A/N Hiya everyone! I've been wanting to write something like this for a while, and I finally did - around 11pm last night. Any errors can be blamed on my tired little brain. Enjoy.

Steve adjusted his bag on his shoulder as he walked home from school, the air about him cool and crisp. His spine straightened up instinctively as he approached his neighbourhood. As a single mother on a nurse's wages, Steve's mum could not afford for them to live on the fancy side of the neighbourhood, where rich kids like Tony Stark lived (not that that was saying much - Tony was just about the richest kid in school).

It's not like Steve's suburb was filled with criminals or anything . . . well, Steve had heard that his suburb was the "easiest" place to deal drugs. But Steve'd never run into anyone remotely dodgy, up until day. There was a gang of guys, about five of them, sitting on a low brick wall up ahead. It looked like some of them were smoking - Steve didn't think the rings of mist coming from their mouths was simply the cold air. They all had the same look about them - dark shaggy hair and dark baggy clothes. There was no pathway on the other side of the road, and besides, it would draw attention to Steve if he crossed the road now.

He kept his gaze dead ahead, but something made him glance at the gang as he passed. And what he saw made him stop in his tracks.

"Bucky?!" He blurted out at the sight of the guy sitting in the middle, his face partially hidden by his dark bangs. But it was still a face that Steve recognised.

The youth in question hopped off the wall and stepped towards him.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" He demanded, but in an almost nonchalant way, as if he didn't really care who Steve was referring to, and was merely curious. His friends snickered and also hopped off the wall. Steve tried not to gulp. So much for not getting their attention.

"It's me. . . Steve." He managed to say. Bucky stared at him for a moment before his eyes darted back to his friends.

"Let's you and me have a talk, Steve." His hand landed heavily on Steve's shoulder, who couldn't help but wince.

"Want any help roughin' him up some?" One of the others asked, his mouth stretching up into a cruel smile.

"I got this, Rumlow. Don't get too excited." And to Steve, he pushed him along the path. "Keep walking, mister." Soon Bucky pulled him into an alleyway and shoved him against the wall, his bag digging painfully into his back.

"Don't call me that again. Not in front of them." Steve gaped at him, wide-eyed.

"It really is you! I almost didn't recognise you; Bucky, it's been years."

Bucky and Steve had been, believe it or not, childhood best friends. But then Bucky's parents had died and he'd been taken in by a foster family and moved away. Steve hadn't seen his friend since the start of high school. He wanted to hug him, but he realised that Bucky was different now and would most definitely not appreciate it.

"I go by Barnes now." Bucky stepped back and brushed his hair out of his eyes, which looked bloodshot from up close.

"When did you move back? Are you still living with the Pierce's?" Steve asked. "And why are you hanging out with those guys?"

"Rogers." Bucky smirked. "Look at you - still so young and naive. Those guys are my mates. I've known them for a while; and Brock Rumlow is my foster brother."

"But . . .Bucky, you-"

"What'd I just say? Call me Barnes. You think the guys'll take me seriously if they hear you call me 'Bucky'? That was my nickname when I was, like, ten. Let it go, Rogers." Bucky - or Barnes - was still wearing that irritating smirk, like he was so grown up now and Steve knew nothing.

"It's Steve, actually." He frowned, clenching his fists. He could feel anger boiling up inside of him - but under that, he was just upset. Here was his childhood best friend, who suddenly looked like a tough street kid and who was hanging out with a bad crowd. How had he changed so much in just two years? "Bucky, what happened to you?"

Bucky growled and ran his hands over his face.

"Look, do I actually have to beat you up? Call me Barnes. At least when the others are around. You haven't moved house, have you? I'll come 'round later and we can talk. But I'm not Bucky - I'm not that guy anymore. You gotta understand that." He sighed.

"Anyway, I'll take the guys in the opposite direction so your skinny little ass doesn't get a beating, and you go on home, punk." Bucky instructed, as he stepped out of the alleyway.

"Jerk." Steve called after him. It was almost like old times.