James slapped the money into the expectant hands of the deck manager. He didn't have much money left. Less than a dollar jingled in the bottom of his coin bag, and he hunched the bag on his shoulders higher up.

James walked off the riverboat, pretending like he knew what he was doing. He had known paying for passage halfway up the Mississippi would have been more money than he could rationalize spending, but the decision was already made.

"Welcome to Aurora Run, the finest little town you'll find on the sumptuous American Nile!" Crowed a mustachioed man in a tweed suit. James ducked out of his sight. He had seen dozens of these dock-rat tour guides, always ready to gobble up the coin that was tossed in their direction for a tour of the town. For a novice traveler, it was easy to get sucked up in these scams, willingly emptying purses for sub-par services.

The farther north they had journeyed on that damned riverboat, the colder it had been, but the bugs didn't get any smaller.

James swatted at a mosquito that landed on his arm and took stock of the town in front of him.

From what the rat on the docks had said, the town was called Aurora Run, and the helmsman on the boat had declared two days before that they were running along the banks of Illinois State. James hadn't really planned on coming this far north, but at the same time, he didn't have a plan. A sharp, throbbing pain echoed in his left arm, reminding him of why he left

The city sprawled out in all directions, a bit sparser than he was expecting. Clapboard siding was on all of the houses and stores, the central point of the town was the big white church. James had been anticipating that too. He could smell the heat of the blacksmith forge and could hear the livery stables. The town was a pale shade in comparison to the bustling New Orleans he had left weeks ago, but that was the point. If he had wanted another New Orleans, he would have stayed.

Hitching his bag higher up on his back, he made his way up the small hill into the town. Few horses were fastened to the posts; most people preferred walking down the dirt streets, unhurried in a way James had never seen.

He carefully plotted himself a mental map of the shockingly green town, carefully remembering where the sheriff's station was, and the only saloon. No day drinkers were tumbling out of the tavern, spilled across the street in their own mess, and James took that as a sign.

Fatigue dragged at his body, making every movement in his body delayed. The river guide had been hours late on his estimation of their arrival. The day was well into the afternoon, maybe three hours of sunlight left.

All of this meant that James had to find a place to stay, for close to nothing, but something caught his eye first.

'HAPPY'S GENERAL STORE' was a brown, two-story clapboard building that was positively overflowing with merchandise.

If this place was even a little bit like New Orleans, this shop keeper knew the town better than anyone. Except maybe the madams at the saloon.

Even this close to the river, the air was sweeter here somehow. Maybe it was because he had yet to see a single orphan begging on the street or a slave in a field.

A small bell rang as he opened the door, stepping onto the swept plank floors. Floor to ceiling and wall to wall, there were rows upon rows of shelves tightly packed with everything James could ever dream. The small store was dark and smelled like damp wood and leather, and dog.

James glanced down at the ancient, wrinkled bulldog lounging on a blanket behind the counter. She barely spared him a cross-eyed glance before going back to sleep.

"No worries, Friday," a slightly amused man said from behind the crowded counter, raising an eyebrow at the dog. "I've got this one,"

The dog grunted.

"Hello stranger," he welcomed, fixing James with a kind smile. "You come off the boat from the Mississippi?"

"Yes sir," James nodded, unable to take in everything on the counter at once. He was viciously jealous of the dog napping on the floor.

"I'm Happy Hogan, owner of Happy's General Store,"

"James Barnes," he replied, nodding politely at him.

"Where'd you start your journey?" The middle-aged man asked, clearly happy for some company.

"New Orleans," James replied, caught in the bug-eyed stare of a mounted rabbit by the cash register.

"You don't say?" The man asked, surprised. "New Orleans? What could our little village offer that New Orleans doesn't have?"

For the first time, James leveled his eyes with the grocer. He looked kind, soft around the middle and friendly. James desperately missed friendly people.

"The quiet," he offered. The man smiled.

"Yessir, we have plenty of that."

James offered him a tepid smile back. His arm throbbed.

"You wouldn't mind if I ask you some questions about the town, would you?" James asked, acutely aware of how different his accent was compared to Happy's.

"No son, I wouldn't mind at all,"

"I'll be needing a job, seeing as I have enough money for maybe three nights stay at the worst institution you have here,"

Happy cracked a smile.

"Oh, I am sure Mrs. Violet would love to cut that right in half with a night with one of her charming girls," he wiggled his eyebrows, and James couldn't help but grimace.

"I fully plan on steering clear of those establishments, thank you,"

"Good boy," Happy praised, already switching subjects. "Did you apprentice with anyone down in New Orleans? That could help you find a job quicker here,"

"Yessir, I was a card-dealer, but I hardly think you have any high-risk gambling dens in this tiny place,"

Happy shook his head. "No, and I don't think Tony would take very kindly to you robbing his patrons out of their month's wages in a single night,"

James shook his head.

"Are you a strong worker? Lemme see your hands," Happy peered over the side of the counter, resting his elbows on the top, almost knocking over a box of cigars. James raised his hands, showing the shop keeper. Blistered and torn up from having to help with the poles on the riverboat, he knew his hands looked horrible. He lessened his expenses on the trip by helping out, no matter how much it hurt his body, and it showed with every ache in his back.

"Well, no blacksmith would want such long fingers gettin' in the way," Happy mused.

"Can you settle a wayward horse?"

"No, sir. Never got along too well with the big animals like, never had to when I lived in the city,"

"I see," Happy never gave his opinion on what he thought, and James appreciated it. "Can you read and write?"

"Yessir,"

"You good with numbers?"

"Had to be, working for," the name almost left his mouth, but he clamped his jaw shut.

He didn't work for them anymore. They were gone.

Happy didn't press the subject and nodded.

"Miss Nancy will be getting married soon, and that pesky matrimony always leads to a squirming, screaming little baby," Happy wrinkled his nose at the notion. "So there is going to be an opening as a school teacher within a few months,"

James nodded and kept the idea in his mind but shuddered. One or two kids were terrific, a room full of them was hell.

"Well," Happy sighed, "you can always go work on a farm until you get on your feet. Farmers will be getting their seeds within the week, and they're always looking for a little more help this time of year and again during the harvest. Would that be something you might be able to do, James?" Happy raised a bushy eyebrow at him, who nodded.

"I've never planted anything before," He admitted.

"They'll teach you, don't worry about it,"

Happy shuffled around behind the counter, slipping a pair of comically small bifocals on as he scanned over the day's ledger.

James took the conversation lull as an invitation to wander around the small, stuffed store. Crates of nails and barrels of corn were jammed under shelves with bolts of cloth and rows of coffee grinders. Pork packed in salt sat in a barrel next to an extensive collection of threads, pounds of lard soap was precariously perched on a shelf next to hatpins, and rows of elixirs and moonshine.

James sighed and picked up a bar of soap, knowing that the sliver of soap he had left wouldn't last him the week. It was well priced, only ten cents a bar, but he cringed at spending any sort of money.

But if he wanted a job, then he needed not to smell like he had migrated up with the pigs.

He brought his brown bar of soap up to Happy, who handed him his change and an apple.

"I didn't pay for an apple," James tried, but Happy waved him off, taking a bite of his own.

"They're from last year,"

James regarded the apple. It looked a little deflated, but one bite found that it was still entirely edible, and actually delicious. He sat on a stool behind the door as Happy continued talking.

"You know, I've been thinking about farmers that need the most help this year, and by God, I don't know how I didn't think of him before," Happy shook his head at himself.

"There's a fella called Steve Rogers, and I'll be damned if he didn't come in here not a day ago and tell me about how he didn't know if he would be able to get a crop in this year all by himself. God sure works in mysterious ways," Happy grinned at his cleverness, congratulating himself on putting each of their circumstances together.

"And you'll think he'll hire me on as help?" James questioned, skeptical. Where he came from, people didn't do things out of the kindness of their hearts very often. They always had an angle.

"Well, you see, that's a heartbreaking story," Happy didn't need to be prodded to continue. "Steve was living on a farmstead with his sister Sharon and her husband. Well, Sharon's husband's Joseph passed away while Sharon was pregnant with their daughter, the unfortunate woman. He was fishing on the river when his raft capsized and sunk, drowning him. That was over a year ago now, but two months ago, Sharon got real sick. That God-awful illness was horrible, a truly terrible thing to see. Sorry Doctor Banner, he tried everything he could to save her, but she was too sick. She passed away not long after, leaving that sorrowful Steve to raise his baby niece all by himself. A real tragedy." Happy shook his head in remorse, lost in thought.

"And he doesn't have anyone else to help him?" James questioned.

"Well, we try and help him the best we can, but he's not the only one with a farm to look after," he replied with a sigh.

"Wanda Maximoff helped him quite a bit in the beginning, showing him how to look after the babe and whatnot, but she has her own young family to raise too,"

"There a lot of sickness in this town?" James asked, suddenly feeling a little itchy under his clothes. He had seen so much illness in New Orleans. He couldn't handle death in another town.

"No, son, don't get yourself worked up. We have two doctors here, and they take mighty good care of us," Happy boasted.

James nodded even though he still scratched at his neck.

Off to the north, James heard the rhythmic sound of hooves on dirt and the creak of a wagon. Happy stood up behind the counter and leered out the window.

"Speak of the devil," he crowed loudly, waking Friday. The smush nosed dog gave a disinterested, half-hearted yap before reclining back on her bed.

James kept still as he listened to the wagon stop in front of the shop, and feet hitting the ground.

"Steve, how the hell are ya?" Happy greeted him loudly, grinning ear to ear as the door opened.

"Afternoon, Happy," Steve acknowledged the shopkeeper. "I need something sweet for my girl before I get back home,"

Since James was on a stool behind the door, the man hadn't yet seen him. But James could see him. He was tall and broad, head hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. James swayed from his perch, exhaustion pulling at his balance.

Happy gladly pulled out bags of candy from the glass front of his counter, putting them a paper bag for Steve.

"How is the little one doin'?" Happy inquired, accepting the money.

"She's doing fine, considering, and growing like a weed,"

James could hear the smile in his voice.

"The little rascal finally learned my name," He continued, "Calls me Stevey, just like Sharon used to," there was a rueful, silent stretch, and he put the candy into the pocket of his canvas trousers. James' arm needed checking on soon, and now was not the time. Yet the wrenching pain sang to him all the same, pulsing and burning.

"That's just the sweetest thing, Steve, it really is." Happy affirmed, a somber smile on his face. James caught his eye over the shoulder of the farming giant, and the shopkeep nodded.

"Say, Steve,"

He pulled his attention away from a little doll behind the glass of the counter.

"You'll still be needing help for the sowing, won't you?"

"Yeah, Hap, you going to come up to the farm and help me plant some wheat?" He teased, and from his limited angle, James could only see a bit of his bearded face.

"No, son, I never was one for farming, but I think I found you a right likely hand," Happy nodded behind Steve at James, who was still silently sitting on the stool.

Steve turned in confusion and locked eyes on James, startled at finding out there was someone behind him the whole time.

"James here came off the boat this 'mornin', fresh all the way from New Orleans. Imagine that, someone from clear across the country," Happy's eyes glimmered with excitement.

Steve appraised him with his eyes, easily the bluest eyes James had ever seen. James had met people that looked like Steve in Louisiana. Tall, broad, and beautiful, they were the cockiest sons of bitches he had ever met. Men this appealing always had a whore dangling off of one arm and cigar on their lip; they wanted the world licking their boots.

He prayed he was wrong.

"You looking for work?" Steve asked, blond brow raised.

"Yessir," James nodded, rising from the stool, somehow hiding that he blacked out for a second.

"You ever work on a farm before?" He reached out and clasped hands with James. His hands were as warm and rough as expected, and it didn't settle James' stomach any.

"No, sir, but I'm quick to learn. I learned how to play 'Texas hold em' in half an hour and beat the dealer, I can learn how to milk a cow," he added, a bit cheekily.

Happy grinned at him with a wink.

Steve just nodded solemnly.

"Is that what you did down south, gamble?"

"Not quite," James grimaced. "I was a card dealer at a gambling den, yes, but I never bet with my own money, sir,"

Steve rocked back on his heels, thinking.

God, he really is beautiful. James caught himself thinking as he regarded the man. He quickly shunned his thoughts.

"I can't pay you much," He admitted, taking off his hat and running a hand through his short hair.

"I don't expect much," James added quickly.

"I can get you a roof over your head and food. You look like you haven't eaten in a week," he frowned.

Keeping any color from showing on his cheeks, James nodded while Steve's eyes scanned his body up and down.

He didn't want to explain that food on the Mississippi trip was too expensive for him to have every day, and eating less than one meal a day for three weeks led to hollow cheeks.

Steve's eyes settled on James' feet, noticing that he had on shoes that weren't falling apart, and that seemed to be the winning reason.

"Alright," he nodded, "you can come back with me. It'll save you from a night at Tony's Tavern, and you'll thank me for that later," Steve said, cracking a smile at Happy, who snorted loudly.

"Pepper and Jarvis are the reason that building is still standing, I swear,"

"I once saw Tony drink three quarters a bottle of bourbon fifteen seconds and wipe the floor with the other poker players," Steve mused, the left corner of his mouth quirking up at the memory. "The man is a force of nature and a little indestructible," He shook his head and walked to the door. "Thanks, Happy, I'll see you on Sunday,"

"Any time Steve," Happy called out and offered James a kind smile while he stood to follow Steve, ignoring how quickly the room was spinning. "Good luck, James,"

"Thank you, Happy, I really mean it," James said sincerely. Friday gave no indication that she cared about what was happening while they left the store.

Though Steve was maybe two inches taller than James, his stride was longer, causing the latter to pick up the pace.

A massive chestnut horse pulled his wagon, like genuinely gigantic. James faltered, astounded that an animal could get that big. He nickered to Steve as he got closer.

"Yeah, we're going home," he reassured, and in one fluid motion, he pulled himself up onto the driver's bench. James hesitated for a second before climbing up too. He wasn't as strong as Steve, but he could bet money that the farmer had never took a ballet lesson, and he could be graceful when he wanted.

He barely touched the horse's rumps with the reins, and they were off at slow ambling pace down the street.

James got no one's attention (a relished fact), but Steve had multiple people calling out greetings to him, tipping their hats and women telling him that they would pray for him and his niece. Even a few kids yelled his name, vigorously waving from the street.

The town was charming, James finally decided. Calm and amiable, the sort of place that belonged in a storybook that his ma used to read him, nestled perfectly in the crook of the Mississippi. The sun was getting lower on the horizon, elongating the shadows on the dirt path that led out of town. A flock of finches burst from the oak to the left of Steve, a riot of black yellow as they soared over the top of them, singing sweetly.

Steve waited until the din of the town was behind them to speak.

"Before we get any further out of town, I need you to know something," He said cautiously, his baritone voice leaving no room for jokes.

James had tried his best not to shrink away from him the entire ride, practically hanging off the edge of the bench to give the farmer as much space as he needed, and now was no different. If he moved an inch further to the right, he'd drop straight to the ground. James forced himself to meet his eyes.

"I have my niece to take care of, and she only learned how to walk two months ago. She is all that I have left. And if you hurt her in any way,"

James felt his heart stuttering with fear at the complete sincerity in Steve's low, calm voice. "I have a whole town of people that will have no trouble hanging you from a tree. Do you understand me?"

"Yessir," James said as levelly as he could. Of course, he had no intention of hurting the girl, and he planned on making that brutally apparent.

"And no more of that 'yes sir, no sir' bullshit. I'm not a sir. I'm Steve,"

James opened his mouth again, but 'yessir' almost came out, so he nodded instead.

Steve fell silent again, and James' attention was pulled to his hands that held the reins. They were large hands, rough from the years of farm life and tan from the sun. James desperately hoped that he would never be on the cruel side of his fists.

The dirt road led to another dirt road, and finally, a farmstead was visible in the distance. The horse's ears quirked up, and the massive chestnut let out a loud whinny that was answered by a ' moo ' and a rooster crow.

Their pace increased without Steve's endorsement.

Fields of tilled up dirt spanned on the left, as far as the hills would allow James to see, and the right was a collection of pastures housing a cow and a single irritated looking donkey.

A vicious, growling bark startled James as a huge dog came barreling down the driveway. The English shepherd paid no attention to the horse and, in one enormous leap, crashed into Steve.

He caught the thrashing bundle, accidentally knocking his shoulders into James.

The wriggling dog squirmed and writhed in his hold, crying and trying to lick his whole face as fast as he could.

"Peter, we talked about this," Steve grunted, pushing the dog's face away from his own.

James sat there, stunned, as Steve held onto the eighty-pound dog like he would a child, stroking its ears.

The dog stared at him with stars in its eyes and tail beating hard against James' legs.

"One of these days, you're going to knock me clear on my ass," Steve said sternly, looking down at the dog cradled in his arms. His tongue shot out and caught Steve's mouth.

"Bleh," he wrenched away and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Get down," He ordered, and Peter jumped down, prancing around the wagon, tail still wagging a mile a minute.

"Sorry about that," Steve apologized, wiping off his face with his shirt sleeve. "He's too sweet of a dog, and I don't know how he's lasted this long,"

"I thought we were getting attacked by a bear," James admitted, glancing at the dog who tore off across the lawn, rolling in the grass and snapping after bugs.

Steve laughed, an opened mouthed glorious thing. He tipped his head back and let the sound boom across the yard. James was overwhelmed at the volume, but deeply proud of himself for causing such a noise. He caught himself staring at the sparkling eyes underneath the broad hat and the sharp cut of his jaw that was partially hidden under a short, trimmed beard.

Now is not the time, Barnes. He growled at himself.

Steve seemed just as startled at the laughter as James, who wondered when was the last time he laughed.

It seemed like he wanted to say something, to comment or say thank you, but Steve just looked at him for a few seconds.

James was partially successful in fighting down the flush that snuck up to his cheeks at having the full, unadulterated gaze of Steve on him.

The house was suddenly a lot closer, and James could see a shock of red hair in the window before Steve led the horse to the left, towards the barn.

Chickens squawked and flapped as they fled out from underneath the horse's feet; a few bleating goats followed. The farm was the healthy sort of chaos, the kind that didn't drain the mind. James knew the chaos of New Orleans, and this was a bubble bath in comparison.

Mmmm, he thought, a bath. Hygiene on a riverboat was questionable at best, and he was ashamed to admit that he hadn't been fully submerged in a bathtub in weeks. There was only so much he could do with a basin of water and a washrag, and the results were starting to show.

When Steve swung down from the wagon, James followed, ready to help however he could. He had never unharnessed a horse before; he had never even touched a horse before.

"Come hold him steady," came Steve's voice from the other side of the horse. James carefully walked in front of the massive beast, and it didn't care about him at all, which was a little reassuring.

Rogers was standing on the left of the chestnut, rubbing his ears. The stallion (James hadn't been looking, but the evidence was very obvious as he stood there) was perfectly still, and he knew that Steve could do this all by himself, but was making James feel useful. The thought settled uncomfortably on his shoulders.

"Hold this," nodded to his hand, wrapped around the jaw strap of the bridle, and James carefully took hold. His hand was the only stopping the two thousand pound horse from ripping across the yard like the dog, and James blew out a slow breath. That caught the horse's attention as Steve ducked around them, unsnapping and unbuckling as he went along.

His steady brown eyes were reassuring, giant body heaving as he stomped his foot at an irritating fly. One of his light brown ears followed Steve, but the other one was trained on James.

Sucking up some of the bravery that led him to this place, to begin with, he murmured gently to the stallion, smoothing a hand over his neck.

He wasn't expecting him to be so hot. The fur was smooth and a little damp from sweat, but so soft. The stallion didn't seem to mind the attention, so he continued stroking his ridiculously thick neck, carding his fingers through his flaxen mane.

"Thor is such a baby," rumbled a voice to his right. Steve appeared out of nowhere, a little tilt to his mouth as stallion turned his head to look at him, responding to his name.

Odd name, he thought to himself.

"Wait till I take the harness off, then you'll never be scared of him again."

James felt rude words biting his tongue, and he was almost unable to keep himself from snapping at Steve that he wasn't scared of horses.

We haven't even been here for ten minutes; it would work best if we weren't kicked out immediately. He growled to himself.

True to his word, Steve hauled the harness up off of the horse and handed it off to James. The brown leather was significantly heavier than he thought it would be.

Steve's huge hands went on either side of the horse's neck, and he started itching. Thor's head reared up, lip curling while Steve scratched his chest, a high keening noise leaving his mouth.

James was dumbfounded, standing with his mouth open, body straining to hold onto the leather harness. Steve had his arms wrapped around the neck of a horse that could kill him in an instant, and he turned his head to grin at James.

"Told you. Big baby,"

Shit, James thought to himself. This is not going to be easy.