Chapter 3: The End of Innocence

1938, Brooklyn, NY

Bucky sat on the stairs in front of the apartment, book in hand. He'd started it months ago and finally had some time to pick it up again. The novel was by an English author about a Hobbit and his search for a treasure. He was engrossed with the current scene, a riddle game played by Bilbo and Gollum.

The Autumn day was unseasonably warm, with a touch of a cool breeze, and he had nothin' to do all day except take a trip to the corner store and shine his shoes. Spending the morning reading was a rare pleasure.

He finished the chapter, folded the page, and closed the book. He had to tell Steve about the riddle game, maybe try a few out. He could probably stump Steve. Maybe they'd bet on it, like in the book.

Getting to his feet, he brushed off the back of his pants and headed into the apartment. "Hey, Steve—"

The living room was empty. A tea kettle was on the stove, above a flame, steam pouring out of its spout. "Steve?"

He headed to the bedroom. There, on the floor at the foot of the bed… "Steve!"

Steve had one arm on the mattress, leaning against the bed, wheezing heavily. He looked up at Bucky, a flicker of panic in his eyes, and his gaze darted to his dresser.

The atomizer. "On it!" He flew to the top drawer, rifled through it until he found the black and red box, got the atomizer, and primed it. "One minute!"

In two strides, he was at the end of the bed. He dropped to the floor, shoving the open tube into Steve's mouth. Steve wrapped his mouth around the tube and took the bulb in his hands, then squeezed a couple of times, doing his best to inhale the medicine, and, after a few gasps, his breathing steadied.

"Jesus." Buck sank back against the foot of the bed and gave Steve's leg a reassuring pat. "You okay?"

Steve nodded, but his face was pale and his eyes glassy. He leaned forward, rattling out a few deep coughs.

"Uh-huh." Bucky felt Steve's forehead with the back of his hand. "No fever. You catch a cold?"

"I don't know," Steve wheezed. "I think I'm okay."

He didn't sound okay. He sounded out of breath.

"Uh-huh." Bucky got to his feet and debated helping Steve up, but he knew how that would play out. "Get your ass into bed, and I'll bring you the tea."

Shit, the burner! He hurried into the kitchen and turned off the flame, then grabbed a mug and made tea. When he went into the room, Steve was sitting on the foot of his bed, elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

"You gonna be a pain in my ass or are you gonna be reasonable for once?"

Steve shot him an irritated look, but it softened quickly, and his lips twitched in a brittle smile. "I'm always reasonable, you jerk."

"Yeah, as reasonable as a mule." He held the mug out to Steve. "Here you go. I put a little of your medicine in it."

"Thanks." Steve straightened and wrapped his hands around the mug. "This sucks. I got a shift at the factory tomorrow."

"Well, if you get your stubborn ass into bed and rest, you might actually make it to work tomorrow."

Steve took a careful sip of the steaming tea and nodded. "Okay, message received. You're a nag, you know? You didn't mention that when you convinced me to let you move in."

"Like you didn't already know? Your mom, God rest her soul, is keeping tabs on us down here. I made her a promise, and if I don't live up to it, I'm bound to have an angry Irish ghost haunting me. I sure as hell don't want that."

A grin broke Steve's face. "You have a point."

"I always do. Now, get into bed, and I'll fix you some soup."

Steve slipped out of his shirt and handed the mug to Bucky, then miraculously did as he was told.

That told Bucky just how crappy Steve felt. He waited until Steve got settled beneath the blankets, then set the tea on the nightstand and went into the kitchen.

Canned soup would have to do, and he poured Campbell's into a small pot and lit the burner. A few minutes later, he carried the mug of hot soup into Steve's room, but as soon as he entered, he realized he'd be the one eating the soup. Steve was sound asleep.

Quietly, he set the mug on the nightstand next to the tea, went into the living room and retrieved his book and a chair, then headed back into the bedroom. Finding his place in the novel, he grabbed the mug and sipped at the cooling soup. Steve's breath was shallow and strained. He wasn't out of the woods, and Bucky didn't dare leave him alone.

He stayed there for hours, as Steve slept, his breathing off and on wheezy, until the day faded. Then he cleaned up, changed into pajama bottoms, and eased onto the narrow space on Steve's left. He barely fit these days, but Steve was so small, he didn't fill the bed.

Sleeping next to Steve was the only way he'd get to sleep. If he moved to his own room, he'd be awake the entire night, afraid that in the morning he'd wake up, walk in to check on Steve, and find him dead. He placed his arm on Steve's chest, listening to his breathing and feeling the steady beat of his heart. Moments later, he fell into a shallow sleep. Every so often, he'd wake, reassure himself that Steve was still breathing, and fall quickly back to sleep.

January 1940, Brooklyn, NY

"Faggoty punk!"

Bucky was heading back from the athletic club when he heard the venomous words, immediately followed by sounds of a punch and then a grunt coming from the alley ahead. He broke into a run.

Two guys were standing over a huddled figure in the snow. One of them held a jacket Bucky immediately recognized.

Bucky raised his fists and took a stance. "Hey!"

They spun, looked at him, and one of them stammered, "You train with Kid Louie, dontcha?"

"Damn straight." Bucky answered as he eyed Steve.

Steve wasn't moving, and that wasn't good. Bucky hurried forward, and the two men took off running the opposite direction, leaving the alley and rounding the corner out of sight, with Steve's jacket.

"Aww, hell." He crouched down and placed his hand on Steve's back, feeling the breath going in and out of the chest, and released his own breath.

Steve groaned and pushed his hands beneath him.

"Hey, there." He wrapped a hand around his friend's arm, and Steve sent his fist flying backward. "Easy, buddy! Easy, buddy, it's just me. It's Bucky."

"Bucky?" Steve squinted up at him.

"Looks like they got your jacket." It was freezing, and they were four blocks from home. Steve's clothes were already wet from laying in the ice. He'd catch pneumonia for sure.

A cut on Steve's right temple was bleeding all over the side of Steve's face and clothes, turning the snow red. His pupils were dilated, but they were both the same size. Concussion, but hopefully not severe. Still…

"We should get you to the clinic."

Steve shook his head, then instantly groaned. "Can't afford it."

Bucky sighed and helped Steve up. The fact that Steve didn't protest told Bucky all he needed to know. "Come on." He slipped out of his jacket and draped it over Steve's shoulders. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."

"I'm not a damsel in distress!" Steve staggered as he yanked the jacket off and tossed it at Bucky, careened into the wall, then doubled over and threw up.

Yeah, definite concussion.

"I know that, but if you catch pneumonia, it's a trip to the hospital for sure." He manhandled Steve into the jacket, and manhandling wasn't something he ever did with Steve, but this time the notorious Rogers' stubbornness could prove fatal. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and in front of the radiator." He wrapped an arm around Steve's waist and walked the four blocks back to their apartment.

Once inside, he plopped Steve on the couch and got him out of the wet clothes.

"I'm fine," Steve protested weakly. "You don't have to—"

"Shut the hell up, for crying out loud." Bucky turned the radiator on and pushed the couch closer to it. "Who were those guys?" He hurried to the closet off the kitchen and grabbed a blanket, then draped it over Steve.

"No one," Steve muttered. "I don't know them."

"What was that about?" And who started it this time?

Steve draped his arm over his eyes. "They were picking on a kid, called him a fairy."

Bucky sighed and sat on the arm of the couch. "Let me guess. You decided to make it your business."

"I don't like bullies."

"I know." Bucky grabbed his current book, "Out of the Silent Planet" by C.S. Lewis, and moved to the chair by the window. "Get some rest."

"You don't have to watch me."

"I know that, too." He raised the book. "I'm gonna read." Right here where I can keep tabs on you, Pal.

December 7, 1941, 2:26 p.m., Brooklyn, NY

Bucky finished shining his shoes and set them neatly on the floor, then glanced up at Steve, who was doodling near the window. The broadcaster's voice spread from the radio, filling the apartment with a play-by-play of the Brooklyn Dodgers game against the New York Giants.

"It's a long one down around the three-yard line…"

Bucky listened to the game, imagining it in his head as he heard the roar of the crowd, when the broadcast switched suddenly to another voice.

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin from the United Press. Flash. Washington. The White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Stay tuned to W-O-R for further developments which will be broadcast immediately as received."

"Holy shit." Bucky shot off the couch and dropped to the floor near the radio.

Steve followed closely behind, and they both listened as the game broadcast resumed, but neither of them could focus on the game.

"Come on…" Bucky lamented, slapping the radio as though that would force more news from its speaker.

A while later, another voice interrupted the game.

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special news bulletin. The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii by air, President Roosevelt has just announced. The attack also was made on all naval and military activities on the principal island of Oahu."

"Oh, God, all those people," Steve whispered, leaning against the cabinet.

"This is happening." Bucky took a breath. A direct attack against the United States. Innocent people killed. This was it. The war was no longer in Europe. It was here.

They spent the rest of the day in the apartment, glued to the radio, listening to the updates. A broadcast of a reporter in Hawaii who climbed a tower to give his observations sent a chill down Bucky's spine.

"The City of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy."

The next day, the United States declared war against Japan. The nation was in shock. The news was nonstop horror and grief.

Five days later, Bucky got dressed, but instead of going to class, he looked at Steve on the couch, tying his shoe, and said, "I'm enlisting."

Steve went still for a moment, then finished his knot and rose to his feet. "When?"

"Now."

Steve gave a nod and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go."

Bucky eyed him. Steve wasn't a soldier. With his asthma, low body weight, and health history, he'd never make the armed forces. If someone was crazy enough to approve his enlistment, it would be a death sentence.

Arguing with Steve would be futile, so Bucky gave a curt nod. "Okay."

Steve would realize soon enough that he was staying on the homefront. Thank God.

They walked into the enlistment center five blocks away and waited in a long line of men eager to defend their country.

Steve got a 4F stamped on his card, a determination that he was physically, morally, or ethically unfit for service. There was nothing morally or ethically unfit about Steve Rogers. His body, on the other hand….

Bucky received 1A designation, available for military service. On the way home, neither of them spoke. Bucky tried to figure out how he'd break the news to his folks. His father would understand. He'd fought in the first World War. His mother wouldn't. This would break her heart.

Back at the apartment, Bucky started preparing. He wasn't leaving immediately, but there was a lot to be done. He pulled the cash sock from his top dresser drawer and withdrew the money he'd saved from his last two boxing matches. Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam, his face solemn.

"This should cover the rent for at least six months after I'm gone. I'll send whatever else I can to you and my folks."

"Bucky you don't have to—"

Yes, I do. "I meant what I said, Pal. I'm with you 'til the end of the line, and no war is going to change that." Steve wouldn't be able to make all the rent on his own—not if he wanted to eat—and he had nowhere else to go.

Of course, Bucky's parents would take him in without a second's thought, but Steve was too proud to let that happen.

"Just keep my room open for me," Bucky added. "If they give me leave to come home. I'll need a place to crash." He smiled. "And Ruth isn't going to give up my old room."

A few weeks later, he left for bootcamp. His mother squeezed him harder than she ever had before, and the power of her embrace surprised him. Where had she been hiding that strength all this time?

"Just promise me you'll do your best to come back to us, no matter what. Fight hard, and come back to us."

June 1943, Brooklyn, NY

He was home, and it was divine. His mother cooked steak and mashed potatoes. Chocolate cake was dessert.

And Steve was there, looking just the same, stuffing himself full of food and grinning like a fool the entire meal. It wasn't until the next day, when he found the fraudulent enlistment card with the 4F stamp, that he found out that Steve was still trying to con his way into the army.

"Queens?" Bucky ripped up the card and tossed it in the wastebasket next to the kitchen counter.

"You're out there, risking your life. I can't just stay here doing nothing."

"First, I haven't seen any action." As soon as he got his new orders, he'd be off somewhere, probably overseas, and he might not make it back, but he couldn't think about that too much. "Second, be thankful you're not out there. On the front lines, it's crap. Men are dying. Good men. Men bigger and stronger than you and me both."

Steve's chin shot up, and his eyes went hard. "You think I can't do it?"

And there it was. That chip on Steve's shoulder. That stubborn streak that refused to accept his limitations. That spunk that Bucky admired and hated all at the same time because, while it had kept Steve alive this long, it might get him killed.

June 14, 1943

Bucky stared at his orders. England. He was going to the front lines with the 107th. Wasn't that something? He hoped Steve would be happy, proud that he could honor the legacy of a man neither of them had ever met.

He knew Steve had planned to take in a movie, so he'd catch him after and tell him the news. He gave himself a final look in the mirror and adjusted the tie of his uniform, tilted his hat a fraction, and headed out to find his best friend.

He found Steve in an alley, taking a punch that sent him face-first into a metal trashcan. Goddamnit, Steve.

Steve was face-down, and he wasn't getting up. Shit. Bucky made a beeline for the guy. "Hey!" He held his newspaper in one hand and grabbed the guy's arm with the other, yanking him back. "Pick on someone your own size."

The asshole took a swing at him. Bucky rocked out of range and planted himself in an orthodox boxing stance as he wound up a punch and sent his fist squarely into the man's face. The blow sent the assailant spinning, and Bucky used the opening to deliver a swift kick to the guy's ass.

That was the end of that. The guy took off running. Bucky made sure he was out of sight and staying gone, then turned back to see Steve picking himself up and dusting off his pants.

Thank God. How many fights like this had Steve been in while Bucky was away? Well, Steve was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

Bucky walked up to him, newspaper in hand. "Sometimes, I think you like getting punched."

Steve was hunched, getting himself together. "I had him on the ropes," he muttered.

Bucky spotted an enlistment card on the ground. For crying out loud. He picked it up and gave it a glance. Stubborn fool.

"How many times is this?" Bucky asked. Another 4F. He sent a silent thank you into the heavens. Sarah had her work cut out for her up there. "Ah, you're from Paramus now? You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form? Seriously, Jersey?"

Steve finally straightened and looked at him. His jaw went slack. "You get your orders?"

Yeah. The front lines. He had no idea how Steve would take the news. With a tilt of his chin and mustering as much swagger as he could, he answered, "The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes shipping out for England first thing tomorrow."

Steve let out a breath and dropped his head. "I should be going." When he looked back up, there was a sadness in his eyes Bucky couldn't bear.

Bucky had one night left on U.S. soil, and he'd be damned if he'd let Steve wallow in his dark mood, so he plastered on a smile and slapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, man." He wrapped his arm around Steve's neck and pulled him close. "It's my last night. Gotta get you cleaned up."

"Why, where are we going?"

Bucky handed him the newspaper. "The future."

That night, Steve ditched him for another enlistment attempt, promising he'd catch up later. Bucky spent the evening entertaining two girls. Steve never showed, and by the time Bucky got back to the apartment, a bit later than he planned, Steve was asleep on the couch.

Bucky opted to let him sleep and headed into his room. He was already packed for the morning.

Author's Note:

Well, as you probably surmised, we're heading into a darker section, the war front.

My wonder beta Fictitious suggested I clarify something: Some astute readers might be thinking that the Brooklyn Dodgers were a baseball team and the New York Giants were a football team and-what the heck? Here's the thing. There WAS a Dodgers football team, and they were playing the Giants, and that was the broadcast that got interrupted with the news of Pearl Harbor. Reference: as-pearl-harbor-happened-the-dodgers-played-the-giants-cecf6757a039.

Lookie, we're learning history together!

Personal note: I had a bit of fun writing the thirties and research boxing. There was both a Kid Louis and a Kid Louie who were boxers, and I'm related to Louis (he lived/worked in Queens and Brooklyn and fought for the welterweight championship in 1901; he lost). Also, I'm related to a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball player. I have zero athletic ability, though.

Canon NOTE: It's in debate whether Bucky enlisted or was drafted. Comics mention him enlisting after Pearl Harbor. In First Avenger, he's already a sergeant, so he'd have been in the army for a bit before that scene. There's movie canon support for both enlistment and drafting (glimpses of his movie bio in Winter Soldier mention he enlisted, but his dog tag number indicates he might have been drafted). In doing research on Pearl Harbor, the media, and the tenure of things back then, and considering the movie references and comics, I decided he enlisted.

I welcome comments, kudos, and would be tickled if you shared this story since I'm not really big on fandom social media. I have, like, six followers on Tumblr since I just joined and can barely draw a stick. Feel free to let me know your impressions and reactions. They really do mean the world to me.

And if you've read to the end of this long author's note, here's a little thank you: A wonderful Bucky and Steve storyboard I found that the creator gave me permission to share. FFN won't let me include the link, so you can find it on my tumbler: dcangstfiction dot tumblr dot com