Winter of Grace

All characters belong to Marvel Comics

(Edited by LeDbrite)

It was snowing down hard over the empty streets of Brooklyn. The sky was painted with wisps of lavender and crisp blue as streaks of light faded in the entanglement of heavy clouds. Steve climbed out the wooden steps, feeling the unease of the support beams jostle against his shoes. He ignored the faces of his neighbors; mostly factory workers and unsavory dames clung to the security of their ramshackle apartments. Coughing out a harsh breath that seemed to scrape against his filled lungs, he wheezed out his insignificance, and paused at the last step. His crystal blue eyes blurred as wetness rolled down his thinned and pallid features. It hurt to breath in the frigid air; it always felt like knives slicing into his ribs. But he never allowed aliment to become his defeat. He pushed his limits and dragged his small form to the wrecked and creaky hinged door of Bucky's apartment.

Before he could even pull over his glove hands to knock, the door swung open, and there, standing in the darkness with glass bottle of gin clutched in his hand, was a dozy James Barnes yawning with a cocky smirk playing on his broad face. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes..." He said, looming in the doorway, looking down at his small friend. He rubbed his palm over his forehead, and groaned. "Where have you been?" he asked gruffly; grinning and taking another swig as he sagged casually against the door. He was clearly drunk.

"I was just visiting dad in the graveyard." Steve answered, honesty laced in his voice. His frail body shivered against the updrafts of cold. "The snow piles up too quickly there. I almost got lost."

"Do you want to come in?" Bucky offered, his light blue eyes still dazed, but his smile was welcoming. He was unbothered by the bite of cold passing through his bones. "I haven't stocked up that much...But I've got something...I think oatmeal, in the cupboards to eat."

Steve's own blue eyes locked onto him, and then he smiled sheepishly. "I'm not hungry. I would like to spend the evening with you, Buck," he coughed once more, before looking down at his hands, just to make sure there was no blood dripping over his knuckles. He flushed in embarrassment, protesting, and blanching away from the dark haired adolescent staring down at him with hurt into his intense blue eyes.

"You alright there, little guy, " Bucky whispered, trying to mask his own concern for his friend's welfare. The disease that had invaded the Roger's home was killing Steve's mother, she had TB and he was getting weaker each day because of his own damaged immune system. Fear dominated his thoughts, as he listened to his friend's hacking coughs. "Steve, are you feeling alright, pal?" he drawled.

Steve turned around, his face-hardened. "I'm fine, Buck." he returned, with a bite of bitterness in his voice. He moved away, feeling utterly pathetic. "You think I don't know how to handle my own life, Buck?" Steve asked, frustration rising in his voice. He leaned against the scuffed up railing, strong and unyielding to his own pain. He refused to give into normal life around him. He knew deep inside he was meant for something greater. His full lips curved on his thinned face, showing the definition of bone underneath pale flesh. His blue eyes focused on his best friend—James Barnes towering over him, almost protecting, he brushed the cowlick off his forehead. "I want to be better than this…"

Bucky narrowed his eyes, almost half-closed and shook his head, "Steve how many times are you going to say this…" He blew out his own frustration, and placed the bottle on the ledge. "You don't think I know how you feel…Well, I do, and that's why I've stuck with you all these years… To make sure you don't end up doing something stupid."

"Stupid, huh," Steve echoed, back clenching whatever shape of jaw he had. His eyebrows creased as he gave a hard look at Bucky. "Look at what you've got, Buck. You can dance with any dame, without breaking a sweat… Without forcing a breath." He said, bitterness slipped out of his firm lips. "We've got nothing… Just the clothes on my back and drawings…" He lowered his head down, clenching his fists. "Dumb drawings of other people's dreams…"

Bucky curled his full lips, his steel azure eyes catching the gleams of sunlight, as he stared down at his despondent friend. "You're drawings aren't stupid, punk. They're some of the best I've seen in Brooklyn. You know why, because you put your damn little heart into them… Like everything else." He paused, looking down at the snow collecting on the stairs. He suddenly felt empty.

"You think I'm a big shot just because I know how to dance… You think I've got everything. Well, I don't. I got an empty wallet and an empty hand." He flicked his eyes back to Steve, "Those things I live without, because I've got something most men don't have…" He extended out his hand placed in gently on Steve's bony shoulder, "I've got a friend. And that's all I need." He smiled.

Steve face became sullen as he felt the warmth of Bucky's hand press against his collarbone. He took a moment, just a moment to recollect himself, as his eyes stung with a fresh wash of tears. He tried to put on his brave face, but he know Bucky didn't care if he was a coward, weak and afraid…He knew that his best friend accepted him because they were both good young men who had lost everything —their fathers, homes and wealth. They never lost their bond. It was unbreakable. "You're all I need too, j***," he finally said, his voice deeper and mature. Stronger. "I'm afraid that we won't make it… Is it okay to be afraid, Buck?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, with a bright, warm and brotherly smile. "It's okay to be afraid, Stevie. It doesn't make you weak...It makes you stronger. Pretend fear is a bully in the alley, face it and put it on the ropes." He mashed his teeth into his lip. "Remember no matter what I've always got your back."

Steve nodded at his friend's words, narrowing his eyes, before he looked up, smiling at Bucky. He didn't say anything, but he already knew that Bucky's big and dumb heart listened.

Even though he had nothing in his pockets and hardly food in his stomach…He had James Buchanan Barnes.

Then, Steve saw the same nurse who looked after his mother; she was walking closer to the stairwell. He felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

Tears welled into his eyes, as he tore away and slumped into a corner, tucking his knees to his narrow chest, and unleashing his pain. His mother was gone.

He was alone.

Bucky bit his lip, and looked down at his friend with soulful blue eyes, he crouched down. "Come here, Stevie," he said, as he tentatively pulled Steve close to him, and wrapped his protective arms over his frozen body, shielding him from the cold. "It's going to be okay," he said with a gentle brush of Irish escaping from his lips. "You've got me. We're brothers. Always will be, right? Remember what I promised you when we first met in the schoolyard? We are soldiers just like your old man and mine. I will follow you until the end of the line, punk."

Steve didn't answer. He cried against Bucky's chest. "Don't leave me, James Barnes. You hear me, jerk, don't ever leave me," he sobbed.

"I won't," Bucky whispered, stroking his friend's back with a comforting touch of his hand, and he breathed deeply. "I'm always going to be right here." He promised, closing his eyes, and then lifted up Steve's disheveled form, gently in the nest of his arms, carrying him out of the cold, as he nodded to the nurse before entering back into the warmth of the apartment.

Their home.