Cruel Summer

Chapter 24

A/N: Okay fine....double update today because the birth chapter is tomorrow and MAN there is some PIPING HOT TEA in that chapter haha. And just a little bit in this chapter. I welcome any and all rage messages I get from the ending lol. So....have fun and let me know your thoughts??

Chapter Text

March 1944

Bucky couldn't lie about the situation at hand. Christmas had been bad enough in the Stalag, but trying to keep spirits up with the lingering winter was difficult. He was tired and it had been a rough recovery period from his injuries anyway. At the moment though, between the warm water they were getting from the officers, he had enough on his mind.

"You need a hand?" Bucky questioned, removing his toothpick from his mouth. It was a mind-numbing effort to ignore the hunger that was constantly roaring in his belly.

"Wouldn't say no," Buck replied, handing him one of the jugs of water. "You heard anything about the mail?"

"Nope," Bucky wished that he could say he had heard differently. But he wasn't getting letters in here—there was no way for Meg to safely send him anything .

"You know the hold-up?"

"The war," Bucky let out a sigh. "Red Cross is having trouble getting mail into the camp. Not that I'd be getting anything anyway," he added with a slight breath of despair.

"I'm sure she's writin' you, even if she's not sending them."

At that, Bucky gave an almost grimace as he glanced in Buck's direction. "You think so?"

"Oh please, we've all seen the love letters," Buck huffed—but then their gaze had fallen on Hambone and the others, trying to entice a cat out from under one of the bunkhouses. For a moment, Bucky just stared at the sight in front of him, Hambone holding a black cat in his arms—

"You think you guys can spare some water?" Hambone questioned, a grin spreading across his features.

Bucky shuddered but gave a nod. "Yeah, Hammy. I think we can do that."

A short while later—after they were absolutely certain that the cat had been thoroughly cooked—the group sat in the bunkhouse, devouring the cat stew. Bucky honestly wished he didn't know what was in the soup, because the thought made his stomach churn. But food was food—and it was better than the potatoes and turnips that did little to fill their bellies each day.

DeMarco was licking the bowl clean as he got curious. "What did you say was in this soup?"

"He didn't," Bucky mumbled out a response, knowing that his friend would be more than disgusted by the animal in the soup.

"Rabbit?" DeMarco guessed.

"Yeah sure, there's been lots of stray rabbits running around under our combine," One of the men mumbled, shaking his head.

DeMarco couldn't help the fact that his food came up his throat. He made a mad dash towards the outside and Bucky didn't flinch. "Use the bucket!" He called. God, this place was deplorable. He couldn't wait to get out of this place and get back to Meg .

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Meg hated the female body—simply put. It was miraculous in all of the ways that it adapted and changed, and yet she had never been more frustrated. Using her paycheck to buy maternity clothes was stupid and she felt frivolous.

Still, nearing five months of pregnancy, she couldn't help it when a bump suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Another testament to the fact that there was indeed a baby growing in her. It seemed strange to her, the way that she was so connected with this little one. A constant companion in all of her days, a steady presence that reminded her that she needed to live, not just stay alive.