Chapter 5: I don't like bullies
Bucky let out a long, winded sigh, his eyes turned up at the dull gray sky, not looking his best friend from his childhood in the eyes. Bucky's lightly colored eyes shone with unshed tears, one slowly leaking out from his eyes, falling down his cheeks. Steve swallowed a nervous lump down his throat. He knew what he had to say. He knew that Bucky was upset because of what happened to him. He had to know he was still the same person.
"I may not be the sickly, scrawny kid from Brooklyen anymore, but I'm still the damn punk who's too dumb to run away from a fight, ya jerk," Steve choked out.
Bucky's eyes fluttered in shock, his face a mixture of shock and understanding. Steve was still Steve, but just bigger and with a healthy immune system. He was still a dumb punk from Brooklyen, with a dragon.
"I'm still with you to the end with the end of the line, Buck," Steve laughed, his smile reaching the corners of his ears, his bright blue eyes shining with understanding.
"To the end of the line, pal," Bucky laughed, for the first time since he was sent overseas.
He gave a good friendly slap on Steve's back. The two men laughed being giddy twenty some year olds, not soldiers. Not men hardened by war, just two goofballs from Brooklyen. They laughed and joked about stupid things they've done as young, giddy school boys.
Hodge was pissed. Rodgers, the skinny little kid from his Boot camp days stole his victory! He was supposed to be that, Phillips' right hand man! Not the goddamn sickly kid that pulled out the damn safety pin from the flagpole! The moron who jumped on the dummy grenade! It was supposed to be his!
He was going to get Rodgers where it hurt the most. At his family's legacy. It was going to be great, for him at least. Hodge saw the Jap and the Nigger talking to Rodgers, as if they where friends. What was wrong with that guy? Hodge slowly began to think he was dropped on his head as a baby.
Dugan was chatting away with Victor and Logan. The two men revealed that they were from Alberta, Canada. Monty was actually from an upper class family, hence the glares of death from the two brothers. Denrir was holding two glasses of beer for them. They deserved it. They didn't see Sarge, Rodgers, Jones or Mortia. Where on earth where they?
"Hey! Rodgers! What are you doing? Talking to men below you? I thought you had more sense than that," Hodge sneered, his eyes cocky and bright.
There was a hungry gleam in them, one that scared Rodgers to his core. Rodgers was ignoring him, still talking to the two men. Hodge was growing annoyed, he was being denied attention. He was not pleased with this, with Rodgers ignoring him. He did the one thing he knew how to get the man's attention.
"Hey Rodgers! I thought that your father didn't want you to bow down this low!" Hodge hissed out, his face contorted into a wolf-like grin.
Steve's blue eyes hardened. His bushy blond eyebrows furrowed together, his jaw setting in place. Bucky knew that face all too well, it was Steve's 'did you just insult my mother?' face. Steve stormed over to Hodge, and now being six-foot-two inches tall rather than his scrawny height of five feet four inches when he was sickly kid, he was more intimidating than he was before the serum.
"What did you just say about these men?! At least they have something that you don't have, humility. Which is something you are sorely lacking, Hodge," Steve growled out, his blue eyes glowing with an inner fire. Hodge did not shrink back, like the rest of his gang. Hodge still had that boastful grin on his face.
"What are you going to do about it? Punch me? You wouldn't hurt a true American wouldn't you?" he responded with a grin.
That was the last straw. Steve punched Hodge hard-strait to the jaw. There was definitely the sound of bones being broken. The man doubled back, clutching his jaw, as blood trickled out of his mouth. Hodge wiped the blood away with his arm sleeve. Before Steve could get another go at him, for nearly insulting his mother's memory, Bucky grabbed Steve by the arms.
"Hey Steve! Steve! Let him go, he's not worth it!" Bucky yelled, and pleaded at the same time.
Steve's temper had disappeared, as if it was never there to begin with. Hodge did a walk of shame to the medical tent, to get his broken jaw treated. Jones and Mortia blinked their shock, never in their lives, had someone stood up to them, for Mortia, it was because of Pearl Harbor.
For Jones it was the first time anyone had decided he was worth getting punched over. Did this Steve Rodgers fellow like them because of who they were as a person, not because of the color of their skin? Was the thought that ran through both men's heads.
Steve walked over to Colonel Phillips with a piece of paper with a list of names on it. The names of the soon to be famed Howling Commandos. The gruff military man sat on a chair, sipping from a cup of coffee. He placed the list on the desk, hoping that he'll see it.
Phillips saw Steve walk in and walk out. He placed a sheet of paper on his desk. Getting up, he walked over and saw the list of names he wanted. For his unit to go after Simitcht and HYDRA. Steve Rodgers had the whole entire alphabet soup to pick from and he chooses these men? Phillips knew in his heart that the brass would never approve of these men, save for Sergeant Barnes, and that was just it, mabey Creed and Howlett if they were in a generous mood.
"Captain Rodgers!" a voice called once dawn had broken over the camp on the next day.
The man had to be a stooge for the brass, or worse, a politician. He waved a bright, pink letter stamped with the word, IMPORTANT, across it. He was grinning ear to ear once he met the man he was looking for. Steve gently took the letter from the man's hand. He walked over to his hotel room, to read it in private.
Dear Captain Rodgers
I have received your list of men that you want for your commando unit. They sound like good men, but it will not work. A Colored and Jap, a Frenchie, a Brit, two Candian brothers, and the son of a Irish immigrant? It sounds more like a circus sideshow than anything. The only man from your list that I will allow to be on your unit, is Sgt. Barnes. He is a good man, and a good soldier. Take care, soldier.
The letter wasn't even signed. Steve angrily stormed out of his hotel room and slammed the door shut. He tore up the letter in a fit of fury, and chucked the damn thing in the garbage pail. He wanted to punch something, mabey a post with Johan Smitchit's ugly mug on it. Yeah, that will work, the reasonable part of his brain echoed through his head. He sighed and summoned the courage to talk to Colonel Phillips.
He found the man sitting at his desk with a patient smile on his face. The man was glaring daggers at a suit, most likely one of the brass. The man had an unlit cigar in his mouth, his uniform neatly groomed to perfection, his hair swept back.
The man didn't look like he saw an ounce of real combat. It really irked him when these men, who knowingly send young men, barely eighteen years old to their deaths. They did not care about lives being lost, only their public image. He gritted his teeth in anger.
"So, you must be Captain Rodgers. I thought I was staring at a Nazi, for a secound there," The man chuckled at his own joke. Steve said nothing but just glared.
"Sir," Steve responded through a cold, rehearsed smile, one that he only used for the USSO tours.
The man grinned, clearly pleased with this. He gave Steve a polite nod. He nodded back, his eyes still cold and fierce. He was mad beyond reason, he was not worried about the flak he'll get from those on the Hill or whatever the press said about him.
About Liberty being a member of his unit. He was going to give these PR guys hell. They'll get the stupid punk from Brookylen. Turning to the man, he gave him his thousand watt 'Captain America' smile. One that won the audiences over, one that flashed in the camera.
"Good, it seems that you understand. I want to give you a medal of valor for your actions at Azzano, I think that's well deserved? Don't you Colonel Phillips?" The man asked, as he clasped his hands together.
"Sir, Captain Rodgers had seen these men fight in battle. He knows what they can do as a group, give him and these men a chance to prove themselves," Phillips barked back, his lips twitched upwards.
Steve smirked, fully knowing he was in a winning fight, much to the horror of the brass. None of them wanted for him to succeed past what they wanted for him to succeed on. Steve was going to prove them wrong with Liberty at his side. With his dragon at his side. HYDRA would have something more to fear than a man with a shield. He stormed out of the tent and walked to the bar, where his team was drinking and singing to their heart's content.
Logan was grinning ear to ear, raising a glass of beer that was dangerously dark. He was clearly enjoying the air and life of the bar. The soldiers singing songs, the women dancing with the men, a lone man playing a lively tune on the piano. Dugan was laughing, and cheering on Mortia, who was engaged in a drinking contest with his brother, Victor.
Monty was looking around, enjoying the mood as well, his hand lax around his fifth pint of beer. Sergeant Barnes walked down and sat down with them, holding a bottle of whiskey, and a shot glass full to the brim. His once bright gray eyes were slightly dull. Denirir was clearly enjoying the easy going mood in the bar. He saw Steve walk into the bar, grinning as if he had won something. He got up and walked to the man.
"The beer is good here, bub," he sated, his voice unusually giddy and light.
His normal gruff and war-torn expression was gone, and was revealed was a man who was in his twenties enjoying life. Logan took Steve by the arm, and led him to the table, where Mortia was passed out on the floor, Victor grinning like a maniac. Logan's heart was in his throat. Victor's smile manifested his curved, sharp canines, like those of a big cat's.
Victor could be a tad bit scary at times, this was one of those times. Steve slowly recognized the tune that the man on the piano was playing. A song that his mother played echoed through his mind. He was humming the song without realising it, then the soft, lullaby tune turned into a full-blown Irish jig. Steve suddenly burst out in song in his parents' native tongue. Without thinking, he pulled Bucky to his feet. The man was knocked off balance and came crashing into one of the tables. Dugan cheered him on, and joined in the dance.
Peggy had no idea she was walking into a maelstrom of singing and dancing. She heard the loud, obnoxious sounds of men crashing into furniture, but the joyful singing and dancing of two men. Dugan was singing off of the top of his lungs, while Steve was dancing to an invisible and unheard tune, save for him. She soon felt a hand pull her into the dance.
It was Logan. She saw a soft kindness in his wolf-like eyes, his lips turned upwards in a soft smile. The two danced to an unheard tune in their hearts, the men's eyes drawn to her bright red dress, her curved frame, her full lips painted with bright red lipstick, and to the roughness of Logan's appearance. The eyes of the women here were drawn to Logan's well muscled frame. She couldn't blame them, Logan may be rough around the edges, but he had a kind heart.
His hands were rough and calloused, but soft at the same time. He placed his large, bear-like hand across her waist and began to spin her around. The two were drawing eyes, unintentionally, for they were an odd pair. The rough woodsman, with his wolfish appearance, and the maiden fair with her untainted innocence. It was beauty that killed the beast.
Steve was jealous, even if he'll deny it later. He loved Peggy but he never really mustered up the courage to talk to her. To ask her to a dance, but Logan had stealed that dance. He let him have it, cause no one would want to dance with him, an nobody. He sighed and turned back to his beer. He was still skinny Steve Rodgers, that had not changed. He sighed, and let a lonely tear fall down his cheek. He'll always have Liberty, that would never change.