In the little flashback, Bucky and Steve are 5 and 4 (preschool/kindergarten age), respectively.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Sisters in Arms
Brooklyn 1922
On his hands and knees, Steve crawled into the stony shelter of a cave opening to escape the rain. The surrounding forest of the middle of nowhere stayed quiet, hushed from the torrent of rain splashing onto the muddy ground and washing everything downward. All the animals hunkered down in their little dens to escape the chilly bite of the wind.
Beside him, Bucky pressed his larger form into the small cave, his nose sniffing the air. "It's too rainy to go hunting," Bucky said, stating the obvious.
"But I'm hungry," Steve protested. "And we haven't eaten anything in daaayyys!"
"We should ask Papa what to do," Bucky suggested. When Steve didn't counter, Bucky slunk out of the cave and trotted over to where Pa sat on top of a boulder under the large oak tree. Steve joined him shortly after, ignoring the rain soaking into his skin.
"Papa, Steve's hungry. We should go hunting," Bucky said.
Papa turned his head from where he watched the moon hide behind the clouds. "We know where the deer are hiding. If you don't mind the rain, we could go hunting there, catch a deer or two."
"Where's the deer?" Bucky asked.
"In the valley," Papa said. He extended a limb to point in the direction of the valley tucked in the center of a forest-covered ring of mountains.
"Let's go!" Steve said, his stomach growling.
The trio took off, hurrying down the mountainside, around the lake, and to the meadow where the deer stood in a large herd underneath the smattering of trees. Bucky and Steve huddled next to Papa, who told them to stay silent while they stalked their prey.
Just before Papa gave the signal to pounce, a voice cut through their watch: "Supper's ready! Go wash up."
"Awwww!" Bucky protested. He plopped down onto his rear and stuck his legs straight out in a pout while folding his chubby arms over his little chest. "We were gonna get a deer."
The rainy valley faded into the well-lit living room of the Barnes household where no deer stood huddled under trees. The trio of wolves who were stalking their prey reverted into plain, boring, human Bucky, Steve, and Mr. Barnes.
Mrs. Barnes peered around the wall separating the living room from the kitchen and placed her hands on her hips. "Don't give me that look," she warned, pointing a ladle at Bucky. "You're too old for pouting."
"I'm not pouting," Bucky said while clearly doing so. His round cheeks turned downward as he stuck out his bottom lip.
Mr. Barnes watched the exchange, an amused smile on his face. His brown eyes gleamed with mischievousness as he wrapped his arms around Bucky and Steve's shoulders to bring them close to his sides. "Boys, I think we've got a hunter trying to ruin our fun. Whattya say we wolves take her down so we can go get some deer?"
"George…," Mrs. Barnes warned and fixed her husband with a stern look. A surprised yelp wiped away the stern, motherly expression as Bucky and Steve lunged for her legs. She landed on her bottom, the ladle flying from her grasp and clattering onto the wooden floor of the kitchen.
Mr. Barnes chuckled and joined the boys in pinning Mrs. Barnes onto the floor. He locked an arm around her waist while Bucky and Steve pretended to claw at her. "Play along, darling," Mr. Barnes said into his wife's ear.
A gentle kick from Mrs. Barnes' flailing shoved Bucky and Steve backward. Encouraged by the boys' mad giggling, a sly smirk crept across her painted lips and she made the motion of unholstering an invisible pistol from her hip. "Oh, the horror! Darn wolves, always ruining things!" She pointed her middle and index into the shape of a gun and aimed it at Bucky. "Bang!"
"You missed!" Bucky yelled. He sat on her lap and grinned down at her while Steve struggled to wrestle the 'gun' from her hands.
"I did not!" Mrs. Barnes protested, indignant yet teasing. "I never miss."
"You did this time," Bucky said. He stuck out his tongue for good measure, earning a loud chortle from Mr. Barnes.
"Who's making the rules of this game?" she complained. She let out a high-pitched squeal when Mr. Barnes started tickling her. "Oh, stop it!"
"Go get her, boys!" Mr. Barnes cheered, his thick, brown mustache quivering from laughter. Ignoring Mrs. Barnes's renewed efforts to escape from her husband's tickling fingers, he let Steve and Bucky go in for the 'killing blow.'
Bucky pretended to slash at his mom, delivering the final strike to end the hunter's failed attempt to shoot the wolf pack.
Mrs. Barnes played along, letting out an exaggerated, anguished gasp and pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. She fainted and stuck out her tongue after emitting a little 'blah!'
Successful in taking down their enemy, the wolves howled with victory. Then they all collapsed into a pile of laughter.
"Go wash up," Mrs. Barnes said once the boys finished their triumphant cheering. Sitting up, she smoothed out her skirt. Her hair had come undone from its neat bun, and she patted it down until Mr. Barnes grabbed her into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over her head. She slapped his arm and he laughed before placing an apologetic kiss on her cheek.
Leaving the couple to themselves, Steve lept to his feet and raced Bucky to the bathroom. Once clean, he and Bucky clambered onto their chairs and impatiently waited for Bucky's parents to sit down at the kitchen table. The tomato soup and grilled cheese smelled delicious, much better than raw deer.
"Can Steve stay the night?" Bucky asked, picking up a spoon to dig into his soup. Mrs. Barnes placed a hand on top of his to make him wait until after the prayer to eat.
"There's school tomorrow," she said.
"Pleeeaasssseee?" Bucky begged. When Steve didn't say anything, Bucky punched him on the shoulder, and they both made sad puppy eyes at Mrs. Barnes.
"We won't stay up late," Steve promised. He gave her the sincerest smile he could manage.
"Aw, let him stay, Winnie," Mr. Barnes said. "The boys will behave, won't you?"
They nodded in unison and Bucky matched Steve's sincere smile.
"Fine. But bedtime's at eight o'clock, sharp. No 'ifs', 'ands', or 'buts.'"
"We promise," Steve said.
"Cross our hearts," Bucky added. Then he and Steve shared a high-five under the table.
Supper zoomed by and they rushed off before to play more before bedtime. True to their word, they went to bed at eight after pulling out the cushions from the living room couch and building a little blanket fort. Unbeknownst to Bucky's parents, Bucky and Steve couldn't stop themselves from whispering stupid jokes and dumb stories until ten o'clock at night. They'd probably regret staying up late tomorrow, but now, they had all the time in the world to be two boys giggling like madmen while Brooklyn slept in peace.
/\/\/\
If only he could go back to the good, old days, where the worst thing he had to worry about were the bullies on the playground or the possibility of catching yet another round of the flu. Long before Bucky's siblings were old enough to play with them, he and Bucky would run around in Bucky's backyard, climb in the oak tree, and pretend they were anything and everything. Everything was simple and happy back then, and they had not had a care in the world. Now, Steve wished he could relive the childish fantasies alongside his best friend—his best friend whose body currently lay somewhere in the mountain range of the Austrian Alps.
The search party hadn't found anything. A realistic part of Steve knew the snow must have buried Bucky or wild animals got to him long before anyone ever could. While they knew the relative location of where Bucky fell, the mountain range spanned miles long into a treacherous and wild expansion of rocky and snowy terrain. The winter only made it more hazardous to travel.
Feeling like he had failed his friend—his brother—Steve closed his eyes and tried to push away the image of Bucky's terrified face staring up at him. When he finally opened his eyes, the fast-approaching, bright vastness of the frozen Artic glared up at him from the view of the Valkyrie's pilot seat.
The radio connection to Peggy had cut out a while ago; he must have fallen out of range. Hopelessness washed over him. He should be proud of saving lives, but he felt like he betrayed his friends. He owed Peggy a dance, Bucky deserved a proper funeral, and Suzie and Becca didn't deserve to lose another brother.
He couldn't do anything now. He couldn't turn away. Lives were at stake. At least Schmidt had vanished into a bright light of the ceiling opening up into the cosmos. Schmidt could no longer terrorize the planet, and Steve could finally rest in peace knowing he had put an end to Hydra's reign.
Standing up from the pilot's seat, Steve grabbed his compass with the image of Peggy glued onto the inside cover and strode over to where his shield lay on the metal floor of the plane. Laying down, he pocketed his compass and held his shield on top of his chest. Perhaps, if he covered his vital organs, he might survive the crash. If not, once the search party arrived at the crash site, then they could easily find the shield and give it to someone else to use. Maybe Peggy could wield it, or Suzie could become the new Captain America.
While closing his eyes and bracing for impact, a single thought crossed his mind:
Guess this is the end of the line.
Germany, March 1945
After Michael, her brother, died fighting in the British Armed Forces mere days before her wedding, Peggy had never felt more distraught in her entire life. In the following weeks, she broke off her engagement to Fred Wells and joined the SOE which led her to the SSR. One thing led another and she wound up working as a spy to rescue Doctor Abraham Erskine from Schmidt.
She had never thought she would one day meet Steve Rogers—a passionate young man with a heart of gold. She never thought she would fall in love. Sure, she had liked Fred well enough to accept his proposal, but she had never truly loved him. Steve, on the other hand, brought out the girly fantasies of sunshine, laughter, and a happy marriage she had once scoffed at long ago. Serum or not, she wouldn't mind a knight in shining armour swooping in to sweep her off her feet, only as long the man was Steve.
Now, she realized what had been missing with Fred and what Steve's presence had brought: respect and a certain spark that lit up the room. It made Peggy's usually steady heart skip a beat whenever Steve smiled—genuinely smiled with admiration in his handsome, sea-blue eyes—at her. He saw her as an equal, and he accepted and supported her for it. While he clearly lacked any prior experience on how to talk to women, he had a certain charm about him which made his already courageous, noble, and honest personality all the more noticeable—and attractive.
He had expressed his concerns about not being able to live up to the standards of being Captain America. If anyone ever asked Peggy for her opinion, she would say he had achieved beyond what anyone had ever expected ten times over and set a remarkable example of what a great hero and an even better man should be.
She had loved him a hundred times more than she had ever liked Fred and had hoped to start a real relationship after the war. But now he was gone, just like Michael—another beloved friend and companion fallen prey to the ravenous and relentless predators of war.
The shining beacon of hope, patriotism, and honor had crashed a Hydra plane full of bombs in one last display of heroism.
He owed her a dance.
She owed him her heart.
Although she would never admit it to anyone, she dreaded the thought of being the one to deliver the news of Steve's death to Private Barnes. She knew from experience how losing a brother and loved one could tear someone apart, and no doubt Private Barnes had already suffered enough. Sergeant Barnes had died a month prior; and now, Steve joined his friend in the icy depths of the afterlife. None of the greatest minds in literature nor art could ever comprehend how it felt to experience two deaths of the people to whom Private Barnes had been closest in the span of two months.
It almost made Margaret Elizabeth Carter walk away—almost left to stifle the tears pooling in her eyes. To say she hated being the bearer of bad news would be a massive understatement. Being the one to share the death of one of the few men she had ever truly loved made it all the more palpable.
Despite her desire to be elsewhere, Colonel Phillips wanted her to check in with the 90th Infantry and other regiments before their final stand against the barrier blocking the Allies' advances west. Steve had also written in his will for someone to send his personal belongings to either Sergeant or Private Barnes. Now with Sergeant Barnes presumed dead, the items contained in Steve's footlocker belonged to Private Barnes. Much to her disapproval of rummaging through someone's items, the SSR had already gone through his footlocker to collect any military-issued equipment. Most of what remained were Steve's sketchbook and collection of pencils, a few pictures of family, a couple of unfinished letters, two books, and miscellaneous paraphernalia, some of which used to be Sergeant Barnes's.
The plane she had ridden in to reach the 90th miraculously did not sustain any hits from enemy fire. They had flown through known German territory in a manner reminiscent of the time she first witnessed Steve's heroic actions to jump straight into enemy fire to rescue his best friend at Azzano. Once she landed and spoke to the 90th's colonel, she sent a runner to summon Private Barnes to the "command center."
Standing in the middle of a small room on the upper floor of a captured German townhouse, Peggy swallowed the lump in her throat and waited for Private Barnes to arrive. She heard the patter of uncertain boots thudding against the wooden staircase. A hesitant knock rapped on the door soon after.
"Come in," Peggy replied. She clasped her hands in front of her stomach and dug her fingernails into her palms to distract herself from the urge to flee and find a private room to cry in. Why did she, of all people, have to be the one to deliver the news of Steve's death; and to one of Steve's closest friends no less?
The door opened with a slow creak of the rusty hinges, and a young soldier stepped through. In the dim glow of a small lamp sitting on a compact desk in the corner of the room, the windowless room offered a poor amount of light. Still, the young soldier's appearance surprised Peggy. Private Barnes looked too much like Sergeant Barnes; it almost sent a shiver down Peggy's spine. Aside from the rumbled, stained, and unwashed clothing of a typical soldier, Private Barnes's short, messy, brown hair, steel-blue eyes, and entire face down to the nose and lips looked like Sergeant Barnes. If Sergeant Barnes had risen from the dead or materialized as a ghost, Peggy wouldn't question it. Granted, Private Barnes had softer facial features, a wider hip span, and a distinct lack of both facial hair and Adam's apple, but it was downright eerie how similar the two appeared.
Genetics are weird. Doctor Erskine, if he still lived, would have enjoyed seeing Sergeant and Private Barnes together and would have explained how genetics worked effortlessly.
Oblivious to Peggy questioning her belief in ghosts, Barnes closed the door and scanned the room, mostly likely looking for threats for clues on what the meeting could mean. The private appeared shocked to find Peggy standing in the small, windowless room instead of an officer. No salute or acknowledgment followed once the door closed. Instead, the soldier fixed Peggy with a confused stare.
The young private had dark circles under the eyes and hunched shoulders, no doubt from a mixture of exhaustion and grief. Peggy had seen the expression on many soldiers' faces several times before. The stare always came from weariness or after witnessing horrors beyond anyone's comprehension. The 90th had been through a lot and had hardly gotten a break. If Peggy could remember correctly, this marked the first time the 90th had more than a week-long reprieve from near-constant battles.
They had met once before when Steve and the others let Private Barnes join a mission. Peggy had debriefed the men before the mission and heard the report afterward where she briefly noticed a visible difference about Private Barnes. Sergeant Barnes had also seemed extremely protective and reluctant to let the private join the mission, which made Peggy suspicious. She didn't dig for further information because Steve hadn't seemed worried. Still, Peggy suspected off about Private Barnes, and it led her to conclude that Private Barnes wasn't actually a brother but rather a sister.
Seeing Private Barnes up close confirmed Peggy's theory, and she almost had to admire the young woman and applaud her for her unconventional success. Women didn't serve as soldiers, yet somehow Barnes had skirted all expectations, deceived practically everyone, and remained mostly unscathed from the battles.
Peggy could see a bit of herself in Private Barnes, and it somehow made her feel worse to further ruin Barnes's already sullen mood. Unfortunately, Colonel Phillips had specifically asked her to be the one to talk to Steve's friend. Most likely, Phillips had assumed some time away from the SSR would help alleviate some of the pain from Steve's death.
It didn't.
"I'm sorry," Peggy blurted before she could stop herself. She didn't want to rush through the conversation, but she didn't know how long she could keep herself composed enough without breaking down in front of the young woman.
"For what?" Barnes asked, her voice hoarse and worn.
Figuring to get it done and over with while lacking a good way to explain it, Peggy took a deep breath and pushed forward. "I know you probably don't remember me, but I work…worked with your friend, Steve. And your brother," she added while mentally kicking herself for focusing only on Steve when Private Barnes had already lost her brother. "I'm Agent Peggy Carter of the SSR."
Barnes titled her head, picking up on Peggy's correction to past tense. Her head reeled back and she tensed, bracing herself for the second shoe to drop. "What happened?"
"I cannot disclose all the details," Peggy apologized. "There was a plane crash. Steve…he saved us all."
"Why?" Barnes's voice cracked, and she started picking at the cuffs of her sleeves. The frayed edges were well-worn and in dire need of sewing. A button came loose and rolled under the small, corner desk when it hit the floor. If Barnes noticed, she didn't react.
"There were bombs on the plane headed straight for New York." Peggy caught Barnes's eyes widening. Steve and both Sergeant and Private Barnes were from New York, and Peggy knew how it felt to have one's homeland—home city—attacked. "Steve couldn't stop the plane's course, so he crashed it."
"Where?"
Peggy decided she would be honest. Sugarcoating or lying wouldn't help anyone, including herself. Lying to Private Barnes in a dire time of need would only make her feel guilty later. Steve didn't like lying, and therefore, Peggy promised herself to stay honest with his friend. "We don't know for sure, but we know it's somewhere in the Arctic. We have plans to send out a team to search for the wreckage."
Barnes stayed quiet for a long moment, and Peggy let her think over the information. It was a lot to comprehend all at once, and Peggy couldn't fault her for needing some time to think. Eventually, Barnes wrapped her arms around herself and sniffed. "Hydra?"
The question caught Peggy off-guard and she took a second to collect her thoughts. "Yes." When Barnes's jaw tightened, Peggy added, "I'm sorry. I didn't know Steve as long as you, but he is…was a great man—a hero."
Peggy stepped aside and gestured at Steve's footlocker sitting beside her. "The SSR sent me to give Steve's footlocker to you. Some of the items in there were also your brother's."
Barnes swallowed at the mention of her brother, and she took a hesitant step forward. She met Peggy's eye, tears shimmering in the steel-blue orbs. Saying nothing, she turned toward the footlocker. She took a deep breath before lowering herself to the floor, sitting on her heels, and undoing the metal clasp on the front of the wooden chest. It opened with a small creak of well-used wood.
"If you have any questions, I will try to answer them to the best of my ability. However, due to the nature of the SSR, I cannot share certain information." She paused to let Barnes take in the contents of the footlocker. "I can leave if you want to do this alone."
"No," Barnes said. She waved a trembling hand at the nearby chair, not meeting Peggy's eyes. "Steve talked about you. Said he planned to marry you one day. You might as well stay."
A lump formed in Peggy's throat. Despite Barnes's back turned toward her, Peggy nodded, thankful the private couldn't see the tears rolling down Peggy's cheeks. Wiping tears away with the back of her sleeve, Peggy pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down to watch Barnes shift through Steve's footlocker.
Barnes meticulously searched through the items, taking them out one by one, staring at them for a moment, and then setting them into neat, little piles beside her on the floor. When she lifted out a copy of The Hobbit, she flipped to the inside cover and traced her finger over a name penned in dark ink onto the paper. A little sob escaped her lips, and she snapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest.
Her eyes closed and she turned her face up to the ceiling. Peggy looked away to give her some privacy. Several minutes passed before Barnes resumed sorting the items into piles while still holding the book close to herself. She stopped again when she found Steve's sketchbook. She paged through the drawings and gave a small smile at a certain drawing. From her angle on the chair, Peggy couldn't see what Steve had drawn. Her curiosity didn't last long because Barnes turned toward her and extended the sketchbook.
"Steve would've wanted you to have this," Barnes said.
"I…"
Barnes's lips pressed firmly together and she gently pushed the sketchbook into Peggy's hands. The open page revealed a detailed side-profile drawing of none other than Peggy herself. Steve must have drawn it during one of their long rides back from a remote Hydra base because the lines of a covered Jeep filled in the background and she looked a little tired in the artwork. She choked down the urge to cry, and she slid a finger under the next page.
"May I?" Peggy asked before she turned the page.
"You can keep the whole thing. It seems you were his muse." Barnes offered her a small smile.
Peggy nodded and thumbed through the sketchbook. The drawing of a monkey in a Captain America uniform brought back memories of Steve's determination to join the army for real instead of being an on-stage performer. Months after Project Rebirth succeeded and a Hydra goon assassinated Doctor Erskine, Peggy finally met Steve again on the frontlines. Then she helped him rescue his best friend. His actions at Azzano proved the serum didn't change Steve because he remained a good man just as Doctor Erskine had wanted.
Not wanting to dwell on the thought, Peggy looked through the sketchbook while Barnes renewed her search in the footlocker. There were a surprising amount of Peggy-related drawings. Sergeant Barnes made numerous appearances, and Dugan, Jones, Morita, Falsworth, and Dernier also showed up several times. A smattering of random scenes from different camps, the inside of the Whip and Fiddle pub in London, and nature-related sketches filled the rest of the pages, but the focus remained on Peggy, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. There were about a dozen blank pages at the end, so Peggy returned to absorb a drawing of the team celebrating in the Whip and Fiddle.
She smiled at the memories of the pub. Despite the rambunctious men, most of the times spent there were enjoyable. Steve had first assembled his team there, much to Colonel Phillips's disliking. The colonel had already chosen other candidates for Captain America's team, but he couldn't outmatch Steve's stubbornness and determination.
The memory of talking with Steve in the bombed-out pub came rushing in. In her entire brief time she had known him, Peggy had never seen him cry. Yet, he showed a whole new level of vulnerability after returning from the mission that had cost Sergeant Barnes his life. Peggy frowned to force away the sting of the memory. Any memory of Steve—the good or the bad—the laughter or the crying—dug a deeper hole into her chest.
"Did the search party find anything?" Barnes's voice cut through Peggy's silent musing. The young private now stood in front of the footlocker, The Hobbit—presumably her brother's book—still hugged protectively against her chest. The contents of the footlocker sat organized inside the wooden chest. "For Bucky?" Barnes clarified.
Peggy closed Steve's sketchbook and held it in front of her as she stood. She shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I'm sorry." Barnes's head dropped, so Peggy added, "You will be one of the first to know if anything changes."
She gestured at the book in Suzie's arms. "Is that your brother's?" She hadn't seen Steve reading it, so either he got it from Dugan or the others, or it had once been in Sergeant Barnes's possession.
Private Barnes glanced down at the book, a torrent of emotions flickering in her blue eyes. A faint smile tugged at her lips before it dropped into a somber frown. "Bucky loved this stupid book. Always said he wished Tolkien would write more like it."
Peggy offered her an empathetic smile. Her brother, Michael, had loved reading adventure and fantasy books. Perhaps, in another life, Sergeant Barnes and Michael would have been friends.
"I'm sure Tolkien will one day." She did not immediately recognize the author. "I had an older brother, as well. He died early in the war." She ran a finger down the spine of the sketchbook to ground herself against falling into the grief-stricken memory of Michael's death. "Michael encouraged me to join in the war efforts. I wouldn't be here, in the SSR, without his support. I know your brother would be proud of having a sister like you."
Barnes's mouth, once pressed in a firm line of empathy for Peggy's dead brother, now dropped open in surprise. She shook her head to clear away the last sentence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Bucky's sister is at home."
An obvious lie, Peggy thought.
Another thing the Barnes siblings shared was their terrible skills at lying. Peggy had watched Sergeant Barnes lose countless games of poker because of his extremely readable face. He had his tells, and Private Barnes had hers. It seemed to run in the family. The way Barnes avoided Peggy's eyes and ran a hand through the military-cropped length of hair disproved Barnes's statement.
"Private Barnes, I understand this is not a good time right now, but you do not need to lie to me. I have been a spy myself, and I know from experience how to tell if someone is lying. You are clearly a young woman who has somehow passed all the medical exams and physical training." Before Barnes could protest, Peggy continued, "It is quite impressive, if I do say so myself."
Barnes's lips flapped and the previous tension bottled up inside her relaxed ever so slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and she blinked several times. "What?"
"I am not going to report you. If anything, if you want, I could recommend you to the SSR. We could use more people with skills like you."
"I don't have any skills," Barnes countered.
Not true.
"Private, you have managed to fool almost everyone here with your fake identity. You have passed medical exams without raising suspicion…"
Barnes sniffed and cut her off, "I've had help. I didn't do it all by myself."
Peggy smiled. "Perhaps, but you have still been the center of it all. You were the one who decided to join, and I am rather astonished at how you managed to accomplish such a feat. It is not anything I would have ever imagined a young woman doing—and succeeding. Besides, sometimes, in the world of spies and war, it is more of who you know instead of what you know. The SSR is always open to new recruits."
The room fell silent again as Barnes contemplated Peggy's words. Then Barnes's shoulders hunched over and she shook her head. "I-I…no, thank you. No offense, I'm not cut out for being a spy. I'm barely surviving as a soldier. And I'm tired of fighting. Once all of this is over, I plan on going home and staying there. So no thank you 'cause I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore."
Peggy nodded. The way Barnes receded into a shell of herself reminded Peggy of the way many soldiers stared long into the distance without seeing or hearing the world around them. War affected everyone—physically and mentally. Peggy couldn't blame her for wanting to go home—the young woman had lost her older brother and now her brother's best friend had died.
Peggy couldn't claim to know why Barnes had decided to join the army, and in a covert, uncommon, and illegal way no less. Everyone had their reasons for enlisting. Some men were highly encouraged by family and friends, drafted, or enlisted on their own accord. Still, every man had a reason for joining the military. Plenty of times, soldiers no longer understood why they did what they did. Once it happened, having a distracted mind and losing sight of the bigger picture became dangerous, not only to themselves but also to their allies.
Being a soldier meant being able to cast aside all the hurt and sorrow and to push forward no matter what happened. Experienced and skilled soldiers knew how to use the pain to direct their anger toward the enemy and complete their mission. Some soldiers succumbed to the anger, becoming aggressive, resentful harbingers of hatred.
Losing sense of purpose would put Private Barnes and her fellow soldiers in unnecessary danger. Everyone relied on each other to have a clear head and to stay focused amid battle. If Private Barnes no longer had hope, then she risked a greater chance of falling victim to injury—or death.
As much as Peggy loved having an older brother, sometimes she wished she had a little sister to play with and take care of—to show her how to do everything Peggy loved to do. Now, Peggy saw Private Barnes as a little sister in dire need of someone to look after her. Steve and Sergeant Barnes were gone, and so Peggy shouldered the responsibility of protecting the young woman and teaching her how to survive in an uncertain world.
"Private…?" Peggy paused. She didn't know the young woman's real name. "What can I call you?"
"Barnes."
"Alright, Barnes, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do not want to see you get hurt. War is painful, ugly, horrendous; and I know most of us want it to end so we can go home. But we cannot go home, and cannot succeed in winning if we don't know why we are fighting. We all need something to drive us, to keep us moving forward. What is yours?"
Barnes shrugged. "I don't know."
A different approach then, Peggy thought. Outloud, she asked, "Why did you originally join the army?"
"To find Bucky and bring him home," Barnes replied, the first firm answer she had given all night. The confidence didn't last long. As soon as the words left her lips, Barnes deflated again and stared down at her books. "I guess I failed, 'cause Hydra took him away from me. Again. Like what they did to the others..." Barnes's eyes narrowed in anger, and she met Peggy's gaze. "They never stop, do they? Hydra…keeps going around and ruining everything."
So revenge drove the young woman's desire to become a soldier. Out of all the reasons for joining, revenge usually fell into one of the worst categories. It never qualified as the best solution to a problem. More often than not, revenge didn't resolve the issue. It could also potentially lead to rushed, emotion-fueled decisions—a hazard for everyone involved.
"The SSR is going to put an end to Hydra," Peggy assured. "Other than a desire to take down Hydra, why else are you still here? Do you have family back home?"
"A little sister," Barnes replied. The anger still flashed in her steel-blue eyes, like twin blue flames lighting up her face against the dark circles under her eyes and the red flush in her cheeks. "An aunt and uncle."
Peggy nodded in acknowledgment. The conversation started to shift in the right direction. "Would you do anything to prevent the war from reaching them? To keep the fight here instead of back home? To protect them from the dangers of war?"
"Yes. I'd do anything."
"Even falsifying your enlistment papers?" Steve had done the same thing. No wonder he and the Barnes family were close friends—they shared many similar qualities.
"I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
"Then use it. I know war is difficult, and there are many places we all would rather be. But the reason why many of us are here is to deal with war so our family and friends don't have to. We're here to protect them—to keep them safe. Use them as a reason to keep going, even when all you want to do is to run away or hide. I know you probably don't feel like fighting anymore, and I don't blame you; yet, your sister is relying on you to keep her safe."
Another minute passed in silence as Barnes dwelt on Peggy's little, improvised speech of encouragement. Steve had always been better at giving rousing declarations of courageous inspiration. Still, despite Peggy's lack of skills in motivational speeches, Barnes seemed to not only understand but also actually consider what Peggy had to offer. It was another step in the right direction, one that might lead Barnes out of the deep rut of sorrow.
"How close are you to taking down Hydra?" Barnes finally asked. The anger still burned in her eyes, but now a spark of assertive intention flickered to life. Perhaps Peggy only imagined it, but she could even see the beginnings of hope rekindling.
"We're close, very close." She couldn't say much about their plans to take down Schmidt and Hydra once and for all. She wished she could because Barnes needed a reason to not give up in despair.
"Can I help? I want to help."
There you go, Peggy silently encouraged. "I'll see what I can do."
She meant it. Because, for once, Private Barnes needed an older sister to care of her—to watch her back. Peggy more than fit the bill. She would look out for the young woman, teach her everything she knew—if Barnes asked for it.
For the first time since Steve's plane crashed into the ice, Peggy felt sure of herself. She knew where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. And she'd be damned if she let anything happen to Private Barnes—her new, little sister in arms.