August, 1929


It wasn't until Steve had known Bucky for about five years and they were both about to enter their teens when he learned that there existed a time when Bucky was wingless, flightless - a regular person, just like everybody else. Trying to imagine Bucky without wings was almost impossible for Steve - they were such an integral part of who he was. He couldn't imagine a day where Bucky wouldn't spend hours of his free time preening and cleaning them, making sure each feather was in its right place and that they didn't have too much dust build-up. A day where Bucky's feet never left the ground. The story of their growth both fascinated and horrified Steve, knowing that one's life could change so drastically overnight. Although, according to Bucky, it wasn't overnight.

It had come up in casual conversation one day when Bucky was over at Steve's for lunch. He was over at Steve's apartment all the time, because he loved the way Mrs. Rogers made her famous potato salad, or baked chicken, or basically any other kind of food. The woman had a talent for making decadent meals out of the simplest ingredients, which came in handy for hard times. And she always made extra, too, like she knew Bucky was going to drop in. Eventually it had just become a given that whenever Mrs. Rogers made food, Bucky would show up like magic.

"This is delicious, Sarah." Bucky looked up at the kind woman, who smiled back down at him as she sat down at the small table as well. Sarah Rogers was almost as skinny as her son, although it was not because she was unhealthy. Her spirit and attitude resonated enough strength to move a mountain. After Steve's father had died more than a year ago, Sarah took up the extra work in their lives needed to care for herself and her son, never complaining once about life's hardships. She had blonde hair like Steve's, but her eyes were a dark hazel that swallowed light in a strange way.

"Thank you kindly, James." Mrs. Rogers still had a trace of an Irish accent, though not as prominent as it had been when she first came to America, and softened through years of practice. Her hair was tied back in a bun that was slowly coming undone. Steve noticed that she looked very tired, and he had seen her coming down with a cold over the past few days. But she refused to rest. "You're always welcome here. But I hate to take precedence on your own family's mealtime?"

"Nah, we all usually fend for ourselves. Not to say that my ma's cooking isn't wonderful." Bucky filled his plate up again. "But she really only knows how to cook two things; beans and carrots."

"You're welcome to take any of this back home with you. We have so much extra food since Joseph passed away, and what with Steve only eating hardly more than a few bites," Mrs. Rogers said as she looked at her son, who just played with the food on his plate. She gave a small smile to Steve, then laughed as she turned back to Bucky just in time to see him stuff his face with meat and peas. "If you can manage to restrain yourself from eating it all."

"Will do, Sarah." Steve didn't really know why Bucky called his mom by her first name. Bucky did the same with his own mom and dad, so maybe it was just a thing within the Barnes family to address all adults casually. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Bucky noisily chowing on the chicken. Steve was about to make a crack at Bucky being a cannibal when his mom spoke up.

"So James, tell me something." Mrs. Rogers leaned toward the winged-boy, who looked up at her with his cheeks puffed with food. "When did your wings come along?"

Steve looked up too, with his eyebrows quirked in confusion, thinking that his mom had asked a ridiculous question. But Bucky nodded and swallowed his food before speaking.

"About when I was five," He said, wiggling his wings against his back. "I can still remember the whole ordeal, too. It was terrifying, really. Just one normal day my back started aching, then each day after it got worse and worse until my ma took me to a doctor. Then, a few weeks later, I've two new limbs to figure out."

"Five? Really? Isn't that rather late?" Mrs. Rogers looked shocked. Bucky shrugged and made a face.

"Better late than never, I suppose," Bucky laughed. "Kind of been that way my whole life."

"Wait a minute." Steve dropped his fork and spread his fingers as the other two looked at him. "You mean you weren't born with them?"

"No, of course not." Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "What, did you think I was? Didn't they teach you this stuff in third grade?"

"It's not his fault," Mrs. Rogers interjected. "Steven was sick a lot during grade school. He might have missed a few things."

Steve, more confused than ever, could do nothing more than stare in amazement at his mom and best friend. He didn't know whether to feel insulted or betrayed. His mom turned to him.

"All of the winged-folk are born without wings, honey." Her voice was gentle and wise. "Thank god for it, too. Birth would be so much harder if that weren't true."

"You know there's no genetic link as to why people grow wings, right?" Bucky said around a spoonful of potato salad. "It's completely random, kind of like red-hair. Winged-folk have kids that are wingless, and vice-versa, obviously. Same thing goes for the type of wings and feather color. Anybody could just grow wings one day."

"Well, that's not entirely true." Mrs. Rogers quirked her lips. "Nobody has ever grown wings past the age of six, and winged-folk are slightly more likely to bear winged-children."

"So yeah, let me tell you Stevie." Bucky sat forward in his chair, preparing his story. "This is back when my family still lived in Indiana, right? One day, I come home from school with tears streaming down my face, because my back and shoulders are hurting like a-" Bucky glanced at Mrs. Rogers. "My point is that I was in a lot of pain. Too much to be normal. But Winifred thinks it's just growing pains, gives me a pinch of the good stuff and sends me to bed. I would wake up the next morning feeling fine, but by the end of the day, I'm in pain again. This goes one for about a week, until even the medicine doesn't make me feel better anymore. I got weird bruises on my back that just appeared out of nowhere, and Becky had to help me convince my parents that I wasn't being abused at school."

"Did your mom know what was happening?" Steve was captivated. It was like finding out his best friend was a superhero.

"I think she and George might have suspected, but they weren't sure until she finally took me to the doctor." Bucky looked down. "Doc knew what was going on right away though, but he still did the x-ray. I got to see it too, since the Doc used it to explain what was happening to me, 'cause I was young and had no idea what was going on. It was weird, let me tell you, seeing the bones and all, just kinda waiting there underneath my skin. You know when I was five, I hadn't even seen so much as a picture of winged-folk? I had heard of them in passing, but they weren't real to me yet."

Steve blinked at his friend in horror. Bucky must have been terrified, being completely unaware of what was happening to him! Steve couldn't even imagine what he would have done in that situation, what he would have thought was going on. Maybe that he was dying, or losing his mind. How did the winged-folk get past an experience like that? Just the thought of bone and muscle growing and shaping under his skin was enough to make him shiver. It almost made Steve glad he didn't have wings.

"What happened then?"

"Well obviously they took me to SAA Headquarters or whatever down in Atlanta. Yeah, that was my first big trip. I didn't get to see much of the countryside though, since I was sleeping the whole time. Being in pain is exhausting, let me tell you. It was such a long trip that when we got there, my wings were already starting to separate from my back." Bucky shivered, as if remembering the pain. "They were expecting me at the SAA, of course."

"No yeah, of course." Steve looked at his mom, who didn't looked as surprised as he did. He hoped the look on his face wasn't showing just how confused he was.

"Yeah, well you know." Bucky shifted in his seat, fluffing one wing with a quick shake. "I had all the signs when I was born; structures in my bones, the extra chest muscles, all of it. The only things missing were the wings themselves. They were practically waiting for me when George carried me through that door."

"Every baby is checked for these… early development signs," Mrs. Rogers spoke up, seeing that Steve was even more confused with every word Bucky spoke. "I went through all of this as well, when I had you."

"And did I have any…?" Steve couldn't believe his mother never told him any of this before.

"You had a socket on your left shoulder blade, but that was it." Mrs. Rogers looked down. "The doctors said it was very unlikely you would develop any further."

"And trust me, you don't want to," Bucky sneered at the memory in his head. "There's not a whole lot they do for you at the SAA when growing wings. They just let the whole thing happen naturally, try to make it easy for you. And the way they 'make it easy for you' is by basically forcing you into a coma so your body can do its thing. They only woke me up to eat, drink, and do my business and every time I did wake up it hurt to breath. I was in and out of it for about three weeks, or so they told me. It's all just one big blur, really. But Winifred never left my side, and even brought Becky and the new baby to come visit me one time."

Steve could only imagine what Bucky's little siblings thought about their oldest brother going through such a change. Becky would have cried, definitely. Of all the people in his family, Bucky was closest with his sister. Steve thought Bucky was very lucky in that aspect.

"Finally, one day I wake up and I'm not in pain." Bucky's voice has gone soft as he stands up, bringing his wings forward so he and the Rogers' can see them. He puts one hands to his feathers, softly touching the delicate fibers "And let me tell you Steve, I was pretty shocked."

Steve stared at the wings; they were shaped like arms, with a shoulder, elbow and a wrist, and a little alula appendage in place of a thumb. But the formation of the bones was much longer and skinnier than that of a normal arm. Bucky's feathers were fantastically patterned - brown on top, but creamy white on the underside. The longest flight feathers and secondary feathers are blotched with white spots on the edges, giving them a striped look when they were unfurled and a speckled appearance when folded on his back. Steve was trying to picture it in his head, what it must be like to wake up one day and suddenly have-

"Freaking things were covered in down, for god's sake." Bucky snapped his wings shut. "Like a baby chicken; fluffy, soft, and completely useless."

Steve paused, staring at Bucky as a new image entered his head; Bucky with little cherub wings that were too small for his body. He snickered, then chuckled, then couldn't stop laughing. His mom and Bucky started laughing, too. Bucky had to sit down, wiping a tear from his eye. He smiled at the tabletop as the laughter died down, eyes far away.

"Luckily, they didn't let me leave the building until my first molt and actual feathers grew in." Bucky's smile faded a little. "When I came home, the little ones couldn't stop staring at me. You would think that they had never met me before. But they got over it really quick. They wanted to pet and play with my wings, but the people at the SAA told me to never let anybody touch them because of the oil. If the oil gets brushed off, the feathers can split and you can't fly properly, nevermind that it makes your feathers look ruddy and gross. They didn't tell me a lot, actually. They basically gave me a manual on wing care then kicked me out and said 'good luck'."

Steve let Bucky's story settle in his mind. He had many questions, but there was one that picked at him more than the others. He was hesitant to ask, fearing the answer, but he needed to know.

"Has anybody ever died?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "From growing wings?"

Bucky and Mrs. Rogers both looked to him, but neither said anything. Mrs. Rogers then looked to Bucky, but he had cast his gaze down to his plate, though he wasn't eating. She looked back to Steve then, perhaps a little cross with her son for broaching such a tender subject. He should have waited until Bucky had left. But practicality was a trait that Steve had not inherited from her. However, it would be unbecoming to simply dismiss the question. Bucky was an understanding lad.

"They don't so much anymore," Mrs. Rogers said slowly. "But before we had the medicine we do now, boys and girls had to suffer through the entire process completely conscious, within their own homes. Sometimes...the pain could be too much. It's not easy, what they have to go through. They say the entire ordeal is about as painful as sawing off your own foot."

"That sounds about accurate, I think," Bucky said as he nodded in agreement. "Only it lasts a lot longer."

"There are some places in the world where that is still the only way it is done." Mrs. Rogers sighed. "But children are resilient, more so than we give them credit for. They're growing bodies make them more springy, more willing to undergo the change."

"Yeah, and the danger passes once the feathers come in." Bucky sat up again. "So don't worry about me, Steve. I'm good."

"And can I just say that you have some lovely plumage, Bucky." Mrs. Rogers put a hand on the young man's shoulder, hurrying to change the subject. "Steve tells me that you preen almost everyday, but if you don't mind me telling you, you actually don't need oil. You see this?" Mrs. Rogers pointed to a spot on Bucky's right wing where it connected to his back. Steve squinted his eyes at the spot, barely making out the silvery dust on the feathers. "This is powder down. Some of your feathers dissolve into a coating, and it works the same as oil, if not better."

"Powder down...?" Now it was Bucky's turn to be confused. "I've never heard of that."

Mrs. Rogers reached for one of Bucky's wings, but stopped short. "May I?" Bucky nodded, extending his wing closer to her. Mrs. Rogers moved her fingers in between the feathers carefully, digging around in the thick of the wing. When she took her hand back, her fingertips were coated in a white powdery substance. "You have small down feathers under your covert feathers that have the single purpose of disintegrating into this. It's waterproof, and keeps your wings protected from heat and dirt."

"Really? I always thought my feathers just attracted insane amounts of dirt." Bucky inspected his wings for a few seconds then turned back to Mrs. Rogers. "You know an awful lot about this stuff, Sarah. Where did you learn?"

"My father was a falconer back in Galway. I used to watch him with his prized birds. He might have trained me a little, too." Mrs. Rogers winked. "But he also helped many of the winged-folk back home learn about themselves. He worked for the Irish equivalent of the SAA before he retired. I picked up a few things."

"Is that so?" Bucky's eyes brightened. "Then do you think you could tell me what kind of wings I got?"

Mrs. Rogers was quiet, taking in the details of Bucky's wings as he opened them for her. The things are so goddamn big, Steve thought. Bucky had looked into finding the bird of his wings quite a bit when they were both younger, and while there were some winged-folk who managed to find the bird that they shared a natural affinity with, many had no such luck - including Bucky. It wasn't terribly important to know, but it provided a sense of self, like a completeness of identity. To know the bird of your wing was to know yourself. If there weren't more than 9,000 species of birds in the world, it might have been easier to figure out.

"It's hard to say." Mrs. Rogers yawned. "Only certain types of birds make powder down. Falcons, hawks, parrots, pigeons... but if I had to guess, it would probably be some kind of owl, since your flight feathers are so long and narrow. They're perfect for silent, long flight."

Bucky turned to Steve, a wide smile on his face. "No wonder I like your family so much. My family don't know jack about birds."

"Including how to cook them, apparently." Steve looked down at the plate of bones in front of Bucky.

Steve asked Bucky many questions about when his wings grew for many years after that. Was there surgery involved? No, don't think so. How did the muscles develop? They were already there, just didn't have anything to attach to. Was that when you had to register with the SAA? No, that was about a year later when he had learned how to fly. Did he remember what it was like to be wingless? Were his wings the reason his family had moved to New York? Had he ever thought about having them cut? Jesus Christ, Steve, yes now shut up.


A/N: As a note, I have not read the comics. I have only seen the movies. I look up certain things on the numerous Marvel Wikis that are out there to get details that they don't include in the movies. But they did point out that Bucky was the oldest of four, and I know one of his siblings was named Rebecca. Did you know Steve had a little brother in one arc? But I'm keeping it simple. Or, you know, simple-ish.

If you can guess what kind of wings Bucky has, you get props. Hint: it has to do with the bird in the cover image.

Note: This chapter has been edited, given a little more context than before.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!