Cruel Summer

Chapter 33

A/N: In which some tea is finally rightfully spilled. Single updates since we are nearing the end haha! As always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

April 1945

Bucky felt like he had been walking for what seemed like forever. This was a never-ending night. Sure, they had rested in a Stalag for a month. But it wasn't much when they were starving and continued to be treated like they were nothing more than animals. The night marches were a total load of bullshit.

It was better now that spring was here. It wasn't snowing, for one. This was a kind of solemn march. It would only lead to a penultimate ending—and everyone was aware of it. They marched by torchlight, with the occasional cough and whispered conversations picking up in the wind.

"They're taking us across the Danube tomorrow. We move tonight or we don't move at all," Bucky said in a hushed tone.

There was just a small group of them; Bucky, Buck, and Buck's friend from home—George. They had somehow miraculously ended up in the same camp and it was the most that he'd seen Buck Cleven smile in a long while. Considering that Marge's letters weren't coming anymore and hope was wearing thin, Bucky would take what he could get.

But he was getting restless. Wanted to get the hell out of this place, wanted to keep moving, wanted to make it back to his wife. He had half a mind to try and involve Alex, but considering how the past month had been—with Alex continuing to give him the cold shoulder—it wouldn't have been his best idea.

"Tonight?" Buck's voice just sounded unsure.

"Tonight," George insisted. "We won't be able to make a run for it after that, Gale. The river's too damn big to get back to the other side. Listen, guys are starting to break out in groups."

"Buck, if we keep this thing tight, me, you, George, Aaron—there's a better chance that we can move unseen," Bucky added.

Buck just looked unsure of everything—but he didn't get a chance to answer. The sound of a plane overtook everyone's ears and the next few seconds were pure and sheer chaos. Someone had shouted that it was a P-51 and Bucky dove to the ground.

Hitting the dirt harshly, Bucky was only down for a few seconds, covering his head as the plane flew off into the night. It was silent for a long second, but Bucky had absolutely had it. He tore to his feet, rushing over to the German officers that were forcing them on this godforsaken march.

"Glemnitz!" Bucky nearly shouted, rushing at him. "We told you we had to stop marching at night! We're being attacked by our own goddamn planes! It's not safe! We told you it's not safe!"

Before he could get any further up in Glemnitz's face, Buck was grabbing at him and tugging him back. It took Buck grabbing Bucky by the collar and shoving him away to get his attention. "John, John—look at me! I'm in. We make a run for it tonight. Now calm down before they put a bullet in your head!" Buck hissed at him.

Bucky just let out a breath of frustration and broke away from Buck, shaking his head at the ground. "We gotta get outta here."

Meg shone in his mind like some sort of guiding North Star—she was his compass, his reason for living, his lifeline back to being Bucky Egan again. He could do this—he just had to keep going. Had to keep marching.

And if he had bothered to glance in the corner of his eye, he would have noticed Alex Lewis lingering suspiciously close—eyes locked onto Bucky Egan in some form of worry. Because whatever their feelings were, they were tied together by Meg and there was no escaping that.