Chapter One

Young Steve Rogers gasped as a fist met his stomach again. His small, weak form couldn't take much more as an angry voice demanded he try to run. "Get up, Rogers!" It screamed. "Run away! I dare you!"

Steve tried to get his feet under him to stand but was immediately pushed back down and kicked in the ribs. Something cracked. He quickly looked around for something to protect himself with. The alley between Joe's Diner and the park bathrooms wasn't exactly filled with shields but he managed to grasp the lid of a trash can as he was thrown into it. Holding the lid in front of him like a shield, Steve stood up and faced the angry man above him. All because Steve had told him off in the club for criticizing a crippled soldier, the man (Andrew "Andy" Smith) had quite formally told Steve where he could place his foot and threatened to help him get it there.

Steve's arms were getting tired of holding the 'shield' up and anticipating Andy's moves and he could feel his side and stomach bruising from where he had been kicked and punched. Throughout all of this, never did he fight back, using the lid only to protect himself. He lifted the 'shield' to block a blow to his head and it dented, rendering it useless. Steve tossed it to the side, afraid but refusing to show it. For the first time in Steve's life, he pended running away from a fight.

Andy brought his foot up to hook the backs of Steve's knees and he fell to the ground, huffing and puffing. This fight was NOT good on his asthma. He rolled to the side when Andy tried to step on him, and his foot landed right where Steve's ribcage had been a split second ago. He hurried to his feet and realized in horror that he was backed into a corner of the alley. Andy grabbed the front of his short and raised his fist to hit Steve across the face a few times. 'That'll be a nasty concussion tomorrow' Steve thought. Andy shoved him against the wall of the diner and his head hit the brick. 'If I live until tomorrow.'

As his vision began narrowing, Andy pulled his arm back to prepare for another hit, but something caught his elbow, spun him around and socked him across the face. Andy gasped and someone said "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Steve could just pick out a figure about the same height as Andy drawing back a fist and punching him in the gut. Andy swung a few weak punches at the man but to little avail. He was nothing without his height advantage, just a big coward. Andy managed to get one good hit on the figure in the side of the head and Steve could see the outline of blood spattering the sides of the alley against the light of the lamp posts in the street. The man let out a gasp and raised a hand to the wound, pulling it back and finding blood. Angry now, he kicked the backs of Andy's knees so he buckled to the ground and kicked him in the head. Andy ran from the alley fast as lightning.

Steve thought he heard a voice called quietly to him, almost like it was far away. "Steve? Steve! Stay with me buddy. You're fine, you've seen worse. Steve? Can you hear me?" Steve raised his eyebrows weakly to acknowledge the presence of his savior. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew who it was. James Buchanan Barnes was here, as usual when he got in fights.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah, Steve. It's me. It's Bucky. C'mon, stand up now. How hurt are you?"

Bucky grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him to his feet. Steve opened his eyes and took in the sight of the alley, stained with his blood, both fresh and old from previous battles. He sighed, vision clearing already, and looked over at Bucky, knowing what was coming. Once Bucky made sure Steve was okay, the next step was always a lecture. A big long chat about how stupid Steve was for doing what he does.

"Jesus Christ, Steve!" Bucky began, touching two of his fingers to his left temple and swearing at the blood left on his hand. Steve winced, he never wanted Bucky to get hurt. "I swear you want to get beat up! What was it this time?" Steve shrugged.

"He was insulting someone. A soldier in a wheelchair. I couldn't just stand by-"

"Of course you couldn't." Bucky took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and holding it over Steve's lip, which was split and bleeding. Steve straightened up, almost completely forgetting he was injured at all.

"You should...clean yourself up too." He rasped. Funny how he sounded so much worse than he felt.

"I'll be fine, unless that punk brings friends back. We'd better make like your lip and split." Steve laughed at the feeble attempt at humor and accepted when Bucky guided his arm over his shoulder for support. The two began the long walk home. Steve was not looking forward to it.

"It sure took a while to find you." Bucky started his lecture again. "I checked all of the usual spots. The alley by the bank, the parking lot, behind the diner..." Bucky sighed, looking away towards the area Andy ran off to. "It's sad, you know that? It's awful that I know every single place you've been beaten up, every place..." His voice faltered. Steve blinked in surprise. He was used to lectures, but...was Bucky crying? No. Bucky was too strong to cry. His eyes reflected the fire raging inside of him, the anger of coming home from work every day not knowing what condition Steve will be in, dead or alive. Bucky took a deep breath and continued.

"...every place I've spilled blood because of you not being able to shut your damn mouth!" His voice grew with intensity as he stopped walking and turned to face Steve, eyes burning.

"I've hurt people, Steve."

Steve looked down at the ground, ashamed for the first time at getting hurt for someone else's well being. He thought he was being noble. That was all Steve wanted, after all. He wasn't allowed to the army, all he wanted was to feel like he was doing something good, even if it meant self sacrifice.

"You're killing me Steve! You're absolutely killing me! Time after time I cover for you, I defend you, I take the blame for you! Why do you always make me clean up your messes?"

Steve opened his mouth and Bucky snapped at him. Good thing, too. Steve didn't even know what he was going to say. Would he apologize? Retaliate? Defend himself? He closed his mouth as quickly as it had opened.

"Shut your damn mouth Rogers! Don't you dare think yourself noble enough to feel guilt! You talk of self sacrifice and doing what's right. You provoke people and get yourself beat up for it. I'm the fucking soldier who fixes the messes you create by throwing myself into the action and getting myself nearly killed. Which one of us know more about 'self sacrifice'?"

Steve was speechless. Bucky lectured him after every fight, but he had never really taken him that seriously. All he heard was "Stop getting in fights, you'll get hurt," not "Stop getting into messes you can't get out of, I'll get hurt." NEVER "You're killing me." Why was Bucky so emotional all of a sudden?

"Steve...I'm sorry." Steve was surprised as he looked at his friend, almost alarmed to see the faint track of tears reflecting lamp light off of his cheekbones. What on earth did Bucky have to be sorry for?

"It's just...buddy, I'm going off to war soon. War. I'm already waiting for orders. Steve, you can't...I need to know that you can survive without me here to put you back together. You can't be picking fights if I'm not here. C'mon, Steve. Do it for me."

Steve shook his head. "No, no Bucky I'm coming with you. I'm going to war too."

Bucky cut him off. "No, Steve, you can't go to war."

"But-"

"Asthma, scarlet fever, sinusitis, chronic or frequent colds, high blood pressure, palpitation or pounding in heart, easy fatigability, heart trouble..." Bucky closed his eyes and recited Steve's list of conditions, diseases and anything that would stop him from socking Hitler in the jaw. "...nervous trouble of any sort, has had household contact with tuberculosis, parent/sibling with diabetes, cancer..."

Steve blinked. "You...you know all of that?"

"With how much I've taken you to the ER? I kind of have to. I've recited it to countless doctors, Steve, who else is going to do that for you?"

Steve stared down at the ground, his light brown shoes contrasting against against the black asphalt. The question burned into his mind. What on earth would he do without Bucky? He'd probably be dead, either from too much beatings or his own hands. James Buchanan Barnes was all he had.

"Just promise me one thing." Steve looked up, meeting the startling blue eyes staring back at him, sharp as daggers. 'Bucky was being dead serious,' Steve thought. 'That's never good.'

"Promise not to pick any more fights. I won't be able to get you out of them anymore."

With a sigh, Steve nodded. Little did Bucky know he wouldn't have to worry about Steve in the army because he was going to enlist too, even if it took fake forms, fake locations, and a miracle. Then Bucky wouldn't have to watch over him all the time (which he would admit was kind of embarrassing) or get hurt trying to defend him.

The pair began walking again, Steve leaning heavily on Bucky, and they both wondered the same thought, with different meanings.

"How is he ever gonna survive out there?"