"Please… just tell me he's alive. B–A–R—"
Steve's voice trembled as he spelled the name, clinging to a last shred of hope.
"I know how to spell it," Colonel Phillips cut him off impatiently, flipping through a thick stack of casualty letters on his desk.
"I've signed too many condolence letters today to remember all the names," the Colonel muttered. Then, after a pause, he added flatly,
"But that one… I do remember. I'm sorry."
Steve froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow.
No. He couldn't accept it. Bucky wouldn't die like that — not him.
"What about the others? Are you sending a rescue team?" Steve asked quickly, refusing to give up.
"Yes," Phillips said dryly, without looking up. "As soon as we win the war, they'll be rescued."
Steve frowned.
"If you know where they are, why not—"
"They're thirty miles behind enemy lines," Phillips interrupted, walking over to the wall map and tapping a point marked with HYDRA's black emblem.
"Deep inside one of the most heavily guarded regions in Europe. Sending a rescue team would just get more of our men killed."
He turned back, his tone full of disdain.
"I don't expect you to understand any of this. You're just a dancing clown."
Steve stood silently for a moment, jaw tightening.
"I think I understand just fine," he said at last, voice low and steady.
"Good. Then go understand somewhere else." Phillips shot him a side glance.
"If I remember the posters right, you've got another show in thirty minutes."
Steve's gaze lingered on the small black marker that indicated HYDRA's base.
He memorized the location.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "I'll be there."
Without another word, he turned and walked out.
Peggy hesitated for half a second, then followed.
⸻
Backstage, Steve began hurriedly packing his things.
"What's your plan?" Peggy asked, stepping into the tent. "Walk to Austria?"
"If I have to," Steve replied without looking up.
"You heard the Colonel — your friend might already be dead!"
"That's not certain," Steve said firmly. His tone left no room for argument.
Peggy frowned. "Even if he's alive, the Colonel's working on a plan. It'll take time."
"By the time he's done planning, it'll be too late!" Steve snapped, the emotion cracking through his usual calm.
He stuffed the last of his gear into a small pack, pulled a brown leather jacket over his star-spangled costume, and grabbed the prop shield leaning against the wall.
Ignoring Peggy's protests, he strode toward the door.
"Steve!" she called, chasing after him — coat forgotten, rain soaking her hair.
Outside, Steve tossed his bag and shield into a nearby jeep. The downpour streaked across his face, but he didn't seem to notice.
When he turned back, Peggy was right there, drenched and breathless, eyes full of worry.
"You said I could do more than this," he said quietly, looking straight into her eyes. "Did you mean it?"
Her heart skipped. Even rain-soaked and shivering, he looked impossibly earnest.
"I meant every word," she said solemnly. She truly believed he could be more than a propaganda symbol — that he would be.
"Then let me prove it." Steve climbed into the driver's seat.
Peggy's chest tightened as she watched him — brave, stubborn, utterly resolute. That was what she admired most about him… and what terrified her now.
The jeep's engine rumbled to life. Peggy lunged forward, grabbing the steering wheel.
"Steve—!"
But before she could speak again, a deep roar rumbled across the sky.
Both of them froze and looked up.
Through the rain clouds, a silver twin-prop plane emerged, slicing through the storm at dangerously low altitude — barely a few dozen meters off the ground — heading straight for them.
Soldiers all around shouted, scattering for cover. But a commanding officer waved them down — this wasn't an enemy aircraft.
The plane came in fast, dropping lower and lower until it was almost skimming the ground.
Then, just as it passed over the jeep—
A dark figure leapt from the open hatch!
Gasps erupted from every direction. The jump was suicide — less than twenty meters off the ground, no parachute, no time to slow descent.
The figure plummeted like a black meteor, slicing through the rain with terrifying precision.
"BOOM!"
The impact shook the ground, sending mud and water spraying in all directions.
A crater opened up just a few meters from Steve's jeep.
At its center, a tall, broad-shouldered man knelt with one knee down, back straightening slowly under the falling rain.
No broken bones. No stumble. No pain.
He simply stood — calm, steady, unscathed — as if descending from heaven itself.
The black combat suit clung to his powerful frame, gleaming under the stormy light.
Steve and Peggy stared, breath caught in their throats, until the man finally raised his head.
Recognition dawned instantly.
Steve's eyes widened — disbelief giving way to joy.
His voice trembled with excitement as he called out:
"Master!"