. Dugan scrambled up next to it, using boulders and tree limbs as handholds, before diving onto the top of the tank and opening the hatch to take care of the operators. Bucky felt a small surge of pride at the level of competence his men were displaying. But he couldn't spare them any more attention because his target was now in range.

The uniform distinguished the officer from the rest of the men, though Bucky could have identified him without it, since he was clearly the one in charge, furiously barking orders and coordinating their counterattack. There were no hiding places nearby, but Bucky didn't need one. He set his rifle to his shoulder and lined up his shot, tracking the route the man's pacing carried him. He squeezed the trigger. The officer toppled over, a bullet in his spine. Without the steady direction of their leader, the remaining Hydra soldiers scattered. Most ran to either side, through the trees. One turned back and started racing back up the road. Bucky immediately went into pursuit of that one, fearing that somehow the man would find Steve. Would find him defenseless and bleeding and he'd shoot him in the head and Bucky wouldn't even be able to recognize the corpse, aside from that ridiculous costume Steve insisted on wearing that Bucky would never admit to warming up to. Or maybe this soldier had one of Hydra's advanced weapons, the ones that spat blue fire and gobbled people up in a flash of white smoke and left no trace behind and Bucky would wander the forest, searching for the friend he failed until the army ordered him to stop and declare Steve dead, without a body to bury.

The retreating soldier had a head start. Bucky knew he wouldn't be able to catch him. There was simply too much distance between them and the man was moving so fast and it was futile to follow but he did and somehow, between the harsh whistle of air in and out of his mouth, and the heavy pounding of his feet against the asphaltic concrete, he realized he was gaining on his enemy. Impossibly, inexplicably, he was catching up. It shouldn't have been happening but it was and it was enough to bolster him into putting on a fresh burst of speed. The gap between him and his target was rapidly closing when, without warning, the man swerved into the trees. Bucky followed and discovered the reason for the abrupt change of direction.

There, just ahead, was Steve. Apparently he had regained consciousness in Bucky's absence and was now stirring fitfully on the ground, grunting and groaning and obviously, miraculously, alive. Bucky's relief melted into horror as the Hydra soldier charged directly at the prone captain. With a growl, Bucky launched himself at his opponent. Their bodies smashed together, stomach to back, and they tumbled, rolled, skidded through loose dirt and dead leaves. A jolt ran through Bucky when they struck a tree, halting their momentum. The Hydra soldier was on top of him. Having lost his gun during the tussle, the man raised his empty hand and struck Bucky across the face. His teeth caught his tongue, cutting a thin flap away, which released a trickle of blood inside his mouth. The second hit from the man landed in his temple, rattling his brain against his skull. The man's weight on his abdomen and chest made it difficult to breathe as deeply as he needed. Gasping shallowly, metallic taste in the back of his throat, Bucky made a clumsily attempt to get free. In response, his attacker increased the speed of his punches, pummeling him with quick jabs to the head, neck and shoulders. He paused only long enough to lean forward and taunt Bucky.

"Du stirbst zuerst. Danach, er." Though the words were foreign, the intent was clear in the man's malicious tone and the jerk of his head to the side, where Steve was defenseless.

Bucky roared and, with a burst of strength that surprised even himself, he pulled his leg out from beneath the other soldier far enough to ram his knee in the German's stomach. Unbalanced, the man became an easy target for Bucky's anger. Bucky twisted his body to the side, surging upward while simultaneously grabbing his enemy by the shoulder and using that grip to smash the man's head into the tree trunk. As the man recovered, Bucky scrambled free, getting to his knees. The black helmet allowed the Hydra trooper to recover quickly and soon the glint of sunshine on metal flashed in Bucky's eyes as the man slid a knife free from the sheath on his belt. Unwilling to give his enemy the opportunity to attack first, Bucky lunged for the man's wrist, wrapping both his hands around it and twisting until the man's fingers opened and the knife fell to the ground. Bucky dived for it. He snatched it and rose smoothly, thrusting the blade directly into the Hydra soldier's neck. Bucky vindictively rammed it in farther, shoving it up to the hilt, in that small area between the man's helmet and the rest of his uniform.

The body toppled, not a man but a corpse, and there was blood on Bucky's hands again. He stood motionless except for the in and out of his chest as he panted heavily. Footsteps behind him snapped him into action. In the space of a heartbeat, he retrieved the fallen handgun and planted himself in front of Steve, pistol raised and eyes wild. He could see them now. The approaching soldiers. Two of them. Possibly more. Perhaps already surrounding him. Positioning themselves to ambush the Americans. Again. And maybe this time Steve would actually be killed. Not merely shot. Or left for dead by the one person who swore to look out for the punk.

He sacrificed a hand on his weapon to briefly wipe the sweat from his eyes with the blade of his hand, leaving a smear of red across his forehead, stained in his eyebrow. He pressed his lips together and fired off a shot.

"Whoa, don't shoot! It's us!"

The voice sounded familiar but it was too late. His finger was already squeezing the trigger again and the bullet smashed into a branch only inches from a shocked face he now recognized as Dernier's. Jones called out once more, lifting empty hands to prove he wasn't a threat. It took longer than it should have, the message between brain and hand getting interrupted somewhere, but eventually Bucky lowered his weapon. Only once it was safely pointed at the ground did his teammates risk approaching. He watched them with a wariness he knew shouldn't be there. But his heartbeat was thundering in his ears and his bloodied hands shook and the wind caressed his cheek with a gentleness he didn't deserve and he never closed the dead German's eyes.

"Bu...Buck…"

It wasn't much more than a croak but Bucky heard Steve's voice and he forgot about the man he killed. Forgot about the Howling Commandos, how he had led them and left them, almost shot two of them. Forgot about the pain in his face and the sticky wetness of another man's blood running down the valleys and plains of his hands.

"Steve." Bucky collapsed next to his friend.

"Hey, Barnes. Look what those Hydra goons had with them."

Bucky reluctantly tore his eyes from Steve's unfocused gaze to find Jones kneeling beside him with a portable radio.

"We can call Col. Philips. He'll send an ambulance. Rogers will be just fine." Jones grinned, showing all his teeth.

Bucky nodded, taking a moment to find his voice. "That's good. Good work." He turned back to Steve as Jones contacted the Allied army. "You hear that, Steve? Help's on the way. We're going to patch you up. You'll be good as new."

Steve's head twitched, perhaps the aborted motion of a nod. Bucky wiped his right hand down the front of his jacket before reaching forward and cautiously probing Steve's injury. The bleeding had already stopped. Dropping his head, Bucky exhaled heavily. The serum was incredible and he was grateful for it. The tight knot of worry and guilt loosened in his chest, breath coming easier and heart slowing. He moved his hand to Steve's shoulder and gripped it hard.