Chapter Text
Buck hadn’t realized how scared he was until he saw John Egan limping into camp. He hadn’t had the luxury of fear when any crack he showed could be exploited by the guards or more likely affect the morale of the men. He was their leader; he showed through control and restraint how to live each day in this new hellish reality.
But now he knew it was more than his normal control, he had been numb. It had started when Crank and Brady appeared. He had been happy to see them, life was cheap and he knew anything could have happened to them after he had been taken.
But then they recounted the mission over Munich. How Bucky was still missing; he’d gotten separated, gone down. They hadn’t seen a shoot. He’d sat there as they confessed this information to him like it was a sin they carried.
“That’s alright boys, I’m just glad you could join us.” He’d heard himself saying, knowing that he had to put their minds at ease. “Let’s not go borrowing trouble. We don’t know what happened.”
Despite his positive words, Gale couldn’t help but think of Curt. Had Bucky gone down with his bus too? Had he bled out in some Kraut field, far from his beloved apple pie and pinned-striped ball players? It was almost unbearable to comprehend.
Later that night he’d laid in his bunk, cold as all hell, letting his mind try and generate his best moment with John Egan. Was it the first time they flew together when they’d broken through the top cloud layer into the sunlight? John had turned to him with such a pure look of joy it took Gale’s breath away. Or was it one of those perfect moments when John would look over at him and they’d communicate without words? In those precious seconds, Gale was certain that John Egan saw him in a way no one else on earth did. Then he’d go and do something so stupid that Gale would wonder if he understood anything at all.
He tortured himself by imagining that the cocky smile he loved was gone forever. And that was it, wasn’t it. Gale loved him. He’d known it the moment Crank had asked with a trembling voice if Bucky was here, already in the camp. And he’d had to say no and watch the other man lose hope. He’d known then that he’d never imagined being on this planet without John. When he contemplated death, it was always his own; when he thought about life, it was with John.
Gale didn’t love easy. He’d seen first-hand what living recklessly could do to a man. His father had hollowed himself out as he watched. In many ways, Gale had been the parent taking care of a man who had no control. It’s what made him hide from John- Bucky- Who was all smiles and good times. He saw in him that same destruction and it scared him.
But he burned so bright. His smile; his voice; his insufferability. Gale couldn’t deny him, not really. He would give John Egan anything he asked for, and that was scary too.
Now as he lined up in the cold to welcome another train full of POWs, it was more than the weather that was making him numb. He’d pulled the men from the bunks making sure they had enough grub and any hole in their coats was stuffed with scraps of cloth or straw. He was hyper-focusing on his men. These people who had been with him in the good times, who knew John had flown with him. If the man was truly dead, he’d keep him alive through the memories of these men.
That was how Gale loved, by any means possible. Now that he had admitted it to himself all he had to do was close his eyes and he was in John’s arms imagining a moment that would never be. When the lights went out in the camp, he built a place where John smiled only for him, petted him, and held him against the cold. Gale would whisper I love you into the night, hoping it would float up to where John was. Maybe in Heaven, it was possible. But even then, Gale couldn’t bring himself to imagine John saying he loved him back, that was too much.
He knew that John loved him, as a friend, as a brother. But not as Gale loved him, and he wouldn’t deny the truth of John's feelings even in death.
These were the thoughts Gale indulged in the dark and denied during the day. He couldn’t let himself think about John in the daylight. He’d fall apart.
A truck pulled up to the camp gates and a rag-tag group of men were herded out and through the barbed wire tunnel to the main entrance. Shouts started as people recognized their friends. Gale’s heart hurt, but he couldn’t help himself as he pressed forward.
“Bucky!” “Bucky! Hey man you made it” “Bucky! Look, it's Bucky!”
Gale stopped breathing. He recognized the shout of Crank and Murph calling out into the crowd. But it couldn’t be, Bucky couldn’t be here. Still, he reached the fence and frantically searched the mass of worn men.
Then he’d appeared out of the throng like a bedraggled miracle. John.
Gale had a moment of peace. It broke on him like the dawn the moment he made eye contact with his other half. He was here; he was alive. Gale called out to him with an insolent shout. His insolence was rewarded with a smile. John’s smile almost made him forget about the last two years. It made him smell the honeysuckle and rye wafting down from the hills he grew up on.
He was here. He made it. He wasn’t one of a pile of arms and legs, left to rot by the Germans in a pit somewhere. He was here.
Then a soldier pushed John from behind and he stumbled, almost fell. He was bleeding, his blood-stained his face. Gale started to move down the fence keeping John in his sight for as long as he could, but he was marched into the processing ward.
Had they hurt him? Had he been hurt when he came down? Gale could feel himself starting to breathe heavier as all the unacknowledged stress and pain seemed to crowd into his chest cavity.
“Steady Buck. Focus on what needs doing.” Murph whispered the soft words of encouragement. It must have been obvious to the other man that Buck was spinning out. They had gotten closer while in the camp and Gale was grateful to have him by his side now. If it wasn’t for those words, he probably would have broken down right there. And there wasn’t time for that, Bucky was here, and he needed him.
It felt like a dog’s age before the door to the processing office opened again. A raggedy line of men appeared clutching their new identifying uniforms and other various accouterments of being the newest members of Stalag Luft III. There were many faces but Gale only had eyes for one. The man who had haunted his dreams.
John Clarence Egan.
Gale watched as John made his way slowly down the path towards the 100th’s cabin, the guards on either side. His heart was beating erratically in his chest as he tried to catch his eye. Buck needed to know that the man was okay. Gale felt like a child desperate for any attention, a quivery mess of emotions on the brink of some great explosion of expression. It couldn’t be helped; Gale had been numb for so long that the sudden rush of emotions was almost too much for him to bear. It was Murph’s steadying presence and the knowledge that he had to be there for the men that kept him from throwing himself toward the approaching figures.
He wanted to punch the guard who had pushed John, to find every person who had put a bruise or blood mark on him and make them pay 100 times over. Or maybe just shield John from the world to pull him into a bunk and make sure no one could hurt him ever again. All the impulses were utterly irrational, but he couldn’t deny them. He couldn’t deny the rage that built in him as John drew closer and he could truly take stock of the bruise that had swollen an eye and the dried blood that caked around the base of his neck.
“Happy to have you join us, Major.” This was all the welcome Buck was able to choke out.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Bucky said with a grin. “I thought I’d have to travel a lot farther to see those blue eyes again. And look, the whole gang's together! It’s like Grand Central Station.”
Buck watched as John’s face lit up with a smile looking from person to person. It was a strange, twisted joy that filled the room. To be here standing together was a weird stroke of luck they all couldn’t deny. So many good men had been given a lot less. And yet they were desperate, placed in a hellish limbo away from the world and anything real. It was a precarious peace, one bought with their sanity.
“John.” It was all Gale said, but it drew the attention he craved. The blue eyes of the man who had haunted his dreams. They shared a moment, or at least that’s what it felt like for Gale. A perfect solitary moment, where they both reveled in the fact that the other lived. Then without warning, John’s eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground.
Gale felt the room shrink to the few planks of wood in front of him that now held Bucky's motionless form.
“Get the doc, now!” Someone, maybe Crank yelled, it was all part of a sudden uproar that threatened to overwhelm Buck.
Bucky had just been here, looking at him. There had been peace for a moment and then with a wide toothy smile, it had slipped away. Someone slammed into his shoulder and it brought Gale back into the moment. Now wasn’t the time to lose it, he had to make sure John was fine. There was no way he was losing him, not now.
They’d moved him to the closest bed, one that just happened to be beneath where Gale slept, but he couldn’t focus on such head-spinning things as the chance to sleep above John with nothing but wood and a flimsy mattress between them. No now was the time to notice how pale John looked, especially against the white sheets, stained as they were. To see the sheen of sweat that made him almost shimmer in the barrack's fluorescent light.
John looked like a broken china doll, no part of him was without a bruise or bloody scrap. Gale felt the cold rage taking over him again as he approached the bed. He held on to it letting it cut through the panic.
John was still breathing, even if it was a bit ragged. Still, he had clearly taken several blows to the head and a fever was setting in. Any scout with a First Aid Merit Badge could tell you that.
He pushed Crank and Murph out of the way so he could kneel next to the bed. Gingerly he started to remove the jacket and shirt that was already painted with dirt and blood. Gale tried not to gasp when he saw the mess that was John’s chest. What had they done to him?
“John, you always had a knack for making friends.” Was all he managed as he inspected the dark stain that passed for skin covering John’s left side. He only had a moment longer to scan Bucky’s face for any sign of life before the doctor arrived and he pulled back.
“Hang in there Bucky, we’re here, you’re not alone.” I’m here, please don’t leave me. Gale whispered those words in the other man’s ear as he pulled back, eager for the doctor to make his assessment and tell him how to fix John Egan.