Stasis || Bucky Barnes

Twenty six

Basil jolted upright with a scream lodged in his throat. His eyes were wide as the canvas wall of the tent became visible and he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the panicked breaths as he tried desperately not to start screaming. In the bedroll next to him, Monty was snoring nasally. The man was sprawled on his back with one arm tucked under his head, top lip wobbling as he breathed. It made his little mistake move like a caterpillar. Basil leaned forwards and pressed his head between his knees as he tried to calm his gasps. The nightmare had set adrenaline pounding in his bones. It made the tent suffocating.

As quickly, with jerky movements still hindered by sleep and stiffness, and quietly as he could he pushed off his blankets and pulled on his boots. He snatched up his jackets and pulled them on as he crawled out of the tent. The sky was turning purple with the approaching dawn and the birds were beginning to wake up behind him. Sam and Frenchie were slumped near the dying embers of their fire. They looked over as Basil straightened and pulled on his jackets. It took him a few attempts before he realised he was trembling. Breath turning to fog in the chilly air and fingers numb in cold.

"Are you okay Basil?" Happy Sam called softly over.

Basil turned and fixed a smile on his face as he wandered over. "I'm fine. Thought I'd come out and get first dibs at rations". He sat down and picked up a stick to poke at the fire. Now that his jackets was on, his sheathed knives rested comfortably against his chest. The two in his boots were cod against his socked feet. Their weights helping to calm him somewhat.

"Oi, we get first dibs", Sam poked at Basil's hands as he reached towards the food packs. Frenchie laughed.

"Keep your English mitts away".

"Mean", Basil pouted. He huffed, the fading adrenaline not allowing him to stay still. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back by the wake up call".

"Don't go far", Sam reminded. They were due to meet with another American squad within the next few days so the land they were on should be safe but none of them liked to take chances.

"I've got my knives", Basil patted his jacket. "I'll just loop the campsite".

"You surgeons and your knives", Sam muttered. Frenchie exclaimed something in French and Same laughed. Basil let the sound fade out as he began walking away.

The air was cold despite it being almost March. He knew that they were near the boarder to Switzerland and that the plan was to move through Switzerland into Germany next. His boots were wet with dew and it made the grass hard to walk through. He trudged heavily in between the trees. The camp site hidden in a small copice at the side of a hill. Hard to ambush but also with vantage points over the local roads. Basil stopped at one of these points. A gap in the thicket where he could look down over the hill and over the tree tops of the woods below. The sky was slowly turning colourful as the sun dawned.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Long enough for the jitteriness to calm and the images in his head to fade. Long enough for the pinks and pale blues to start to paint the horizon. There was the tred of boots behind him and he didn't need to turn to see who was joining him. "Have you ever heard of Achilles and Patroclus?" He murmured to Bucky as the blue eyes man stopped at his side.

"I read about him once", Bucky replied, voice equally as soft and calm. "Wasn't he a hero of the Greeks? Who was invincible apart form his heel?"

"That true. He fought in the battle of Troy. Him and his friend Patroclus. The historians called them great friends but they were lovers. Patroclus died first. When Achilles refused to fight for Agamemnon, to stop the slaughter of the Greeks, Patroclus stole Achilles' armour and wore it into battle. Thinking it was Achilles, the Greeks fought harder than before. Until hector came and killed Patroclus. Enraged by his lover's death, Achilles killed hector and fought with a rage to devour gods. His rage was so powerful that no one could oppose him. The very gods themselves had to interfere. Apollo appeared to Paris and guided his arrow so that it struck true. When Achilles died he asked to be buried with his lover. They were burned together on a funeral pyre and entombed in the same urn, together for eternity".