Part 1: 1927

Digging into the mud, the child ran his finger tips beneath the Earth, allowing the dirt to lodge in his fingernails. His sun-kissed skin underneath a summer's sky, blue eyes meeting with the bunches of dandelions he just plucked from life. At that age, he didn't understand the life that died by his hand. He would know that skill all too well as he grew older and wiser, as life had a cruel twist of fate for the one James Buchanan Barnes. Standing up from the grass, he brushed himself off, his shoelaces untying in the process.

"Steve! C'mon!" the boy chirped behind him, his head turning to his best friend that was beside him. Steve was shorter than Bucky, and his blonde hair conflicted with the taller's brunette swoops. He sat up, immediately obeying his friend's commands. The two would follow each other anywhere, even to hell and back.

"Buck! Your shoe's untied", the blonde friend hopped in front of Bucky, "Your mom wouldn't be happy if you showed up looking like that. Freeze!"

Cue him kneeling down, bare knee pressed to the gravel as he maneuvered the laces of Bucky's boots in his fingertips. The brunette paused, stiff like a soldier, clutching the flowers to his chest. He stood tall. Bucky was lucky to have Steve. He was much smarter than him. He knew how to tie shoes. Maybe one day, he would ask how to do it, but for now, he liked watching Steve talk about bunnies and bows while he fixed the boots' stray laces. The pair stood alongside the busy road of Brooklyn, new automobiles bustled across by them. 1927 was a good year for America, in a way. To Bucky, it was. Ten years old. No cares in the world. Just him and his pal, playing soldiers and picking flowers, absent-minded to politics, the brewing depression around the corner, the second world war.

Finally, Steve had looped the last bunny and stood up as well, grinning ear to ear. Bucky mimicked that, before starting to walk again. A hum left his lips, the thrill of a Gospel hymn putting a pep in his step. Steve started humming too, a very off-key rendition of "Children Go Where I Send Thee". They started skipping, then running, in a fit of giggles. Dashing to their destination, the two stopped at the gate. Bucky released a sigh, glancing to Steve, "Do you think I look okay?"

"You look fine, Buck. I'm sure Miss Winnie won't mind."

The brunette nodded to his pal, before pushing through the gate and wandering inside. It didn't take long before he approached the headstone, sitting down in front of it. Steve trailed behind, staying silent.

"Hi, mom. It's Bu-... James… I brought you your favorites. Dandelions, see?"

He placed the flowers down at the foot of the rock. The rock read: 'Winnifred C. Barnes, mother and wife. 1896-1926.'

She had only been gone a year. Luckily, Bucky didn't understand the severity of death. He was too naive and optimistic to truly register the fact she was gone, lifeless like the flowers he laid down. The thoughts rarely plagued his mind. Steve rested a hand on his friend's shoulder for comfort, though he didn't need it. Honestly, Bucky held it together quite well as his grubby fingers now traced the outlines of his mother's name. He could still see her face and red hair. He could still feel her apron in his hands as he clutched it. He could hear her voice, singing along to whatever Gospel song came to mind. Bucky didn't know much about religion, yet all the songs reminded him of Winnifred and within time, they would remind him of these moments. The sweet nothings and stills in time of childhood. When life was simpler, and the days were nothing but hanging with his pal, picking flowers, and playing soldier.

Bucky would soon find out that soldier wasn't a fun game to play.