The End of the Beginning
June 14, 1943
Steve walked toward the Army pavilion, almost without thinking. Buck might have tried to distract him, but all he could do was look at Buck in his uniform and think, That should be me, too.
All the men who had fought, all the men who were fighting, all the men who would fight, men like his father. His father had given everything, sacrificing his life for his country. How could his son do any less? And it wasn't like Steve had any reason to stay. Bucky was his family, and Bucky was going.
Why did they have to have such a problem with his size? He'd always fought fellows bigger than him, just like the guy in the alley earlier in the day. All he wanted was a chance. Like Mr. Yamamoto. Just a chance to show what he could do.
Someone shoved Steve from behind and he turned, startled.
"Come on, you're kinda missing the point of a double date." Bucky half-frowned at him. "We're taking the girls dancing."
"You go ahead," Steve answered. "I'll catch up with you." Besides, he and Connie should have some time to themselves.
Bucky glanced down at him, catching the determination in his voice. "You really gonna do this again?"
Steve shrugged, jammed his hands in his pockets. "Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."
"As who, Steve from Ohio?" Bucky's voice went sharp. "They'll catch you, or worse: they'll actually take you."
There was a hint of fear mixed with the frustration, and Steve glanced at the floor. "Look, I know you don't think I can do this, but–"
"This isn't a back alley, Steve," Buck interrupted. "It's a war."
"I know it's a war," Steve started, but Bucky wasn't done.
"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs–"
"And what am I gonna do?" Steve shot back. "Collect scraps in my little red wagon?"
"Yes!" Bucky threw up one hand in frustration.
"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky."
"I don't–"
"Bucky, come on." There was that unyielding steel in Steve's voice now, and Buck heard it. "There are men laying down their lives. I've got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand: this isn't about me."
Bucky stared at him, hurt washing away the anger. "Right. 'cause you got nothing to prove."
Steve felt a stab of guilt. He knew what Bucky meant. All those years his friend, his brother, had spent rescuing him. And now, in the biggest fight of all, Steve wouldn't let him.
"Hey, Sarge!" Connie's voice rang across the fairground, breaking the moment. "Are we going dancing?"
"Yes, we are," Bucky called back, trying to sound cheerful. He turned back to Steve, the faintest of smiles on his lips. A heaviness settled on them, as he started to back away, shaking his head. "Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back." Ever the scolding big brother.
A smile tugged at the corners of Steve's mouth. "How can I?" he called after him. "You're taking all the stupid with you."
Bucky stopped, still facing Steve, and then he really smiled—not big, but it reached his eyes—and came back. "You're a punk," he muttered, grabbing Steve in a tight hug.
"Jerk." As he pulled away, Steve added softly, "Be careful."
Bucky nodded—and there was that little smirk, back in place. Steve swallowed hard as he watched him go. His ship would pull out before Steve was even awake. Only God knew when he'd see him again. Sooner, rather than later, God help him.
"Don't win the war until I get there," he called.
Bucky halted, swung round, and snapped off a salute—Yes, sir!—as if Steve somehow outranked him. Then he was hurrying down the steps of the pavilion to grab Connie's hand. "Come on, girls," Steve heard him say. "They're playing our song."
And then he was gone.
"I just need one name, Sargent James Barnes from the 107th."
…
"Bucky… It's me. It's Steve…"
"Steve!"
"I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were smaller."
…
"Just go! Get outta here!"
"No, not without you!"
…
"You ready to follow 'Captain America' into the jaws of death?"
"Hell, no. The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight; I'm following him."
…
"Bucky! Grab my hand! ... NO‼"