"Red, White, and Blue"

Sarah Rogers, newly widowed and desperate for a child, stared out across the street. She was sitting, practising her embroidery, when a slight breeze stirred the snow. Most was slush, but some fresh flakes remained at her feet, blown onto the porch overnight.

When her rocking chair came down sharply, she pricked her finger, and immediately pulled her injured hand away from the embroidery before it could be ruined. Red droplets hit the white ground; and, for a moment, she was transfixed. A squeal from the boy next door broke her reverie, and she went back to imagining her perfect child.

"Lips as red as blood," she murmured. "Skin as white as snow. And eyes…" She noticed the colour of thread, thankfully not marred by blood. "Eyes as blue as the sky. Red, white, and blue." She chuckled at how patriotic her thoughts remained, despite her husband dying for his country, or perhaps because of it. She sucked the blood from her finger, slowing the flow of it with her tongue, and glanced over to the neighbours when she heard the door slam. Mrs. Barnes was there with her toddler son, James.

"If I had a child," Sarah said to herself, "he and James would be playmates. But I am barren, and a widow." Tears prickled her eyes as she gazed at the heavens. "But please, God, if I could have a child…?"


It annoyed Steve, the way he was babied. Yeah, he was a bit weaker than most kids, but he was sick a lot of the time. That wasn't his fault.

He'd once heard his mother say that it was a miracle that he was born. A true miracle. And she'd called him a miracle to his face, though Steve guessed it was supposed to be comforting. Well, it wasn't. Not when even Bucky held back with him when they were playing, then mock-fighting. How was Steve supposed to learn to defend himself unless Bucky stopped holding his punches and actually taught Steve?

It wasn't like Steve had a dad to teach him. And Mr. Barnes wasn't around all that often, so Steve didn't really have a father figure. Hence, trusting Bucky.

Then there was a train accident. All three parents died on the scene.


Bucky was growing too old for the orphanage. It was okay at first. Yeah, it sucked that their parents were dead. Steve had never had a pop, and Bucky sometimes felt like he barely knew his own father. But their moms were gone, and it was… hell, it was damn hard. He knew Steve had nightmares. Bucky didn't; but he did have sleepless nights, and it took a toll.

And then that witch took over.

Steve and Bucky were at the orphanage barely a year when the old head, Mrs. Wright, retired. More like pushed out, it seemed, for extravagant spending. Seemed the council didn't like that, especially when there were still kids their age around, mooching off the system. If it was easier to find jobs in New York, Bucky would've got something by now, enough to support both him and Steve if he could.

"I swear, we'll get out of here one day," he always told Steve. Steve would just shrug, say that it'd all be fine in the end, and Bucky would want to strangle him for his positive attitude.

Mrs. Wright left, and Regina Schmidt took over. Beautiful as a model, and evil as Satan himself. The staff mockingly called her The Queen, but all the kids called her The Witch. Gone were desserts. The kids spent less time on their studies and more time begging in the streets or learning needlecraft to make cheap clothes. The council turned a blind eye. As long as money was rolling in, instead of out, they didn't give a damn.

Bucky had had enough.

"The job's just across the water, the Howell Hotel," he told Steve, shoving clothes into his bag. "It's not much, but it's a start. I'm gonna find some place for us to stay, if I can, and when I've got enough money, I'll send for you. Send in as many job applications as you can for places in New Jersey. Okay, punk?"

"Yeah, okay," Steve said. "You'll do great, Buck."

Bucky smiled, and tousled his best friend's hair. "I promise I won't forget you. Friends `til the end of the line."

"Blood brothers," Steve added. Bucky remembered all too clearly the day he'd defended Steve from bullies, and they'd both ended up bloodied. They'd made a pact, pressing injured fists together and letting their blood mingle.

"Keep an eye on the younger kids, okay?" Bucky said, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he studied Steve anxiously. "Maybe you should just come with me right now?"

"I'll be fine! Get going, Bucky, or you'll miss your boat."

Bucky gave him a last hug at the door, laughing as Steve shoved him in the direction of the docks. He waved before turning the corner, only to see Regina pull Steve back in at the last moment. He gave her the finger, hoping that no one would be punished for it, and then ran all the way to the river. The sooner he found an escape for Steve, the better.


Regina Schmidt had a vice. The city council and orphanage governors didn't know that she was saving more than she let on; the little she kept that wasn't her salary went towards her favourite club. As she settled down on her usual couch and sank into the intoxicating sensations brought on by opium, her head lolled back, and he came to her again. The face.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she slurred, looking nowhere and everywhere. "Who is the fairest of them all?"

"You are," the face replied. Its voice was serpentine, weaving through her senses. Regina raised one leg and cocked it over the other, bent at the knee. She arched her back and smiled widely.

Yes. She was always the fairest one of all.


This continued once a month, and then once a week. A matter of days after the old brat, Bucky Barnes, finally left the children's asylum, Regina overheard some of the girls giggling. She sneered, but they hadn't noticed her yet.

"Steve's so handsome," one of the girls sad. "Now Bucky's gone, you can really see it, can't you?"

"Yeah," another sighed. "And he's so kind. He'd be perfect if he wasn't so scrawny."

"He ain't scrawny," a third brat said. "He's been getting kinda muscly. He doesn't even really need his puffer much anymore."

The kids' health was an annoying expense, but if she didn't pay for it then the council would investigate, and probably discover Regina's little… indiscretions. Then she'd be done for. If only Steve Rogers didn't cost so much more than the other children to keep alive…

The solution came to her that night. She consulted her magic mirror as soon as it appeared with her first inhale.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she said. "Who's the fairest of them all?"

"Steve Rogers is by far the fairest," the mirror said. Regina nearly choked on the smoke.

"What?" she hissed. "He is not!"

"Have you not seen him?" the mirror asked. "Have you not heard others speak of his beauty of heart and his handsome features?"

Regina could have screamed. She vowed then and there that she would have him killed. Only she could be the fairest!


Steve vaguely flipped through the newspaper. The headlines were all about a mysterious substance which was being used by a serial killer. None of the victims had anything in common, aside from their deaths. But it was far too depressing. He preferred to find the black-and-white comics, and cut them out for the children to colour in.

And then he would look at the job ads. Nothing much for New Jersey. Some factories were hiring manual labourers, but they'd only have to take one look at his medical records and reject him on the spot. The army would do the same, and that didn't matter anyway. Steve had promised to join Bucky. Sure, he didn't have an address yet – he'd been waiting for one – but he knew where Bucky worked. The Howell Hotel sounded pretty swanky. He didn't know much more about it, since Bucky still hadn't written.

Truth be told, Steve had no idea whether Bucky was much for writing letters, and the orphanage didn't have a computer, so no access to email. The only phone was in Regina's office, which was locked, and no one had any cell phones. Even if they did, Steve would need to find the number for the hotel, so he had no way to contact Bucky except through writing. And he didn't have the money for stamps.

He sighed, after another round of no success. And the comics were in colour today. Declaring the paper useless, Steve dumped it back in the magazine rack in the hallway, and went outside for his usual evening stroll. It felt good to get the crisp air into his lungs, and he felt closer to his ma when he looked at the stars. It was like she was looking down on him, telling him to stay positive. Tomorrow always had the potential to be better than today.

Yeah, Bucky laughed at him for thinking such things. But Bucky wasn't here anymore, so that left Steve to laugh at himself. And he did. At least until he heard near-silent footsteps behind him. The only reason people walked quietly was—

He ducked, avoiding the first swipe, and punched his attacker in the gut. There was a flash of metal – a needle; Steve had seen enough of those during his childhood – and he leapt out of the way. He kicked the man's head, stomped on his free hand, and then ran. Steve was in better shape than he used to be, and he was still light as a feather. He pushed on, not stopping until he heard the feet growing nearer. Then he skidded to a halt, grabbed a trash can lid, and swung it around. He hit the man in the face, missing the syringe by a scant inch, and saw the guy's wallet fall from his pocket.

The temptation was too great. While the man was down, Steve grabbed the wallet and ran again.

He actually got all the way to the docks. Was he following Bucky's footsteps? Well, he had to be. He got to the ticket booth, threw cash – probably too much – onto the counter, and accepted the ticket. He ducked out of sight and counted up the rest of the money.

It was a lot. Way too much. The stranger had attacked Steve, and was waving around a needle filled with who-knew-what. But the ID didn't match Steve, and he didn't want to be considered a thief, even to his own mind.

If he went to the police, he'd be taken back to the orphanage, and Regina Schmidt. No way in hell was that happening.

Bucky's letter may've been in the mail, but it was too late for that. Steve had a ticket to New Jersey, bought on instinct rather than impulse. He tore off his outer coat and hat, and left them by the water. He took half the money, which was still a hell of a lot, and shoved it into his back pocket. He tore a bit of a sticker from a crate and, using the pencil he always carried with him, wrote a note.

'Don't come after me, and I won't tell the cops your name.'

He stuck it just inside the wallet, and placed it beside his clothes. He ducked through the shadows, onto the waiting boat, and sat in the dark.

Just as they were pulling away, he saw his stalker run into the light of a lamp-post. He scoured the area, and looked towards the boat. Then he walked towards Steve's clothes.

Finally feeling safe, Steve turned back to look out the front of the boat. Knowing his luck, he'd end up being seasick. Good thing they had a bathroom on board, probably for that very reason. Grateful that he'd managed to catch the last boat, Steve settled back, two names on his mind: the name of Bucky's hotel, and Arnim Zola, the man who'd tried to hurt Steve.


Bucky had taken to pacing whenever it was just him at the bar. He'd gone from busboy to bartender at the hotel pretty quickly. But then, he'd always been a hard worker, and he had extra incentive. He had to get together enough money to find a place for Steve to live, preferably close to a hospital, because his best friend sure did have a way of running into trouble. Or trouble running into him. Hard to tell which.

Steve still hadn't responded to the letter. Bucky had written, enclosing a stamped, self-addressed envelope and extra stationery. Steve always had some kind of drawing material on him. It'd be nothing to send a reply. He may be well-liked, but Bucky didn't want to risk losing his job by asking for a day's leave to return to New York and bring his friend back.

He always worried about this, and about the number of letters he'd sent. None of them had been returned. Was Schmidt keeping them from Steve? God, who knows? The thought of her doing that made Bucky even more determined to rescue his brother from her evil clutches. She was like a fairytale villain, and Steve was the damsel-in-distress (not that he'd ever admit it, the stubborn so-and-so).

Wiping the counter for the umpteenth time, Bucky was startled to hear his name being called. He ran into the lobby, and was shocked to see Steve, bent double and gasping.

"Steve!" he shouted, sprinting to his friend's side. "Oh God. D'you have your inhaler?"

"In… coat…"

"Well?"

Steve coughed. "Left it. Beside. River."

"Beside…? Damn it, Steve! Just breathe."

"An ambulance is on its way," Maria said. Bucky continued to hold Steve.

"The hell happened to you?" he asked.

"Man… tried to… kill me…"

Bucky held him tighter, mindful of Steve's heaving chest. "Breathe," he whispered. "Just keep breathing for me, Stevie."


No one came after Steve. Bucky stayed with him at the hospital overnight, getting the full story between huge puffs through an oxygen mask.

"We have a maid's opening at the hotel," Bucky finally said at the end. "I'll ask management. I'm sure they wouldn't object to a male cleaner. Put you in a maid's outfit, and who'd be able to tell the difference?" He sniggered, though it sounded like it was bordering on hysterical. Steve rolled his eyes.

"He might've just been going to knock me out," he said. Bucky stopped laughing.

"And then what?" he asked sharply. "Mugged you? When he found you didn't have anything of value, what could he have taken?"

"I'm trying not to think about it, Bucky. And I resent the implication that you think I look like a girl."

"Just androgenous," Bucky said.

"Ooh, 'androgenous'," Steve teased. "Living in a hotel's improved your vocabulary." He shrugged skinny shoulders. "If your boss hired me, I'd be living in the hotel with you, wouldn't I? So you wouldn't have to save up for another place?"

"I guess you're right," Bucky said. "I'll ask. Besides, you're cute. Who's gonna say no to this face?"

And then he took a picture on his phone, and showed it to Steve. While the picture was hideous – Steve was hooked up to machines and wearing a mask over his mouth and nose – he was intrigued by the cell phone.

"Cool," he said, poking at the buttons. The picture disappeared. "Oops."

"No big deal," Bucky said, waving him off as he tucked the phone in his pocket. "I'll take a picture of your ugly mug later on, when you're looking less like a science experiment."

"Thanks, Bucky," Steve said dryly.


Regina was keeping watch at her office window. As soon as she saw Zola, she opened the window and leaned out.

"Is he dead?" she asked. He approached her slowly, and then handed her the jacket and cap.

"The body is in the river," he said. Regina eagerly forked out the rest of the cash. Well worth it to get rid of Steve Rogers.

"He's really gone," she whispered, grinning as she scrunched the clothes up in her fists. She heard the rattle of the puffer, and vowed to get rid of it where no one would ever find it.

"You'll never see him again," Zola said. Then he melted into the night. Regina was too busy silently crowing over her victory. She pulled the window shut, and popped open a bottle of champagne – her other vice – to celebrate by herself.


This is a fill for the kink meme, page 62 of round 24. It asked for Steve as Snow White, basically. Then I came up with all these notes, and finally got around to writing this. There are only three chapters, but they're still long enough.

Please review!