Chapter 21

His life had taken an unexpected turn.

Steve couldn't fathom that his best friend had been unmade into HYDRA's secret weapon. He felt betrayed. Fury kept him left in the dark about the Soviet ghost files containing information on the Winter Soldier. Everything he stood for- bravery and truth was being swallowed by the shadows deception. Captain America was becoming a dying legend. Though he saved innocent lives and used himself as shield to protect people from harm, he felt used.

The world's greatest soldier, the Sentinel of Liberty was falling into an abyss of his own mistakes and regrets. He had once fought for valor, freedom and hope. He sacrificed so much to ensure the safety of his country and the world to never face the darkness alone. Blood, sweat and tears. That was his contribute for the price of freedom.

In the end, he was the one who had lost the war-Bucky was haunting dream that kept relaying in his mind. Natasha was a glimpse of stability for a life without the uniform and Sam was his conscience that helped him overcome the struggles that weakened him.

Peggy was his heart...His way back into a life where darkness never fell.

He sat by her bedside. He had been there for almost a full hour. At first, it was difficult to push himself to visit her. Peggy was his lifeline. She'd always had been during the thick of battle. In a way, she was in his calm against the rages of storms he had faced as Captain America. He loved her. And never did a day go by, where he had wished for a chance to tell her. After the events of Project: Insight. He felt... different. His mind wasn't focused on preparing for the next mission. He had reached a standstill—a dead pass on the road of choices.

He had been reading some of the books Sam recommended for him. He was slouched in the chair, his dark blue jacket unzipped, revealing a plain white shirt. The text blotted on the pages as he rested the book on denim of his faded jeans as he couldn't focus. His hand reached over the wrinkled blankets and lightly gripped her frail wrists and brought soothing heat over her wrinkled skin.

"Did I make the right choice, Peggy?" he asked in a low voice, sparing a glance at the photos of her children. Every time he stared at the pictures of Peggy smiling with her arms wrapped around her son and daughter, he felt a sting of guilt enter his heart. A tiny part of him wanted to go back into time and spend a life with her. Maybe they could have lived near a lighthouse, their backyard the ocean and he could have danced with her every sunset. "I wanted to dance with you and to never let you go...I guess I lost you when the plane went down."

"Steve," Peggy nearly choked on a wheezing breath. The strain of her lungs was audible. Her frail hand caressed over his rough knuckles, but her dark brown eyes were bright with an everlasting promise. Her gaze wasn't focused on him; he was an illusion to her. "You came back and that is all that matters..." She coughed, a tears rolled down her cheeks. The pain was becoming too much for her. "You cannot blame yourself for the choice you made, Captain. You saved the world and gave me strength to finish my missions. In a way, you never left me, my darling."

He stared at her for a long moment. Eager to say his confession. "No, I never left you," he said softly, despite the churning unease of guilt devouring his stomach. He lifted her precious hand to his shaky lips and pressed a kiss over her knuckles. A tentative and confident smile crossed over the fullness of his lips. He couldn't let her see his pain. "Hey, I'm here now, Peg." He leaned closer against the inclined bed, not letting her hand slip away. His eyes flicked down, as he thought to himself, allowing his mistakes to condemn him. "You know I had a chance to read up on your SSR file from 1945. You never back down from the mission, even though there was a price that had to be paid."

She lightly smiled, her dulling eyes fixed on him. "I had a great run back in New York. Some of best men and agents I have ever had the honor working with in the office. Most of them thought I was a lunch maid that fetched them coffee and sandwiches. After trust became asset, they formed a great structure together with you always there to guide me back if I drifted further away from my pledge."

Steve grinned at her words, averting his eyes to the piles of books and letters on her dresser. His head dropped as he folded his hand his lap. "I read that Howard Stark made a few mistakes with his weapon contracts. Selling them to the Soviet army and making you take on the action in the line of fire. I also discovered that you saved his life on a radio when he was flying a toxin into the heart of the city." Steve smiled to himself, and his blue eyes stared down at her withered hand. "You saved a lot of lives for just being a coffee dame, Peggy."

"I couldn't guide you back home." She wheezed her voice full of regret and pain. She gazed elatedly at him; her brown eyes glistening with tears. He hadn't aged a day. His blonde hair was short and spiked that complimented his chiseled features. His alluring pale blue eyes still held that fiery determination and defiant spirit.

In a way, Steve had changed. He wasn't the same man she had loved for a lifetime. He had become distant and guarded with his emotions. She saw through his boyish charm. "You came back when the world needed a hero to lead us out of the dark." She slitted her old bejeweled eyes, searching in his blue ones. "I can see that you have lost your way back to Brooklyn...Something happened to you, Steve."

Steve felt like he had just taken a round of HYDRA bullets to the chest, piercing and making his bleed out all emotions; pouring out gallons his strength onto the floor; pouring out his guilt in a relentless stream. It hurt him to even think about Bucky, but he managed to hold his lips into a smile for her; knowing that he had to be strong for Peggy. He didn't want her to know the truth that dwelled in the haunting blue eyes of the Winter Soldier; no matter how much he wounded him inside.

"How do I get back to Brooklyn, Peggy?" he asked after swallowing his pain as best he could. "Things aren't black and white anymore, and people don't want someone to stand up for what is right. How can I choose between wrong and less wrong?"

"But people need someone who will stand up for what is right," Peggy answered, clenching Steve's hand tighter. "You have to remind them what is worth fighting for. And maybe you need to remind yourself, too."

Steve blinked as he considered that. What was his goal? Ever since HYDRA was first revealed to still be in existence, he had simply been trying to stop them, not thinking about his own ideals or what he stood for. His view of the battle had been negative. Perhaps to become worthy of the title Captain America once more, he need to focus on what he was fighting for, not what he needed to overcome. He fought for good, not just against evil. He fought for freedom, not just against tyranny. He fought for love, not just against hate.

He smiled tentatively at her. His gentle and fathomless blue eyes gleaming with warm tears, however confidence sliced through the obscuring regret as wave of peace enveloped over him. His long, dark eyelashes lowered against his face as looked at her withered hand, peering at the white line of where her wedding ring used to sit against the wrinkled skin. He sighed, trying to hold grace in his heart. "That's the problem; I just don't know what freedom is anymore, Peg. I thought I could move on from the past, but somehow it managed to find me again."

"Our past is our history, Steve," Peggy wheezed. "And our history defines us. It doesn't bind us down; it spurs us on. Steve, use who you are to become who you need to be."

Steve looked into Peggy's brown eyes and saw hope and determination, undimmed by years, still burning fiercely. He wished he could draw from that source; he wished she could be there to encourage him in his darkest times, but she was here, lying stuck in this hospital bed, just waiting for age to take its final toll. It was now more than ever that Steve needed Bucky, his friend and fellow soldier, at his side.

He was fighting against the silent lucidly. "I..." Steve begun. She gazed at him as he struggled against his regrets, looking down at the floor with disdain shrouding over his face and looking back up to her again; lips holding a gentle smile. "I've been fighting a never ending war; each time I closer to ending it another form obstruction whether danger or emotion manages to block my path." he admitted, sadly.

"You don't fight alone, Steve," Peggy replied. "Find your allies and don't be afraid to let them help you. Even Captain America is human, and perhaps that's what makes him so worthy of the people's respect. Steve, Captain America has never fought alone. He's not a one-man-show; he's a leader of men, often the companion of friends, too. Why try to change things now?"

His eyes stung with unshed tears. He took a deep miserable breath; trying to suppress the grieving noise rattling in his chest. Something inside of him stirred; he was still Captain America, a soldier of valor and trust—a symbol of freedom. He needed to prove to himself that he could be more if he refused not to surrender to those haunting images of the Winter Soldier—Bucky was standing on top of a vehicle wearing that menacing mask and aiming a gun at Natasha. It cut into him deep, twisting a shunt of ice into his heart when his thoughts brought him back to the moment he saw those familiar pale blue eyes hidden underneath long hair and darkness. There was no emotion, just a hallow glare of a machine.

"Something happened to me in these last few weeks, Peggy." Steve said in a soft voice, he did his utmost to hold back the tears. "I thought I could be strong enough to face the pain, but when I looked into the eyes of HYDRA's weapon I saw my own reflection." He swallowed his breaths remain even as he looked into her dimming eyes. The weight of remorse sank into his heart. "James Barnes is alive." He couldn't tear his eyes away from her wrinkled face. He had to tell her the truth, maybe there was a chance she knew more about Bucky's tortured past under the red shadow of Russia, "Zola woke him up from the ice when we grieved that long winter and accepted the choice Buck made the moment he'd let go..."

"James is alive?" Peggy asked in almost a strangled gasp. Her expression became dumbfounded and confused. "But Steve, that's impossible! It's been so long since he fell, and surely he could not have survived the injuries he would have sustained." Peggy searched Steve's expression, and although she could hardly believe what he said, she knew that he was not lying. Finally, she decided to accept what he said—had not stranger things happened?—and deal more directly with the problem. No wonder Steve was so troubled.

"Where is he, Steve? Where is James now?" she urged, her tone broken as her heart ached for Steve.

"It doesn't matter," Steve said and his lips held into a disdain curl. His blue eyes shifted to the old photograph of the Howling Commandos on her dresser.

Bucky was standing in the center next to Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe with his rifle slung over his shoulder and his bright confident smile was warm and brotherly.

A painful swell erupted in Steve's chest, but he refused to allow it to settle against the muscle. "James is lost to us, Peggy. I want to believe that I can find a way to bring him back." He was feeling sorry for Bucky and himself. He wanted to find peace beyond the strongholds of doubt. "I don't know if he would want to become the good soldier again."

"Steve," Peggy began, her voice softer and gentle, "if I knew anything about Sergeant Barnes, it's that he was as stubborn as a mule. No matter what HYDRA or anyone has done to him, I believe he can and will heal from it. Don't you trust that the man who was your friend and brother will not let HYDRA win, whether it's a battle of soldiers or a battle of the mind?"

Steve narrowed his eyes, absently. His own creeds had been tangled into a vow of silence. He felt stripped to the bone when he heard the effort of her words bring him back to the moment of allowing himself—the kid from Brooklyn and the super-soldier to fight against the internal struggle and surrender to the choice that could define the life he was now living.

"You're right, Peggy," he finally said, it was a rippling effect of his emotions. He knew there was no easy road to become taken; he had to walk the straight and narrow path of idealistic and fundamental truths of the other half of the world—he couldn't back down from this fight, not when Bucky depended on him to bring him back home. "I have to trust Bucky; I've trusted him all my life, so why would I stop there when he needs to have a friend to carry his struggles with him."

He snapped his gaze back up, his fingers stroking through the silver strands of her hair fanned across the pillowcase. "In my early years in Brooklyn, I used to fight because I wanted to prove to myself that there was no other way to win. After all my battles and loses, I finally know what I'm fighting for...If I turn my back on that now, Bucky will never see his victory."

He stared at her for a long time, searching for the unquenchable fire in her rich eyes. He knew she was ashamed of her withered body, but she still looked beautiful and despite his heart's pledge to carry on the good fight, he wanted to go back in time change the course of his actions; find a way to fix every mistake and the simmers of hesitation that kept him guarded from her. "I want you to know something, my best girl...» He hand slid gently over her frail and sagging jaw, and he looked sincerely into her eyes-her heart.

"I could have never become Captain America without you, Peggy." A tear slid down her face, and he wiped out the damp line of her pain with a tender brush his thumb, before He took out the silver compass, opening it for her to see that tarnished photograph of her younger-self. "You've always led me in the right direction..."

"I may have led you, Steve," Peggy said, squeezing Steve's hand tighter in her own and locking her gaze with his blue eyes, "but you were the one who was Captain America." She swallowed her emotion as best she could and kept her eyes fixed on Steve. "The world has changed, Steve, but its needs never will. You job isn't to become like it, but to stay the way you are. That's what America needs, that's what your Avengers need, and that's what Bucky needs. They don't need another government agent or soldier; they need a hero. Be the hero you were in our day, and I will always be with you."

Steve didn't say anything. He rose from the chair, leaned over and pressed his lips over her clammy forehead. His soft kiss unraveled warmth against her aging face and he closed his eyes, holding back his tears. His finger wove through her curls. "I owe you so much more than a dance, beautiful." He whispered, slowly pulling away from her. "I have to go, Peg, but I promise that next time I will share that dance with you."

"Steve," Peggy looked up at him. Her eyes damp with tears. She struggled to breathe. She felt helpless and indomitable at the same time. Her lips pressed tight and her shaky hand gripped his wrist. "Please don't leave me..."

"Peg," Steve tried his best to stifle his lips into an unfaltering smile. "No matter what happens after I walk out of this room, I will come back to you."

She nodded gently, and whispered as she felt her heart sigh. "I will be waiting, Captain."

Steve woke up with a severe headache. He groaned a little as his broad form lifted off the cushions. Spectrums of muted afternoon light streamed through the window and reflected over the silver embossed star on his uniform. A thick smell of heavily greases bacon sizzling in the fry pan made his empty stomach emitted a discontent rumble as entwining scent of, he sniffed...scrambled eggs melting in cheese teased his nostrils. He blinked his feverish blue eyes fully open and readjusted himself out of the dream. He swept his gaze across the room, and focused on the shield propped against chair across from his view. Cracks of rust were slowly eating away at the red paint and vibranium.

"How long was I out?" Steve asked aloud, rubbing his temples. The pain in his head was very acute, and he wondered if normal ibuprofen would have any effect on him. It was hard to think straight when his skull was nearly ringing with aches. Why was his shield deteriorating that way? Steve felt both physical pain in his head and psychological pain in his soul to see the white star, representing freedom, appearing so defeated.

"Three hours," Sam replied as he leaned against the wooden molding. His arms crossed over his solid chest. His dark eyes rove over the beads of sweat that clung to Steve's forehead. Concern for his friend didn't recede. "I made a few calls and managed to contact Sharon. All arrangements have been made for you to spend a few hours with your-Peggy Carter." He settled his pensive gaze onto the fracturing shield. "I think we should change your look up a bit, if Captain America is once again a wanted fugitive by HYDRA...we need you to go undercover. I have a few baseball caps; mind you I don't have anything with the Brooklyn Dodgers..."

Steve chuckled. "Well, Tony tells me that they've moved to Los Angeles since my day. I guess I need to find another team." He turned his gaze back to his shield and decided to ask the question that was eating up his mind as quickly as the rust was eating up the vibranium. "What do you think is going on with the shield?"

"Well, there's a possibly that some form of hydrofluoric acid was sprayed onto the shield during your alleyway brawl with the magic dude." He eased his back off the frame, and moved closer to the chair. His index finger slid over the cracks that were engaged in the center of the star. He stole a glance at Steve, underneath those iron layers of the soldier; Steve looked ambivalent.

The trash can lid was a piece of him-an element of protection he used to save lives from hails of bullets, energy blasts and fire bombing. Without his shield, Captain America would look just like another soldier-it was a symbol of strength and a promise of freedom. Still, it felt weird for Sam to conceive the truth. He analyzed the details—reached another dead end. Once again there was another missing piece of the puzzle. "I'm no chemist, but I do know that there are acids in this world that can eat away metal. You should have Stark run some tests before it reaches rapid corrosion."

"Stark," Steve mumbled aloud as he weighed his options. Should be bring the other Avengers into this? Considering what HYDRA had already done to him, it didn't seem wise to give him access to the only defense system the world had. Still, it would be so nice to have more friends by his side. But he had Sam, and that was more than good enough.

"I don't want to bring the Avengers in on this," Steve announced in a hoarse whisper; it felt like a punch in the gut as his gaze drifted over the shield. This was unfathomable. He needed answers. If he failed to complete his task Bucky would never become restored. He grieved for his friend once, and he made a promise that would never allow HYDRA to win. Never surrender. "...but if you think the shield needs immediate attention, I can send it over Tony before we do anything else. He doesn't have to know what happened to it right away."

Sam crouched down at his side, placing his hand over Steve's tensed shoulder. The captain looked so lost and distant. Harden with penitence. He wasn't used to seeing his friend anything less than brave and stubborn. Whatever, HYDRA planned for his fate, Steve whether human or dog had to fight. Sam pulled his lips into a confident smile and stared directly into soldier's gaze. "You've never given up all these seventy years. You pushed onward. Yeah, you sometimes look like a stray dog, but you're Captain America. You can fight the impossible when others can't...» He gestured a hand to the shield. "Your shield doesn't make you the hero that people like me believe in, Steve...It's a just a piece of metal. You are the symbol."

Steve smiled, encouraged by his friend's words. "Well, let's hope I don't start rusting, too. If I am a symbol, then I've had better days. Do you have any ibuprofen I could take?"

"I do." Sam grinned faintly, easing himself onto his feet. His disquieted eyes settled on the blemished skin underneath Steve's broad jaw. A bruising imprint of a hand. He had begun to feel the reduced doubt building in his veins again. His breath evened out slowly and he blinked and peeled his gaze away from the soldier. "I will give you a few after you're finished eating this big breakfast I prepared for you. I hope you're hungry, Cap?"

Steve noticed Sam's expression, and he wondered how bad he seemed if his friend was so concerned for him. Hopefully he didn't look worse than he felt; if so, he must appear like a monster. To ease Sam's mind a bit, Steve tried to be as cheerful as he could.

"Hungry?" Steve groaned, shaking his head. "I'm starving. Now how about some of that good-smelling bacon?"

Torrents of relief surged him for a few moments. He looked down at Steve lifting his bulky form off the cushions. "I wasn't sure if you liked bacon and eggs. It's a traditional American breakfast...I do have protein bars. I got a box stashed in my cupboard if you want that instead?""

"I am a pretty traditional guy," Steve said hinting a smile, "...and who doesn't like bacon?"

Steve rounded the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table. The smell of the wonderful food seemed to take away a bit of his headache, but his temples still throbbed painfully. He hoped this was only a result of all that had happened to him, not part of the curse. He would need himself to be in prime condition, both in body and mind, in the coming days, he knew. There was a lot for him to do.

He slid the strips of crispy and fattening bacon on a plate next to the golden fluffy mound of eggs. Layering of cheese dripped down a slope. Sam listened to Steve's stomach rumbled with discontentment. He swaggered to the table, placing a jug of orange in front of disheveled captain. "So after you're finished, we'll find you a change of clothes and then see Peggy Carter at the nursing home."

He caught a glimpse of a disarming look into Steve's heavy blue eyes as set the plate down. He drew out a heavy sigh, "I know you still have feelings for her, man...I think a part of you wants to go back. A soldier has dreams when he comes home, and most of them involve sharing a life with a woman like Peggy." He pulled out a down and sat down. "Is that what makes you happy...Her?"

Steve released a bit of a chuckle as he swallowed a big bite of eggs."Yeah, I guess so. She's...she's just not like anyone else I know. Even being in the same room with her makes me feel better." He found that a wide grin was spread across his face, but then his expression was shadowed by grief, and he looked back at his plate. There was a rending pulsate in his chest. He was driving himself back into the icy abyss. "Seeing her so old and frail hurts more than any other change I've had to get used to."

"You know growing up in Harlem and being a minster's son was a tough way to live." Sam replied genuinely watching Steve's blue eyes glisten with moisture. After inevitably feeling the dullness of his own guilt, he spoke in a low and yet somber cadence. At least he had someone to confine with, other than just letting remain bottled up inside.

"After my father was killed by the very same people he tried to save from a switch blade gang; I always tried my best to do what felt right. I'll admit it was hard to live without his hand on my shoulder. I made mistakes and went down the wrong path during my high school years. I thought I had nothing left, my mom was killed by a mugger and my circle of friends kept getting smaller...After seeing the darkness in some young kids hearts, I made a choice and carried my father's legacy by helping people with their problems." He paused in faint reverence and reflected on his past. "I sometimes go back where I first started, it's my home and I can't forget that there is good left in this world, it may be a small number...It's all I need to know that I'm fighting for something. That's what makes me happy."

Steve grinned at his friend, and after taking a swig of orange juice and swallowing his own emotion with it, he cleared his throat. "Sounds like your happiness is pretty productive. You should take me with you sometime; maybe it would make me happy, too. Stark is always bugging me about finding hobbies besides "napping in icebergs", and it would be nice to help people in ways other than punching bad guys."

"It's not Brooklyn," Sam joked, taking a sip of juice, but his tone grew a tad bit more serious. "I spend most of my time in basement of an old church where my dad used to preach. A lot people have made it a place of refuge. Sometimes I like give up a bit hope, because heaven knows they need every day." His eyes lowered at Steve's empty plate. He sighed. "Whatever is happening to you, Steve, it's not going to stop you from fighting." Steve lifted his softened gaze to him. "We'll find way...Storms don't last."

"Too bad my umbrella isn't in too good of shape," Steve said in a blasé tone, glancing back at his shield. "I guess I will just have to get wet."

Sam inhaled sharply, listening to the captain's wistful tone. His expression instantly went stoic and vague. His dismal eyes downcast at the empty juice glass. He nodded mutely, feeling a sudden wave of tension that had withdrawn him from emotion and then resettled a momentarily gaze at the soldier's rough knuckles. He felt the muscles in his chest twitch against a nagging ache.

He wasn't ready to watch his friend suffer under HYDRA's shadow, and he had a right to become concerned about the outcomes of Steve's choices in the next forty-eight hours. There wasn't much time.

Sam sighed for a long moment, allowing the silence to linger between them, until his voice questioned the disheartening question. "So, what happens if you can't save yourself from this HYDRA curse, do you fully change into that dog again and lose everything that makes you human?"

Steve's expression sobered and he let out a slow, wavering sigh of his own. "I don't know for sure, but I think you're right. At least, when I was a dog at first, it felt like my humanity was deteriorating. It's almost as if HYDRA has a way of disintegrating a person's soul, though philosophically I know that's impossible. I guess they're killing your spirit—your being—in a new way. Rather than your soul fleeing your body at once, like usually happens at death, it departs much more slowly. I don't know if you can get it back once it's gone; this topic is just too hazy for me to fully understand. I honestly know nothing for certain."

"There is no common ground between evil and good." Sam replied with a hint of weariness in his voice. He stretched out his hand to Steve's shoulder, brotherly. He felt unreasonably comfortable doing that gesture. "I do know that sometimes are certain, Cap." His voice locked in his chest, the grief was almost intolerable for him to fight against. They shared an understanding look. "You will beat this," He kept his tone firm and eyes determined as he looked into Steve's steadily blue ones. «I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you will have victory when this war ends."

Steve felt the warmth of Sam's hand spread all over him, and he genuinely grinned. "Thanks, Sam. And you're right; HYDRA can't win, not ultimately. I know a lot of people today think that good and evil are two equals, fighting for dominion. But they're wrong. Good does not and cannot fall to evil; it is, by nature, triumphant. If I stand with what is good, then I will win even if I personally lose. That's what I always told myself in the War at least. You can never know if you're going to live to see another day, but if you fight for what is right, your cause is guaranteed to prevail."

Listening to the heavy the measure of burden in his friend's voice, Sam held his gaze on the cross secured over Steve's bruised neck. He felt a sudden ignition of warmth enter him. Deep into his core. He knew that Steve was coping with this hapless situation, but with all doubt cast aside, he managed to pull his lips into a faint smile of assurance. It wouldn't change anything if the super-soldier became a dog, Steve Rogers would always be Captain America through his spirit and soul. "I want you to know that matter what happens after we walk out of this house; you will always be my friend and hero." He said, holding a level of confidence in his voice.

"Thank you, Sam," Steve said, nodding his head modestly. "That means a lot to me."

"Not mention it, Cap," Sam said, his dark eyes drifted back to the shield. He didn't say anything. His lips curled into a hearten smile.

Steve finished his strip of bacon, and rested his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. "I consider you one my good friends, Sam." He spoke with grateful cadence in his voice. "I couldn't have stopped HYDRA without you as my wing man... On my left." He dropped his light eyes and reflected on his memories of Bucky—the one friend who always had his back in the alleys of Brooklyn and on the battlefield.

He grimaced as blood dripped over his chin, sniffling, he wiped his sleeve underneath his nose. The pain refused to subside in his jaw. A bruise was starting to eat away at the paleness of his cheek. He was ashamed that he couldn't defend himself against the brute. The trash can lid served as his shield for the beginning of the brawl; he wasn't strong enough. A spastic wheeze broke from his slip lip as he tried to lift himself of the ground, but weakness in his muscles increased and he remain laden in the pile of trash.

"You really ought to stay out of these places, Stevie," The blonde haired boy paused in a heartbeat. His teary blue eyes searched for the source of the voice that forced him out of his musing, and he looked to the shadows. Sliding his wrist under his nose, Steve tried to stop the blood from emerging out of his nostrils. He turned his gaze to the corner fence and found Bucky leaning up against the wood with the same cocksure smile spread over his broad and boyish features. Regardless of the swelling of his jaw, Steve managed to hold a lopsided smirk

After releasing out a frustrated sigh, Bucky causally walked over to the heap of trash, his ice blue eyes leveled at the drops of blood. He was used to seeing red pour out of his little friend after a fight.

It was a common thing with Steven Rogers.

"Grhh...What happened this time, punk?" he scoffed, with a brush of concern intermixed with his amiable Brooklyn accent. He knew that the "little guy" was too stubborn to admit his pain. Another common thing between them. His blue eyes swept over the purple tinged bruises and smears of blood. Regardless, he pressed on, trying to get the truth out of his friend. "Come on, Stevie, tell me what happened?" He urged and his slacken brow scrunched with discontentment.

"Some bully was picking on a little kid," Steve answered with a sigh of disgruntlement. "It didn't seem right to watch it happen."

Steve tried to stand up, pushing himself off the pile of refuse, but his feet slipped on a trash bag and he slid back into the same position he'd started in. He was so tired to being small, so tired of being powerless. If felt like every day he was nursing some new injury or illness, and his weaknesses were taking their toll, especially on his own morale.

"Steve," Bucky sighed, long and deep. His face fell and his lips pressed into a discouraged frown. It was disheartening to watch his friend struggle to survive with his illnesses and grief. He was Steve's big brother, the guy who always had his back no matter what they faced in alleyway, junkyards and both sides of the tracks.

Still, there was an aching sense of dependence and need as he looked soulfully into Steve's glistening blue pools. Bucky knew that he would be nothing without the little punk. Just a castoff of his father's shadow, going nowhere. He made a promise to Sarah Rogers, to always look after her son. A Barnes boy never breaks his word. "I told you many times not to get yourself involve in fight you can't win. Do you ever listen...No. You always have to pretend to be something you not, Steve. And if you got beaten up badly..." His voice cracked and his iron layers were melting. "I don't know what I would...Uh...Never mind."

"What?" Steve pressed, groaning and slowly repositioning his body so that he was sitting up atop of the filth and muck scattered under his scrawny form... "What would you do? Don't you see that I can't just stand by while some injustice happens? That would make me both a weakling and a coward. Isn't that why the world's got so many problems today? People don't stand up for what's right."

"I don't care about that, Steve." Bucky retorted. His chiseled face shadowed with a wrenched expression, his smile faded into a brief glimmer of despondence. There was an edge rising in his voice. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shed tears. He watched the blood slope aimlessly down his friend's thinned and sickly face.

"Look, I promise your Ma, that I would look after you as a friend...Not as dead weight to lug around on the streets." He breathed, rubbing his thumb gently on the deep gash on the side of Steve's jaw. He pondered and looked steadily into the other boy's hardened gaze. "I want you safe...Not making a mess with your blood all over Brooklyn."

Bucky's cool and defiant exterior thawed into something benevolent. His muscles tended. "I can't lose you, punk. We gotta look out for each other, yeah, I know it's a tough world and sometimes good people get hurt." He nudged a fist lightly into Steve's bony shoulder. "I know I'm not the best friend a kid like you could have, but I know you're something special...You may look small to those jerks... "

His blue eyes narrowed at the dented tin lid behind Steve. A faint smirk pulled over his lips. "...but when I see you holding that stupid trash can lid...You look-Um... Brave."

"Brave?" Steve repeated, shaking his head and giving a shallow laugh. He mirrored Bucky's pensive gaze. "That's not exactly the word I would use. More like stubborn, or maybe stupid, but you already used that one, I think. Or was that about my amazing weapon?" Steve held up the lid and took a dramatic pose, evoking a laugh from both himself and Bucky. "You never know," he said, cocking his head and turning the lid in his hands. "These may come into style someday."

Bucky shook his head, and slung his left arm over Steve's shoulders. "You never know, punk." His lips curled into a feeble grin, trying his best to give his friend hope. That's all he could give him. "You never know..."

"Well, then it's good to know you'll always be there," Steve replied with a contended sigh. "Thanks Buck."

Bucky lifted his chin, pulling Steve close and securing his arm over his lower back as support. "Yeah, well, don't mention it, punk." he replied, his throat wavered as he wore his suave exterior and walked him out of the alley to face the world ahead. He brushed off the scraps of potato peelings off Steve's coat. "Next time those jerks have you on the ropes... Just throw a trash lid at their heads." Steve looked at him with a weak smile. He flicked the pieces to the ground and they continued walking.

A big thank you to my amazing co-writer and JuliaAurelia.