This is my fanfic idea. I only own the obvious oc. I plan to update weekly, and I have up to Chapter 6 written. Most chapters will be 3 pages. Please and thank you, I appreciate criticism but only if it is helping me perfect my writing skills. I have most of the story line planned, but I am open to ideas to lengthen the story as I enjoy the general idea I have created.

They hated themselves the most. To be simple and just, the kid who lived in the alleyway that came off Randolph St., hated everyone. They had every reason to and at the same time not any either. Maybe, it was life itself they really hated. Afterall, at sixteen they had a terrible hand of cards dealt to them. They were homeless, friendless, and most importantly, legless. Their thighs ended in stubs three inches above where their knees would be.

It's true others have done more with less, but this wasn't where their bad luck finished. This poor sap living on the streets didn't have parents by their side and even worse, they couldn't recall anything from more than two years ago. Their life wasn't all that dandy, but they had a few minor things going for them. Hell, they lived beside one of the nicer garbage cans, stuck in the dirty side of Manhattan. Their abrasive personality combined with their physical oddities, kept the more outgoing thugs from taking the little they had. Plus, they had a kind of natural street smarts in them.

It was an autumn late afternoon, the light filtering into their alley in an angle, that highlighted the dusty air. The atmosphere had a mild chilly bite to it, that made the more sensitive pull on a thin second layer. The hum of human activity was as active as it usually was, never quiet and alive with the darker desires of the people cascaded around. They sat there leaning against the side of a brick apartment building and stared ahead blankly.

To do nothing, was sometimes to survive. The less done that hadn't needed to be done, was more energy to be put into tasks that kept you alive. Chances of finding food for the day had diminished to zero because with the night life, came gangsters with guns searching for the folks that did them 'wrong' and drunks demanding better times. Not the sort they could compete with. Without legs as a way to escape, their hands became their only mode of transportation and their defenses disappeared.

Sitting out on the bench was the easier choice. They'd sit there all night with eyes flickering around in response to every jangle and rustle and their lips pouted. Sleep would come in bouts at a time, before waking up to determine if it was still safe to relax. Tonight felt different for them. They couldn't name how the tension was newly strung, but they knew something was out there.

At the same time, a tall broad shouldered man in a hoodie strolled cautiously along the street. His brunette hair was long for a guy and tickled his stubbled chin. His presence screamed 'do not approach ' and 'barely getting by '.

Most wouldn't give this guy the time of day and he'd return the attention tenfold. If someone would have taken the effort to study his features, they might have noticed he was someone that should've been honored as a veteran. A man who had been tortured to the point of not knowing himself anymore. A particularly World War II knowledgeable person could've identified him as Bucky Barnes; the courageous partner of Captain America.

Bucky had been returning to his one room apartment at a rundown motel, after working a handful of physical labor jobs to pay the bills. His thoughts were on nothing specifically, but his past waited patiently to haunt him in the deepest corners of his mind. He was only a block away from his housing, when he spotted a kid resting in an alley. Bucky paused to give them a good once over.

Greasy, stained clothes hung on the teen's lean, skinny frame. A mop of blonde-ish green hung down like a curtain on the kid's head, shadowing a face that held an expression Bucky could see himself in. Old, grey eyes had deep dark bags underneath them, speaking more than words ever could about the stress the teen carried on his shoulders. The corners of those lips pointed downward in a pout, and while paired with a hunched-in posture, a vision of defensiveness was portrayed.

Bucky crept closer to the teen and observed as the kid peered at him with narrowed eyes. Seconds dragged by before the kid snapped at him, "What the fuck do you want?" Bucky didn't answer, only gazing down at where the kid's should've been. He couldn't help but feel his own metal arm ache in empathy. The winter soldier stepped forward and met the teen's eyes, however, he didn't speak. The kid crossed his arms, starting to glare.

Something deep in Bucky snapped, a piece of him from way back when came to light, and he grabbed the teen, tossing him over his shoulder. The greenish blonde reacted violently, gripping his hands into fists and slamming them into the taller man's back. A wall collapsed in the younger's mind and he began to shout slurs, "Who the fuck do you think you fucking are!?" Bucky grunted in reply and continued marching to his housing. His silence didn't tetter the youth's angry, rather it fueled a raging temper. " Put me the fuck down ya asshole! Hey, bastard! Listen the hell ta me!", they demanded as they viciously swung their hands. How in fucking hell had no one noticed this damn assault?

The struggle never slowed the entire trip to Bucky's apartment. Every groove, corner, and crevice was utilized to the kid's best know-how as they were unwilling toted into a first floor motel unit. The first thing the kid did, when Bucky put them down on a table chair was hoist himself onto his hands as he pummeled his way back towards the door. Bucky was - of course- ready for this and launched himself at the teen. The sound of smacks,slaps, and the occasional headbutt echoed, but not once did Bucky make a move that could be considered offensive.

Finally, the fight ended when Bucky ultimately got a decent grip on the kid with his metal arm. Carefully, the out of breath kid was put back down on the wooden chair and Bucky sighed as he sat down across from him. "What -huff- the fuck- huff- do you want from me?", the youth exhaustedly prodded, too tired to attempt anymore physical endeavors. Bucky noted the beads of sweat dripping down the side of the kid's face, then the elder shrugged, "Nothing."

"Yeah, right." The kid retorted with bleeding sarcasm as their breathing evened out. "No one, not even the fucking dead, want fucking nothing. So," they paused to meet Bucky's eyes. "Why the fuck did ya drag me here, ya bitch?!" Blankly, Bucky remarked with the truth; though it was- admittedly- a truth he didn't understand himself. "I can see myself in you, kid." The unnamed kid gripped the table in outrage, "Who the fuck see's himself in a fucking homeless cripple!?" All while surrounded by pregnant silence, Bucky yanked his hoodie off. Without the garment on, his metal prosthetic was clear for the world to see.

"Because, I'm an amputee too."

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For a majority of an hour,neither individuals move. Instead,they both sat in torturous quietness and stared at each other. Eventually, Bucky reminded himself, that he had to be the adult,since he was an adult.

Besides, he really had forcefully taken this kid home with like a stray cat.

Bucky forced his legs into a stand, an action his 'guest' scrutinized vigilantly, and sighed as held out his hand. Handshakes were something that were done at the beginning of any decent relationship,right? When the teen didn't make any attempt to meet him halfway, Bucky shook his head and muttered, " The name's Bucky.", as he walked the few feet into the kitchen. From what the ex-soldier could tell, the kid needed a good meal. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a can of pasta and a bowl to put it in, as he did Bucky vocally jabbed at the kid, "You know, if I'm gonna feed you, I'd like a name."

Said teen curled in on himself, why the hell was this bastard making him food? His stomach grumbled and groan, reminding him that you shouldn't stare a gift horse in the mouth. Grudgingly as he hung his head, he gave his name, "Grass." Bucky mentally cocked an eyebrow before rechecking what he heard, "Grass?" Grass flushed and bitterly defended with, "It's my fucking name." By then, the pre-made pasta was spinning inside Bucky's half-usable microwave, allowing Bucky the time to lean against the counter, so he could talk to Grass face to face.

A conservation was hard to stitch together, as Bucky was only used to a few questions before a job and the handful of words he had traded with St-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Bucky thanked the microwave for going off when it had, anymore thoughts in that direction would've made him go off. He took the bowl out of the microwave, stabbed it with a fork, and then placed in front of Grass. Grass went to town mauling the meal like it was going to ran from him. Bucky snorted and glanced at his feet, Grass probably did think the meal was going to run from him. He knew that frame of thought, he remembered the survival instincts taking over. Hell, he only recovered to the point he had because the Avengers had crashed into the Hydra base he was in and then all of it - all of everything- came back in a giant wave. The problem was most of himself got pulled back when the wave of information drew back. Четверг день- no, he had to stop…

CLANK

Bucky's eyes jolted open and his attention smashed back to focus on Grass. The bowl served to the greenish blond was empty of food and the kid's gaze locked onto Bucky instead. Seconds drifted into minutes, Bucky almost forced himself to be the bigger person again but surprisingly it was Grass who hammered the next nail into their forming bond. With piercing eyes, Grass asked, "Is the fact I don't have fucking legs the only reason, you see yourself in me?"

The right thing to say came unnaturally easy to Bucky, "No."

"Then what the fuck is it?"

Exhaling, Bucky popped his shoulders up and down, "I don't know."

Grass' expression made it seem like he was going to blow a gasket at the simple response but then Bucky continued with, "I literally don't know. My past… it's… it's missing bits and pieces.I'm an amnesiac." The corner of his eyes crinkled as Grass' face twisted at the words. Was it a fucking coincidence or a damn lie? The teen studied Bucky's face, before deciding the trademark signs from the pain of not knowing were truly there.

A connection was made.

Grass' face grew red as he let himself emphasize with his kidnapper," Yeah, well, I fucking am too." He turned his sharply away from Bucky and pretended to suddenly find a random crack on the wall interesting. Bucky bucked his head in amusement. The two of them had more in common than he had thought, it almost sickened him. The world seemed to like screwing up people to be like him,huh?

Bucky gave Grass another once over. The kid wasn't a cat or a dog he found on the street though. Grass was a human being, someone who would need someone stable to help him out; a person who could help the kid grow into a person who could do things. Bucky wasn't that, he was a brainwashed moron, one who was struggling to even find a reason to get back to normal.

The brunette spared another glance at the greenish blonde. The teen had his arms crossed and was pouting like a giant three year old. God, the kid resembled a younger sibling upset at their older brother or sister. Bucky grumbled at himself inwardly, he was going to regret this, he grabbed the spare blanket off the couch, and threw it at Grass. Grass spazzed when the object hit his head and landed in his lap, releasing a sound that was almost a yelp.

"See ya in the morning kid."

If the kid was there in the morning, he'd deal with him.

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Grass had wanted to leave, damn it. The second that bedroom door had closed,he should've booked it. Except it was dark now, and if he wasn't a target before, he would definitely be one now. He reasoned that he could spend the night on this Bucky guy's couch and then get his ass out of there in the early hours, but that didn't happen. The couch had been lumpy and smelled funny, yet compared to the alley, it was fantastic to sleep on.

He ended up waking up at noon. By then Bucky had gone out to do his odd jobs, but the bastard had left him a plate of scrambled eggs. Grass couldn't deny this token of kindness either. He had that plate cleared easy peazy.

The greenish blonde had been at the damn door and with a scowl thrown over his shoulder, he knew he couldn't leave yet. Hell, I mean he left a fucking mess. He would just clean it up and go. Or that's what he convinced himself as he slinked over on his hands to the sink, so he could wash the dishes he had ate on. Then it was the blanket he had slept with.

Then he felt bad because he remembered how he had pounded on the guy's back the day before, so he decided that he'd clean the floor. Except, the floor was half cheap tile and ripped carpet, and Grass didn't do things half assed. He swept, scrubbed, and picked at the floor until it was spotless. He had finished that all by four, but the dust and dirt on the walls and cabinets began to bother him too. To summarize, Grass greeted Bucky with a 'shut up' as he sat on a table chair while he washed the table.

The next day didn't go any better and Bucky couldn't help the small smile he had.