Archive of Our Own

“My miracle baby,” Ma said as she ruffled his hair fondly. “I lost four before he was born.” 

Jimmy swatted her hand away. “Stop it Ma, you’re embarrassing me.” 

“Oh, who could be embarrassed by their old mother?” She leaned over and planted a kiss smack in the middle of his forehead, leaving a perfect red lipstick print behind. 

“Ma!” Jimmy cried, scandalized. He furiously wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. Steve laughed at him, which was pretty rich coming from a guy with two black eyes and nothing to show for it. 

“Now you two finish eating and get changed, and then I want you to walk him home, Jimmy. Explain what happened to his ma, and tell her she’s got a good boy on her hands. And Steven, don’t you dare find any more trouble along the way. You hear me?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Buchanan,” Steve said with a look like he just smelled rotten eggs. “What kind of a name is that?” 

“It’s my name you jerk! What kind of a friend are you?” Jimmy scooped up a handful of snow and dropped it over Steve’s head. Steve yelped as the snow worked its way into his collar and Jimmy grinned triumphantly. 

“Hey! Jerk!” Steve knelt to scoop up a snowball of his own and flung it straight into Jimmy’s face. 

By the time they showed up at Steve’s apartment they were both soaked to the bone and shivering. Steve’s ma got home just about the time they did. Mrs. Rogers was a slim young woman with the same blue eyes as Steve. Her blonde hair was pulled up under her white nurse’s cap. She took one look at Steve’s black eyes and soaked clothes and sighed. 

“Mama, this is my friend Jimmy,” Steve said brightly. 

“Come on in, boys,” Mrs. Rogers said as she unlocked the door. 

Steve’s apartment consisted of three small rooms all in a row. The door opened into the kitchen, which had a bathtub next to the stove and a small window. To the right was the lone bedroom, where Mrs. Rogers slept. To the left, separated by a half wall with two windows in it, was the living room that doubled as Steve’s bedroom. Steve’s room had a window that opened out onto the fire escape. A clothesline stretched from their fire escape to the building across the way. There was no bathroom inside, rather there were shared outhouses in the yard. 

Mrs. Rogers instructed them to strip off their wet clothes and hang them up to dry by the stove. She made Steve sit on a chair and knelt down to examine his eyes and nose. Satisfied that nothing was broken, she took his chin in her hand and gave him a stern look. 

Steve set his jaw defiantly. “These boys were throwing rocks at a dog. I couldn’t let them do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “He saved the dog. My ma said to tell you you’ve got a good boy.” 

Mrs. Rogers smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head then combed his hair smooth with her fingers. “You’ll have to thank your ma for me, Jimmy. Now I’ve got to get some rest. You boys can play while your clothes dry but you need to be quiet, alright?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Jimmy said. 

Mrs. Rogers went to lay down in her bedroom and Steve led Jimmy to the living area. Two mismatched armchairs and a bed were crammed into the space. Steve’s bed was a simple metal frame with a blue quilt, neatly made. Steve pulled a stack of composition books out from under the bed and spread them over the floor for Bucky to peruse. They were filled with comic strips that Steve had carefully cut out of newspapers and pasted onto the pages. Here and there were drawings Steve himself had done, little animals and characters from the comic strips. Jimmy flipped through the pages in awe. 

“Buck,” Steve said suddenly. 

“Huh?” 

“For Buchanan. Like Buck Rogers.” He passed a comic strip to Jimmy. It showed a man with a laser gun fighting aliens. “Or Call of the Wild. You ever read Jack London?” 

Jimmy stayed until noon that day. He wanted to stay longer but he knew his ma would start to worry. He felt light as he walked home to the row house and skipped up the front steps. 

“That you, Jimmy?” His ma called from the kitchen. 

“Yes!” He called as he hung his coat up and took off his shoes. He hurried into the kitchen and hopped onto the counter. “Guess what?” 

“Hm?” Ma made a questioning noise as she swatted at him to get off the counter. 

“Steve Rogers is my best friend.” 

Bucky stood in the doorway of the Rogers’ apartment dressed in his best knickers and tall knee socks, head hung low and cap clasped in his hands. The very picture of sorrow. “Hi Mrs. Rogers. I came to say I’m real sorry about breaking your radio. I shouldn’t have thrown the ball inside, specially not after you told us not to. I promise I won’t ever do it again. I brought you this.” He reached into his pocket and held out a handful of coins. “I’ve been selling papers and I know it’s not enough but I thought maybe it could help you get a new radio.” 

Mrs. Rogers reached out and closed Bucky’s hand in hers, folding his fingers over the money. “There’s no need for that.” 

Bucky looked up at her, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Do you mean I still can’t see Steve?” He hadn’t been allowed to play with Steve for three days. This was the greatest tragedy of his young life.  

She sighed and shook her head. “You come in and we’ll have a talk.” 

Bucky sat on a wooden chair at the table and tried to look remorseful. It was tough when Steve saw him and ran into the room grinning like it was Christmas morning. Steve slid into the chair beside Bucky and tried to school his facial expression. 

Mrs. Rogers stood before the two boys and regarded them thoughtfully for a long moment. “You two have got to learn to listen. When you do wrong, you own up to it and you make it right. No excuses. You understand?” 

“Yes ma’am,” they both answered. 

“Now I’m sorry I got so shaken up at you. Steve, you’re a good boy but you’ve got your daddy’s temper and you have to learn how to control it. If you can’t make your point without raising your voice then you don’t have a point to make, you understand?” 

Steve nodded solemnly. 

“And Bucky…” she paused and considered his stooped shoulders and contrite expression. “You’re a good boy. You have a good heart. But that big heart of yours is going to get you in trouble one day. I think you’d follow my son straight to Hell without a second thought. You’ve got to use your brain too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And don’t you ever lie to me again.” 

“But ma’am I didn’t lie!” Bucky protested. 

Mrs. Rogers tsked and shook her head. “Oh, honey. You wear your heart right there on your sleeve. Steve already told me he was the one that broke the radio, not you.” 

“But I gave him the ball, so that’s as good as-” 

“Listen, now. Let me finish. You’re a good friend. You want to protect Steve, but that’s not always the right thing to do. I should know. I’d wrap him up in newspapers and keep him safe in a box somewhere if I could. But that’s not what he needs. He’s a strong boy. He can handle whatever trouble comes his way. Understand?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky said politely. But he didn’t understand then, not really. He would spend years to come trying to shield Sarah Rogers’ son from the world. 

When Bucky won the game of jacks and took all the marbles, Tommy Flannigan shook with rage. “You’re nothing but a spoiled mama's boy, Jimmy!” He swatted the bag of marbles out of Bucky’s hand and they scattered over the dirt. 

Steve was there in a flash, putting his skinny self between Bucky and Tommy. “You can’t talk to him that way,” Steve declared. 

“Oh yeah? Says who?” 

“Me.” Steve’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

Tommy laughed in his face. “You? You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over!” 

Bucky saw red. “Hey!” 

“What are you going to do about it Barnes?” Tommy taunted. 

Steve reared back and clocked Tommy in the jaw. It was a solid hit but there was no muscle behind it. Tommy put a hand to his jaw in shock, then pounced on Steve. Bucky jumped right in and grappled in the dust, trying to pull Tommy off Steve before he could do any real damage. 

Tommy managed to roll on top of Bucky, pinning his legs down. He reared back and punched Bucky right in the eye. That was going to be a shiner, Bucky knew right away. Steve jumped on Tommy’s back and wrapped his arms around his neck. Tommy scrabbled at Steve, trying to get him to let go. That gave Bucky enough time to get to his feet. He pulled back and socked Tommy square in the nose. Tommy squealed as blood started gushing down his face. Steve let go of him and dropped to the dirt in a heap. 

Bucky shook out his fist. That had hurt. Tommy was done for so Bucky pulled Steve to his feet with his left hand and checked him over. Steve was breathing hard but not in the wheezy way that signalled an asthma attack. He had a scrape on his forehead but looked okay otherwise. 

“Keep the stupid marbles,” Bucky said and spat into the dirt. He slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him away. “Come on pal, let's get out of here.” 

When Ma saw Bucky’s black eye she about had a conniption fit. She sat him on the counter and poked at it with a damp handkerchief. “Just you wait until your father gets home,” she tutted. Steve, of course, was totally off the hook. He could do no wrong in Ma’s eyes. It was one of life’s great injustices. She cleaned up Steve’s scrape with iodine and invited him to stay for dinner. Bucky rolled his one functioning eye at Steve’s sly grin. 

When Pop got home he pulled Bucky into his study for the talking to Ma had promised him. Becca leered at him from the living room floor where she sat playing with her dolls. “Jimmy’s in trouble,” she sang mockingly. 

“You hush Rebecca,” Ma admonished. Bucky stuck his tongue out at her the moment Ma's back was turned. 

Pop sat him down and took a good long look at his eye and hand. His eye was all purple and swollen shut and his knuckles were bruised. Pop sighed. “Well. Did he deserve it?” 

“He tried to take all my marbles and then he called me a mama’s boy and made fun of Steve.” 

“Hm. So you didn’t start it?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. I don’t want you going out looking for fights. But if fights are going to happen then you oughta know how to finish them. Let me see you make a fist.” Bucky curled his left hand into a fist, fingers curled over his thumb. “Ah, there’s your problem. Thumb on the outside, always. Now, keep your wrist straight.” He tapped Bucky’s first two knuckles. “You want to hit with these two knuckles. That’ll hurt the other guy. Anything else will hurt you.” He made Bucky stand and practice throwing a punch and twisting the right way to put his weight behind it. “Keep your other hand up, guard your face.” Once he was satisfied he ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Now, don’t tell your mother I taught you any of this, alright? Look sorry when we go out there.” 

“Yes, sir.” Bucky looked at the ground and shuffled his feet when he returned to the living room. Steve hopped up to greet him. 

“Could we go play in Bucky’s room?” he asked Ma, sweet as sugar. 

“Of course. Just get cleaned up in time for dinner.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bucky spent the rest of the afternoon showing Steve how to make a fist and put his weight behind a punch. 

Bucky plucked rocks off the playground and dropped them into a metal pail, trying to look suitably remorseful. He and Steve had been caught passing rude drawings of their teachers during recess. They’d both been hauled off to the principal's office and scolded for a while. They were sentenced to picking up rocks off the playground for an entire hour after school let out, plus their mothers had to come pick them up to walk them home which was embarrassing because they weren’t babies. 

His hand brushed Steve’s as they both dropped a rock into the bucket. Bucky glanced at Steve, and then Steve glanced at Bucky, which made Bucky smile, which made Steve laugh, which made Bucky laugh, and then they were both rolling on the ground and laughing so hard their bellies hurt. 

“James Buchanan Barnes!” The sharp tone of his mother’s voice made Bucky stop short. He stood up and tried to pull himself together, trying to look chagrined. It didn’t help that Steve was getting up next to him, still clutching at his stomach. Bucky couldn’t help laughing again, which set Steve off again, and soon they were hanging off each other and laughing. His ma marched up and grabbed both of them by the ears. “You two had better cut it out. You’re in serious trouble when we get home.” 

Bucky gasped and tried desperately to get his giggles under control but failed every time he caught Steve’s eye. Steve was just as incapable of controlling himself. When they got home to Bucky’s place Ma made them scrub the baseboards and Bucky was banned from listening to the radio for the weekend. It was worth it. 

“What would you do if you were rich?” Steve asked. Steve and Bucky laid out on the Rogers’ fire escape in just their shorts. It was the hottest summer anyone could remember. He and Steve had dragged Steve’s mattress out on the fire escape to sleep in the cool night air. Bucky stretched out with his hands behind his head and considered the question. 

“I’d buy Ebbets Field. You and me could go to every game and eat all the popcorn we wanted. I’d even let you throw out the first pitch.” 

“I’d buy Mom a house, I think. And then a motorcycle for me. And a car for you.” 

“I’d get you all the fancy paint and canvases you want. And you could go to art school.” 

“I’d buy a candy store.” 

“A candy store! Now you’re talking. I’d buy a robot.” 

“Of course you would. What about a movie theater? We could see all the new pictures.” 

“Yeah, and it’ll be next door to the candy store.” 

“Do you just not know when to run?” Bucky asked as he helped Steve to his feet. Steve wiped the blood from his lip and cracked his neck. 

“Mom always says, if you start running you’ll never stop.” 

Bucky shook his head fondly. “Well your ma didn’t raise a quitter, that’s for sure. How’s your jaw?”

Bucky knocked on Steve’s door early one Saturday morning and got no response. He waited for a few minutes and knocked again. A neighbor, Mrs. O’Leary, poked her head out of her door across the hall. “They’re not home. Sarah’s boy is sick. He was taken to the hospital last night.” 

“What?” That made no sense. Steve’d had a cough and a sore throat a couple days ago, nothing to go to a hospital about. “D- do you know what hospital?” 

“I’m not sure. But Sarah works at Kingsbrook.” Bucky’s heart clenched with fear. He ran down the stairs and onto the street. Kingsbrook wasn’t far. He took off running. 

Bucky was out of breath by the time he reached the front desk at the hospital. “Is there a Steve Rogers here? Or Sarah?” 

“Are you family?” The woman behind the desk asked. 

“I’m his friend.” Bucky rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. 

“It’s family only upstairs.” 

“Could I talk to them please? Or could you tell me if he’s okay?” 

“Let me go see.” 

Sarah Rogers entered the lobby a few minutes later. She looked paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. Bucky ran to her the instant he saw her. “Is he okay?” 

Mrs. Rogers would never lie to him so she didn’t say that Steve was okay. Instead, “He has a very high fever. He passed out yesterday and he hasn’t fully woken back up yet.” 

“Could I see him?” 

Mrs. Rogers pressed her lips together into a thin line. “Just for a minute. He’s very sick and he needs to rest.” 

“Family only,” the woman behind the desk reminded them. 

“It’s his brother,” Mrs. Rogers lied smoothly. They walked upstairs together to a big room lined with beds on either side. Steve laid in one, asleep. His face was bright red and his arms and neck were covered in a rash. His damp hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked even smaller than usual tucked up in the hospital bed. Steve’s eyes were closed but he didn’t rest peacefully. He murmured and moved fitfully in his sleep. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Scarlet fever.” 

Bucky felt nauseous. Scarlet fever was bad news. He knew a family up the street who’d lost three of their kids to it, all in the same month. “Will he get better?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Rogers said, though there was a note of uncertainty to her voice. 

“Can he hear me?” 

“I’m sure he can.” 

Bucky took Steve’s burning hand in his and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “You aren’t allowed to die. You have to hang on, understand? No matter how bad it gets. I’ll do anything you want when you get home. I’ll even read that Jack London book you’re always talking about. Promise. But you gotta get better. Okay, Stevie?” 

Steve didn’t respond. Bucky drew back at the touch of Mrs. Roger’s hand on his shoulder but kept his eyes trained on Steve’s feverish form. “Could I stay awhile?”

Mrs. Rogers nodded and pulled up a chair next to him. She held Steve’s hand in one of hers and Bucky’s in the other. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was for his benefit or hers but he allowed it either way. Steve didn’t wake up that night. 

Bucky was hours late getting home. His mother was in a full blown panic by the time he trudged up the front steps and into the door. His father was out looking for him, asking neighbors when they’d seen him last. Bucky didn’t want them to worry but he couldn’t muster much guilt about it either. He let Ma flit about him like a bird, lecturing him about safety. It all slid right off of him anyway. He was safe. He was healthy. Steve might die. Finally, Ma calmed enough to really notice his slumped shoulders and the distant look on his face. 

“Come here, Jimmy.” And Bucky was big now, a very grown up twelve years old, and he shouldn’t need his mother’s hug but he allowed it anyway. She wrapped him up and squeezed him tight like he wasn’t nearly as tall as she was. He dropped his head to her shoulder and sobbed. 

That night, Bucky lit a candle and set it in the kitchen window. Sarah Rogers told him once that a candle in the window helps bring sick and wayward souls home. It was something halfway between a prayer and a superstition. In the end, he kept candles burning for months, lighting each new one off the flame of the old one. 

A week after Bucky’s thirteenth birthday he blew out the candle for the last time. 

“All the skin peeled off my hands and feet.” Bucky’s eyes went wide. He stared at Steve’s hands where they rested on his quilt. Steve was laid up in his bed at home, still tired even after months of bed rest. “Then it all turned bright red like I had a sunburn.” Steve delighted in telling Bucky all the gruesome little details of his long illness. Strep throat, followed by scarlet fever, followed by rheumatic fever. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“A little.”

“Does it still?” 

“Nah. They made me stay in bed the whole time. And I had to take a bunch of aspirin.” 

“Yikes.” Bucky gulped. “But you’re okay now?” 

Steve shrugged. “They think so. Could mess up my heart. I got palpitations now. And I get tired real easy. Won’t be winning any races any time soon.” He smiled wryly. 

“Can you still pitch a baseball?” 

“Sure, I could do that in my sleep.” 

“Well maybe the Dodgers will still take you then.” 

Steve grinned at him and sat up further against his pillows. He reached to the side of the bed and pulled out a package wrapped in newspaper and twine. “Here, I got you something.” 

“Aw, Steve you didn’t have to.” Bucky carefully untied the twine and peeled back the newspaper. He whooped in surprise. Inside was a comic book, all hand drawn, and his face was on the cover. He read the title out loud. “Bucky Barnes: Man of the Twenty-Fifth Century.” Bucky threw his arms around Steve’s neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you! I love it!” Steve flushed at the praise and grinned back at him. 

Bucky flipped through the pages. He looked just like Buck Rogers. Bucky of the comic book was a man on Mars. He had a ray gun and a rocket ship and in the end he defeated the martians that threatened him with their disintegrator beams. There was one thing missing however. “Where are you?” 

Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “The story’s about you. I didn’t need to be there.” 

Bucky socked him in the shoulder. “What are you talking about, you jerk? You’ve got to redo it. I wouldn’t go anywhere without you.” 

Steve rubbed at his shoulder and grumbled. “Well, I guess I could be a sidekick or something…” 

“What the hell are you saying? You’re a main character! It's you and me, pal. Together or not at all.” 

They sat together thinking up storylines and monsters and villains until Steve’s eyes started to drift closed. Bucky watched the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing deepened and evened out. He stayed. Just for a little while. Just to make sure Steve was okay. 

Bucky and Steve straddled a tree branch high up an oak in Prospect Park. Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and drew the blade of his pocket knife across the palm, making Steve hiss. Bucky pulled the knife across his own palm and winced at the sting. He took Steve’s hand again and pressed their wounds together, allowing their blood to intermingle. “There,” he said solemnly. “Now we’re blood brothers. That means we’re family.” 

Steve wrapped a bit of cloth around his hand and let Bucky tie it off. Then he did the same for Bucky. “Give me the knife,” Steve said. He used it to dig into the bark of the tree. After a moment he leaned over so Bucky could see that he’d carved their initials into the trunk. S.G.R. and J.B.B. “To commemorate it.”  

“Good idea, pal.” Bucky snapped the knife closed and slid it back into his pocket. 

“Um, Bucky? How do we get down?” 

Dear Steve,

Indiana is dreadful. What is the point of all this corn? I think they’ve built a time vortex over this state because I swear I’ve been here for a year already. Ma says it’s only for a month and I’m being dramatic. She loves to say I’m being dramatic. 

My uncle set out tin cans on the fence and let us do target practice. I did the best out of everyone. He said I did really good for a city boy. They love to call me a city boy like it’s some kind of bad thing to be. I’m awfully lonely here. All my cousins want to do is hunt and go swimming in the creek. And swimming is all good, but they shoot at the little songbirds and I don’t like that. I don’t think I’m made for farm life. If you ask me, the city is the only place worth being.  

Becca is making eyes at some boy named Jack Proctor. She’s completely abandoned me. Pops and my uncle let me help fix the tractor and that was fun but it only lasted for a day. It’s so boring out here Steve. Can a person die from boredom? I might be the first victim. 

Another thing I hate about Indiana is I have to be here during your birthday. We could’ve gone to Coney Island or Rockaway Beach and had ice cream and gone to Nathan’s. Instead I’m stuck out here with only a scarecrow for company. (Which doesn’t work by the way! I saw a crow sitting right on it!) I hope you have a good birthday. I hope you like the baseball card I’m sending you. 

I have an idea for our comic. Maybe we get trapped in a cornfield and have to live the same day over and over again in a loop. I don’t know how we’ll get out of it but you’re smarter than me so maybe you can figure it out. 

Happy birthday,

Bucky

P.S. Tell your ma I said hello 

Dear Bucky, 

Your ma is right; you are dramatic. I hope this letter doesn’t find you keeled over dead from boredom. My birthday was alright. Thank you for the baseball card, I love it. When you get back maybe we can see a game. 

Mom says hello. She is working a lot right now. I’ve been lonely too. Seems like nothing exciting is happening in this city. 

-Steve 

P.S. I drew some new pages and put them in this letter. Tell me what you think. 

Dear Steve, 

You are a genius! Mutant corn cobs from outer space! One day when you’re a famous artist they’ll probably hang this up in a museum somewhere. Promise you won’t forget about me when you make your millions. I’ll be home in two weeks. 

Bucky 

P.S. Becca kissed Jack yesterday. My baby sister, can you believe it? 

Dear Bucky, 

How could I forget about you? They’ll put us both in a museum one day. You’ll write everything and I’ll do the drawings. Speaking of, I tried reading some of your poetry books. I just don’t think they’re for me. But I think you’ll like this one so I copied it here: 

If by E.E. Cummings 

If freckles were lovely, and day was night, 

And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie, 

Life would be delight,-

But things couldn’t go right

For in such a sad plight 

I wouldn’t be I. 

If earth was heaven and now was hence, 

And past was present, and false was true, 

There might be some sense 

But I’d be in suspense

For on such a pretense 

You wouldn’t be you. 

If fear was plucky, and globes were square, 

And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee

Things would seem fair,-

Yet they’d all despair, 

For if here was there 

We wouldn’t be we.  

“What is on your face?” 

Bucky preened and lifted his chin. “This? My mustache?” 

“It looks like a rat crawled under your nose and died.” 

Bucky glared at him. “You’re just too young to understand.” 

“You are one year older than me.”

“And that year makes all the difference. You’ll see when you’re older.” 

“You’re hopeless, Steve. Hopeless,” Bucky despaired. “A gal says she’s cold, you're supposed to offer her your jacket.” 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m no good at this stuff.” 

“You get too nervous, that’s your problem. You need practice. Here, I’ll be a dame.” Bucky wrapped his scarf over his hair and gave an exaggerated shiver. “Oh, it’s so cold out here. I might just die from it.” 

“Cut it out.” 

“If only some big strong man would offer me his coat,” Bucky said in a dramatically high pitched voice, hand to his forehead. 

Steve rolled his eyes so hard Bucky was surprised they didn’t fall right out of his skull. He took off his coat and offered it to Bucky. “Here ma’am, take mine,” he said flatly. 

“Oh thank you young man!,” Bucky cried. He threw the coat around his shoulders and tied the sleeves around his neck. “My hero. Won’t you take me out later? I simply must dance with you, handsome stranger.” Bucky dodged forward and planted a kiss on Steve’s cheek. 

“Hey!” Steve shouted but Bucky was already gone, sprinting down the street with Steve’s jacket flapping behind his shoulders like a cape. 

When Bucky finally stopped and let Steve catch up to him Steve stomped on his foot. “Jerk!” He ripped his coat off Bucky’s shoulders and pulled Bucky’s scarf down over his eyes.

“Hey! I was just messing around!” Bucky grinned and pulled the scarf off his face. Steve shrugged his coat back on and caught his breath. Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s neck and rubbed his knuckles over his hair, mussing it. “I think you’re ready. There’s a dance at the The Savoy tonight. I’ll ask Barbara to go out with us, she’s pretty don’t you think?” 

“Eh,” Steve said as he ducked out of Bucky’s grip. “I prefer brunettes.” 

“Enid then,” Bucky said smoothly. He tried hard not to think about it. 

“I don’t get it. Don’t you know you’re going to get your ass handed to you?”

“It’s not about winning,” Steve wheezed. “It’s about the trying.” 

Steve heaved a sigh as they sat on a bench by the pond. “They’re geese?” 

“They’re not just geese, they're Canada geese. Branta canadensis.” 

“I don’t care if they’re Australian; I can’t live another second listening to your stupid bird facts.” 

“Well I’m sorry for being educated.” 

“That’s not what I’d call it.”

“Course it’s not because you’re close minded. That’s what you are, closed minded.”

“I’m going to art school.” 

“And it’s shocking they let you in with that steel trap you call a brain.” Bucky paused for a moment. “They mate for life, you know.” 

Steve groaned. 

Bucky smacked the newspaper down on Steve’s kitchen table. Steve glared at him and shifted it away from where he was working on the line art for a new painting. “Look,” Bucky said. He pointed at a small article and read the headline out loud. “Skating Pond to Open On Rockefeller Plaza. We’re going.” 

“I don’t know how to skate.” 

“Who needs to know how to skate?” 

“We don’t own skates.” 

Steve could use some Christmas cheer, Bucky figured. His ma was sick and laid up in bed and it had done a number on Steve’s mood. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a night out. His friend just needed a little help figuring that out. So Bucky put on his best doe eyed expression and frowned. “Aw, come on Stevie. Who else am I gonna go with?” 

Steve glanced up from his artwork to glare at him. But the corner of his mouth flickered up and Bucky knew then that he had him. “Half the girls on this street if history is anything to go by.” 

“But I don’t wanna go with any girls, I wanna go with you,” Bucky pouted. 

“You wanna watch me fall on my ass.” 

“Nah, I won’t let you fall.” 

Steve glared at him. Bucky met his gaze, refusing to blink first. Finally, Steve heaved a sigh and put down his pencil. “What time?” 

Bucky gave him his best and brightest smile. “How’s seven sound?” 

Rockefeller Center was fairly new. New skyscrapers were still being constructed around them. Bucky was bundled up in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. Steve just had his coat and mittens. Bucky took the red scarf from around his own neck and tied it around Steve’s. 

Bucky’s smile was as bright as the brand new incandescent bulbs adorning the massive Christmas tree. The tree was decorated with strings of popcorn, streamers, and colorful glass baubles. It was placed just next to the new outdoor ice rink. Bucky threw an arm over Steve’s shoulders and led him through the crowd. They sat on a bench to tie on their skates. Steve looked apprehensive as he stood and struggled to balance on the blades. Bucky offered his arm and Steve locked their elbows together.   

“Don’t freak out. I won't let you fall.” 

They made it onto the ice and Bucky waited stock still while Steve got his feet under him. He almost fell a few times but Bucky steadied him. When it became clear that Steve was going to be a safety hazard Bucky turned around so they were facing one another and grabbed Steve by the elbows to steady him. Steve clung to Bucky’s forearms like his life depended on it. Bucky skated backwards in slow smooth circles, pulling Steve along with him. 

“Are you kidding me?” Steve groused. “You can do this backwards and I can’t even stand still?” 

“Practice, Steve. It takes practice.” 

“I’m never coming back here.” 

Bucky chuckled and his breath misted in the cold December air. It was funny, he didn’t feel cold at all. He patiently talked Steve through how to move his feet the right way to glide. Steve stuck his tongue out the way he did when he was focusing on a new painting. He moved about as gracefully as a newborn deer, but when he started to get it right he smiled up at Bucky like he’d just won the lottery.  

Bucky was nineteen years old and he didn’t know many things but he knew this. If there was a heaven, this was it. Gliding through Rockefeller Center at Christmas time. Steve pale and radiant in the dark, the cold putting red points high on his cheeks. Like porcelain, like marble, like the angels in the paintings. Bucky grinned like an idiot as Steve clawed at his sleeves. 

When they made it back to Steve’s apartment Mrs. Rogers was up waiting for them at the kitchen table. “Mom, you oughta be in bed,” Steve fussed. 

“Don’t tell me where I oughta be, Steven Rogers. Did you have a good time?” 

“The best,” Bucky said as he unlaced his boots and set them by the door. “He’s learning how to ice skate. He’s got a natural talent for it.” 

“That’s a lie.” Steve unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and handed it back to Bucky. He took his coat and hung it on the hook by the door. 

Mrs. Rogers smiled softly. “Bucky, you’ll stay the night, won’t you? It’s cold out there.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin. 

They stayed up chatting for a while. Steve’s face glowed as he recounted the beauty of the tree and the lights. He said the lighting was good, that he’d start a painting of it soon. They sat and laughed and planned for a future in which Steve was a Christmas card designer. And if Bucky’s eyes lingered on Steve’s face, on the curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes, well. Who could blame him? 

 Bucky threw some coffee in a pot and set it to boil on the stove. Bucky could feel Mrs. Rogers’ gaze on him as he moved through the tiny kitchen. When it was ready he poured them all a mug and sat back at the table. The steam would be good for both of their lungs, and the caffeine wouldn’t hurt either. Steve laughed at the face Bucky made when he took a sip from his mug. Bucky never did like black coffee but he had a stubborn streak so he’d suffer through it. They sipped at their drinks as Mrs. Rogers regaled them with stories of her and Steve’s father. The early days when they’d just moved to New York. Steve listened with rapt attention. 

Mrs. Rogers’ hacking cough signaled the end of the evening. Steve watched her with concern. She held a handkerchief to her mouth and waved her hand in the air, as if to tell him to keep his worries. “I’m alright. Overdid it, that’s all.” She crumpled the handkerchief quickly but not fast enough to hide the flash of red on the white cloth.

Bucky yawned and stretched his arms up over his head. “Well, I’m beat. You ready to hit the hay, Steve?” 

“Sure, Buck.” Bucky didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes were trained on his mother. Steve stood and offered his arm to her. “Here Mom, you oughta get to bed.” 

She shoved his arm away. “Bucky will help me. Won’t you, Bucky?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky hopped to his feet and helped Mrs. Rogers up off her chair. She leaned against him and it was like she weighed nothing at all. The skin of her hands felt thin and  fragile where it shifted over the bones of her knuckles. It was like holding a baby bird in his palm. He walked with her to the bedroom and settled her into the small bed, next to the table with a folded flag and a framed photo of Steve’s father. He poured her a glass of water and waited as another coughing spell took her. She didn’t try to hide the blood this time. She took the water gratefully and then sunk down into the blankets. 

“Are you warm enough?” 

“Yes, honey. Thank you.” Bucky waited. He wasn’t sure why. Mrs. Rogers’ eyes drifted closed and he thought for a moment she’d fallen asleep but then she spoke. “You’ll take care of Steve when I’m gone, won’t you?” 

Bucky felt struck dumb by the words. “Don’t talk like that, Mrs. Rogers. You’ll be here.” 

She smiled faintly. “You’re a man now, Bucky. You can call me Sarah.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Rogers.” 

She huffed out a little laugh. “You’ve always been a good boy. Do you love him?” 

“I… what?”

“Steve. Do you love him?”

“O-of course. Of course. He’s my best friend.” 

She cracked one eye open to look at him, gaze sharp as ever despite the illness weakening her body. “Don’t you lie to me, James Barnes.” 

“I’m not lying, ma’am.” He put his hands up defensively. 

She snorted. “You’re not being honest either. When you walked in tonight I could see it plain as day. You looked at him the way his father used to look at me. You’ll look after him. Make sure he’s happy.” 

Bucky swallowed hard. “Of course I will. As happy as I can make him.” 

“Thank you, Bucky. I’m glad he has you.” She breathed deeply and settled into sleep.

Bucky returned to the tiny living area that doubled as Steve’s bedroom. They stayed up half the night talking just like they did as kids. Steve showed him his sketchbook, full of the drawing exercises they were making him do in his art class. Bucky waggled his eyebrows suggestively when Steve turned to a page full of nude figure drawings. Steve flushed bright red and slammed the book closed. Bucky took it from his hands and flipped through the rest of the drawings anyway. “You’ll be famous one day.” 

Steve pressed his lips into a straight line and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Well you don’t have to know. I know.” 

Steve yawned and stretched back onto the pile of blankets they’d made on the floor by his bed. “This is going to kill your back,” Bucky said as he settled into his own blanket. “You oughta sleep on the bed.”

“Don’t tell me where I oughta be, Bucky Barnes,” Steve said sleepily, eyelids already drooping closed. Bucky closed his eyes and listened as Steve’s breathing evened out and he fell into a deep sleep. Bucky fell asleep curled on his side, facing Steve. 

Later, they got a telegram with the news. This time, Bucky couldn’t shield Steve. All he could do was sweep up the pieces after Steve shattered like glass over the floor. 

“Stan Lewis? Is that not the guy that shit kicked you three weeks ago?” 

“He was in an accident. They need help moving. He’s got a wife and two kids.”

“So we’re movers now? Is this the kind of thanks people get for kicking you in the ribs? I should’ve started years ago.” 

“When a man needs help you help him.” 

“Your bleeding heart makes me crazy sometimes.” Bucky shook his head in disbelief. 

“But you’ll be there? Six o’clock.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Obviously I’ll be there.” 

Cotton candy left Steve’s mouth pink and sticky. Bucky watched the way his tongue darted out to lick the sugar from his lips. 

“Bucky?”

“Huh?” Bucky snapped back to reality. Jesus Christ, he’d been staring. He’s got to be more careful than that. 

“I said, do you want to go on any rides?” 

Bucky reached into his pocket and felt the last of his change clink around. “The Cyclone?” 

Bucky and Steve poured out of the theater with the crowds. “That Judy Garland is really something huh?” Bucky nudged Steve with his elbow and waggled his eyebrows. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, but she’s got nothing on that Dot you’re seeing.” 

“Was seeing,” Bucky corrected. 

“She finally realize you’re no good?” 

“Something like that.” Bucky looked out on the street at the yellow taxi cabs picking up their fellow moviegoers. He checked his pockets for change but came up short. “What I wouldn’t give for that pair of shoes. Tap my feet and we’d be home again.” 

“Oh sure, you’d look real good in ruby red heels Buck.” 

Bucky got a devilish grin on his face. “It’s my color, you know.” He closed his eyes, raised himself up on tiptoes, and clicked his heels together. “There’s no place like Brooklyn, there’s no place like Brooklyn.” Bucky opened one eye and peered at Steve. “Damn. No dice.” 

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Let’s get walking.” 

Bucky grinned and caught Steve by the arm. He linked their elbows together and started to skip. “We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!” 

Steve yanked his arm away and frowned at Bucky. “Cut it out, Buck you’re gonna make us miss the train.” 

“Alright, alright.” Bucky fell into step beside Steve. “You liked the movie though?” 

“Course I liked the movie. What wasn’t to like?” 

“I don’t know, those flying monkeys? They gonna give you nightmares?” 

“Why, you scared or something?” 

“They were spooky, that’s all I’m saying.” Bucky stopped at the turnstile and Steve pressed in close behind him. Bucky put a penny in the slot and they moved through the turnstile as one. Bucky felt a pang of disappointment as they separated. “Hey, you mind if I stay at yours tonight?”

“Why? You going to let the monkeys get to me first?” 

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m using you as bait.” Bucky gave Steve a playful shove on the shoulder. “I’ve got a job at the docks early tomorrow morning, figured yours is closer.” 

“Well I could never turn down a friend in need.” Steve climbed onto the subway. Their car was packed full, it being Friday night. Bucky pressed in close beside Steve and they held onto the same pole. The rumbling of the train caused him to bump into Steve on occasion and it sent a thrill up his spine each time. God, what a depraved moron he was. 

“Jesus, I feel like a sardine in here,” Steve glanced back at Bucky. 

“And you smell like one too.” 

“Gee thanks Buck, that’s a real nice way to treat someone who’s offering you a place to sleep.” 

“Yeah you’re a real generous guy. I could just go home, you know, if you don’t want me there.” 

“Of course I want you there, you jerk.” Their car slowed to a stop and people began filing out. Bucky stayed pressed up to Steve’s side as they exited the train car. 

“What was it this time?” 

“He was disrespecting a dame.” 

“And you jumped in because…?”

“Right thing to do.” 

“Of course.” 

“Bucky? What’s wrong?” 

Bucky stumbled forward numbly and collapsed onto Steve’s kitchen chair. “They-they’re gone.” 

“Who? Who’s gone?” 

Bucky’s face crumpled. “My ma and-” he made a sound like a wounded animal. 

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve darted forward and wrapped his arms around Bucky, squeezing him tight. Bucky gripped Steve’s shirt in his fists and sobbed into his chest. He cried and cried for what felt like an age. He cried until there was nothing left. Steve stayed there, rubbing his back and running his fingers through his hair. 

He sniffled against Steve’s shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Quit it.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Bucky,” Steve chided. 

Bucky pulled back slowly. His eyes and nose were sore. Steve let him pull away but didn’t let go. “It was a car accident,” he said roughly. 

“Becca?” 

“She’s at our aunt’s.” 

Steve let out a slow, relieved breath. 

Bucky let go of Steve’s shirt and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“Hey, look at me.” He looked up. Steve’s eyes were red too. “I’m glad you’re here.” Bucky nodded. Steve backed away and urged Bucky to his feet. “You oughta lay down for a while. I’ll make us some dinner. You eat if you feel like it, okay?” Bucky let himself be led to Steve’s bed and curled up on his side. Steve pulled the blankets over him. Bucky stared blankly toward the fire escape. 

“Hey, could you maybe not cover the mirror with your books?” 

“What could you possibly need a mirror for? Certainly not shaving.”

“Ha ha,” Steve said humorlessly. “If you’re going to tear up books could you at least keep them in your room?” 

“It’s about intentions, Steve. You see something beautiful in the morning and it changes your whole day.”

“Oh, so that’s why you covered up the mirror.” 

Bucky shot him a dirty look. “Did you read them at least?” 

“Why would I read them?” 

“Because they’re beautiful that’s why. You’re an artist; you saying you can’t appreciate poetry?” 

“I’m saying I don’t appreciate poetry wallpapering my fucking mirror.”  

“Fine, fine. I’ll take them down. Jeez. A guy tries to live a little and this is what he gets.” 

“Fine, leave them up if they mean so much to you.” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Oh my god Bucky I’m not going to beg you to keep your dumb poems up.” 

Bucky hunched his shoulders and kicked a toe at the floor. “Alright, Stevie. I get it.” He made like he was going to the mirror and Steve made an irritated sound in his throat. 

“Leave them up.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Steve said, exasperated. 

“You’re a swell guy, you know that?” Bucky reached over to ruffle his hand through Steve’s hair. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“Linda’s got four babies out there.”

“Four- oh my god are you talking about the stupid sparrows again?” Steve had an easel set up in the corner. He was hard at work painting a sign for a grocery store. 

“Yes I am talking about the sparrows because the sparrows are a delight.”

“You know what’s not a delight? Cleaning bird shit off our windows.” His tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he painted white words across a pile of fruit. 

“It’s a small price to pay to experience the wonders of nature.”

“Spoken like a man who’s never scraped shit off a window.” 

“Listen, Linda’s nest is already there. If we choose not to find joy in the sparrows then we’ll experience the same amount of shit and significantly less joy.” 

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned. “When do you go to work again?” 

“Wow, so resistant to joy that you’re trying to get rid of me.” 

“I’m going to throw this brush at your face if you don’t stop interrupting me to talk about fucking sparrows.” 

“I don’t fuck sparrows, Steven.” He neatly dodged the paintbrush that came flying at his head. “Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave! Going dancing after work if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.” 

“Let me know if you change your mind!” Bucky hurried out the door.

Steve didn’t change his mind about going dancing but that evening Bucky came home to find a drawing of a sparrow on his pillow. 

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” 

“Then you must like it too.” 

Bucky sighed. 

“I want it to mean something!” Steve shouted. He breathed hard, hands balled into fists at his side. “It’s not about me! At least I could make it useful.” 

“There’s nothing useful about you dying!”

“But I’m already dying!” Bucky flinched like he’d been struck across the face. “It’s true. You know it’s true, Bucky. I’ll be lucky to see thirty.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” Bucky hated that he sounded petulant, like a child. 

“It’s true. Look at me. I’m lucky to have made it this far. At least I could make this life mean something. Do some good in the world.” 

“But you already do good Steve. There’s other ways-” 

“Bucky. Bucky. It’s not the same. You know it’s not the same. You know it, Buck.” 

“But I-” need you. Want you alive. 

“You’re going to fight. I want to fight. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“Is that what this is? You want to be some big hero?” Bucky regretted it the instant he said it. Those words would hurt Steve, and he knew it. But in that moment he wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to hurt so bad that Steve would give up on this idea entirely. 

“You’re not my keeper, Bucky,” Steve said coldly. He turned and started walking away. Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to pull him back but Steve shrugged him off. 

“I’m sorry. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I just. I promised your ma I’d look after you, didn’t I?” The mention of his mother was enough to make Steve stop, but he stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“Mom would understand. There’s men dying out there. The Germans aren’t going to stop. You read the papers. You know what they’re doing.” 

“I know. I know. But I-” There’s a lump in his throat and his eyes burn. “I don’t know how I… It’s fine.” He swallowed and sniffled and straightened his back. 

Finally Steve looked at him. “You’ll be okay.” 

“That’s me. Always okay.” 

“You scared?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Well what the fuck do you want me to say Steve!?” He erupted. “Yeah, I’m scared alright? I’m scared shitless. But I can’t think like that right now. Only thing keeping me sane is knowing you’re safe here. So could you please, just for tonight, drop it? Please, Stevie.” 

“Okay. Fine.” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do you want to do tonight? We’ll do whatever you want.” 

“I want… I want…” to skip rocks off the pier. To buy egg creams. To ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. To watch the birds in Prospect Park. To visit my parents’ grave. To go dancing. To go on a farewell tour of this city because I might never see her again. “Let’s just walk. Can we do that?” 

“Of course.” 

Dear Steve, 

I’m going to die out here. 

Dear Steve,

They don’t tell you about the smell in Basic. It’s like pennies, the smell of blood in the air. There’s shit and mud and fear everywhere. Your ma told me once that doctors used to think bad air causes illness. Miasma, they called it. I think Italy will be sick for 1000 years after this war. 

Dear Steve, 

They tell me I am the best sniper in the army. I see the men in my dreams. They crumple like paper dolls when they’re in my scope. It makes me feel sick. I don’t want to die. I don’t want them to die either. All I want is to go home.

Dear Steve,

I’m not brave like you. I got drafted, did you know? That’s right, your buddy is a great big coward. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry about a lot of things. I think I’m going to die out here. 

Dear Steve, 

Do you remember the first time we went skating at Rockefeller Center? I think about it all the time. 

Dear Steve, 

They’re all kids out here. Most of them aren’t even Becca’s age. They sent me out here to kill kids, Steve. 

Dear Steve,

Do you know how injured a man can be and keep screaming? Do you know how hurt you can be and stay awake? I hope you never know. When I go I hope it’s quick. 

Dear Steve,

The only good thing about this war is that you’re not in it. 

Dear Steve,

The girls didn’t mean much. They never did. Isn’t that an awful thing to say about another person? Maybe I should’ve told you. Maybe you’d have socked me in the jaw. I don’t know. 

Dear Steve, 

The front is almost as bad as Indiana and that’s saying something. Hope you are good. Don’t spend all your time moping around. When I get back we’ll go to a Dodgers game. 

Your pal,

Bucky 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve always had a death wish but this is next level.” 

“You must be feeling better,” Steve said mildly. 

“Fuck you, Rogers.” He shoved Steve in the chest but Steve didn’t budge. 

“I wasn’t going to leave you out there-“

“There’s a difference between leaving me and launching a suicide mission-“

“I was confident-“

“Oh you were confident!” Bucky threw his hands in the air. “Well stop the presses, confidence is going to win us the war! Stupid is what you are. You understand? A stupid goddamn idiot-“

“I couldn’t lose you!” Steve shouted. “Okay? I couldn’t lose you too.” 

Bucky growled low in his throat. “God damn it Stevie. You goddamn shit face fuck. Don’t you ever do anything like this again.” 

“Promise me you won’t get captured again and I won’t.” 

“You’ll be the death of me. I swear to god you will be.” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Well better me than the Nazis.” 

“God,” Bucky groaned. “You drive me crazy sometimes. You know that?” 

“I know, Buck,” Steve said sincerely. “I know.”

Steve and Bucky stood atop a hill watching smoke rise from the HYDRA base. They were both streaked with mud, blood, and oil. Bucky’s hands rested easy on his gun. The other Howlies started up a shout that turned into a song. In this moment, they were invincible. Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and turned to smile at him. His crystal blue eyes stood in sharp contrast to the muck on his face. 

Desire is a thing with claws. It dug into his belly and ripped him open, exposing his guts to the world. Insistent, tell, tell, tell. But no. He scooped his guts back inside and shoved Steve’s shoulder. “You look like you smell as bad as I do.” 

“Gather round everyone!” Bucky channeled the carnival barkers at Coney Island. Come one, come all. He stood in the center of their tents, hands clasped behind his back.

“We’re in the middle of a game,” Gabe complained. 

“You know Jim’s going to win. Get your asses over here.” 

Steve emerged from his tent and sat on a log, an amused look on his face. “What's with the theatrics, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked as he dropped in beside Steve. 

“He’s dramatic,” Steve said. “He used to be in plays.” 

“You about to give us a show?”

“Shut up and I’ll tell you. Just as soon as Gabe and Jim get their asses over here!” 

“He was Puck,” Steve continued. “I had to help him run lines.” 

“Dernier! Monty! Double time! Let’s go! Gabe I swear to god I’ll shoot those cards out of your hand if you don’t get here.” 

“If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. I think I could still recite the whole thing.” 

“Steve, shut up.”

Steve put his hands up like he’d been admonished, but the grin on his face said otherwise. The other commandos joined the circle one by one. 

“Finally. Slow asses. Let’s hope I never need you for anything.” There was  no bite in his words. “Now then. Unlike the rest of you, I don’t smoke.”

“Don’t tell me this is a health lecture,” Dum Dum grumbled around the cigar in his mouth.

“Shut up. Now you may be asking yourselves, what does Sarge do with all those cigarettes he wins?” 

“Yeah, that’s what’s been keeping me up at night,” Gabe said. But Steve was smiling at him and that was more than enough encouragement to keep on. 

“Well, men, the answer is I save them up. And when an opportunity arises, I take it. Behold!” He snapped his hands to his front to reveal a beautiful, perfect, unblemished orange. 

“Woah!” 

“What?”

“How’d you find that?” 

“A gentleman never tells,” Bucky said. Steve snorted. “Shut it, Rogers.” Bucky pulled out a knife and cut the orange into ten perfect segments. He left seven whole and cut the remaining three in half. He gave each man one full segment and one of the halves, keeping only one full segment for himself. 

He sat next to Steve and bit into his segment. His eyes rolled back and he sighed as the fresh orange juice hit his tongue. For a minute the camp was silent aside from the sounds of satisfied chewing. 

When he swallowed he opened his eyes to see Steve holding out his half of a segment. “That’s for you,” Bucky said. 

“You should take it. You’re the one that traded for it.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.” 

“Steven.” 

“James.” 

They stared at one another. Bucky refused to blink first. Steve tried to grab his hand to give him the orange. Bucky hopped to his feet. “It’s yours. Keep it.” Steve grabbed for his hand again and Bucky jumped back. Steve stood up and reached for him again. Bucky dodged neatly and tapped his shoulder. 

Steve gave him an exasperated look, really? We’re doing this? Bucky waggled his eyebrows at him. Yes we are. Bucky darted in to wrap his arm around Steve’s neck in a headlock. He ruffled his hair with a fist, like old times. Steve threw him off and kicked out to trip Bucky. Bucky fell back and landed in the dust with an oomph. Steve sat on his legs and held the orange slice in front of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky threw his hands up in front of his face and pushed Steve’s arm away. Steve was stronger now than he used to be. Stronger than any normal human. So it made Bucky’s blood run cold when he realized he could move Steve’s hands away easily, if he wanted to. He relented, let Steve win, just like old times. 

“Fine.” He grabbed the orange slice from Steve’s hand and popped it in his mouth. Steve got up and held out a hand. Bucky took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. “Thanks,” he said. The orange slice tasted like ash on his tongue.

Steve shook his head as he brushed dust off his uniform. “So dramatic.” 

“What did they do to you?” Bucky turned Steve’s hand over in his. 

“I can’t say. It’s classified.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on Stevie. Who am I gonna tell?” Steve hemmed and hawed, but in the end he relented, just like Bucky knew he would. There had never been a secret between the two of them, aside from the ones Bucky kept. Steve told him everything, about Erskine, the serum, Stark’s machine. 

“They were trying to make a super soldier.”

“I guess they succeeded,” Bucky murmured as he ran a thumb over Steve’s left palm. The place where a scar used to be was all healed and perfect skin. “You let them experiment on you?” He looked up and met Steve’s guilty gaze. 

“I had to try, Buck.”

Bucky nodded grimly. He ran his thumb over the smooth skin of Steve’s palm a few more times before he gently released his hand. He swallowed and pasted a grin onto his face. “You think that serum gave you some brains too or are you stupid as ever?” 

Steve glowered at him but Bucky saw the twitch of a smile on the corner of his mouth. “Jerk.” 

“Punk.”

Bucky was on day three of a bender in London when Peggy Carter sidled up to him at the bar. He’d had more whiskey in the past three days than in all the other years of his life combined but the world remained stubbornly clear and in focus. He studied his left hand where it rested on the bar, eyes roaming over and over the space on his palm where a scar was supposed to be. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Carter greeted him as she sat on the stool next to him. “Steve tells me you were quite the lady’s man back in New York. And yet in a bar filled with frankly gorgeous women you haven’t spared any a glance.” 

Bucky glanced at her and took a drink of his whiskey. “Not in the mood.” 

“No?”

“Not what I’m here for.” 

“And what are you here for Sergeant?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave a mocking salute. “To serve my country ma’am, just like every other unfortunate soul on this continent.” 

Peggy studied him for a moment. “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“Ma’am?” Bucky looked up, startled. 

“Pardon the expression. It’s an American one, I believe. Gets the point across.” 

“Sure does. I’m fine. Tired. Fighting a war, if you haven’t noticed.” 

They were interrupted by the bartender coming over to take Carter’s order and flirt with her a little. Good luck with that, Bucky thought. You stand about as much chance of jumping off London Bridge and flying. She ordered a whiskey, neat, same as him. 

“You could go home, you know. I could arrange for it. Honorable discharge. Purple heart. If you want it.” She sipped at her whiskey. He felt a pang of jealousy that she could get drunk off it.

Bucky heaved a sigh and stared mournfully into the amber liquid in his own glass. “No thanks. Not interested in leaving.” 

“Indeed. Rather seems your home is here, these days.” 

“That so?” Steve’s grin flashed in his mind. One thing about him, at least, that was unchanged. 

“I appreciate the work you’re doing with Steve.” Carter leaned forward conspiratorially, checking that the bartender was occupied. “I love him, you know.” 

Red hot anger ripped through his belly and rose up his throat, ready to erupt. He gritted his teeth and spat out, “Course you do. That's why you got him sent over here, right?” His voice dripped with venom and he regretted it the instant it left his mouth. 

“It was hardly my decision,” she said cooly. “I was hoping we might become better friends, you and I. Seems we’ve started off on the wrong foot.” She swirled her glass. 

Bucky stared at her for a long beat. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You know what Carter? I hate you. I hate you, and Phillips, and Stark, and Erskine, and every goddamned scientist that sent him over here. You can all fuck off for all I care. Maybe that makes me bitter. Oh well.” He downed the rest of his glass and slammed it on the bar. 

Carter made a face like she’d been sucking on sour lemons. “If it wasn’t for us you’d be dead you know.” 

Bucky snorted. “Oh, don’t I know it? You know what, I would do it again. I’d go back there today, right this second if it meant he would go home.” 

“So it’s like that?”

“Always has been.” His stool screeched across the tile floor as he stood up. He slapped a few bills on the bar, enough to cover both of their whiskeys. “Nice talking to you, Margaret.”

Steve whimpered in his sleep. “Wake up. It was just a dream.” Bucky shook his shoulder. Steve’s eyes were wet with tears as he blinked up at Bucky. “You were having a nightmare pal.” 

Steve sniffled and wiped his nose. “Sorry.” 

“Quit it.”

“Sorry.”

“Steve,” Bucky chided. “What was it this time?”

“Simmons.” 

“Mmm.” Bucky hummed his understanding. Simmons had been young, even younger than them. He was still awake, bleeding out, legs and pelvis blown to smithereens. Bucky’d shot him twice in the head. There was nothing else to be done. 

“I still hear him sometimes.”

“The screaming.” Bucky knew because Bucky heard it too. “Try and get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.” 

“Aren’t they all?”

“Yeah, ever since you got here, Mister Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” That made Steve smile. 

“Hard work being Captain America’s right hand man?” 

“Nah. See there was this little guy back home. Massive pain in the ass. Keeping him out of trouble was like my full time job. Army’s a cake walk in comparison.” 

Steve socked him in the arm. “Jerk.”

“Ow! That hurts now you know.” He rubbed at his shoulder. Steve socked him again for the insult. “Punk. That’s dissent in the ranks. An officer attacking his inferiors. It’ll be all over the papers.” Bucky could almost hear Steve roll his eyes. 

“I can see the headline now: Lowly Sergeant insults America’s Golden Boy: Court Marshal Imminent. See his ugly mug on page six.” Then it was Bucky’s turn to sock Steve. “Hey!” 

“Oh my god could you two shut up?” Morita groaned.

“Sorry,” Steve whispered guiltily. 

Bucky and Steve settled back down on their bedrolls. Bucky let himself imagine they were kids again, sleeping over on one another’s floor. It was practically the same if you ignored the mud and the metallic smell in the air and the shitty tent that let all the cold air in and all the warm air out. He was almost asleep when Steve whispered, “I don’t think you’re inferior, Buck.” 

“I know. Now shush before Jim skins us alive.” Bucky closed his eyes and listened as Steve’s breathing evened out and he fell into a deep sleep. Bucky fell asleep curled on his side, facing Steve.

“Steve tells me you’re from Brooklyn.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Howard sidled up to him in the SSR headquarters. “Mhm.” 

“I’m from the Lower East Side.”

“Good for you.” 

“You got a dame back home?” Howard asked. 

“Nah. You?”

“No one steady. Bet you can get any girl you want though.”

Bucky smirked. “And I’m sure you can too. I’ve read the stories.” Bucky had heard about the kinds of parties Howard Stark threw back in New York. ‘Party’ may have been a generous term. ‘Orgy’ was more like it. 

Howard smiled and waved his hand in the air. “Can’t deny it. Ladies love a millionaire. Fellas too.” He glanced sidelong at Bucky. 

Bucky picked up one of the guns off the table and sighted it. “That so?” 

“Sure. You ever done it with a fella before?”

“Don’t see much point in it.” Bucky shrugged. 

“What’s the point in a lady? It’s fun, not marriage.” 

“I’m not queer.” Bucky fiddled with the gun, started taking it apart. 

“Who said you were? It’s just for fun. Why call it anything?”

“Hm.” Bucky concentrated on keeping his facial expression neutral. “So… Lower East Side?” 

“Yep. Dad sold fruit. Mom worked in a shirtwaist factory. You?” Howard lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of his lab. 

“Dad was a clerk. Mom stayed home.” 

“You got siblings?”

“A little sister. You?”

“Only child.”

“Mmm.”

“You play sports in school?” 

“Sure. What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Just trying to get to know the guy Steve thought was worth risking our hides for. What’d you play?”  

“Football, baseball, swimming. Used to box at the Y.” 

“Jesus. You allergic to relaxing or what?”

“I was valedictorian too.” 

“Okay, Mister Perfect. Tall, handsome, smart, popular, athletic. You poor at least?”

“Nope.” 

“Your parents hate each other?”

“Crazy about eachother. Loved us too. They’re dead, if that helps you.” 

“Phew. I was beginning to worry I was in the presence of God’s favorite.” Howard allowed a flicker of sincerity to cross his face. “I’m sorry about your folks.” 

“It’s fine. What about you? What’s it like to be a millionaire?” 

Howard took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out to float up to the ceiling. “Boring, mostly. People aren’t interested in me so much as my money. I think my closest friend might be my butler.” 

“Sounds lonely.”

“Can be. Keep myself distracted.”

“I saw you once, at the Stark Expo. The night before I shipped out. You were showing a flying car.” 

Howard wrinkled his nose. “That damn car. Prototype’s fine but I can’t keep it off the ground. Always falls.” 

“You helped make Steve… big.” 

Howard glanced sidelong at him. “I wondered when that would come up. Peg says you’re upset at all of us about him.” 

Bucky shrugged. “You two talk?” 

“Now and then. She says you all but bit her head off a few weeks ago.” He imitated her accent, “Bloody Americans. So sensitive.” 

Bucky bristled at the insult. “Well she was right. I’m not happy about what you all did.” 

Howard took another long drag off his cigarette and exhaled the smoke. “Anything to win the war.” 

“That’s a dangerous sentiment.” 

“Maybe. Been effective so far.” 

“You’ve been lucky so far. Men who think the ends justify the means is how we got here in the first place.” Bucky finished putting the gun back together and replaced it on the workbench. 

“I didn’t know I signed up for an ethics lecture. No wonder Steve likes you so much. You’re both unbearably moral.” 

“Could stand to have more of that going around.” 

“Well, Mister Charmed Life. Not everyone can afford to be. Some of us had to struggle just to get by. Things get blurry.” 

Bucky tried not to let the flare of anger in his belly show on his face. Two living parents and a healthy body. What did Howard Stark know about struggle? “Well the line’s got to be drawn somewhere.” 

“Oh, and you’re the one to do it?” 

“Sometimes. When I have to be.” 

Howard grunted and crushed his cigarette butt against the brick wall. The ashes flickered as they fell to the ground. “See you around Barnes.” 

The march back to camp was long but untiring. The whole group was awash in the glow of victory, a job well done. When the full moon began to rise above the trees, Bucky let out a howl. And just like wolves, his pack answered him. They howled together, heads thrown back. It was no mournful sound. This was a victory cry, triumphant in the face of long odds. 

Steve and Bucky walked side by side. Steve smiled at him, perfect white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, made whiter by bloodied lips. Bucky grinned in return, then threw his head back and howled again. Steve joined him and their voices intermingled with the others, their hot breath steaming in the winter air and tangling above them. Bucky watched the curve of Steve’s neck, the way his shoulders hung loose and relaxed. And then Bucky thought the worst and most selfish thing he’d ever thought. I’m glad you’re here with me. 

The group, the commandos, the Howlies, the pack, whatever you wanted to call them, were closer than brothers. They worked together flawlessly. Each man knew his role and executed it to perfection. They knew each other, could anticipate the others' moves before they happened. Communication was borderline telepathic. They were the best the Allies had to offer.

And then there was Steve and Bucky. If the other Howlies could read one another’s thoughts, then Steve and Bucky shared a brain. One man, split into two bodies. Where one moved, there went the other. Each could throw themselves into a group of enemies, seemingly reckless, but absolutely certain the other would follow. 

When Steve’s gun jammed one cold February morning in rural France he threw it away and continued forward into the barn with just the shield. When Bucky’s knife hit a man in the chest Steve took his gun, pulled the knife from his body, and tossed it backwards without looking. Bucky caught it and threw it into the next man. Steve took that gun too, tossed it to Bucky along with the knife. They quickly took stock of the old barn, where at least a dozen Hydra operatives had bedded down after they escaped the most recent base the Howlies had blown up. Steve threw his shield and it ricocheted off of wooden walls and farm equipment, knocking over a line of men like dominos. Bucky caught it and tossed it back to Steve before busying himself with three men ducking behind a tractor. 

A bullet brushed past Steve’s ear, narrowly missing him. Bucky tracked it back to the source, a man hidden up in the rafters. He met Steve’s eye. Steve knelt down, held the shield up at the ready. Bucky ran, hopped onto the shield, and Steve launched him up into the air. Bucky caught the rafter and pulled himself up. Balancing twenty feet in the air, Bucky grappled with the sniper. He threw a foot out and tripped the man. When the sniper grabbed the wooden beam, Bucky stomped on his fingers. He fell to the ground in a puff of hay and Steve hit him with the shield. Then it was over. 

Bucky knelt down, gripped the edge of the wooden beam, and let himself drop. Steve broke his fall and set him down on the dirt floor with ease. “Thanks for the lift,” Bucky said as he brushed off the knees of his trousers. 

“Any time, pal.” Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Thanks for having my back.” His blue eyes were heart wrenchingly earnest like usual. 

“Always,” Bucky said. They split up to search the barn, checking for more men or hidden entrances. They found nothing. Seemed Hydra was running out of options. They were scattering like rats. The tide was turning. 

“Clear,” Steve announced as they exited the barn, where Morita sat waiting for them on a hay bale. Bucky wiped the blood off his knife onto his pant leg and spat dirt and bits of hay onto the ground. 

“All of them?” Morita asked, sounding slightly awed. 

“That’s what clear means, isn’t it?” Bucky said as he jammed his knife back into the sheath at his thigh. “So we walking back or what?”

“Dum Dum’s hot wiring a jeep as we speak,” Morita said with a grin. 

“Thank god”, Bucky groaned. “Don’t think my feet could take much more of this mud.” The wet snow of early February had done a number on the roads. They’d all been sopping wet and half frozen for days. 

“Dry socks are one of God's miracles, aren’t they?” Morita asked as he leaned back against the hay bale and closed his eyes. 

“Think I read that in the bible. Right after the seven loaves and seven fishes,” Steve said as he returned the shield to the harness on his back. 

“I could do with loaves and fishes right about now,” Bucky said as he cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. 

“Is food the only thing you think about?” Morita jabbed. 

“Yeah. That and socks.” 

“Everything a man needs.” Steve groaned and winced as he sat beside Morita.

“You hurt?” Bucky asked, suddenly alert. 

“Nah. Just banged up a little. Nothing that won’t heal.” 

“Must be nice to have that super soldier juice. Wish they would’ve given me a shot at it.” 

“That’s just what we need. A super sized Jim to match the supersized ego,” Bucky grumbled.

“It's not ego if you’re good.” 

Bucky studied Steve for a long moment, checking for any blood or scratches that could indicate a greater wound than Steve was letting on. Satisfied after a moment’s examination, he flopped onto the hay bale beside Steve. “Make room,” he said when Steve and Morita groaned in protest. 

When Dum Dum pulled the Jeep around Gabe had already claimed the front seat so the three of them piled into the back with Dernier and Monty. Bucky sighed contentedly as he settled onto the bench seat. Army jeeps weren’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but it sure as hell beat walking. 

“Dum Dum, I would kiss you if it weren’t for that mustache.”  

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sarge,” Dum Dum called. “You think I’d kiss some punk from Brooklyn?” 

“Hey, we punks from Brooklyn are very attractive these days. Aren’t we, Steve?” 

“Sure, Buck. Whatever you say.” Steve’s eyes were closed, his legs stretched out in front of him. 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, concern welling up again. 

“Just tired,” Steve sighed. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure, mom.” 

Bucky grumbled at that but let it drop. 

When they pulled into camp it was well past midnight. Bucky ushered Steve ahead of him to get into what passed for showers on the front. Bucky went back to the tent they shared and peeled off his socks. He kept a fresh pair in his pack. He luxuriated in the sensation of itchy yet dry wool against his toes. He sat heavily on his cot and stared at Steve’s side of the tent. His sketchbook lay on the cot, flipped open to a half finished drawing. It was clearly Carter, her face in profile. 

Bucky felt the familiar venom rise in his throat. His eyes fixated on the drawing. The way Steve had sketched the curve of her cheek, had just started shading the bow of her lips. Bucky had long been the subject of Steve’s drawings. He started guiltily when Steve entered the tent. He needed to get a grip.

“Shower’s all yours,” Steve said. His hair was still damp, clothes still dirty, but face clear of blood and muck. He looked perfect. Bucky swallowed past the acid on his tongue. 

“You drawing dames now?” Bucky asked, nodding his head toward the sketch book. Steve flushed bright red. The shy look on his face tempered Bucky’s anger. “She make you happy?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You love her?” 

“I don’t know. I think so.” He hurried to his cot and closed his sketchbook. “Have you ever been in love?” He asked as he sat down. 

“Who, me? Nah. Never.” Bucky stared at the way Steve’s damp blond hair still flopped over his forehead. Same handsome face, made noticeable to everyone else by his new body. 

“Come on, there must’ve been at least one girl that made you feel something.” 

Bucky hummed and pretended to think. “There were a couple maybe. Something close. But not quite what I was looking for.” 

“What are you looking for?” 

Bucky tilted his head back and studied the roof of the tent. “Blonde. Tall. Blue eyes.” His nerves buzzed at the boldness of it all. He was shocked by his own brazenness. 

“Careful, sounds like you’re describing Hitler’s dream girl.” 

Bucky barked out a laugh. “It does, doesn’t it? Why are we talking about me? You’re the one in love. You gonna marry her when all this is over?” 

“Maybe,” Steve said sheepishly. “I think I’ll just start with a dance.” 

Because Bucky Barnes had never done anything by halves, he was holding auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream outside the mess hall. Bucky wore a borrowed beret (thanks, Dernier) and held an unlit cigarette between his teeth. Steve grinned when he saw the getup, told Bucky he looked just like the directors that worked on his propaganda films. Gabe and Dum Dum sat beside him to act as judges (because Gabe had good taste and Dum Dum had a mustache. Why did the mustache matter? Authenticity. Shush.) 

“Why Shakespeare?” Dum Dum complained. 

“Because Sarge is cultured,” Jim said. 

“They taught us how to read in Brooklyn. Some of us use it for more than the backs of cereal boxes.” He elbowed Dum Dum in the ribs and he swatted at him.

“Lot of these parts are for women,” Gabe said as he read over the script.  

“Back in Shakespeare's day they didn’t have women on stage. It was improper. So really this is an authentic reproduction,” Bucky said. 

“Why aren’t you Puck?” Steve asked. 

“I’m avoiding the appearance of favoritism,” Bucky said loftily. 

“Only the appearance though, not the favoritism,” Gabe added. “You want to try out? You know the lines.”

“And you’ve got the tights,” Jim teased.

“Well, I’m avoiding the appearance of favoritism, so.” 

“Oh, come on. Everybody already knows you’re Sarge’s favorite,” Gabe said. 

“That so?”  

“I was so goddamned happy when you showed up. Thought Sarge’d finally shut up about you,” Jim said. 

“Oh, did he talk about me?” Steve smiled wickedly.

“It was impossible to shut him up about you!” Dum Dum said. He puts on a mocking tone. “My buddy Steve says this. My buddy Steve does that.” Bucky elbowed him in the ribs again. 

“My buddy Steve’s going to be a famous artist,” Gabe continued. 

“The sun shines out of Steve’s ass,” Jim said. 

“Shut up,” Bucky snapped, face flushing red as his borrowed beret. The men laughed. 

“What, did you miss me or something?” Steve’s eyes sparkled like lights on a Christmas tree. 

“No. And if I said anything about you it’s that you’re a hideous idiot.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that Buck. I’m your faaaaavorite,” Steve drew the word out teasingly. It made Bucky’s stomach swoop anyway. 

“Course, he never mentioned you were Captain America.” 

“Well someone didn’t tell me that, now did he?” 

“Gentlemen.” Carter appeared, face solemn. 

Steve’s face fell. “I’ll be back.” 

Bucky schooled his expression into something carefully neutral. Bucky didn’t watch them go. He turned back to the tryouts and Gabe called the next man up to read for a part. 

“I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.” 

Hitler’s bombers whirred over London as Bucky sat in the dark of a cinder block bunker. He rested his forearms on his knees and listened to the wail of the sirens up above. He tried not to think about the fact he could hear the engines of the planes, the whir of their propellers, the whistle of dropping bombs. He could never hear this well before Azanno. Beside him, Peggy Carter lit up a cigarette. Her face was illuminated by the red glow as she tilted the pack toward him in offering. 

“No thanks. Don’t smoke.” 

She took the pack back, tapped down the remaining cigarettes and put them away. She took a long drag before she spoke. “I apologize about before.”

Bucky stirred, trying to make the concrete floor underneath him more comfortable. It was futile. “I’m sorry too. It was a bad night for me, not that that’s an excuse.” 

“It was… understandable. I considered afterward what it must be like for you. To have him here.” She peered at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you love him?’

“Does it matter? Listen, I’m sorry about before. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just being an asshole.” 

Peggy nodded. “I am glad he has you to look after him.” 

“Someone has to do it.”

Peggy rested her head against the wall of the bunker. “I’d say so. The man would find a way to fight his shoe laces if he was left to his own devices.” 

Bucky laughed, deep and genuine. “Ain’t that the truth? You wouldn’t believe the kind of scrapes I pulled him out of when we were kids. Hell, I had to start boxing at the Y just to keep up.” 

Peggy laughed and it echoed through the shelter. “How did the two of you meet?” 

Bucky smiled fondly at the memory. “It was years ago. I was seven or eight maybe? It was the middle of winter, cold as balls outside, pardon the expression. I’m at home and I’m doing whatever it is you do when you’re seven. And suddenly there’s all this yelling out on the street. And my sister’s sleeping and I’m thinking this is gonna wake her up, right? But it’s New York, I figure it’s some idiot in a scrap and they’ll move along. But it doesn’t stop. 

“So I’m hearing this commotion and I’m thinking somebody’s dying out there. There’s people yelling, there’s a dog barking, it sounds nuts. And so my ma- Pop’s at work right? So it’s just me and Ma and my sister but she was a baby at the time. So Ma grabs my baseball bat. And my ma was a saint but I’m thinking oh god, she’s about to kill these people. So I go to help-” 

Peggy snorted. “You go to help when you think your mother’s about to kill someone with a baseball bat?” 

“Well I was a good son, wasn’t I? So I go to help her but I don’t have anything because she’s got my bat remember? So I go to the kitchen and I grab her rolling pin.” 

“Her rolling pin? So you’re going to beat these people to death with a rolling pin.” 

“Yeah. So I get her rolling pin and I mean it’s solid. It’s wood you know, may as well be a bat. So we go out there.” Bucky laughs at the memory. “We go out there and Ma is in her nightgown and I’m in my pajamas and we’re in such a hurry I don’t even think to put on my boots. So I’m going out in the snow with my slippers on, holding this rolling pin like I’m really gonna do something.

“And we get around the corner and it’s crazy. There’s all these guys yelling and screaming, there’s this dog snapping at people. And in my memory these guys are like eight feet tall. But really they were just kids, twelve or thirteen maybe. But there’s a lot of them and this little dog is hanging off one of their sleeves and they’re all freaking out. And in the middle of it there’s this little blond kid and he’s throwing fucking rocks at these other guys.” 

“Steve,” Peggy said fondly. 

“Yeah, that was Steve! And Steve was always small but he had a good arm, even back then. So he’s nailing these guys. He’s not hitting them in the face or anything but he’s catching them in the ribs and the shins and they’re screaming at him and trying to get him. And one of them must’ve gotten to him because there’s blood pouring out of Steve’s nose. But he’s still chucking rocks and this little dog is terrorizing these guys. 

“So my ma sees this and she marches over and she grabs Steve by the collar and lifts him up and I’m thinking oh, Ma’s gonna kill this guy. And all she says is ‘drop it’ and Steve drops all the rocks he’s still holding and she turns around and points the bat at the rest of them and says ‘get!’ and they scatter like rats. So she sets Steve back down and she asks him what happened. And he, and I swear on my life this is true, he says ‘They were throwing rocks at the dog so I figured I’d see how they like it!’” 

Peggy’s laughter rang around the bunker. 

“Well, come to find out it wasn’t even his dog! Just some stray off the street. So then I’m thinking oh this guy is crazy crazy. So we dragged him and the dog into the house and Ma makes him sit at the table and his nose is still gushing blood. So she’s cleaning the blood off his face and I’m drying off the little dog. And then of course my sister wakes up and she’s crying so Ma has to go check on her and she shoves a handkerchief in my hands and tells me to fill it up with snow and hold it on his nose. And his face looked awful. It was already turning black and blue. So I’m making him hold the ice on his nose and tilt his head back and he looks at me and says, just like this-” Bucky pinched his nose, “Hi by dame id Theben.” 

They both collapsed into peals of laughter. “Took me until the next morning to work out his name was Steve. My ma made him stay the night because his ma was working nights at the hospital and his dad was dead so he was home alone. She gave him a pair of my pajamas and threw couch cushions on the floor and we camped out in the front room.” 

“And the rest is history, eh?” 

Bucky smiled softly in the dark. “Been following him around ever since. You know, everyone looks at him and they see Captain America. Star spangled man, America’s sweetheart, gonna clock Hitler in the jaw and all that. I look at him and all I can see is this skinny little punk that keeps picking fights with people three times his size.” 

Peggy turned quiet, pensive. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. If I could pull him out of this war I would too.” 

Bucky sighed resignedly. “It wasn’t really your fault. When Steve gets an idea in his head good luck trying to stop him. He’s a stubborn bastard. Soon as I got drafted he decided he was coming too.” 

“You were drafted?” She used that same tone of voice that Steve used sometimes, like she was worried Bucky might break. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” 

Peggy lapsed into silence. The sirens wailed up above them. She crushed the stub of her cigarette against the ground. And then, “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be you.” 

Bucky waved her words away. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I got to thinking after our talk, I’ve had him all to myself for twenty years. Who else gets that? Who else gets to love someone like that? And if that’s all I ever get then I’m glad it was with Steve. I want him to be happy. And if he’s happy with you then that’s fine. You’ll settle down and have eight babies-”

“Eight!?”

“-Nine babies after the war. Raise ‘em and love each other and it’ll be good. It’ll be real good, Peg.” 

“And what about you?” 

“Like I said, don’t worry about me. My cup runneth over and all that.” Up above them, the sirens wailed on.  

“Oh thank you, Mr. Captain America, sir. You’re my hero.” Bucky played at being a damsel in distress, held a hand against his chest and spoke in exaggerated fashion. He sighed and flipped imaginary long hair over his shoulder. 

“Cut it out,” Steve said and pushed him in the shoulder. 

Bucky held the back of his hand to his head and sighed dramatically. He fell back into Steve, mock fainting. He batted his eyelashes up at Steve when he caught him in his arms. Steve gave him a stern look and pushed him back upright. 

Bucky grinned. “You guys should’ve seen it. Blushed so bright we could’ve used him as a lantern.” 

“Wish some dame would throw herself into my arms,” Jim grumbled. 

“We need to put a sign on him. Tell all the girls he’s taken.” 

“Yeah. Property of Agent Carter. Closed for business.” The men laughed and Steve flushed bright red. 

“Come on Gabe, show them how it’s done.” The commandos had managed to get a real radio station and it was playing jazz. Bucky spent the last half hour teaching all of them how to swing dance. Gabe really knew what he was doing though, and that was way more fun. The commandos hooted and hollered and they were both breathing hard by the time the song ended. 

“Cap, you’re up,” Gabe said as he sat down. 

“Oh, no. I don’t dance.” Steve was sitting and sketching in his notebook. 

“Like hell you don’t Rogers! That asthma’s no excuse anymore.” 

“Yeah come on Captain, show us some moves,” Jim egged him on. 

“No, I really don’t know how-“

Bucky grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. He tossed Steve’s notebook into his seat. “It’s easy Steve. Plus you got a girl now you gotta show her a good time.” Steve blushed at the whoops and wolf whistles from the commandos at the mention of Peggy. 

“Okay, grab my hands and all you do is step in,” Bucky stepped forward and touched his hip to Steve’s, “then step back. Then same thing on the other side. Yeah, perfect pal. Now if you could relax a little and try to look less like you’ve got a stick up your ass that would be great.” 

“Jerk.” There was no venom in it. Steve’s tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth the same way it did when he focused on a drawing. He watched his feet and tried to copy Bucky. 

“Okay and now I’ll step this way,” he let go of one hand and spun around until his left hip was at Steve’s right. Their arms were crossed over one another. “And now you’re going to grab my leg and flip me.” 

“Flip you!?” 

“Just grab my leg and flip me up over your shoulder.” 

“I can’t-“

“Just do it!” 

Steve obeyed and managed to flip Bucky over his shoulder and back down to the ground. Bucky landed and led him through a final spin. The commandos applauded. Bucky stepped away and took a bow. “See? All you need is practice.” 

“What the fuck! They made me a kid!”

Dum Dum ripped the comic out of his hands and started laughing hysterically. He passed it to Monty who doubled over with the force of his laughter. He wipes a tear from his eye. 

“I can’t believe you get to be some big hero and they made me a stupid kid!” Bucky pointed an accusing finger at Steve. 

“Aw Buck, it’s not so bad.”

“They have me wearing tights, Rogers!” 

“I had to wear ‘em in real life.”

“And you looked good,” Gabe affirmed. 

Bucky shook his head. “Your time as a chorus girl is irrelevant. The point is they turned me into some chump sidekick.”

“Look at this!” Dum Dum cried. “You don’t even get your own motorcycle. You ride in the side car!” 

“Says here you’re from Shelbyville, Indiana, Sarge,” Monty said. 

“Indiana!?” Bucky snarled. “Jesus Christ.” He ripped the comic book out of Gabe’s hands, who was rolling on the ground he was laughing so hard. 

“Hey! Give it back!” 

“No. I’m throwing this in the trash where it belongs. No wait, that’s too good of a death. I’ll shoot it first, then I’ll burn it.” 

“Fame is a fickle mistress,” Dernier said. 

“He’s a real diva. Let fame get to his head.”

“Yeah, when's the movie deal?” 

“You gotta introduce me to Rita Hayworth!” 

Of course Agent Carter chose that moment to walk over, having heard the ruckus. “What's going on men?”

“Oh you’ll have to ask Sarge.”

Bucky pointed at her. “Nothing. Nothing is happening. I’m taking out trash, that’s all.” 

“Ask him about his tights,” Gabe said. 

“Shut the fuck up Jones.” 

“Hey don’t cuss in front of the lady!” 

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Tights?” 

“Did your people have something to do with this? Huh?” He held up the comic and pointed at a panel of his cartoon alter ego. 

“Afraid not. Marketing’s a separate department. I understand they’re quite popular in America. Good for the war effort.” Carter winked at him. 

“Popular,” Bucky groaned. “I’ll never be able to show my face again.” 

Bucky and Steve inclined their heads together to study the map. “Train’s going through Austria.” 

“Best point for an ambush would be here, where it crosses the ravine,” Steve said. 

Bucky traced his finger across the point on the map. “Dangerous.” 

Steve glanced up at him. “Aren’t they all?” 

“He’s right,” Carter interjected. “The ravine is impassable at that point.” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve as if to say see? 

“They won’t suspect it though. If Zola’s using that train for transport we need to know what for.” 

Bucky stared unblinking at the mention of Zola. The awful little man with the round glasses, who rubbed his hands together like a praying mantis. Strapped to a table, veins burning. The screaming-

“Buck?” 

Bucky blinked up at Steve. “When do we leave?” 

Bucky shivered in a corner of his cell as water dripped from his hair and down the back of his neck. He clutched the ruined stump of his left arm. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. They hadn’t let him eat in days. He couldn't remember if he’d slept or not. He kept seeing shadows move in the corner of his eye. The only human contact he’d had was when someone came in to toss a bucket of ice water over his bare skin or scream and kick him to wake him up. 

He flinched when he heard footsteps. Cradled his damaged arm and curled into the fetal position. The cell door screeched open and he braced himself for the cold. Instead, he startled as dry fabric was thrown over him. 

“Vstavat',” the guard said. Bucky sat up and dared to examine the fabric he’d been thrown. It was a pair of rough wool pajamas. The guard shouted another command he didn't understand. He pulled the clothes on as best he could with only one arm. The left sleeve hung loose at his side. His left arm ended in a bloody stump above where his elbow should be. It had been crushed in the fall. The doctors cut off the mangled parts. He’d screamed for hours. 

The guard pointed and gestured for him to walk down the darkened hallway. Bucky struggled to his feet and shuffled forward. He’d lost a lot of blood over the past few days (weeks?) and hadn’t eaten a proper meal in longer than that. His head felt swollen, like it was three sizes too big for his body. He stumbled as he walked. The guard yelled at him, something in Russian, but it hardly registered over the pounding of his heart in his ears. His wet hair dripped down over his face and blurred his vision. He couldn’t stop shivering. 

He tripped on an uneven stone in the floor and fell flat. It jostled his arm and he cried out in pain. The guard didn’t like that. He kicked at Bucky’s stump. Bucky howled. “Na nogi, soldat.” Bucky would have liked to curl up on that cold stone floor and die. But the guard was still yelling and kicking him in the back. Bucky rolled to his knees and heaved himself to his feet. He shuffled forward and tried to imagine he was anywhere else. 

They took him to an office so lavish he believed for a moment that he'd wandered into a dream. He was Alice, toppling headfirst into Wonderland. A huge mahogany desk sat in the center of the office, leather chairs on either side. Two plush red armchairs were situated next to a marble fireplace. And inside, wonder of wonders, a fire roared and snapped. Bucky took a step closer to it. He could feel the warmth on his frozen skin from there. He was so preoccupied with the fire that he didn't register the guard’s command until an open hand hit the side of his head. He stumbled back under the force of the blow but managed to keep his feet. The strike sent his thoughts ricocheting around his skull like billiard balls after a break.

He blinked dumbly at the guard. “Sidet'.” He pointed at one of the leather seats by the desk. Bucky sat in one and turned his face toward the fire. The man behind the desk smiled at him with all his teeth, a Cheshire Cat grin. He said something in Russian that made the guard leave the room. 

“Welcome, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky’s head snapped back to the Cheshire Cat, making him momentarily dizzy. Though heavily accented, this was the first English he’d heard in weeks (months?). “That is your name, correct?” 

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice sounded like the croak of a frog. His throat was raw and swollen. 

The Cheshire Cat was sharply dressed in a black suit and tie. His hair was neatly combed. He pushed a cup and saucer across the desk. “Tea?” Steam rose from the warm liquid. Bucky stared at it and then at the man. “Drink. You must be parched.” The man drank from his own teacup and watched Bucky over the rim of the mug. Bucky did not move. 

“I was alarmed to discover the conditions you are being kept in Sergeant. Your track record is quite impressive. A man with your skill is worthy of our respect.” 

His words hardly registered. Bucky felt hypnotized by the warm room and the man’s deep voice. He stared at the steam rising off the tea. 

“Are you hungry?” The man whistled and the door opened. Another guard appeared with a silver tray and set it on the desk. He left quickly and silently. 

Bucky stared at the tray. There was a bowl of soup and thick bread. His stomach grumbled at the sight. It had been days since he ate. “Go ahead,” the man said.  

Bucky snatched a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth before he even realized he'd done it. Once he started it was impossible to stop. He scarfed down all the bread and then picked up the soup and drank it straight from the bowl. He ate with the urgency of the starving animal he was. When he finished he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked the remainder back up. He licked the bowl for good measure. If the man was disgusted by his actions he didn’t show it. 

“Sergeant Barnes, I believe we can be of use to one another. You see, I don’t believe we are at cross purposes. You want the war to end. I want the war to end. We are on the cusp of doing so. But I find myself in need of information. You are uniquely positioned to provide it.” 

“I don’t know anything.” 

The man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You have family back in America? A wife perhaps?” 

Steve’s frightened face flashed across Bucky’s mind. His blond hair whipped in the wind and the snow was blinding as he fell. He shook his head to clear it. “No.” 

“But you’d like to go home, I imagine. I would like to send you home. Consider the offer, Sergeant Barnes. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help clear your mind.” The man whistled and the door opened again. Another guard, the one that brought the food, entered. The man gave the guard an order in Russian and Bucky took this as his cue to stand. 

He was led to a new cell. This one was dry and had a cot on one wall with a wool blanket. Bucky gratefully fell into the cot and wrapped himself in the blanket. He was dryer now but he didn’t think he'd ever feel warm again. He fell into a dreamless sleep. 

He considered death. If he could get ahold of a rifle or a piece of rope that would do the trick. But he was weak, starved. He’d need to get very lucky to overpower a guard. Might as well try. If something went wrong they would beat him. But they beat him anyway. If it went well he would be dead, by his own hand or another’s. 

He lied in wait by the little hatch in the door of his cell. When the guard came by to deliver food he threw his hand through the door and grabbed the guard’s ankle. They dropped to the ground and a tray went clattering over the stone floor. Bucky yanked and pulled the guard’s leg into the little trap door. He hung on as the guard kicked and tried to escape. He sank his teeth into the calf in front of him and the guard screamed. 

The commotion drew the attention of other guards. He heard the metallic clink of locks opening on his cell. He released the leg as they charged into the room. Three of them, all armed. Perfect. He rushed them, grabbing blindly for their weapons. They hit and kicked but he was determined. He snarled and ripped at their flesh with his mouth like a dog. One of them screamed. He spat out a finger. 

They shouted at him to stand down and threatened to shoot. Good. He launched himself forward and raked his nails across their arms and faces. He was satisfied to feel their blood drip down his fingers and chin. He heard the click of a gun ready to fire. He smiled as everything faded to black. 

They didn’t kill him. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, they threw him into a dark cell. So dark he couldn’t really tell if his eyes were open or closed. It was barely bigger than his body. He couldn’t lay down flat. He couldn’t fully extend his arms. He could curl up into the fetal position or stand. The only sound was his own breathing. He screamed until he couldn't anymore, until his throat was raw. He didn’t know how much time passed. 

He withdrew into himself. In his mind, he walked with Steve through Brooklyn. Not the version of Steve he had now, but a younger one. Steve before he decided to enlist. Steve before they ever had any reason to argue. He let Steve lead him through the streets and down to the pier. They sat at the edge and dangled their feet over the water. It was a warm, muggy summer day, the kind of heat that was good for Steve’s lungs. He studied the curve of Steve’s shoulder as he flung stones across the bay. Even here, Steve had a better arm than Bucky. He sent stones skipping quickly, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 times before they sank. Steve spoke low and soothingly about nothing much at all. Circles expanded across the water from the places the stone touched. Bucky watched them until they widened so much they disappeared. This, he could bear. 

When they pulled him out of the box, they strapped a muzzle to his face like a dog. It was smart. Good strategy. They could probably see by the wild look in his eyes that he would bite them again the moment he got a chance. The guards were careful now. They were never alone when they brought food to his cell. Two, usually. Sometimes three. One always had a rifle. They forced him to kneel in a back corner before they opened the door. He gnashed his teeth and growled at them from behind the mask. When they pulled the mask off he grinned at them like a wild thing, like a wolf, all sharp canines and bloody gums. When he feinted forward he was gratified to see them flinch back. Good. They should be afraid. Eventually they put a needle in his arm. He stopped receiving food. 

The box became their favorite torment, for a while. Every time he went in it was a little harder to come back out. His mind sank like the stones Steve threw, further and further into deep, still water. They wouldn’t let him die. But that didn’t mean he couldn't escape. 

“Well, Sergeant?” 

Bucky glared at the man. He spat out some of the blood filling his mouth. “Three-two-five-five-seven. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant.” 

The Cheshire Cat growled low in his throat. “Fine. Leave him to the doctor.” 

He was strapped to a table in a lab. The praying mantis sneered at him. The lights reflected off his round little glasses until there were only blank white circles where eyes should have been. They put something in his veins that burned like fire.

“Fascinating.” The glasses were round like the circles that expanded from a stone dropped into water. He walked to the pier and sat next to Steve. This time, he was not in the box. 

They threw a newspaper at his feet. “Does it trouble you, Sergeant, to know that your Captain America is dead?” Bucky glared at him and looked down at the newspaper. The headline read CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD: Hero’s Plane Crashes into Arctic Ocean. He recoiled in horror. If Steve was dead… If Steve was dead... His eyes burned with tears. He didn’t know that could still happen. Somewhere, someone was laughing. 

No. Bucky squared his jaw. They had taken everything else. He wouldn’t let them take Steve. He grabbed the paper in his remaining hand and ripped it to shreds with his teeth, until it was nothing more than confetti littering the floor of his cell.   

And then, he made a decision. He curled up into the corner of his cell, pulling his knees to his chest. He thought about stones skipped across water, about a sweltering summer day and a low voice. And then, he went searching. He reached into the deepest parts of his mind, turning over every corner and picking up pieces like fruit at the market. He gathered up everything that was Jimmy, the little boy who dragged strays home and teased his little sister and baked bread with his mother. He collected the pieces of Bucky, the young man who cared about the comings and goings of sparrows and wrote Christmas cards to the neighbors and tinkered with radios and kissed girls at the dance hall on Saturday nights. He rounded up Sergeant Barnes, the soldier who looked out for his men and tried his best to make them laugh and did what he had to do to end the war. He gathered all those memories and tucked them away into a box and hid it away in a vacant corner of his mind. 

And then. 

He followed a familiar route through Brooklyn to a shitty apartment building. He climbed up a fire escape and crawled into an open window. There was a desk there, cluttered with papers, and a small bed, neatly made. He knelt by the bed and pulled out an apple crate. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Steve stood behind him, eyes sad. 

And then. 

And then, worst of all, he took all that was Steve, the skinny little spitfire with a big mouth and a bigger heart. He took the apartment they shared, the little inside jokes, the black eyes and scars and skinned knuckles. He took Steve, with his golden hair and bright blue eyes and crooked nose and sweet smile. He took Steve and cradled him as carefully as he would a baby bird in his palm. He took Steve in his illness and in his newfound health, Steve who’d seen him at his best and his worst, who stuck by him when he had nothing and when he had everything. Steve, who Bucky would love until the day he died. He took Steve and folded him up carefully and wrapped him up in newspaper and packed him safely away into the box, never to be opened again. 

And so, he forgot. All that he is, all that he was, all that he might have been. They beat him, and shocked him, and broke him. Molded him into something new. It didn't matter. Weapons didn’t feel pain. Weapons didn’t feel anything. 

The ground around him was stained red. His hand (was this thing his hand?) dripped with blood. The air smelled like pennies. There were bodies in the snow. He looked up and saw a blond boy beckoning him forward. He felt hands on him. They pulled the gun from his grasp. Touching, touching, everywhere. (When did he get a gun?) They praised him, they berated him, they manhandled him toward a van. The snow didn’t fall on the boy. It melted around him, as though he were warm as the sun. He beckoned again. The Soldier followed.