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As Bucky rematerialized, he could feel the world sway around him due to the vertigo. Stumbling to the side from the Drop Point, he reached out desperately to grab onto a nearby tree to hold himself steady as the gold light left his eyes.
Blinking slowly, Bucky restleted into the world around him. It was colder than he expected, the snow pressing down the landscape, muffling all sound. Well, except for the crack of wood where Bucky’s metal hand gripped to hard. That was loud enough to be heard for quite a ways, Bucky thought with a grimace before setting out on a quick jog.
He had been surprised to be called in today. For the past two years, he and the other Howling Commandos had been on retainer for the university as the retrieval team to rescue historians in distress or ones who didn't make it back to the Drop Point. Which had never happened before today.
Honestly, that was more of the surprise than needing a retrieval Bucky mused as he waded through the snow in the direction of the tiny town he'd been shown in the briefing by Philips. When you sent historians back in time, things went wrong. But this was the worst case Bucky had ever heard about.
Two days ago, the historians equipment turned off. Nothing anyone did could raise him. Then he missed the Drop, which closed leading to him being stranded in the past. The technicians had been nervous, but not scared.
No, that had come this morning when one of the looked over the Drop coordinates and discovered someone made a typo. Instead of sending the poor historian to England in 1438, they accidentally sent him to 1348.
A major mistake Philips had explained as Bucky was suited up for his own Drop. Because the historian had just been dropped in the middle of the Black Death without knowing what was coming. The concern was that the historian had died, killed by the plague as it swept across the countryside. Bucky was being sent to bring back what he could find of the kid, dead or alive.
And Bucky desperately hoped the historian was alive. Everything inside of him screamed for it even as he hopped a badly made fence to keep going forward, the historian in question was medievalist Steve Rogers. A straight A graduate student working on his PH.D.
And the guy who Bucky had been crushing on for the last three years. Steve, with his pretty blue eyes and sweet smile. Who always said hi to Bucky where everyone else would flinch away at the university. The man who was kind, compassionate, and loving to a fault. Steve, who had no idea that Bucky had been mooning over him from afar much to the Commandos amusement.
Just the thought of losing Steve before he could even really talk to him (let alone confess his feelings) made Bucky run faster. He passed through the empty countryside, darting through barren fields covered in snow.
The entire area was deserted, an eerie silence pressing down on Bucky. He continued to move forward, breath freezing in the air even as he saw the town up ahead.
It was obviously deserted. No signs of movement were shown near the buildings. There was also no curls of smoke leaving the homes. Just stillness. It was unnerving, and Bucky burst into a dead sprint. The sooner he got there, the sooner he would be able to find Steve and get the hell out of here.
It was even worse in town. All of the buildings were empty, dark and looking over them. The windows were gaping, dark and forbidding as Bucky sprinted through the town looking for any sign of Steve. Or even life. Except there was some kind of life. The ring of a bell, bright and clear echoing through the empty space. The first sign of life that drew Bucky into a sprint as he rushed towards the sound.
Towering over the rest of the small buildings was the spire of a church. It's shadow drew Bucky deeper and deeper into the town, drawing him out last the rest of the buildings to stand before the steeple. The doors to the church were thrown open, the inside light of candles flickering weakly in the light. The steeple was ringing with the sound of the bell, the wood creaking as the iron moved through the frozen air.
Bucky slowly crept through the open door, gun ready as he did a quick scan. It was mostly abandoned, nothing actually showing in the room that was out of the ordinary. Candles lined the area, flickering in the winter wind as they dropped beeswax onto the floor.
Except there was something slumped against the altar, now that Bucky was inside. He froze, eyes wide as he saw the slumped form of a man draped against wood. The man’s face was peaceful, a slight smile on his blue lips even as the ashen face as he laid there.
Shit. Bucky swallowed, the guy was dead. There was a dead man wearing priest robes and no sign of Steve Rogers anywhere. And the bell had stopped ringing. What the hell was Bucky supposed to do?
“Barnes?” A rasping voice caught Bucky’s attention, drawing his attention away from the dead man to the right side of the church.
Steve stood there. He was too thin, heavy robes draping around skinny shoulders. His blue eyes were red rimmed, exhausted and red from crying as he stood there staring blankly at Bucky with exhaustion and a bone deep grief.
Hesitantly Steve stepped forward, “What are you doing here?”
Steve had never sounded hesitant in the entire time Bucky had watched him. He'd always been loud, opinionated as he fought to get recognized and acknowledged. Nothing like this frail shell.
“I was sent here to bring you back,” Bucky said softly, stepping forward to gently wrap a hand around Steve’s ice cold shoulder, “You kissed your Drop Steve. I'm your retrieval team.”
“I couldn't go,” Steve whispered brokenly, “Everyone was dead. I had to bury them. Me and the father…”
“Hey, no. Shh, it's alright,” Bucky whispered drawing Steve into a warm embrace, letting the blonde sob into his shoulder, “You're alright now…”
“They’re all dead! I'm the only one left,” Steve wailed, “The father called me an angel, but the plague took me him too and I'm too weak to break ground to actually bury him and all I could do was ring that fucking hell but it doesn't matter because I'm all alone and everyone is gone…”
“You are not alone,” Bucky growled, curling around the broken form in his arms, “I'm here Steve. And I'll help you bury the father and then I'm going to take you back home and look after you. I'm here now.”
“Don't leave me,” Steve whimpered, “Please...I can't be alone anymore.”
“I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you to the end of the line.”