Stand With You

September 1932

The big blond kid tried to fake his way past Bucky, but Buck had none of it, stealing the ball and dribbling all the way down the court, before laying a sweet pass to Jacob, who scored an easy basket.

Steve grinned, then tried to return his focus to his book. "'Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm'," he murmured. "Well, darn right, Mr. Lincoln, but my mother said it first."

"Steve!" Bucky's voice echoed in the big high-school gymnasium.

"Yeah?" He tossed a towel to his friend, who stopped in front of Steve.

"Anything to suggest?"

"Beasley in the blue shirt. He's really weak to his left. And the red head is scared of you."

Bucky laughed, wiping sweat off his face. "I like redheads. Long as it tops a pretty face."

Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky ran back to his pick-up basketball game. The girls practically swooned in the halls, when Bucky Barnes walked past. And Bucky never seemed to mind getting his head turned. Steve had no idea what to make of girls his own age.

As Buck trotted to his place, Beasley turned and said something, which Steve couldn't catch. He saw Bucky stop, glance in Steve's direction, and say quite clearly, "Shut up!"

Beasley's team seemed to get impatient, because they in-bounded the ball before Bucky was in position.

But that sort of thing didn't faze Buck. He closed on the red-haired boy, who simply froze and dropped the ball. As he worked his way back up the court, Steve could see the play unfolding, how Buck was setting himself up to go head-to-head with Beasley.

Beasley was the last man between him and the basket and Buck took Steve's advice to the letter, driving to his right—Beasley's left—causing Beasley to stumble and take a hard fall. Bucky coolly laid in the ball for his twentieth basket.

Steve could not entirely restrain his whoop and Bucky put up his fists in response, grinning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the ball coming and ducked. It slammed against the wall behind him, rebounded and hit his shoulder hard. Bucky flew to his side, scooping up the ball, and wheeling to face the court again.

Beasley stalked toward them. "That punk's gonna coach, he gotta play too. Why you taking tips from a milquetoast like him? Ain't never played a game in his life–"

"He's a hundred times a better player than you and you know it!" Steve blurted.

"Get lost, shrimp!" Beasley snapped. "My deal is with stuck-up Babe Ruth– Oof!" His words ended abruptly as the basketball slammed into his stomach.

"I'd rather sit with a friend, then play with a bully," Bucky stated, words ringing in the now silenced gym. He turned his back on the other boy, putting his arm around Steve's shoulders and steering him toward the door to the change rooms. "Let's go, pal."

Behind them Steve heard the sound of many feet, and glanced over his shoulder. He didn't try to hide his amazed smile.

Every other boy on the court was falling in behind them, leaving Beasley alone. Several gave Steve a quick nod: We're with you.

He felt Bucky's hand tighten on his shoulder.

March 1933

Joe Hardy had been kidnapped. And Frank and his chums were desperate to find him.

One page flicked over and then another, as Steve read on, lost in the excitement.

"Psst." A kick against his knee brought him to with a start, and he looked up from the library floor. Up, up at 'Beanpole' Jones, who was often Bucky's doubles partner on the tennis court.

"What?"

"Is it true?" Beanpole looked… discombobulated.

"Is what true?"

"Did Buck quit the tennis team?"

Aw, darn. "How-? I mean, what are you talking about?" Steve bit his lip, wondering how convincing he could be.

"Hey, fellas. What-?" Bucky stopped dead when Beanpole turned around. "Applesauce."

"Whadda'ya mean you quit?" Beanpole's voice began to rise. "We have the city tournament in two weeks. You can't just dump us like this. Why-?"

"Shhh!"

Bucky glanced at the librarian, who glared back. "Let's take this outside."

Out in the street it was raining, a fine cold drizzle. Bucky hunched his shoulders. "We'd better get you home, Stevie, old boy. Aunt Sarah won't want you out in this."

Beanpole grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "For crying out loud, Barnes. What the heck is going on?"

Bucky put his head down, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I probably should have told you first, but only Mr. Dibbles knew, and Steve, and I was coming to tell you, but… I guess you know."

"I didn't tell anyone," Steve murmured.

"Sorry," Bucky said again, meeting Beanpole's gaze squarely. "Guess you'll have to find a new partner."

"But why?!"

Buck shrugged, strangely unsure. "Just… need to focus on schoolwork. Gotta get my grades up to As. Like Stevie, here."

"Why the heck do you need good grades when you got sports?" Beanpole threw his hands up. "You could do anything you wanted to."

"My mother wants me to go to college," Steve interjected. That was why they scrimped and scrounged on every penny and why she made him study so much when he was sick in bed.

"And I want to go myself," Bucky said quietly. "Maybe even to university."

"Fine!" Beanpole exploded. "Have it your way, collage boy. But don't ask me to play with you again, traitor."

Bucky watched him go, twisting his mouth in that way Steve knew meant he was torn up inside. Steve shivered suddenly, his teeth chattering.

Bucky swung round. "Woah, we gotta get you home." Then he stopped, looking down at Steve, an odd, vulnerable expression on his face. "So, we sticking it out through college?"

Steve grinned, grabbed his hand, and pumped it up and down. "Absolutely, Dr. Barnes. You'll be inventing dynamo rays and thermic radiation projectors–"

"And you'll be getting your scrawls hung in the National Art Gallery!" Buck laughed now. He tucked Steve under his arm, in a mostly futile attempt to keep him dry, and the two boys headed for home.

Author's notes: Abraham Lincoln also said, 'Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.' Echoes of Dr. Erskine's speech!
Steve was reading What Happened at Midnight.
The second snapshot was inspired by a line (47) in Griselda_Banks' 'All the Stars in the Sky'.