1. The New Kid

Steve Rogers' heart fluttered in his chest as he followed the teacher down the corridor. His sweaty hands clasped his brown paper lunch bag firmly; it stopped them from shaking. First day of a new school was always like this, and Brooklyn Elementary School would be his third school in as many years. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe he'd make lots of friends here. Maybe he'd find kids he could relate to. Maybe he'd even be popular.

And pigs might fly, he told himself. His Uncle Gerald's favourite saying. He came out with it whenever Steve insisted he was gonna grow up to be a soldier in the army, just like his dad. One day, Steve was gonna show Uncle Gerald them flying pigs. Mom said Steve's dad had been the same, at Steve's age. He'd been all skin and bones, then had a growth spurt in his teens. Steve couldn't wait to reach his teens and get his growth spurt.

The teacher turned her head to look down at him. The smile she offered seemed encouraging; did she see how terrified he was? Did she read the open book of fear in his eyes, and see his hands shaking despite the paper bag he clutched?

"I think you're going to like it here, Steven," she said.

Steve merely nodded. She'd introduced herself as Mrs. Montgomery, then asked where his mom was. But Steve had learnt from his past mistakes. Last time he had first day at a new school, his mom insisted on coming with him, which had earned him the moniker 'mommy's boy.' This time, he'd convinced her to let him get off the streetcar alone, at the stop around the corner from the school. Looking back to wave goodbye, he'd felt a stab of guilt in his stomach over the concern in her eyes… but it was better this way. Today he'd walked into the playground alone, with his head held high. He would not be 'mommy's boy' anymore.

A dozen butterflies flapped around inside his chest, and he took several deep breaths. It had been weeks since his last asthma attack, but anxiety was the most common trigger. Today, he had a lot to be anxious about. In mere moments, he'd be up in front of his new classmates. Possibly making new friends. Probably getting new nicknames.

Positive thinking, Steve! the memory of his mom's words echoed around his head. You're going to have a great day at school. I can feel it in my toes.

The scent of disinfectant assaulted his nose. Schools always smelt the same. That was one thing that never changed, and Steve hated it. Two schools ago, one of the meaner kids had found the janitor's mop and bucket, and had upended the dirty water over Steve's head. Steve had smelt like disinfectant for the rest of the day, and the new clothes his mom had bought him had been ruined.

One day, pigs would fly, and then nobody would pour dirty water over his head ever again.

"Here we are," Mrs. Montgomery said, halting outside a classroom with the alphanumeric 4E emblazoned on the frosted glass window. "Are you ready?"

Steve nodded, and the teacher opened the door. He took a deep breath… and sneezed loudly several times as the smell of disinfectant tickled his sinuses. Even as Mrs Montgomery was beckoning him into the room, he was reaching into his pocket for his oft-used handkerchief.

o - o - o - o - o

Bucky Barnes laughed as his paper airplane sailed over the heads of a half-dozen fourth-years, on course for Davey Tarbuck's waiting hands. Two girls shrieked as they ducked the plane that was way above their heads, and Bucky rolled his eyes; girls were dead soft about stuff like that. Most of them were no fun at all.

A meaty fist suddenly sprang up to pluck the plane from the air, crushing its paper wings between fingers. "Oops, looks like I broke your plane, Barnes," sneered Danny Cavanagh. He held the damaged plane above Davey's head. "C'mon, Fatty Tarbuck—let's see how high you can jump!"

Bucky pushed himself to his feet, his chair scraping along the floor behind him as he stood. "Give it back, Cavanagh!"

"Give it back, Cavanagh,'" the other boy mocked. "Maybe I will, when Fatty tries to jump for it. Entertainment for the whole class."

A scowl stole across Bucky's face. A few students, who thought there might be some entertainment in seeing Davey Tarbuck try to jump, tuned in to the conflict. Most of the class ignored it, and carried on talking.

"Give it back, or I'll knock your block off," Bucky threatened.

"Hahahaha!" Cavanagh laughed in his face. "I'd like to see you try."

The door handle squeaked, and Bucky swiftly sank down into his chair. Mrs. Montgomery was an old battle-axe; she didn't brook unruly behaviour. The rest of the class fell to silence, turning quickly to face the front of the room. Danny Cavanagh was too slow; as the teacher strode through the door, she caught sight of Cavanagh halfway back to his chair, and with the paper plane still crushed in his fist.

"Mr. Cavanagh, you can spend your lunch time dusting the chalkboards," she said, fixing her pince-nez into place. "And please put that item in the trash can, thank you."

Cavanagh shot a hate-filled glare at Bucky as he resumed his seat, and Bucky spent a moment basking in smug. Cavanagh was a jerk, and it was always a riot to see his meanness backfire.

"Class," Mrs. Montgomery, "there is somebody I would like to introduce to you. This is Steven Rogers."

She gestured for somebody outside the door. Craning his head like the rest of the class, Bucky saw a new kid standing there, clutching a brown paper back in one hand, and a grey handkerchief in the other. The boy stepped forward, his watery blue eyes darting here and there as if looking for some place to hide. His brown jacket hung awkwardly from his bony shoulders, clearly made for someone several years older—or larger. The boy's mop of blond hair was a little messed up, as if it had been blown around by the wind, and then not combed down again after.

"Steven has just transferred from Ryder Elementary," Mrs. Montgomery explained. "Please say hello to him, and make him feel welcome."

"Hello, Steven," Bucky intoned with his classmates, their greeting a rote monotone.

Steven cleared his throat, and said, "Umm… hello." He seemed to realise he was still holding his kerchief, and quickly shoved it back into his pocket. One of the girls in the front row giggled.

"Please take a seat at an empty desk, Steven, and then we can get started with today's lessons."

All eyes followed Steven as he walked up the aisle of desks, to one of those that had been spare for as long as Bucky could remember. The boy aimed a small smile at the kid who had the desk behind him; unfortunately, it was Cavanagh. As Mrs. Montgomery picked up the history lesson with a discussion on Abraham Lincoln, Bucky heard the unmistakable sound of spit-balls being fired from behind.

Author's Note: These short pieces are canon for my other two stories, Running To You, and We Were Soldiers. I wanted to work on/establish some childhood history for Steve/Bucky without it intruding too much into my fics that actually have narrative purpose. There will be some overlap: established memories from Running To You will undoubtedly end up here, and in turn I may incorporate some of what's here into We Were Soldiers. However, these drabbles/events can be read as a stand-alone fic as well.