Steve was 10 when his words showed up. It happened in the middle of the night. The pain was sharp and sudden, over before he had finished sitting up in bed. All that lingered was a tender warmth over his ribs. Steve spread his fingers out over the bony ridges of his ribcage and felt his breath rattle around in his weak lungs. Slowly he trailed his hand down to pull at the hem of his thin shirt, lifting the fabric up until the words slipped into view.

"Are you fucking insane?!"

Well. Steve felt heat rise to his cheeks. All he could think was, I can't believe I have a swear on me.

He didn't sleep well that night.

In the morning when he'd shown the mark to his mother she'd slapped her hand over his eyes, as if doing so could somehow keep him from seeing a word that was now forever on his skin.

He knew how this was supposed to go. Everyone grew up hearing about soul mates, but Steve knew the stories didn't always turn out happy. His father was always drinking, and he made Steve's mother cry all the time. Steve wasn't allowed to ask about his father's words, but that didn't stop him much. It shouldn't be such a big deal, he reasoned. His mother had shown him her words the first time she explained soul mates to him. Her smile had been blinding as she rolled up her sleeve and showed him the familiar cramped slopes of his father's writing:

"Joseph Rogers, but call me Joe."

So Steve kept asking. And asking. Always asking. Until one night his father had enough. He'd thrown an empty bottle against the wall and stormed out of the house, but not before shoving Steve against the wall.

"Steve, come here." His mother was standing in front of him. She reached down to lift him off the floor. He staggered to his feet, head swimming, and realized he didn't even remember falling. "I need to let you know something. Your father…he doesn't have any words."

"But…you're married." He fought to keep his voice even. "And you have words."

"I know sweetie." His mother reached out to cup his face. Her thumb cleared the tears from his cheeks. He hadn't realized he'd started to cry. "Not everyone gets a soul mate."

"But…you have a soul mate. You told me dad was your soul mate!"

"He is." Steve's mother pulled him into a tight hug. "But I'm not his."

Steve didn't mention his words to anyone after that night.

He should have known better than to wear his nice clothes down to the theater. But movies were special, so he liked to show them proper amount of respect. It took him weeks to save up enough money for a ticket, but he'd pay any price to escape the streets of Hell's Kitchen and feel far away from the problems facing him at home.

So here he was, getting into it with another bully in the alleyway behind the theater. He'd noticed this pill chatting up a girl on his way out, but the way he crowded into her space made him hesitate. Then he saw her try and push the greaseball away and before he knew it he had spun the guy around and shoved him away from the girl. She'd cast him a worried glance before running off. Everyone always looked at him like that when they saw him pick a fight.

After getting a few solid hits in the face even Steve had to admit that they were right to worry. He felt blood drip down from his lip onto the collar of his shirt. Yeah…his mom was not going to be happy. He knew she was tired of fighting to get the blood stains out of his good shirts.

One of his eyes was already swollen shut, and the force of that last punch had left a ringing in his ears, so he felt the other boy get thrown from him more than he saw it happen. Steve heard punches landing hard against bone, feet running away, and then a warm hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Are you fucking insane?!"

Steve's good eye opened wide. In front of him stood a tall gangly fella about his age. He looked messed up too, but Steve knew he looked much worse.

Of course, this is how his soul mate would see him for the first time, bloody from losing a fight and on the verge of having an asthma attack.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" The stranger gave him an appraising look before shaking his head and laughing. The sound made Steve blush.

"I don't like bullies." He watched the man's face carefully, but nothing seemed to change. "I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Rodgers."

"Call me Bucky."

Steve nodded and looked away from Bucky's face. He couldn't process everything that had just happened. Bucky had said the words. His words. He blushed brighter and felt his stomach drop at the thought. His soul mate was a man. But then why hadn't—

"Hey Steve, ya comin?" Bucky was already out of the alley. Steve sprinted forward to join up with him and pushed his worried thoughts to the back of his mind. He'd found his soul mate and that thought alone was enough to warm him inside and out.

Steve was pretty sure Bucky didn't have words. He had never actually asked to see them—that was impolite. They were personal. He'd heard plenty of stories of people refusing to let anyone see the words before they found their soul mate. Steve thought that was a little impractical, but he did see the merit. He needed to keep Bucky from seeing them for as long as possible. Forever, hopefully.

But that was getting to be a lot harder now and days. They were inseparable. Ever since his mom died Bucky had taken on the role of mother hen. Not that Steve needed it. He had a job, and his own place, and on a good week he could scrounge up the dough to buy enough groceries to get him through till his next pay day.

But, more often than not, Bucky would barge in with what Steve suspected where his only groceries and insist that Steve cook dinner. He said it was because Steve was the better cook, but he'd burnt one to many slices of bread to believe that story for a minute.

If he wasn't at Steve's house, Bucky was out dancing. He loved the game of winning dames over and winding them up. The girls never lingered too long, they knew Bucky wasn't it for them, but Bucky always seemed to have a story to tell that would make Steve blush up to his ears as it broke another small piece off his heart.

But that wasn't the reason Steve thought Bucky didn't have words. He wasn't vain enough to think that Bucky didn't have someone else out there just because Bucky was the one for him. Steve knew Bucky didn't have words because of the way he never talked about soul mates at all. The only time they'd ever spoken about it was when a first meeting happened right in front of their face.

A woman had been about to cross the street when a car came barreling around a corner. A man walking past shot out his hand and pulled her back to safety, but the motion caused them both to hit the pavement hard. Bucky and Steve ran across the road to offer their help, but stopped short when the woman began to yell.

"Hey mister, you just ruined my dress!" The man shot her a glare.

"A thank you would have been nice. I did just save your life."

They froze, practically in sync, before the woman's shoulders began to shake. The man pulled her in close, checking her face for tears, but she was shaking with barely restrained laughter that broke loose as soon as he tipped up her face.

"Oh geez." The man tucked her head into the crook of his neck and began laughing too.

Bucky rolled his eyes and began walking back the way they came.

"Aw, Buck, c'mon. That was sweet!" Steve fell into step beside his friend and grinned up at him.

"Honestly I just feel sorry for the guy." Bucky shrugged. "She seemed pretty stuck up. All she cared about was the dress."

"Really Buck? They just found out that they're soul mates! Aren't you a little happy for them?"

Bucky just shrugged.

"Hey Steve, how do you feel about taking some girls dancing?"

And Steve's heart broke again.

When the war comes Bucky leaves. For weeks they had waited for his number to come up. Bucky spent his time with a different gal every few days. Steve spent his time at a different enlistment building every just as often. But in the end Bucky left, and Steve felt a phantom pain emanating from the letters on his chest.

The words are the only thing about him that stay the same after the Super Soldier Serum. His life as Captain America moves so fast that he sometimes forgets that the words are there at all. But when he hears that Bucky is dead or worse he feels like the words are a fresh brand on his skin.

He fights hard to get to Bucky. The words that he has spent so long ignoring bounce around in his head as he trudges though enemy territory in search of a base he isn't sure is there. But he knows Bucky is alive. If he was dead Steve would know.

Once he makes it onto the base Steve feels small again, like that sickly kid from Brooklyn who stood in an alley and told punks to back off. But the men of the 107th need him to beat down the bully, so he fights.

The lab terrifies Steve. Sinister instruments glimmer in the dim lighting. And then he hears the soft heaves of pained breathing and he can taste the acrid fear in his mouth as he calls out.

"Buck? Bucky?"

He hears another noise and runs forward.

His soulmate is splayed out on a gurney. His chest is laid bare, torso covered in bruises, but nothing is bleeding or broken. Steve nearly sobs with relief.

"Buck! God, we've got to get you out of here." Steve steps forward to grab his friend and suddenly he sees a familiar looping script on Bucky's chest.

I don't like bullies.