Hey! This is my first time I'm writing an avengers fic so I hope this doesn't suck. I've written a Harry Potter fanfic before but this is new. I see a LOT of opportunity in this idea of Teen avengers. I know, I know, you've heard it before, but this is (hopefully) going to be different. I'm probably going to have really long chapters that explain the characters and every so often jump to the present on a normal day for the Avengers. Wow that was confusing…but… You'll figure it out. Thanks for reading this! Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I do, I do not own any of Marvel's characters

Steven Grant Rogers

Captain America

Year: 1943

Age: 13

Steve turned, in an attempt to dodge a shove from his attacker, but the hands collided with his right shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He jumped up again, keeping his guard up. He curled his small hand into a fist and with all of the force he could manage, swung. To his satisfaction, he felt the punch connect to the jaw of the bully. It didn't do too much damage, as the boy rebounded and grabbed Steve by the waist and threw him to the ground. Groaning with pain, Steve took a deep breath. Unfortunately, the ground was littered with dust, dirt, and old cigars. He gasped and clutched his chest. Black specks formed in his eyes as the small boy wheezed. The bully took his opponents weakness as an opportunity, and delivered several,hard, merciless kicks to Steve's side. He knew this was not good. The kicks had knocked what little air that was left in his lungs out, and Steve's asthma was slowly killing him, his throat choking himself as he tried his hardest to breath. The bully laughed deeply and pushed Steve to the side, while planting a foot on his chest.

"You dumbass!" He said with a glint of evil in his eyes. "Did you really think that you could fight me?!" He pushed down harder on Steve's chest. He was slowly losing consciousness, but still fighting, because deep down Steve had a feeling if he passed out, he wouldn't wake up again.

"I can- d-do this all d-ay" Steve choked out, but then immediately regretted it, as the bully picked up his foot and stomped hard down again on his lungs. This is it. He thought. This is how I'm going to die. I might as well accept it. Steve stopped trying to fight the darkness crowding his eyes and mind. Letting go wasn't as hard as he thought it was. In his last seconds of consciousness, he felt the foot on his chest step hard one last time, then get taken away right after. A voice was yelling, Steve could hear it. Maybe I'm already dead. But no, he couldn't be. The pain in his lungs was still present and burning, but someone was shaking him vigorously. The same voice was shouting, very loud, but was so far away and fuzzy the voice just buzzed inside of Steve's head, along with a pounding of a frail heartbeat. He was starting to hear the voice clearer. It was telling him to open his eyes. I don't want to open my thought. If he opened his eyes he would see the bully hurting him, killing him. Yet, he felt obliged to listen to the voice, and opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, but he could make out a figure leaning over him. He sincerely hoped it wasn't the bully, waiting with the murderous glance in his eyes. But he could tell it wasn't him. As the world came into more focus, Steve knew it was the bully. It was an angel, a brown haired angel. He had died and went to heaven and now was seeing an angel. But no, it couldn't be. Steve shook his head slightly and closed his eyes again. The angel was shaking him now and screaming. This is an awfully angry angel he thought. The voice was back again, calling to him, "Punk, you better not give up on me" This is no angel, thought Steve.

"Bucky," Steve wheezed out before passing out.

Steve was awoken by a cold breeze. He opened his eyes and squinted at the sun, which was shining into the room through a crack in the window. A radio hummed a pleasant song in the corner. The honking of cars and talking of pedestrians filled the streets. Steve attempted to sit up, but groaned loudly and failed.

"You're awake!" Bucky called. He had large purple bags under his eyes, and ran up to Steve.

"What happened?" Steve had only remembered passing out and a pounding in his head.

"You were an IDIOT and tried to fight a guy THREE TIMES YOUR SIZE!" Bucky's face was glowing red with anger, and he gritted his teeth.

In a sudden rush, Steve remembered all that had happened. "I had to fight the guy. He tried to steal from a 5th graders lunch," Steve went red with embarrassment when he remembered he thought that Bucky was an angel. You aren't allowed to think that Steve. He told himself. You can't see him as an angel. That isn't allowed. That isn't right.

Bucky stood up from the chair he pulled over. "Jesus Christ Steve," he ran a hand through his messy hair and took a few steps away, thinking, then returned. "You can't help but help, can you?" He smirked and sat back down.

"Nope" Steve replied.

"Punk"

"Jerk"

"You feel up to eating anything?" Bucky asked as the smell of boiled chicken Sarah Rogers had prepared wafted up.

"Nah, I'm probably just going to sleep,"

"Alright," Bucky traveled to the kitchen and put a chunk of the small chicken on a plate and set it by Steve's bed. He needed to eat, he was already stick-thin.

Wow. I did not intend at first for this to be so deep. Anyways, hope you enjoyed. The next chapter should be more explaining, I just wanted to explain Steve and Bucky's relationship. Please comment if you liked this or not, I could use all the help I can get. I would also recommend to favorite this story as it will probably end up being hella long. Peace.