James Buchanan Barnes was born March 10, 1917, in Brooklyn, New York. The labor was easy and his cry was strong and loud. His mother cried along with him, happy to know how strong her baby was. If only she knew it would be a matter of days before she got sick of that sound…
James was not a quiet baby. He was easy and affectionate; he would accept anyone who wanted to hold him and laugh when they made funny faces. The problem was when the adults decided to ignore him. Poor Winifred Barnes… she could never leave her baby on his crib for two seconds before the yelling started.
At first she tried to be there for him and do the housework with her baby on her arms, but eventually she found out it was too much. As soon as George Barnes could afford a playpen, Winifred would leave James in there to do her work. He screamed a lot and the neighbors complained even more, but soon he realized there was nothing he could do to get her mother's attention every second.
Before James's first birthday, the family had stablished a routine. During the day, the baby would sit on his playpen while his mother did the housework and his father worked at the docs. At night, George would come home, kiss his wife and child, take a shower and they would all have dinner together. Before going to bed, George would take his guitar and sing lullabies and Catholic songs. James soon learned to clap his hands and scream for one more song, which George would usually play.
At age two, James started being curious about his father's guitar. He didn't let his father play it in peace anymore, always trying to touch the chords or hit the wooden body. At first, George would just push him and ask Winifred to hold him at least a few inches away. It took a few weeks before he gave up and just let his son satiate that curiosity. It sounded awful, but for his parents it was the most beautiful music ever made.
Both his parents were always bragging about how their son showed interest for music and how he would be a great musician in a near future. Eventually a priest heard that conversation, and asked if they wanted James to learn music from the church band. They said yes, and months before turning five James played well enough for someone to let him play at the Sunday Mass. It was about this time when he started to ask people to call him Bucky; otherwise, the risk of him ending up with the nickname Jimmy would be too great.
Bucky was the sweetest kid in the schoolyard. Sometimes he would play a little to entertain the teachers and show off to his classmates, and everyone was swooning over him. Every kid wanted to be his friend, and even if it does not mean much to a child, there was no deny he loved the attention. Maybe that's why he decided to learn how to play the piano.
However, the most important thing to know about Bucky Barnes is not his family, his talents or his friends. It is his loyalty, and the huge sense of justice that always ran through his veins. That was very clear a year later, the day he finished his lesson before everyone else and Mrs. Smith said he could go to the playground earlier. Behind the slide, he spotted an older boy kicking a very small and fragile child who curled on the floor. Every time the child tried to get up, the boy would kick them again and laugh, saying despicable things about how useless and worthless the other one was. Bucky froze at first; but when the little child managed to get up, he understood he also had to move. So he screamed.
"Hey!" His voice was loud, clear, and a little too fierce for a six year old; and both boys looked at him as he walked to them with firm steps. "Leave him alone or I'll tell Mr. Brown!"
In schoolyard, that was threatening enough. The older kid knew who Bucky was, knew every teacher and staff member loved him and that Mr. Brown, the school principal, would never take him for a liar. He walked away, but not without taking a small package that laid forgotten on the muddy ground.
"Just this time, Rogers!" He shouted, pointing a finger towards the little boy who had to lean against the slide to stay up.
Bucky rolled his eyes with a sigh and turned his attention back to the Rogers kid. What he felt that moment, one could only describe as pure affection. Rogers looked even smaller from this close, barely as tall as Bucky's shoulders, and his sharp bones could be easily seen through the thin fabric of loosen, muddy clothes. He had a hand around his stomach and couldn't straighten his back, but he looked up at Bucky with bright blue eyes and a split lip. It was safe to say he shouldn't have many friends, and it would be easy to find reasons not to like him. Bucky (and all the other kids) learned that frail people weren't worth anything… But when someone was kicking his stomach, that boy tried his hardest to stand up and all Bucky saw was strength.
"You ok?" He asked quieter and the shouting from before, with a warm smile on his face.
Rogers frowned and parted his lips, as if he was waiting for Bucky to say something more.
"What?" He finally asked.
"I asked if you are ok." Bucky tried a little louder, but even if it sounded like a whisper to the other boy, they finally stablished some communication.
"Yeah, thanks… Had him on the ropes though."
At that, Bucky just had to laugh. Not to be mean or because he didn't believe the other kid. He did, actually. He knew that kid could survive a few more punches and kicking, but why should he?
"Sure you did!" He agreed as he threw his an arm around Rogers's shoulders and guided him to sit on the swing. "I'm Bucky, by the way."
"Steve."
They sat in silence for a while, and Bucky started to swing himself. Steve followed a little after, moving slowly enough to keep his toes on the ground. Bucky was much bolder and looked like he was trying to touch the sky. The only sound between them was the cry of the chains, until Bucky tried to stop and almost fell. Steve giggled and as soon as Bucky was motionless, he laughed along. Looking at Steve again, he realized he missed something important.
"The package that boy took… was it yours?"
"Just my lunch." Steve shrugged as if he was used to it.
Bucky did not ask if Steve was going to be hungry or if he had some spare. Instead, he just reached to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled a sandwich that was a little smashed. He unwrapped it carefully and ripped it in two. He just pushed it to Steve's hand and did not ask if he wanted it.
From that day on, Steve and Bucky were inseparable. The other kids would still mess with Steve and steal his lunch whenever Bucky wasn't looking, but at least he had a friend. Sarah was thrilled when she heard such news, and she told Steve to invite Bucky to play with him whenever he wanted. She treated Bucky as well as she treated her own child and as soon as she learned his forename, she started calling him Jimmy.
Bucky hatted it at first, but never had the guts to tell her so. Steve noticed, but the faces Bucky would make were too funny to put a stop on it. Soon Bucky just accepted that he would always be Jimmy whenever he set a foot on the Rogers household, so he started to call Sarah "Ma". From that moment on, he set in stone that he and Steve would be brothers forever.
Just as real brothers, they grew up together and saw every important thing on each other's lives. When Bucky was ten and his mother gave birth to his sister, Steve held his hand and talked to him so he wouldn't pay attention to the shouting on the other room. When Steve's big mouth betrayed him and someone threw him on an alley to beat the hell out of him, Bucky would always fight along. George hated Steve for that, but still Bucky was there when Sarah decided it was a good idea to teach Steve to take care of his own wounds.
Just like a real brother, Bucky was there when Steve faced death for the second time.
Steve was fourteen when he didn't tell his mother or Bucky about his sore throat. He was stubborn, and convinced himself that all he needed was a warm cup of tea and some rest. The next day, his voice was gone and Bucky decided to stay with him until Sarah got back from work. She scolded him for not telling her earlier, and gave him some syrup, but it didn't work. Soon the fever came, and all she could think about was that awful time when she almost lost him to a scarlet fever.
Steve spent that night immersed on the cold water of a bathtub as his mother tried hard not to cry. The sun came up and the fever didn't go away, just like before. Except because this time there was someone else worried.
Bucky came just after lunch, sweating, breathing hard, and not even trying to hide the fact that he ran all the six blocks that separated the apartment from the school. He found Steve lying on the Murphy bed, the only bed in the house, and Sarah beside him with a rosary tangled on her fingers. Bucky wasn't silent, but Sarah just acknowledged him when he covered her hands with his.
"Ma…" He called, and she looked at him with tears on her eyes. "Go get some rest, I'll stay here."
"I can't." Sarah shook her head and touched Steve's brow. Bucky finally had the guts to look at him, and his heart twisted. His best friend — his bother — was soaked in sweat and his face was as red as flames. There was a weird rash over his bare chest, covered for nothing but a wet cloth. Without even touching, Bucky knew his skin burned. "He was complaining about pain on his knees, then on his hips, and arms… I gave him some aspirins, but his heart, Jimmy…"
She didn't need to say anything else. Bucky could know little about diseases and all the bad thing Sarah faced every single day, he didn't understand what a fever had to do with Steve's heart, but he knew damn well how fragile Steve's health was. Sometimes he would forget about it, especially when they both had their knuckles bruised and their lips split from a fight in an alley. Even if Steve would stumble and fall and miss every punch, he was so fierce Bucky always forgot how easy it'd be to break him.
It wasn't fair, that someone as strong as him had to be trapped in such a fragile body. Steve wanted to change the world by shouting at it, and he should be able to fight back when someone tried to stop him. His lungs should be strong enough to let him run, his muscles should be thicker to let him fight, his eyes should let him see how beautiful the world really was, and his heart… his heart should keep his blood running. His heart should — couldn't — give up, no matter what.
"You can't do anything if you're too tired." Bucky finally said, with a knot on his throat. Sure her fear was greater than his was, but he was still afraid. "I'll wake you up if we need you."
Bucky all but dragged Sarah to the couch so she could lie down. The apartment was so small all she needed to do was turn her head to see Bucky kneeling beside the bed, just where she was praying a few minutes earlier. What she didn't see, was when he took Steve's hands and kissed his knuckles. He laced their fingers together and traced Steve's arm with his free hand. There was nodules on the back of his wrist and on the outside of his elbow. That Bucky did not touch, because he didn't know if it hurt.
"Get better soon, you punk." He begged in a whisper, as he kissed the back of Steve's hand. Steve's arm moved fast and violent, and Bucky was a little frightened, but it was just a spasm.
Now and then Bucky would put a hand on Steve's chest just to feel his erratic heart, make sure it was still beating and not a bit worse than it already was. It hurt to see him like this and be able to do nothing, so he just sat there and whispered to his ear. Asked him to get better, promised he wouldn't leave for anything in this world, begged his heart to keep beating, said he couldn't lose him… Because he couldn't. He wouldn't know what to do if Steve died.
Bucky only notice he was crying when a cold hand whipped a tear from his cheek. He looked up to see Steve looking at him and let out a heavy sigh of relief.
"Hey, punk!" He greeted quietly, yet still loud enough for Steve to hear it. "Feeling any better?"
"A little…" His voice was harsh and rough, and he looked like it hurt to talk, so Bucky dared to put a finger over his lips. Steve smiled.
"Want me to call your Ma?"
Steve shook his head and pulled Bucky's hand closer. He was weak, but it was enough for Bucky to understand what he wanted. Whenever Sarah had to work the night shift, Bucky would be more than happy to come over and sleep at their couch. However, in the winter Steve would invite him to the Murphy bed so one could keep the other warm. They had never shared a bed just for the sake of it, but at that moment, Bucky couldn't deny anything for that boy. So he got up just to lay on the bed and pulled Steve to cuddle against his chest, more than happy to notice that the fever wasn't as bad as before.
It wasn't the first time they shared a bed, and it wasn't the first time Bucky kissed Steve's brow or ran his fingers through his hair… But damn if it didn't make funny things to his heart…
