To The Moon And Back (Fanfic)

Chapter 12

Nobody slept that night.

Wanda was captured, probably somewhere being tortured by Ross' men, and they had watched it happen. Bucky's leg wound had gotten worse and was probably infected by now. The stream that they sat a few yards from was loud and difficult to tune out. None of them felt safe enough to close their eyes in fear that when they opened again, Ross' men would be in front of them – behind them – all around them. On top of that, they had to stay awake waiting for the chopper Steve was sending to get them. So of course, they couldn't sleep. Sleep wasn't even part of the picture anymore.

By the time it was a quarter till dawn, all of them had silently, probably without realizing it, had given up any hope that the chopper was coming. They sat in a lousy circle in front of the cluster of boulders and broken trees, dazed and groggy as they waited. Waited. Nothing. Hours had passed since Ross' attack on the four of them – and now here they were – a group of three instead of four, waiting.

Their eyes were emotionless – bloodshot, and were underlined with horrid droopy bags that screamed 'I need rest.' Their foreheads were creased with worry lines so harsh that it didn't look like they were ever going to disappear. Nobody had said a word in the hours that they had been sitting there – nobody had even made eye contact.

Easily, Bucky was in the worse condition out of all of them. There was a small pool of red in the leaves and the soil he sat on top of, and his left hand was stained with dry blood. His balled up grey leather jacket reeked of must and sweat from being pressed against his bullet wound. The rough material stung against his leg, so throughout the night he had tossed it aside. He was never wearing that thing again.

He pinched the fabric of his sleeve and tore it off of his shirt. It was the first time any of them had moved since Wanda's capturing. He stretched out the grey piece of cloth and began wrapping it around his injured thigh. He could see clearly, and he didn't feel any sort of dizziness – but he was sure he had lost a lot of blood during the night.

Sam's eyes wandered to Bucky's leg as he watched him wrap the sleeve of his shirt around it. Finally, he asked, "How's your leg?"

Bucky stopped mid action, but he didn't look up to answer Sam's question. He merely shook his head dismissively, responded weakly, "It'll get better," and tied off the two ends of his sleeve around his thigh.

There was silence.

Suddenly feeling the undeniable urge to ask, Bucky looked up and spoke hopelessly, "It's dawn. When did Steve say the chopper would be here?"

Sam sighed and shifted against the boulder to straighten up, letting a moan slip between his lips as he did. "Yesterday they said it would be here in a few hours... but we passed that a long time ago so I don't know what to tell you – but they'll come. They always do."

"No, I know." Bucky nodded.

Again – silence.

Sam added, "I hope they come soon though, because–"

Scott interrupted furiously, "Are we just gonna sit here and pretend nothing happened last night? Are we seriously gonna avoid talking about it?"

"What do you want us to say?" Sam argued with the same fury.

"Maybe you could at least try to think of some ways to get her back!"

"You don't think I have? Just because I haven't shared it out loud doesn't mean that I haven't been thinking about it!" Sam shook his head before adding sharply, "And why do you always expect me to solve the problem? I'm not a magician!"