˚ ༘ 𝕿𝐖𝐎 𝕲𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒 彡
꒰‧⁺ ⇢ ❝ 𝒞𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 ℱ𝙸𝚅𝙴 ¡! ❞ ˊˎ
- ̗̀ ๑❪( ◌⁺ ˖˚ ಿ  no man's land.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

    𝕸𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬,   GLARING DOWN ON THE SOLDIERS SUFFERING TO ITS LURID CAUSES AS THEY TWITCHED IN THEIR TENTS. Raymond Fossum forbade the land of the living for as long as he could, but it soon caught up to him when he listened to the demanding calls of service that awaited him as a ruckus awoke the camp - he included as a voice spoke from within the tent.

"Alright, guys! Let's move out!" It was Bucky, speaking directly to Raymond and Gabe - seeing as Dum Dum was elsewhere getting prepared; being a commanding Corporal needed for today. This left the Barnes boy as his trusty second-in-command, also indicating he held accountability for waking everyone up - including his two tent-mates.

Raymond heard Gabe moan from the furthest side of the tent as he followed the given orders, leaving Raymond lounging alone. A fraction of him threw around the idea of playing dead and hope for the best in his mind until he gave attention to a pair of feet halted beside him.

"Come on, Ray." Mercifully, his friend gave him the pleasure of being awakened to a softer tone of voice. Bucky tilted his head to a better angle on his face to look at the boy, smiling sadly. "We've got to go."

"Five more minutes."

"Whilst a war is going on?" Barnes sniggered at him, patting his leg in a gentle gesture for him to get up. "Sorry, Ray. Not today."

The Fossum boy groaned, his muscles stiff and out of order as he got up. Rubbing his eyes, they blinked open to see a blurry shadow of a person; soon focusing to reveal a smiling Bucky Barnes. "Hey, sleepyhead."

The young man groaned in a comeback, hearing his friend chuckle before opening his hand to assist him up. He took it thankfully, ignoring the sensation of feathers tickling the delicate parts of his gut in the minor touch. "Thanks."

Bucky just smiled and brushed his fingers over his shoulder as he went to wander in the direction of the additional tents. "No problem. Get dressed. We're moving out on the first sign of light."

Huffing, Raymond waddled around the tent, grabbing his dad's compass that he had been admiring last night and making sure it was safely secured in his knapsack; double-checking its home in case any rips decided to make an appearance during his trip to battle.

Battle; the word like a sour lemon stuck on his tongue. It all still felt surreal, but in the strangest way possible. To be honest, he would have guessed that sensation to be planted by his selfishness towards the whole affair. His country, though involved, was merely just an alliance to some; and a menace to others, yet Raymond couldn't tell you one thing about any of his friends and foes other than what history-making required of him.

It was horrible for Raymond, knowing that he was just going to be part of a percentage question in another history textbook; their stories left untold and diaries unfinished - just like his father.

And to think, all of this was because of a quarrel in a faraway country between people who were hardly putting their lives on the line. And for what? Considered more valuable than common folk? The common folk they are sending to fight for their ignorance?

"Excited?" Gabe Jones sarcastically asked him as they each packed their little belongings into their packs, their backs to one another as they did the task solemnly.

Raymond had been lost in the rose of his father's compass when he heard his voice, his head peeking up to snicker. "Can barely contain myself."

"I heard it may take us months to get to Azzano. The Italian Front is meant to be one of the worst right now."

"It's not like any place would be better." Raymond shrugged through a mumble, hiking his bag over his shoulder as he stalked out of the tent with Gabe following.

"Yeah, I guess. At least we get the chance to kick HYDRA's ass." The man smirked, throwing air punches as soldiers shuffled around them. "Can you imagine? The 107th, destroyer of HYDRA!"

Raymond only smiled and silently agreed, despite his mind expressing indifference to the headline. Raymond Fossum breathed as a man who did not pursue superiority or acclaim while in his boyhood, or even now - when his body was indicted to be at its strongest.

Whether he walked away from all this with a shiny medal or a chest as bare as the trees in winter, Raymond just wanted one thing: home.

The cry was far, and unrealistic frankly, but he wished for things to pick up where he left off if he ever earned the chance to stroll around the streets of Brooklyn again; as if he had ceased the clock devilishly, only to pick it back up at the wrong time and resume typical existence in a nation free of HYDRA.

But sadly, Raymond just knew today was a day of trauma. Today was a day that - no matter what he does - would not leave his memory. That came with the price of the ability to make memories and remember things. You sadly never get a choice in what you remember, and what you don't.

"Lieutenant! Please think about this!" Charles' frantic voice pulled Raymond out of his head, whipping around to see the older man chase after Morris; who had a knapsack clipped to his chest. "We need you here."

"HYDRA isn't stopping any time soon. If anything, it's expanding." Lieutenant Morris' words sent an icy chill down Raymond's spine as they strode towards the soldiers; who were quietly murmuring to one another about the same occurring scene confusedly. "I'm not going to sit here and do nothing. That's not the type of man I am, Charles."

"At least wait until we send out our next platoon, sir! Your presence is requested for Project Rebirth in Brooklyn. Even Colonel Philips is going!"

"That project is not my duty; this is. Send Erksine my apologies, but I'm needed here. He has enough people attending, the 107th doesn't."

"Since when was Morris coming with us?" Raymond quietly asked Gabe beside him, making sure to keep his tone extra low as they stood a steady distance away. The last thing he needed today was for the man to scold him . . . again.

Gabe shrugged, clueless. "Don't know. Dugan and Barnes never mentioned it to me; just said the man was looking more stressed these last few days." He hummed, his face plain. "Must be bad if he wants to go out on the field."

Yeah, that can't be good. Raymond agreed mentally, biting his lip as he stared at Morris. He could see what his friend was talking about. His eyes were different. Their strong appearance came off more forced, facade-like to him as he carried himself in a stance that felt almost anxious and worried. Of course, this didn't settle Raymond at all, for he knew a lieutenant in such a state was a red flag.

Morris caught the two soldier's gaze, his eyes trained on only one of them. Raymond, surprisingly, didn't feel his body freeze like last time. Instead, he kept his head held high - his only flaw being his Adam's apple bopping in the action of his thick swallow that clenched his jaw.

"Attention!" Morris' full shout had all the soldiers in gear, trained instincts kicking in as they herded round the man; who was scanning them all up and down and avoiding Charles' pleading gaze. "At ease."

Raymond relaxed, keeping his right foot in position and thumbs interlaced. He maintained his silence, the rest following his move until the man spoke again.

"Soldiers, today we move. Today, we stand glorious upon the tombs of heroes. Today, we stand tall with our country against another." Morris stated, words strong. His tone was noble, and Raymond had to admit he found it in himself to respect the man for sounding so authoritative against all odds. "Your task will not be an easy one during this journey. Your enemy is well-trained, well-equipped, and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely. But, remember this today, men. It is evil things we shall be fighting against, brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution."

Raymond heard his inhales shake as they swam in through his nostrils, and out through his shaky, chapped lips. The speech had his whole body trembling like he was caught in winter's cruel winds. His legs were unstable, hands frail as his head grew dizzy with the throbbing pressure of his brain.

I want to go home. Raymond thought, but it wasn't him per se. He imagined it in his voice, only his younger one; that little four-year-old who would paw at his mother's leg during a house party crammed with people he didn't recognise. He could observe now that they were friends from his mother's workplace, but that didn't soothe his homesickness then as he looked up at the woman with the beadiest eyes you have ever caught a glimpse of. Please take me home.

"We will not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, and fight wherever we are needed; whether that be on the oceans, the air, the beaches, the landing grounds, the fields, the hills, and even the streets. We fight because we must give people a tomorrow, even if it means giving people our today's."

The Fossum's eyes of blue drifted to the earthly floor. His stomach filled with sickness. If he threw up right now, he wouldn't be surprised. How these men around him could be so calm was beyond him, but then again he was presented as the same way with one heck of a storm swirling through his mind.

Time passed in complete silence for Raymond as he felt his feet move with the crowd, following the men as they gathered their trusty new best friend, a Lee Enfield 303

They were supplied with clothes, boots, weapons and a personal kit. Peeking in, Raymond discovered a water bottle, ammunition pouches, an entrenching tool, a groundsheet and a haversack containing; mess-tin, tinned rations, extra iron rations, spare socks and laces. His father's compass was soon included in that bundle, the young man making sure it was tucked away; safe from harm.

"Want to walk with me?" The innocent ask of Bucky Barnes had Raymond raising his head confusedly, quirking his brow just as his friend shrugged. "We're ordered to walk in pairs. Safer."

Raymond smiled toothily at his friend, his heart suddenly growing wings and flying higher up in his chest. He wasn't looking forward to a lot of things today, that much was for sure, but seeing his friend wanting to stick so close - like he pledged he would - only made him sadly fall more for him.

All this war, all this hatred, yet James Barnes could still get a smile out of him.

"I'd be pretty offended if we didn't, Bucket." Raymond chuckled, securing his gear to his body before he heard the clanging of the two T304 stainless steel dog tags he was allotted at the very beginning of all this. He remembered how much of a love/hate relationship he carried with his father's tags. His father had let him look after one of the tags while he was away once when he couldn't make it to parent day at school, stating he needed the other one for reasons he said he couldn't share with his eldest son.

Little Raymond could still recall how anxious he felt as he stood amongst his classmates, all alone with nothing but a tiny piece of metal clutched for company in his hand. His words were so fumbled, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop - and he did. He heard the rude giggles and whispers of his fellow peers whenever he had to start again, hiding in on himself while Bucky, Steve, and their parents listened intently and gave him smiles of encouragement.

It didn't ease his nerves, especially when one kid who specifically had a problem with Raymond for some reason commented how his father would rather risk the chance of dying than be at home with his son.

That. That caused hot tears to boil in Raymond's eyes - because he was too young to believe in any other reason as to why his father was so absent.

He had run out of the room after that. He thought he could hear the screeching of Bucky's seat as he left the classroom, Winnifred Barnes addressing her son sternly as if in a warning.

That was the only time Raymond skipped school on his own accord. And, by the time his mother got home with a little Dennis tucked in her arm, she was in for a surprise when she heard her son screaming in the living room.

"Stupid tag!" Present Raymond's eyes unknowingly sympathised with the pain in his younger voice, the one who threw the small stainless piece of steel to his bedroom wall with a cry. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! You took him from me! You!"

That was the last time Raymond ever even held or even looked at his father's dog tags. He made his mum swear to lock the tag away, out of sight until its owner came to collect it. He no longer begged to inspect the steel like before, and years later when his father was lying in an open casket with his tags displayed proudly on his shattered chest . . . not once did Raymond look.

"Ray?" Snapping out of his daydream, the young Fossum caught Bucky's concerned gaze as his eyebrows furrowed with a frown tearing at his lips. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Assuring his friend, Raymond quickly tucks his tags back down his shirt. When he looked up again, he was wearing a smile as he started walking. "You coming, or what?"

Bucky chuckled and easily followed after him, the pair walking shoulder-to-shoulder as they spotted Gabe and Dum Dum not too far in front of them.

The section moved out, Lieutenant Morris leading the pack of men valiantly as Second Lieutenant Charles watches him go, an unreadable expression set on his face.

Raymond shifted under the working soldier's gazes. They were watching their every step, every move. Their hands had stopped working, their mouths sealed shut. It was as if they were paying respect to them, one final respect.

"Can't believe it's going to take us so long to get to Azzano. Let's just beat these bastards and get it over with!" Richard's voice had now become a parasite to Raymond as the bulky man stalked his way along, barely maintaining the travelling in pairs rule that was required for everyone's safety in the case of an unexpected attack.

"Hey!" The Fossum boy was surprised when Bucky shouted out to him harshly, Richard whirling around to meet the sergeant's stern gaze. "Get in line: Lieutenant's orders. A gun is also supposed to be carried with two hands." He lectured sternly, his best friend surprised at how quick he can change his tone after he had been so soft-spoken earlier. Knowing he had to comply and not bite back at the soldier, Richard obeyed - but not without a snarl, to which soon filtered into a glaring fest between him and Raymond.

"Nice one, Sergeant." When the annoying man finally scoffed and averted his eyes from the two friends, Raymond giggled and patted Bucky on the shoulder shortly before resuming position.

Bucky smiled in return, his blue eyes remaining on the boy next to him as they walked further and further away from their territory. He didn't need to ask to know he was nervous and afraid, although he's positive Raymond would tell him the truth if he did. But seeing him smile, seeing him put on a brave face was nobler than half of what Bucky had seen men strut around doing for the entirety of this journey; and it made him feel ticklish in the stomach knowing that he was the only person Raymond Fossum did this for.

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Lieutenant Morris led them through the highest hills, the harshest weathers, with the stinkiest, crudest group of men you could ever imagine travelling with but, regardless, the journey had been as successful as it could be for them before reaching Azzano.

It took them a month to reach their second and last, allied trench. They were fortunate enough to get a well-developed one this time, something Raymond was thankful for as he had heard the horror stories of his father and his men when they would have to deal with natural nature against a devil's weapons.

At first approach, it had to be at least 2.5 m (8 ft) deep to allow men to walk upright and still be protected from enemy fire. However, it came with its disadvantages; those including long periods of inevitable boredom, mixed periods of terror, rats and lice tormenting the currently residing troops, and - obviously - Richard already being a hard-ass.

"Was daddy ever in trenches like these, Possum? Or did he always have a nice, warm camp bed to return to?" Richard snickered when Lieutenant Morris was speaking to what appeared to be another leading commander.

"Mind your own business, Richard." Bucky harshly advised the boy, shuffling closer to his friend subconsciously as he did so. Not even his brain could provide an answer to protect the boy other than it felt like an indescribable instinct.

"I'm just asking him a simple question? Why? Does he need his big, bad sergeant to speak for him now?" Richard teased in a mopey baby voice, pouting his lips at the pair in false innocence.

Raymond felt as if his jaw was visibly shaking with anger while his hands refrained from tightening around the gun he carried in a first response to bawl his hands into fists. He knew better than to act so impulsively during a crucial time like this, where one slip could have a whole orchestrated system falling apart like a broken machine.

"Why don't you put yourself to good use and help those men dealing with that barbed wire over there." Dugan's voice surprised the three boys as he butted into the conversation, direction a finger over at a huddle of men carefully handling barbed wire, a few sharp hisses of pain being released every once in a while. Dum Dum just winked at the sound. "Try not to hurt yourself too much, kid. Go crazy."

Acknowledging that it was an order from a corporal and not a comrade, Richard acted in accordance and moped towards the group; leaving them in peace as other soldiers wobbled around the trench. This left the group alone, Dugan furrowing his brows in concern as Jones followed in pursuit next to him. "You boys okay?"

"Yeah," Raymond answered stiffly
before Bucky could even fully open his mouth, strutting away from the three men with his head held high. "Let's just see what needs to be done around here. No good if we just stand here."

Bucky frowned at his friend's sudden rush for work as he walked away from them, casting no looks back. It's not that he didn't admire it, of course. Bucky Barnes just knew Raymond Fossum well - probably too well - and knew that he would rather be anywhere but here; and that fact alone hurt Bucky Barnes more than a bullet ever could.

The Barnes man's blue eyes drifted to the fellow men who had wasted many days already in this trench. Some looked half-dead, their spirits as crushed as their shallow skin as the food rations in their bodies became scarce.

All the young sergeant could think about was his best friend in their place, and it fractured his ribs and struck the middle of his heart. He always knew that becoming a soldier and facing its wrath was Raymond's worst nightmare.

And James Barnes was starting to realise he had the same fear; that fear being Raymond Fossum becoming a serving, fighting soldier, who he desperately wish doesn't suffer as they stood amidst the front lines of a war bigger than both of them and their disposable lives.

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They rested that night, the long journey demanding that their bodies sleep. The soldiers who were fit enough to stay stood guard while they took shifts napping on their knapsacks, trying to get comfortable on the harsh grounds that strayed far from their homely beds.

Bucky and Raymond made sure they stayed close together. When it was their turn to sleep, both of them wordlessly agreed that they weren't going to rest until they knew the other was too. They were barely one meter away from each other as they laid on their sides; facing one another.

Most of them were going to be up all night. Guns would occasionally fire over the top of them, trying to get something. Every time Raymond heard a thud or a shout, he closed his eyes and flinched, and every time he did this, Bucky would shuffle closer.

"Are you scared of tomorrow?" Raymond uttered in a hushed whisper when another round of firing ceased in the darkness, his ears picking up on Bucky's tags clanging together as the young sergeant held them in his hand.

"To be honest, yeah." If anyone else had asked, Bucky would've lied and said no, but there was no walls and barriers when it came to Raymond Fossum - which was why there was a beat of silence until he spoke again. "I'm more scared for you than me, to be honest."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I don't want to lose you this early, Raymond; especially like this."  Bucky squeezed his eyes shut when they both heard a scream, giving his best friend sad eyes. "We have a plan remember? Get back to Brooklyn, save Steve from more alleys together."

"Yeah. Save the jerk after work. Got it." Raymond breathed out nervously, trying his best to crack a smile or even a remotely positive face.

Bucky giggled weakly at his words, the sound coming out more like a laboured breath as he turned to his friend. "Hey, you have your tags out." He notices, gently pointing at the glinting metal peeking out of the boy's half-buttoned shirt with a smile.

"Hmm? Oh," Raymond's blue eyes dawn with realisation sleepily, tucking them back securely under his shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Bucky easily waves the apology off, his smile brightening so much so that his teeth started to show in the dark. "I like seeing them. You always have them tucked under your shirt. Barely ever get to see them."  

The Fossum boy limply shrugs in response. "I'm not much of a fan of them."

"I am." Bucky says swiftly, jumping to defend the tags. "They're you."

"They're my identification." Corrected Raymond, who had his blue eyes now closed; squinting in pain at every war cry.

"I don't like to see it that way." The Fossum froze when he felt fingers delicately wrap around the chain on his neck and pull the tags out from underneath his shirt while chaos was happening around them, the cool metal now resting on the fabric of his shirt instead of his bare skin. The pads of Bucky's fingertips dance over the engraved metal plates. "And neither should you."

"How should I see it then?" Raymond wondered softly, admittedly curious about the answer.

"As something that's deservedly yours, and not your fathers." 

Raymond stilled, body going stiff. A lump appeared in his throat. He swallowed it down. "I hated his tags."

Barnes smiles sadly with a generous edge. "I know." He whispers, still wielding the tags.

A wave of silence came before it crashed and broke with Raymond Fossum's sad sigh and a gunshot. "Then how do you expect me to like these?" He wondered.

"Because you deserve to. You'll find a way to like them. I know you will." Bucky assures, and Raymond had to open his eyes at the confidence; his eyebrows furrowing.

"How?"

"That's up for you to decide." Bucky simply shrugs, his eyes drawing upwards to connect with his friend's. "Which is just another one of the many reasons why you need to stay alive, punk."

Raymond released another laugh, although it was extremely weak compared to his previous weak ones. "I'll sure try." He breathed, his body shivering as he curled further into himself; his legs tucked into his chest. "Man, it's cold here, isn't it?"

"Tell me about it." Bucky's teeth chattered along with the chilly breeze that suddenly swept over his body, looking up at Raymond hopefully. "Say, you remember that time when we were seven? And we went camping?"

"Was that when poor Steve got sick and had to bail on us last minute?" Raymond chuckled, already knowing most of the answer - but asking anyway for reminiscing sake.

Bucky nodded with a toothy smile. "We didn't have any blankets for the rest of the night."

"Well, we did use our jackets." Raymond disputed, remembering nervous and jittery he was that night being so close next to Bucky as they tied their jackets together to make a makeshift blanket big enough for the two of them. His cheeks painted pink at the memory.

"No reason we can't do that now." Bucky's voice was plain in suggestion, his tone casual as if his hands went behind his head comfortably. His blue eyes drifted over to Raymond for his opinion.

Raymond shifted against the solid ground, his teeth digging into the flesh of his cheek to make sure his smile of anticipation wasn't too big to be visible in the darkness. He laughed, already sitting up to unroll his jacket. "Come on then."

Bucky grinned, swiftly collecting his jacket as the two of them tied the arms of the sleeves together so it could be a closer resemblance to a blanket. Once that was done, the Barnes male draped it over their forms. The pair subconsciously crawled closer to one another, just as they had done when they were little in the chill of the night. Bucky let out a content breath. "That's better."

"I can't believe we're lying like this again. In a trench." Raymond had to laugh at the obscurity of the situation. He had to!

"Shut up!" Bucky groaned, his voice deep with sleep as his hand limply came up to ruffle the boy's hair. "Let's just imagine . . . we're camping again." He trailed off, voice drained from tiredness.

Raymond bit his lip, staring at him with a slight frown. ". . . Bucky?"

"Hmm?" The boy hummed sleepily in reply, eyes closed with his hand still weakly resting in his friend's nest of hair.

Sensing his drifting state, Raymond's lips just curled up in a tender smile. "Goodnight."

"G'night." Bucky returned, finally dozing off as his hand went limp in Raymond's hair; instead, laying there comfortably.

Not once did the Fossum boy shift to get the hand off, instead, he laid there and allowed as much sleep as his body allowed him to have. Raymond was surprised to say that, at that moment, he felt comfortable with now. Not tomorrow, but now. He felt comfort in lying there with his best friend, his hand in his hair as their dog tags lay limp on their chests, sometimes clinking with their small movements throughout the night.

Raymond Fossum could truly say he felt happy at that moment, and he devoured it like his mum's home-baked apple pies; savouring every bit . . . because he didn't know when would be the next time he got more.

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Dawn. They awoke with a start at dawn. Today's dawn was no different for the men who were no strangers to the trenches' terms. They followed suit every morning, the newbies following like a shadow.

Every dawn, the usual time for an enemy attack, soldiers woke to "stand-to," as they guarded their front line trenches.

Raymond and Bucky stood closely together, hearts up in their throats as they waited and prepared for a potential assault. Lieutenant Morris had shared that it was unlikely today, but nothing should be ruled out.

Luckily, no fires came. Raymond swore he felt a wave of air from the combined sighs of relief each soldier let out as they gathered for inspections, breakfast, and, of course, the daily rum-ration.

They all ate and drank like pigs, Bucky and Raymond joking about how much their mothers would scold them for their poorly fallen etiquette as they laughed and chatted with Jones and Dugan - Bucky almost choking on his rum when Raymond and Dum Dum were conversing about the older man's notorious moustache.

Following breakfast, they partook in their assigned chores; which unfortunately had them splitting up. Raymond was on repairing duckboards while Bucky refilled the sandbags. Raymond was thankful that, during daylight hours, he was able to conduct all work below ground and away from the snipers' searching rifles. What he wasn't thankful for, however, was working next to Richard.

Man, did that boy have a mouth on him? Once he saw the young Fossum working, it was game over. Richard deliberately worked close to him, muttering whenever he could to get under his skin.

While carrying one of the heavy sandbags over his shoulder, Bucky noticed the unwelcome company his friend had; his blue eyes burning with fury as he sent Raymond a look telepathically begging him not to listen to his nonsense. The Fossum just nodded in a silent answer, his eyes trained on his duckboard.

Never once did Raymond utter a reply back. He did, however, make sure to hit Richard deliberately in the head when transporting the finished duckboards. What can I say, no one is perfect. Dugan noticed this, but chose not to comment; knowing the kid deserved it most, and it wouldn't do much harm.

In between their work fatigues, there was a time for leisure activities. Some soldiers read, some kept journals, some wrote letters, and some even gambled. Raymond chose neither.

Instead, he sat closely to Bucky, who was chatting contently with Gabe and Dum Dum. He took his father's compass out of his pocket and watched the floating dial navigate in the tranquil winds.

Bucky saw what he was doing, and gently shifted against him to gain his attention. "You should use the thumb hoop. It helps for stability to garner a more accurate reading."

"Since when did you become a compass expert?" Raymond jokingly asked, an easy smile passing his face.

Bucky chuckled. "Since I got promoted to sergeant. Here." The Barnes boy carefully took the Fossum's surprisingly soft hands in his own, his fingers ghosting over his skin as his thumb guided Raymond's to the right position. "There you go."

His boyish grin directed at him had the Fossum's heart doing backflips, hammering his chest with so much force that it could almost be considered painful. He stared at him, lips parted as he tried to ground his feelings the way you would try to tame a wild animal.

"Alright you two," Dugan dragged out, his smile sideways as he stood up with a grunt. The two young men stopped their staring to whip their heads in his direction, feeling caught in his smile. "back to work. The night will soon be amongst us."

And he had been right. Nighttime in the trenches was both the busiest and the most dangerous. Tonight, was no exception.

Under the cover of darkness, Lieutenant Morris ordered that they climbed out of their trenches and moved into what they call No Man's Land, the blasted landscape which separated the two armies from both death and victory.

They separated into work parties, some repairing their barbed wire while some dug up new trenches. Some fell into a more aggressive side of operations, like patrolling around the place for enemy activity or conducting raids to kill or capture enemy troops, and to possibly gather intelligence . . . and guess which "lucky" post Raymond was assigned to.

Lieutenant Morris' eyes were feral as he arranged his troops for No Man's Land, his silent barks of orders causing Raymond to bite his lip with so much strength it drew in the metallic taste of blood. He had never seen a man look so rushed, so frantic . . . so alarmed from the stakes.

"The damages of last week's wastage was too much." He informed them all of the horrors which had happened before their arrival, all men's stomachs churning with a threatened sickness. "Many men had to witness a steady trickle of death and maiming before us, but it shall not be with us."

Doubt that. Raymond deadpanned in his mind, holding his gun weakly as his feet stood firm. He had the common sense not to say anything. Unfortunately for everyone, Richard didn't.

"Can't have been good if they died in the trenches." The egotistic lad scoffed beside one of his mates, thinking his words would go undetected or ignored. Unfortunately for him, today was not a day to stray out of line.

"I'll have you know, Private, that this regular death toll ensured the need for constant reinforcements - and is why we are here today." Lieutenant Morris informed them all, hands clasped behind his back. "In the 800-strong infantry units, "wastage" rates were are as high as 10 per cent per month, or 80 soldiers killed or incapacitated, so it is no joking matter. You got that?"

Richard looked frightened out of his wits at the man's harsh words, flooring him as he nodded his head pensively.

The average distance between sectors was about 250 yards (230 metres). Bodies were to be expected, possibly a large amount from the horror stories Raymond had heard about No Man's Land. After all, it got its name for a reason.

The weather was cold and wet, the stench of musk staining Raymond's nostrils as he cautiously sat in the static position, waiting miserably with no idea what was in store.

A hushed yell - possibly the sergeant major - broke out. He addressed soldiers in their second names, and Raymond's heart skipped a beat when he heard Bucky's. "Dugan! Barnes!"

The young sergeant complied with Dum Dum, looking over the troop he had been tasked with advising. Whipping his head forward in gesture, they followed him like a trail of ducks.

They had to pass a considerable amount of barbed wire. For areas that were most likely to be attacked, there were ten belts of barbed wire just before the front-line trenches. Looking around, Raymond could see in some places the wire was more than 30 metres deep.

The Fossum boy was beginning to think the mud squelching below his body was not just under the circumstances of poor weather, but of soldier's tears also. Men shed tears of pain as barbed wire pierced their thickly cloaked skin, some even shoving their faces into the mud to muffle their screaming.

Raymond continued, trying to focus on literally anything else. He imagined little Stevie, and how well he would crawl across the wire with his skinny, lanky frame. He found a pinch of humour in it. Maybe Steve Rogers was cut out for the army after all.

Raymond was, surprisingly, one of the first men to make it out of the barbed hell, staying low as he offered help to those who needed it. Bucky was a close second behind him, the Fossum boy grabbing his hand once close enough to pull him through the mud so he was by his side. "You okay?" He mouthed to him, worry creasing his brows.

Bucky gave him a reassuring nod in response, his head turning back when they both heard a wince a bit too loud for their liking. It was one of the younger men, who could've been no older than eighteen.

"Steady on, Private." Dugan warned him in a low, stern voice.

"I - I can't. It hurts." His voice was on the bridge of a sob, the show of emotion striking fear in the other men. The soldiers around him weren't helping, glaring hatefully at him in the panic of being heard.

"Calm down," Dugan ordered to the boy. Him and and Bucky exchanged a short glance before the moustached man spoke again. "They'll hear us. Save your crying for your mummy."

"I'm trying, man. I'm - I'm trying."

The poor kid had now stopped crawling, whimpering into the mud. Raymond took pity on him. He imagined his younger brother, Dennis, in that position; a boy (not a man) who was far too young to be in this position.

At his age, he should be at home, with his family, where he would make stupid decisions that he would learn from and laugh about in years to come: not fighting in a matter of life and death, where such a mistake could get you killed.

Sighing, Raymond gently bend down. He shuffled his way under the wire, biting his lip when he felt a particularly sharp jab, that would most likely draw blood, strike him; it was painful, but doable. With his hand now outstretched, Raymond tried to talk with the most optimistic voice he could conjure at this time. "Come on, man. You've come this far."

The unnamed kid sniffled and gave a brief nod, fingers twitching to be held and helped. He wasn't able to move far, so Raymond had to meet him in the middle. He reached for him promptly, allowing the boy to take a deep breath before he yanked him forwards without warning.

Raymond's muddy hand covered the kid's mouth when he was close enough, the vibration of his cry tingling through his palm as Bucky and the others pulled at his legs until they were cleared from the sharp wires.

Both Raymond and the boy were puffing out thick breaths to manage the pain as the former released his hold on him. With one short apologetic glance at the boy, who was still on the brink of wailing, Raymond and the troops proceeded with their lengthy journey.

Unfortunately, their time of silent and seemingly unnoticed travel was over.

Raymond's hands slapped against the helmet on his head when the first bomb hit the earth, hissing at the sensation in his ear while men cried bloody murder all around him. If he survived this, Raymond was sure the screams of his comrades would haunt his dreams forever.

Dum Dum shouted, but his orders were unclear to Raymond. He fluttered after them regardless, picking up his gun and firing a few shots in a blind panic to reach them. Whether he hit something useful would remain unknown.

If hell was an animal, it surely had broken out of its cage by now as men charged like wild bulls from both sides with roaring battle cries. It was hard to believe everything had been so eerily silent just seconds ago.

Everything came and passed in a whirlwind, so fast, so extreme that Raymond's mind seemed to blank in a refusal to remember any of it. All he could register was the blasts of bombs that sent thunderous-sounding piles of earth at him, the slipping of his shoes against the mud, Bucky and Dum Dum's commanding voice over the screaming, and red. Oh, so much red.

Raymond reckoned he lasted three minutes - maybe four - on his own two feet before he was falling to the ground, tumbling into a little gulley. The young male grunted at the fierce blow delivered to his front when he landed, clearly winded and struggling for breath as he struggled to crawl his way back up towards the battle with his chipped and mucky nails digging harshly into the surface like desperate, little kitty claws.

Relief didn't even come close to the feeling Raymond received when he saw Bucky out on the field, alive and well. A tree helped shield the sergeant from the rush of bullets, giving him a chance to shoot a man down. Dum Dum and Jones weren't too far away from him, closer to the rocks where their guns sat perched for better aim.

The time grew thicker, and the amount of ammo grew thinner. If he had to take a guess, Raymond would say they were outnumbered by around eighty men. He couldn't even tell you the clear disadvantage of weapons they were at. But, he didn't think he needed to when the enemies suddenly pulled out a gun of new machinery; nothing like he had ever seen before. Raymond's eyebrows furrowed, squinting in the distance. This can't be good.

He was right. The gun was powerful, too powerful. It basically sprayed bullets like a water fountain, and it was coming fast and heavy . . . and straight towards them.

"Men! Fall back!" Lieutenant Morris' voice broke in a crack from the volume it was compelled to reach in order to be heard over the seas of gunshots and perishing screams.

Raymond grunted with effort as he attempts to climb the rest of the way out of the gulley, hearing hears thuds (bodies) fall behind him as he hoists himself up. He cried out when he suddenly felt a rough sting and something snap on his fingers, a small patch of blood being painted on the ground where his bloody hands gripped gripped the earth with their split fingernails. The pain caused him to jerk back and, the next thing he knew, he was falling.

Raymond's wince was cut off when a hand abruptly wrapped around his and then latched onto his jacket, pulling him up until he was breathing heavily, relieved as his forehead rested tiredly on a familiar scented chest that was caked in mud. "Thanks, Bucket."

"You heard the man! Retreat!" Dum Dum screamed at his troops, shooting a man square in the chest before he was practically dragging men back with him; bullets zipping around them.

"Come on!" Bucky helped his friend up as the two of them broke out in sprints, sprinting for their life as bullets of death narrowly missed them. They gripped each other by their jacket sleeves, making sure they were still standing and alive as the closest thing to safety drew closer and closer.

They were stepping on bodies as they passed, Raymond feeling like he was going to throw up once more with every squeeze of skin he felt against his combat boots. He was in a visionless panic, knowing he was going to be completely numb after this - dead or alive.

They had luckily managed to reach the barbed wires, Raymond halting before them as Bucky gave him a wild look. "You first!"

"No! You go!" The young man instantly shook his head, the two of them flinching as bullets drifted over them.

"Barnes! Fossum! Get your asses over here now!"

"Go! I'm right behind you!" Raymond promised, indicating to the wires which were a pain to crawl through as time wears thin.

Knowing the time for discussions were short, Bucky sighed and gave the boy a tapered look. "Right behind me." He sternly instructed him before he dived under, dismissing the sharpness as he crawled through swiftly to allow his friend room to get in as soon as possible.

Raymond was on all fours, lowering himself into the crawl position when he suddenly heard a distant cry. "Help!" It sounded like a strangled animal, vocal chords completely busted. Yet, the Fossum thought he could register some familiarity in it and turned around.

Richard was laying defeated amongst his dead comrades, his face obscured and bloody - Raymond couldn't tell you if it was his or not - as he attempted to crawl towards the barbed wire. He wouldn't make it. He was too far, and the enemies were advancing the territory fast.

Larry Fossum was a man who taught Raymond that even during survival, you must remain human. He taught him to believe in chance, and trust his luck. Did Raymond believe in those words? No. Did he believe in his father? Yes. Yes, he did.

A lack of common sense usually ends in some heroic feat often or not, much like the soldier who dives onto the grenade so that others may live. Was Raymond selfless enough to do that? He didn't think so, but was he still going to do something entirely preposterous on a battlefield? Sadly . . . yes.

For Raymond Fossum was taught to be a good man, and a good man never leaves another behind.

Scanning his surroundings, Raymond rapidly bolted. Not under the wires that led him back to the reliable trench, but in the direction of the enemy and firing line.

"Fossum!" Lieutenant Morris stood from his guarding position, alarmed when he saw the young man start sprinting back; shots just scarcely missing him by the skin of his teeth. "Get back here!"

"Ray?" Hearing his best friend's name stirred Bucky into reacting by swirling his head back, expecting to see him right on his tail. What he saw, however, was his best friend since childhood running to his deathbed. James Buchanan Barnes had never shouted his name louder. "Raymond!"

The Fossum tripped and stumbled, but that didn't stop him as he lurched across the land littered with bodies and faces smashed and obliterated beyond distinction. He didn't look down, his eyes periodically darting to the claps of bullets out of essential human instinct.

He almost gagged at the sight of Richard when he finally reached him. The blood on him was beginning to stain black - practically the kiss of death from crimson - as Raymond placed both hands under his armpits to boost him up; now making the boy yell bloody murder.

"Shh! I know, I know." The Fossum man tried to pacify him, shushing him as he grunted; whisking his head around the battlefield, at a loss. "Just - Just hang on."

He wouldn't make it back to the trench on time without being in close firing range from the enemy, not with Richard, at least. The injured soldier could barely stand on his own two feet, let alone walk or run. They were up against the clock, so Raymond Fossum took what he could get from his scrambled mind at that moment.

Without any additional thought, He rapidly dived and rolled right, taking Richard with him. When the man opened his mouth to instinctively cry at the harsh pressure on his injury, Raymond slammed his hand over his mouth as they came to a halt against a rock that offered little protection. Richard puffed out in relief against the boy's palm when they stopped, but now was no time for a breather.

Without dare removing his hand, Raymond braced himself as he rolled once more; going longer until he felt the ground disappear below them. Perfect.

They smacked and fell into the familiar gulley from earlier harshly, Raymond biting his bottom lip brutally at the claw of pain tingling in his back as Richard's salty tears slid over his dirtied hand.

"Not a word." Raymond Fossum growled into the soldier's ear, his hand staying cupped over his mouth as he used his other to scoot them closer to the wall against the gulley; hoping it kept them hidden well enough below the slope's edge.

The shots didn't cease, neither did the screams. Raymond couldn't tell whether it was real or fake, but he swore he could still hear Bucky's voice; yelling over the madness. Either way, it was a barbarous sound for his ears to hear and he wanted it to end.

How long they laid there was unknown to both men. It could've been a minute, a few minutes, half an hour, an hour - he didn't know. Time flew by like an arrow, or even a bullet to be more fitted to the situation . . . as did the bodies that landed in their hiding place; not so fortunate as the two soldiers currently cowering for their lives.

Raymond's world had grown silent and the only thing left is the beating of his own heart. He didn't want to dwell on impossible things, such as what would have happened if he had just gone under those damn wires . . . or what was going to happen to him now.

A whine from Richard caught his attention, noticing the boy held both hands over his side; close to the hip or the ribs  - it was hard to tell from an angle like this. There came a muttering of curses as Raymond dug frantically into the supplies strapped around his body, fumbling for his loose pair of socks.

He found them and made decently quick work of knotting them together just like his father had taught him. Once done, he looked at the boy with begging eyes as if to communicate "this is going to hurt, but please don't scream" Richard brokenly nodded, letting him do whatever he was planning willingly.

The injured man winced when Raymond's hands hovered over his body hesitantly before they came to rest on his skin; navigating the source of the blood when Richard's back arched once pressure was applied to his hipbone area.

Raymond paused to place a finger to his lips before he wrapped the pair of tied socks around his hip for a makeshift bandage; the red already soaking into the white material.

It brought little relief, and no healing to the excruciating pain he felt; but, still, Richard gave him a nod of gratitude as he focused on keeping his breathing steady; chest falling up and down in large breaths in and out.

Raymond, for once, was thankful for the firing of guns. Not even he could hear the man's hoarse breathing next to him as he leaned his head against the gulley; wanting to close his eyes and wake back up in Brooklyn.

The sound of clanking footsteps heading their way had Raymond's eyes going wide in a pulsating fear. His breathing grew jagged as he wordlessly dived on Richard; the force sending them collapsing on a limp pile of dead bodies.

Their smell was foul, a musty metallic smell so strong Raymond could practically taste it filling his mouth from the aroma of spilt blood and dirt.

Richard knew his intentions, eyes already closed as he helped their case by remaining quiet. He was surprised that the Fossum boy was willing to turn his back on the enemy, risking the chance of a deadly shot to the back just in case Richard's facial expression betrayed him and they noticed.

They held their breaths when the crunch of combat boots halted, and all was quiet. Nothing strengthens authority and fear so much as silence. Raymond focused on literally anything other than staying still, knowing it would only fuel his nerves for survival and trigger a fight or flight response that would cause him to involuntarily shake.

He thought of all the times he played hide-and-seek with Steve and Bucky when they were little. Thoughts of little versions of Bucky and Steve calling his name as they tried to find him in a meadow of sorts giving him a form of tranquillity amongst this horror.

Every breath his body forced him to take was taken in short puffs through the nose, each breath lasting half a second before he resumed his breathless state again; repeating the cycle. Richard caught on and followed his lead, his breaths more sheltered against the added weight of the boy when his injury reminded him of its presence. Just hold on. Both of them thought, eyes still closed as they heard the sounds of human shuffling not far behind them. Just. hold. on.

Well, they had to hold on for another minute or so before the enemy troops gave the gulley the clear and stalked back to their trench; leaving two alive soldiers behind unknowingly.

Once sure no breathing beings surrounded them, Raymond gently sighed and rolled off of Richard. His hand immediately traced up over his chest, fishing out his dog tags from under his shirt. He wanted to make sure they were in sight, just in case things went wrong for him. After all, it was these tags that made Raymond Private Fossum, right?

The metal dug sharply into his shaky, sweat and mud-coated hands. He wondered if his name would even be visible if he ever let go, but he held on regardless.

Because, even if they meant nothing to him, they meant something to James Barnes; and he sure as hell meant a lot to Raymond. That, and it could be the closest Raymond would ever get to holding his best friend again.

"You're lucky your friend is still alive." The shockingly calm rasp from Richard stunned the young Fossum as he whirled his head to the side, seeing the man was staring blankly at the dark sky. "Mine's dead body is back there."

"I'm sorry."

"'Could barely recognise his face when he got hit. Had I not been close enough, I wouldn't have even noticed." Richard droned, his nose scrunched up in anger.  "But, I did, got mad and ran with no care, shot a few men . . . then my gun got jammed from all that mud we were crawling on and -"

"And you were shot." Raymond finished for him, his eyes carrying actual sorrow for poor Richard.

"Yeah," Richard breathed, scoffing hard afterwards. "I was so sure I was a goner. I didn't die from the shot, meaning I would either be finished off by the enemy or taken by the enemy - neither one being good, of course." He lifted his head weakly to meet the soldier's eyes, a turmoil pulling his eyebrows forward as he thought. "Then you came and got me, pulling me away from them."

Raymond didn't meet his eye, staring at his dog tags as they lightly clinked together. "My father taught me to never leave a man behind." He murmured, eyes now changing positions to Richard with a stronger gaze. "He was a good man, whether you people want to admit it or not."

The stillness came back when Richard bit down on his lip, letting go out of fear of ruining one of the few parts on his body which still felt decent. ". . . I - I may have misjudged you both."

"You're not the first and you probably won't be the last if we get out of here." Said Raymond, looking up to the starry sky.

". . . My uncle: he was where your dad was at the time of the attack." This gained the attention of the Fossum, his head back down to eye him once more. "Came back, lost his leg, got surgery on his face to look remotely human again - and hasn't talked about the incident since."

"I knew it must've been bad, it was the talk of the town. And, with my uncle never touching the subject, my intrigue and outrage led me to give attention to to the people, the gossip - the whole lot of them. And Larry Fossum, well, he - he was known as a leader to most, and with him being . . . gone . . . there was no way he could've defended himself against the claims on his behalf."  The older soldier explained, sounding like a child when caught doing wrong. "I'm sorry I didn't realise that sooner."

"I don't forgive you. I don't forgive any of you people for what you put me and my family through." Raymond earnestly shook his head, seeing Richard's shoulders slump at his words. In all honesty, the wounded soldier wasn't stunned by the words. Instead, he only felt more ashamed of himself. "However, perhaps one day, when all of this is over, I can. Right now, saving your life is enough for us to be civil."

Raymond Fossum, as little as it was, gave the boy a minor smile; mainly to show how he held no hatred for him. This wasn't the time to hate, especially when both of them were fighting on the same side.

Richard smiled back, the two men soon looking away once something mutual was shared.

For however long, they sat in silence, and not once did Raymond Fossum let the taut grip on his dog tags go as he gazed at the sky; trying his best to concentrate on the stars rather than the dead bodies littered around him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Waiting. It was such an unpleasant thing. It twisted your insides so much so that it became physically harmful. Raymond felt like he was going to puke his insides out. He had barely eaten any of the rations he had with him; giving most to Richard, or what Richard could stomach, at least.

The sock-bandage was now completely drenched, more a dangerous red than pure white as it sunk against the skin. It was so slick with wet blood that Raymond has to use his spare laces to keep it in place; thankfully buying Richard more time as they waited together in the gulley.

He was pale, so, so pale. Raymond could barely tell him apart from a corpse, the only difference being that his chest moved in a sign of breathing. Past medical attention would be an understatement. The two men had to move, and fast. Or else, two would become one, and one would maybe become none.

Looking up at the sky, Raymond found it hard to navigate the time of day. The sky was tonal shades of light and dark colours. It could be the early hours of the next day. A small voice said in Raymond mind, his posture limp as he exhaled through his nose. We must've been here for hours, and I don't think it'll be any safer we stay more.

"Come on," Raymond said, voice surprisingly stable as he came to his knees; ignoring the dull ache for having been lying still for so long.

"W - What?" Richard staggered, raspy in the voice as he practically inhaled the dirt beneath him. Not that he cared; what's ruined on the outside would soon be ruined on the inside.

Raymond Fossum swallowed thickly. His hand found his tags once more, the oddest feeling of solace and urge filling his chest. It was small, but a soldier was taught to always take what they can get.

"We're heading back."

: :   ❛ 𝓐𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍 𝓝𝙊𝙏𝙀  ❜   : :
╰───╮; i hope the war-related segments are okay to read. i worried it wasn't as gripping as a real soldier's life - which is fine because they are the real heroes, and this is merely fictionalised with some real-life aspects :)
also, i do not recommend taking my work on the chances of surviving certain gunshot wounds to the body as realistic; as i have no idea and no medical experience whatsoever. just take it for what it is.

next chapter is one chapter closer to finally moving onto the first avenger plot, so fingers crossed for literally everything!

thanks for reading!
love you all!

∴ ✪ ❱ · TRGDYCOILS !! ━━━━
( 9.8k words )