Explosion.

Fire.

Chaos.

Men.

"PUNK!"

The little blonde headed kid turned to look for the sound of a voice.

"STEVE!"

There he was. Bucky. The man that taught him everything about this disgusting war. His only chance of doing something with his scrawny body that would soon be as buff as anyone.

"Bucky!" The gun was still clutched to his chest. Then, there was a hand on his back; It was him. Bucky took off with Steve into the wooded area so they could get cover. They were outnumbered. They fought there way to a somewhat fair play; there was no use now though.

"Shh."

Quiet.

Guns.

Trees.

Screams.

"Are you hurt?" That's when he felt it. The slice and tear in his uniform on his left shoulder.

"Got a little nick on the arm." That was nothing compared to what most of those people had laying on the battlefield. Although to Bucky, it was something.

"Let's have a look then."

Bucky looked at the wound that gushed out blood. "You'll need it to be cleaned so it won't get infested. You'll need it wrapped for future cases." Bucky wasn't in the medical field but when you were a soldier you knew as much as a regular old doctor at any doctors office back home.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have we got to stay here for?"

Bucky sighed, "too long."

The response wasn't new. Steve knew good and well Bucky had his own plans and he didn't have to worry. Nothing new. Nothing. New.

"We gotta rest easy somewhere punk." Steve looked around, his helmet getting a bit in the way.

"Bucky, is this almost over?"

"I'm not sure anymore." No, Bucky can't lose hope. "Just keep up hope, okay?" Bucky turned to the youngster. "Never lost it. I've still got you in tow...punk."

Steve smiled.