Why did I think any of this would be a good idea?

Why did I think that, oh, it'll be fine, you'll do random things and then live your sad life. Why would I think that there would even be some sad life to live after all this?

… Maybe, just maybe, had I stayed at home that faithful night and not taken the chance to run into the bustling streets of Brooklyn, then this would've gone differently. Maybe, if I'd stayed at home in my ratty apartment, ceased my wishful thinking that'd get me nowhere like always, continued on with my life and perhaps relented in my naive ideas… maybe then, I would've not been dragged into this mess I currently called my life.

Maybe… maybe if I had thought differently back in the forties, then this entire disaster wouldn't have happened.

I sat at the ledge of the only window in my room when I heard a gentle, recognisable knock on the wooden door. I wasn't bothered to turn around; I already knew who it was, anyway. Only Bucky had a distinct knock like that — one that the two of us had invented for the sake of friendship. Also, I was mostly reluctant to ever let anyone else into my room (I had — definitely still have — unbelievable trust issues with others), but with Bucky, it felt like it was fine. It felt like all my troubles would be okay, and that it was fine for him to see my anguish. He was caring enough to cheer me up like the cheesy bastard he was, anyway.

Quietly, I called, "Come in," knowing Bucky heard me either way because like always, he opened the door a slight bit, whether I let him come in or not. It may or may not have occasionally caused trouble, but it didn't matter that much to me.

The door creaked a bit louder this time, letting me know that Bucky had fully pushed the door open. I didn't bother turning away from my spot at the window, too mesmerised with what was happening outside the window. Outside, where being a bird with feathers that could carry me away, or being a gentle butterfly that would be caressed in the soft breeze of spring… outside, it felt like if I was anything but a human, I'd be better off than I was now.

"Hey, dollface," Bucky casually said, knowing that something was bothering me from the moment I didn't turn around. As often as I had that habit, there was an entire aura around me that gave off that I wasn't content. I didn't bother shooting back a retort to one of my best — and only — friends, knowing that he called almost every girl that breathed and wore a dress 'doll' or 'dollface'. It was just how he was. When I didn't respond, he continued, "Penny for your thoughts?"

I turned my head to respond to him this time, halfway through taking a breath, when I saw what he donned. The breath I'd been trying to catch was knocked out of my lungs and my heart dropped to my shoes. He was… he was wearing—

"'Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th," he commented with a sly grin, tipping his hat at me in a graceful fashion. He chuckled as I stared open-mouthed at him, commenting, "It's a great title, innit?"

I tried my best not to keel over, glad that I was sitting down — if I weren't, I would've fallen to the floor by now, in some state of shellshocked panic that would leave me muttering pleads for him not to leave and drown any hope I had. Because that's how shocked I was. My best friend for… pretty much my entire life was leaving me, most likely never to return. And honestly, that sucked so much that it felt like a hundred blows being delivered to my stomach, ten thousand slaps and fifty kicks to my face all at the same time.

… But maybe… maybe that'd give me a shot at pursuing a small crush I had on a certain other best friend.

(Yes, I realise I'm being unreasonably morbid and the biggest ass in the world by celebrating someone's death through trying to get together with their best friend. I get it, I suck.)

Okay, maybe Bucky was unreasonably handsome, with his rugged looks, baby blue eyes and warm personality. But in theory, so was his best friend, Steve.

Steve, who let himself get beaten up just because he refused to have other women be called disrespectful things on the streets. Steve, who's dealt with social exclusion because of his small body and constant illnesses pretty much his entire life. Steve, who could crack a joke at the worst of times and make random dorks — like Bucky and I — laugh ourselves to tears.

That was the Steve that I had grown to have a small crush on. And no, he might not be that strong, handsome guy his best friend was, but he was genuine, he was good, and he had a kind-hearted personality. Too bad that people constantly oversaw that on him, that people constantly judged others based on looks and riches and how many dates they've had.

Too bad that Steve wasn't more celebrated.

And yes, I'll admit that I'd pondered these things at night more than I actually should, and I couldn't help but slowly fall in love with the short punk that had become one of my best friends. It had been like the little guy from Brooklyn had snuck his way into my heart at the least expected time, stealing it and making it unable for me to give my heart to anyone else. And that was saying something.

… It may also be the reason for my strangely reluctant behaviour to go on a date with anyone, but oh well.

Settling back into reality, I swallowed roughly before plastering a fake smile on my face and hopping off the ledge of the window, feet landing on the ground. "It looks lovely," I commented, a slightly dull pang in my voice. I wondered whether he'd already told the news to Steve and how on Earth the skinny punk would deal with the fact that Bucky was leaving us.

Clenching my hands together to get it together, Dorothy, I inquired, "You tell Steve yet?"

Bucky sighed, lowering his head. I could see the fear imprinted in his eyes, even if he refused to meet mine. I pondered how Bucky would deal with all of this — he was so young to be going to war, it just didn't feel… fair.

The world is never a fair place, Dorothy.

Then, Bucky raised his head again, jaw clenching — a clear sign that he was trying to compose himself before he broke down. "N-no. I was actually planning to find him at the pictures and tell him then."

I nodded wistfully, dragging my palms along the soft fabric of my dress. It was my newest — and currently last — dress I could afford without facing starvation, buying it from the money I'd saved up from helping the old couple upstairs and occasionally giving a hand at the pharmacy down the road.

After a few beats of terse silence, Bucky offered, "You can join me, if you'd like? I was planning to take the two of you and a few dolls out to the Stark Expo, anyway."

I smirked at him, chuckling, "You got a date for Steve?"

"Yes," he replied, without missing a beat. I shook my head, ash blonde hair falling into my face. I brushed it out of the way.

"Like, really a date for Steve?"

Silence. I giggled, shaking my head at Bucky as I walked past him and out the doorway of my room. "You promising that you'll dance with both of them later does not apply as getting Steve a date."

He sighed playfully behind me as I fetched my coat from the hanger and pulled it on, setting a note for later on my counter. Bucky followed me all the way to my door while I jingled my keys in my left hand.

"Let's go," I muttered as I opened the door, the pair of us exiting the apartment before I proceeded to lock the door. For some reason, I had a bad feeling about Steve's state, and I knew something was off when I arrived at the pictures and didn't see Steve at the entrance, just like Bucky said he'd promised to do.

Sudden dread set into my stomach, my grey eyes scanning the premise we were on. Just as I did so, I could hear a yell, and I frantically looked for the source of it. Bucky frowned next to me, then walked just next to theatre, with me following him as a worried frown settled on my face.

Just as he was about the go down the alley, he placed a hand on my shoulder, blue eyes boring into mine as he said, "Wait here for a sec," before turning around and walking down the small road.

I turned around, trying my best not to feel pathetic. How great. Once again, Dorothy can do nothing but watch Bucky and Steve be buddies like the third wheel she was. And honestly, it was true. I was a pain in the butt. An outcast, completely irrelevant to this friendship. Yet I tagged along like the fickle child I was, stubbornly refusing to find someone, anyone that might not be bothered with my presence. Instead, I let myself be consumed by the filthy lie that I was actually wanted by the two boys.

Sighing, I heard a yell from Bucky, "Pick on someone your own size," and couldn't help but fondly smile at the jerk. Somehow, Bucky always had the best sayings, wisest words and heroic deeds of all three of us. He was like… like the brightest star in our little universe, and Steve was the raging fire of a shooting star. Meanwhile, I was the odd comet out, floating with no use and just hoping that someday, someone might help me.

But I was kidding myself. No one will ever help me. I learned so soon enough.

Within seconds, I could hear loud, thumping footsteps stumbling out of the alleyway, a man about six feet tall stumbling past. When he spotted me, he tilted his head to me, glaring at me with a cold frown. Then, he spat at me feet and snapped, "Stupid little b—"

"Get outta here," Bucky called as he strutted towards us, his glare intense and piercing the asshole of a guy. The man straightened, and as he turned away, he gave me one last menacing smirk and mouthed, 'You're next'. A chill ran down my spine at the thought that this guy hit women. Hell, it was bad enough that he dared hit Stevie and stuff— him abusing others in general was a disgusting, vile thought.

God, to think that by now, I was far worse than that one bully Steve had dealt with back then.

Eventually, I turned around to face both Bucky and Steve — the latter of whom was stumbling out of the alleyway with a slightly split lip and a small, proud grin on the doofus' face. Well, if there's one thing that's never changed about Steve, it was that he was always proud to get in a fight.

He grinned at me, his head tilted up a bit (I was taller than him — though only by a tiny bit, I was actually pretty short compared to other girls around me) to look me in the eyes. A small twinkle shone in them, but by the eye contact we exchanged, I could tell his whole world was falling apart by the news Bucky had brought us.

"God, Stevie," I frowned, glaring at his split lip and settling my hands on my hips. "With the amount of times you get your face beaten in, it might be worth buying you a metal skull."

Steve laughed as Bucky commented with a smirk, "Don't think he'd need that, considering the punk's thickheaded as he is." I let out a laugh, agreeing with what Bucky said. Seriously, if there was Steve's stubbornness and a will, there was most definitely a way somewhere. It might also be why Steve's already tried signing up for the army three times.

I usually didn't know what to scold him for first — the fact that he was genuinely volunteering to go die in some foreign country (he'd always tell me, "I'm fighting for the good of our country, Dory," as we'd chuck stones into the lake from the park. "There are men laying down there lives. I might as well do the right thing and die a hero." Too bad he didn't know that he already was a hero to me.), or the fact that if the authorities caught him falsifying and lying on enlistment forms, he'd be toast.

The three of us began walking, and I wished it wasn't Bucky's last night here. I wished that he didn't even have to go to war in the first place. I wished that war didn't even exist and humans would just live their short lives in peace, not stirring up conflict and waving guns and grenades and the like.

But all of that was wishful thinking — pretending that Steve, Bucky and I could live without a war in our lives.

We scuffled the streets of Brooklyn until it was evening, and when we finally arrived where Bucky was leading us all along (the amount of times I had asked, "Are we there yet?" As we were walking might have made Bucky go temporarily insane, but oh well) — the Stark Expo.

The Stark Expo — named after Howard Stark, genius inventor and scientist of our era — was lively and full of new things. Stark Industry had this annual event to show off gizmos and gadgets and the like, each year better than the last. And as little as Bucky admitted it — he was sort of a dork and really enjoyed going here to see all the different inventions.

We entered the grand Expo, the lights illuminating everything in a nice fashion. I peered out towards a large stage — many people seemed to be gathering there. But before we went there, I overheard a snippet of Steve and Bucky's conversation they'd currently been having — it was about Steve being sad that he couldn't go to war, and Bucky countering that he was about the be the last eligible man in New York, with three and a half million women. The thought of Steve going around like that — which I'm pretty sure, to this day, he'd never do — made my heart beat faster and go at a nervous pace.

Then, I heard Steve mumble to Bucky, "What did you tell her about me?"

I tilted my head in their direction, and Bucky merely winked at me in a playful manner before replying to Steve, "Only the good stuff."

And then, Bucky waved to two girls I knew — Connie and Bonnie.

In all honesty, both girls were… okay-ish. Connie was the brunette of the duo, extremely sweet and petite — in a nice way, not like me. If I ever compared myself to her, I felt so inept and stupid, like I was some gangly small skeleton compared to her beautiful physique. She was, however, always nice to me, so I couldn't hold anything against her.

Bonnie was also nice, the blonde of the duo. As nice as she was, she could be rather mean sometimes, and she'd almost always have some remark about me looking like — and I quote — 'I just appeared from ashes'. In my defence, I can't help it if I have ash blonde hair and grey eyes. As much as I liked the both, Bonnie could be a bit… mean.

Which was one reason of why I was afraid of Steve being set up with her.

For starters, she always talked bad about him. How he was so tiny, how no one would ever go out with him — usually whenever I overheard her talking crap like that, I would feel my blood boil and juggle with the option of going over to her and giving her a good smack on the head for talking about Steve like that. Steve was a gentleman, and he didn't deserve to be walked all over by girls like Bonnie.

And then… there was my rather developing crush that I had for him, making me protective of him whenever someone treated him bad. He was also protective — in a platonic way, though, which kinda sucked for me — always being there for me if I got insulted by some ninny or some jerk walking past.

You see, I was born and named Dorothy just because the name was rather nice. My mother died in labor, so my father got to raising me and just named me that in memory of his great-grandmother. But then, the movie The Wizard of Oz came out into the pictures, and that's when the bullying started. People would giggle and snicker at my name, ask me why my hair isn't brown, things like that. I couldn't even wear blue dresses anymore because whenever I did, someone would start singing (off-key) the song 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow'.

This was also a reason why I refused to go out much, knowing that someone would tease my name and I'd fall into a lapse of being picked on. I couldn't do much about it — after all, I'm not just gonna change my name because people are making fun of me about it — so I suffered in silence.

Eventually, Steve had caught wind of the situation, and things escalated. He told the bullies to 'get lost' and took every beat-up he received like a champ. I, in exchange, dealt with his wounds afterwards, took care of him when he was sick, and was there when he needed help with something.

Soon, we walked to the stage, which was radiant and crowded. Bucky and Connie stood at the front, Bonnie stood beside Bucky, and Steve was stuck behind Bonnie. I, on the other hand, let a few people walk in front of me, distancing myself with the small group. After all, I didn't fit in. There wasn't a third gentleman there to take care of me, to give me loving smiles and go dancing with me afterwards. Once again, I was the odd comet out, floating around awkwardly as I tried to find my place in this friendship — and failed again and again.

The show started, and Howard Stark himself stood on stage, smiling at the audience brightly and holding the microphone in his hand. His voice resonated through the speakers as he began, "Ladies and gentlemen, what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won't even have to touch the ground at all."

Following that, the scantily-clad female helpers removed the wheels from the red car set on the stage and carried the tired away. Howard winked at the ladies before turning back to address the audience. "With Stark robotic reversion technology, you'll be able to do just that."

As Howard pressed a button on the stage, I saw Steve staring anywhere but the stage. He was gazing at a poster that encouraged young men to go to war, the longing shining in his baby blues. I almost sighed, being able to practically read Steve's mind and what he really wanted to be doing instead of some double date where his date rejected him, anyways. Then, without another thought, Steve had snuck off, and my mouth dropped open, eyes trailing after him. Good God, he was gonna get himself killed.

I barely registered the hovering car on stage until it dropped down and caused a large thump, snapping my eyes back to the stage. The car was back on the ground, and Howard chuckled nervously before he said, "I, uh, did say a few years, didn't I?"

The audience laughed and I couldn't help but let out a few giggles as well. Then, I heard the muffle of Bucky saying something through the laughter as he turned around, his eyes trailing around before he ceased to talk. His eyebrows furrowed as he seemingly looked for Steve. Yet he didn't even notice me. I tried not to hurt, I swear. I know I was being a whiny child, constantly seeking attention. But hey, everyone has flaws and I happen to have both self-depreciation and attention-seeking on my (long) list of flaws.

Bucky walked off, and I felt an urge to follow him — so I did. Hell, Bucky acted like he had a tracker implanted in Steve (maybe it was just some weird sense that he constantly knew where Steve was at all times? Who knows), so I bet that if I followed Bucky, we'd both eventually stumble upon Steve.

Eventually, we did exactly that, Bucky finding Steve at one of the enlistment booths. Before he could go scold Steve, I rushed to him and stopped him. He glanced at me with slight confusion, and I muttered (with a slightly sad tinge in my voice that I was trying my best to hide), "He's really gonna leave, isn't he?"

Bucky sighed, and I could see the deep pools of regret in his blue eyes. They looked almost like Steve's eyes. "I don't know, Dory," he frowned, taking a quick peek to make sure Steve hadn't run somewhere else. "But I need you to promise me this—"

He turned fully this time, placing both of his hands on my shoulders. His expression was solemn, and it was nothing like cheerful Bucky that I usually knew. He then said with a soft voice, "Take care of him when I can't. As reckless as Steve is, sometimes he's weaker than he lets on. Be the strong support for him. Go around town with him. No idiot wants to hit a guy when he's with a lady, so if you're with him, he'll be fine. Please… Be strong w-when the punk can't put up a charade."

I almost felt tears prickle my eyes, and I blinked them out of my stormy-grey orbs, not daring to shed a tear right now. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded and gave Bucky a hug, whispering so he could hear, "You take care too, you big jerk."

We hugged for a while before I let him go, and he tipped his hat at me as he said, "You know it, Dory."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Bucky, but I waved him goodbye anyway. Bucky made his way to the booth where Steve was, and I couldn't help but sneak a glance at Steve. His usually-light eyes looked a bit sad now, like he wanted to do something for his country but couldn't. The thought made me sad — he would rather do something that thousands — hell, millions — of people could adore him for by sacrificing his life than to stay, have new opportunities, and maybe…

Maybe be with me.

And yes, like I said, I'm a selfish butthead and I should be whacked upside the head for thinking about possible (unlikely) love sprouting between me and Steve. But to hell with it. To hell with my entire sucky life which ended when I didn't have a mother, my father dying when I was sixteen, me constantly being teased for my curse of a name, me having unreachable crushes, stupid dreams, wishful thoughts… to hell with all of it.

Suddenly, I felt some sort of sick, angry fizz in my veins, like I was a storm that was about to start and create a wrath of nature. It felt terrifying, yet energising. And maybe it was just my impulses back then, but I turned around and ran.

I ran just as the rain started falling, small droplets falling on my fair skin. Just as a new, jazzy song began playing in the distance, the tune making my head spin. Just as I felt tears blur my eyes as I began running down the half-empty — yet still full — streets of Brooklyn, waves of anguish beating at my heart as I couldn't help but feel pain for my selfish, selfish life. It was like someone hollowing me out, like all my emotions were being torn out of my body. I don't even know whether it was painful to have all this happen or relieving that I could no longer feel pain for this pathetic world.

And just as I heard the crash of a cymbal, someone knocked me into an alleyway with an incredible force, my body flying—

And then crashing. My hands hurt, my side hurt. My beautiful white dress with black polka dots that had taken so long to save up for was ruined, small splotches of dirty water visible on it. Tears ran down my cheeks in renewed pain, this time physical.

The street lamp above me flickered. I heard slow, calculated footsteps from my right, though my curtain of hair obscured my view. Then, the walking stopped and I sensed someone right by my side, standing and doing nothing as I half-laid on the ground in slight pain and confusion.

And the last thing I properly felt was something blunt hitting the side of my head, knocking me into an abyss of darkness and making me disappear from the streets of Brooklyn.