"Surrender, Sir Barnes!" Steve points his wooden sword down at him.
"Still got my shield," Bucky answers, pulling the garbage can lid over his head and leaping up as Steve's pine sword clatters uselessly against the metal.
"Darn it!" Steve yells as the sword flies across the road behind Bucky, and he's now disarmed.
"Got you," Bucky says, letting go of his shield and wrestling Steve playfully to the ground.
"I surrender," Steve finally says, a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Didn't see that coming."
"You can do a lot with a shield," Bucky answers, grinning.
Bucky's childhood dream melts into other children's voices, as he slides out of sleep to the sound of Cass and AJ, Sarah's kids, playing with the shield. They're doing the most sacred thing with the most sacred object. Just a few days before, rough hands had defiled it, painting it with red that was never meant to be there. Now, the shield is blessed again by the laughter of Sam's nephews, the casual touches of their innocent playtime consecrating it once again, the way it was meant to be.
—
Elves and wizards, rivers and mountains.
Bucky sits on his bed, reading a book by a professor in England. Nobody understands why he likes this particular book so much, or why he paid extra to get it from overseas. They can't understand what it feels like to go somewhere else, to not need a movie screen to go to a faraway, fantastical land.
They would say it's childish. They lost their imaginations years ago, most of them. They can't comprehend how Bucky can still go where they can't. The windows in his unusual mind take him to places far beyond the tumultuous world where everyone says war is on the horizon.
"What are you reading?" Bucky sits on the opposite end of the sofa from AJ. He's been "Uncle Bucky" for a few days now, but he doesn't want to push it and scare the kid off.
"The Hobbit," AJ answers. "I have to read it for school, but I don't really get it."
Bucky smiles. "I really like that one."
AJ looks over at him. "Did you have to read it for school when you were my age?"
"Nope," Bucky answers. "It wasn't even out yet when I was your age."
"Wow," says AJ, "you're really old."
Bucky laughs. "No joke, kid. You—want to talk about the book? We could read it together, and I might be able to explain some of the older words."
AJ looks down. "I'm—not very good at reading. I have dyslexia."
"Come here." Bucky pats the sofa next to him, and AJ scoots closer. "How about I read it to you, and then we'll talk about what it means?"
"Okay." AJ sounds relieved. To Bucky's surprise, he pulls close enough that they're touching as he hands the book over. Bucky takes the opportunity to put an arm around him, glad when AJ relaxes against him.
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." Bucky has never read to anyone before. He's going to do a voice for every character and sound effects for the fights. He'll be the best uncle book reader there ever was.
—
"Nuh uh, I don't roll like this." Bucky steps away from the group of Gis who are whistling and catcalling the woman across the street.
"Don't do that, Buck!" says one of them. "You're the only reason she's looking over. Girls love your stupid face."
"Go figure out how to be a real man," Bucky answers, irritably walking even further away, "and don't call me Bucky. It's Corporal Barnes."
"Uh, Sarah, You wanna dance?" Bucky tries not to feel awkward, but it's been decades since he's done this.
It's dusk, and most people have left the cookout. Sam is playing checkers with his nephews at one of the tables, and a few stragglers are talking at the edges before they leave.
"I thought you might like the music change," Sarah says softly, coming over. "I found a 40s playlist on Spotify."
Bucky holds out his hand, and she takes it. He lightly pulls her to the open space, and she turns and lets him lead her into position for a slow swing to Ella Fitzgerald's "Cheek to Cheek."
After a few seconds, Bucky realizes how well it's going. He had expected to have to lead more than he is, but Sarah spins in and out and follows like she's done this a hundred times. "You're—pretty good at this," he says.
"Don't sound so surprised, Sergeant Barnes," she laughs. "I got into the swing craze in the 90s. I used to go down and do this every weekend. Sometimes the World War II vets would even come dance with us."
Bucky spins her in close. "They were lucky guys, but you gotta stop calling me sergeant. It's Bucky, all right?"
"Bucky all right," she teases, smiling.
Bucky all right, he thinks. Bucky's all right.