3.
Brooklyn, New York
May 3rd, 1942
Bucky and Steve very rarely argue, but ever since December seventh, bickering has been a regular occurrence. Their first argument on the day of Pearl Harbor had shocked Bucky so much that he'd never wanted to touch the subject again, but Steve seems determined to confront Bucky, to make Bucky see that fighting is his destiny. The little ball of fury brings up the war every time they speak, and to everyone else they meet as well, expressing his opinionated views and explaining how he is going to become a soldier.
"Say anything you want to strangers. Feel free to explain your intentions to the poor woman you run into on your paper run. But whatever you do, don't say anything to my sister or my mom," Bucky warns him one day, just before a Sunday lunch with Bucky's family. Steve promises he won't, and he stays true to his word, not once discussing his ambitions in front of them. At least, not directly. Even then, as the Barnes family discuss the events overseas and Steve listens silently, only contributing generalised opinions, Bucky sees the brutal determination in Steve's eyes. He knows then that he will never be able to talk Steve down.
Bucky has to hand it to Steve – his determination is certainly something to be proud of. Bucky has never met anyone else as persistent and ambitious in his life. It truly is a credit to Steve's personality; he's a fighter, and definitely not a quitter.
The attack on Pearl Harbor prompted the United States to fully enter World War II immediately, and over time, the prospect of war feels a little closer to home for all Americans. The hype of war grows by the day as propaganda spreads throughout the cities, along with an understandable fear. Men and women of all ages begin to enlist themselves into the fight against the Axis Powers, offering protection to their country in return for many lives. As the hype grows, so does Steve's excitement and determination. He is willing to sacrifice everything for one chance; for a chance to be normal.
Bucky Barnes is not one of these people willing to make sacrifices. Yes, he supports the war and its propositions, but he in no way wants to fight for it. Despite the propaganda reminding him it is a man's job to fight for his country, he reasons with himself and the shame bubbling in his stomach that he has enough to fight for at home. Between his family, his work, and his quest to protect small, underestimated Steve, he already feels in over his head at times.
Nevertheless, Bucky hates it how Steve can pry at his heartstrings, saying how he feels called to serve and how he is being held back by his illnesses. And of course, Bucky gives in eventually, promising to help Steve build some muscle (if that was possible) so that he will look less sickly to give him a better chance of acceptance. Even if he isn't planning on getting Steve into the army, he knows Steve will do it anyway, with or without him. Besides, building up some muscle and some fitness won't kill Steve. Rather, it would be helpful – keeping him just that little bit fitter and healthier may be the difference between him having a rough summer season or a smoother one.
Despite all his grievances, Bucky's guilt and Steve's determination has brought them to Goldie's Boxing Gym downtown, where Bucky spends the weeks since the bombing and Christmas training Steve in what little he knows about the basics of hands-on combat, which admittedly isn't a lot and has really only been gained from his experience saving Steve from back alleys and dumpsters. He figures that even if Steve isn't accepted – which is likely, though he'd never say it aloud – a little experience in self-defense also won't hurt his accident-prone, trouble-attracting friend.
After a few minutes of steady punches, Steve's sweaty body steps away from the boxing mitts. He rests his hands on his knees as he draws shaky breaths. Bucky lowers the hand-held boxing mitts, stepping out of his tensed stance from Steve flinging punches at him. He wipes the sweat from his brow with his arm and waits patiently and warily until Steve finally stands up straight again, his face tinted a furious red. He raises his arms to go another round, breathing labored, but Bucky stops him, removing the hand-held boxing mitts and shaking his head.
"That's enough," Bucky says sternly. "You're going to have an asthma attack if you do much more."
"I'm fine, Buck. I know my limits," Steve grumps, but his breathless voice and heavy wheeze say differently. He begins to cough, doubling over and clutching his stomach.
"As I said, that's enough for tonight," Bucky repeats, slightly softer in his tone this time. "I don't want to spend the night with you in the hospital." Steve eventually nods in agreement, struggling to inhale a deep breath. Steve removes his boxing gloves roughly, and Bucky throws down the boxing pads in the box in the corner.
"You were doing well, Steve. You're getting better and stronger every day," Bucky tells him sincerely. Steve just glares at him and grunts in frustration, clearly not believing Bucky. Bucky sighs loudly and follows Steve as he exits the gym, both of them donning thin jackets as they walk down the sidewalk toward their respective apartments, the faintest trickle of rain beginning to fall. Bucky looks away from the shop windows momentarily, sparing a look at Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve's shoulders are slumped, a frustrated scowl overtaking his features. He looks utterly exhausted, dragging his feet beneath him and barely able to keep his eyes open. Bucky nudges the man to his right with his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Don't be so bummed, Steve."
"Easy for you to say, Bucky," Steve pouts, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You don't understand how frustrating it is feeling so weak, not being able to spar for five minutes without needed your inhaler."
Bucky doesn't say anything, because really, he doesn't know. He has no idea about what it feels like to be Steve. Sure, Bucky has witnessed a few asthma attacks over the years, he's spent many nights in the hospital keeping his friend company, and he's seen the way the common cold wreaks havoc on his friend's feeble body, but he's never felt it himself. Bucky is strong and in good health, clocking in at a good head taller than Steve, and being friends with Steve means he is constantly thankful for it.
"Buck, can I ask you something?" Steve asks, breaking the quiet between the two.
"Of course," Bucky replies, giving Steve his full attention.
"I'm going to try and enlist tomorrow. I waited until after Christmas, like you asked," Steve defends, staring straight ahead as he walks, hands in his jacket pockets. Bucky silently thanks God that Steve's rejection from the Army didn't ruin the Christmas spirit, and God forbid, if he'd actually been accepted. "I was wondering if you'd come with me? It might help calm the nerves, you know…if you're there as well?" Steve finishes awkwardly. Bucky is silent for a while, and Steve spares a quick glance at his friend as he waits for the reply. "Or not, you don't have to if you're busy or you don't want to–"
"If you're nervous about it, why are you enlisting? What are you scared of?" Bucky interrupts, his voice unusually quiet. Steve sees a range of emotions flit across his friend's face.
"I'm not scared of anything, and I'm not nervous about the war, or fighting, or going overseas," Steve says defensively, his thin hands flying around at his sides as if emphasizing his point. "I'm just wary of what they're going to say about me. I know that they're probably not going to let me in," Steve's arms drop to his sides again and he slumps, looking even smaller than normal. "But this is what I want right now, Bucky. I need to go overseas and fight for the little guy, fight for the people like me. I don't like bullies. And I just want you by my side while I enlist. I'm not asking you to fight beside me, I'd never ask that you of. Although, I obviously wouldn't say no if you offered, because it would make everything so much easier. But you're my best friend, and I respect your decision, whatever that may be."
Bucky hasn't even noticed they've reached Steve's apartment building and have stopped on the sidewalk. People are staring at the two, but neither Steve nor Bucky spare them a glance. Bucky looks at his friend carefully, his mind reeling. The logical part of his brain is telling him to argue, to try to knock some sense into Steve. He would be quite content both of them staying safely in New York, Bucky working at the freight port in Red Hook and playing superhero for Steve and his family. His life has become familiar and fun and safe, and the war is interrupting that routine. Unfortunately, Bucky's protective and rather irrational side is siding against his logical mind. If Steve is stupid enough to try to enlist and if the Army is stupid enough to take him, Bucky would follow his friend to the ends of the earth to ensure his safety. He knows he would in a heartbeat. But then he considers his family, and most importantly his sister. Could he leave them? What if he didn't have the choice? With the possibility of men being drafted, it's only a matter of time until he is drafted for service himself, or both of them are.
Steve watches Bucky's silent struggle. He can't count on both hands how many internal crisis' Bucky has had since he'd suggested going to war, and he does feel a little guilty. Steve in no way expects Bucky to go with him, and he full well understands how hard it would be for Bucky to let him go. But truthfully, Steve doesn't know if he'd even make it past recruitment. With his list of illnesses seemingly never-ending, he could be ineligible on his color-blindness or asthma alone.
Bucky finally moves, the confusion on his features melting into warmth as his hand comes up to grasp Steve's shoulder comfortingly. "I wouldn't sign myself up. But Steve, if you got recruited into the Army, I'd enlist within the hour," he says, trying his best to give Steve a smirk. It feels awkward and forced, but it must have been believable.
"You'd do that?" Steve asks incredulously, his features softening.
"Someone's got to make sure your puny ass makes it back home again," Bucky jokes. "But seriously, til' the end of the line, pal." Steve's blue eyes regain their twinkle, even in the darkness of the sidewalk, and Bucky finds himself smiling despite himself. "Sleep on it, I'll catch you tomorrow." Giving Steve a final slap on the shoulder, the two part ways, Steve climbing the stairs to his small apartment on the third floor and Bucky walking the last two blocks to his own apartment.
The entire walk home, Bucky considers what he's promised Steve. Despite all his fear and frustration, he's agreed to do the thing he wants least in the world. At least, what he thinks he wants least in the world. There's no denying that he couldn't let Steve go off to war and not follow. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Steve on the front while he sat at home in front of the cozy fire with a book. He knows it definitely hadn't been a lie or something he'd said to shut Steve up. He'd meant it. If Steve went to war, he would follow. But now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't know how well that little revelation is going to go down with his family, especially Isabel. She'll be furious and probably distraught, and just thinking about her reaction makes him cringe.
A shiver goes down Bucky's spine, whether it's from his thoughts or the cool night air, he doesn't know. He picks up the pace, finally entering the chilly lobby of his apartment building. The apartment itself is also cool as he steps inside, and he groans at the heater that has apparently broken again. His father has had the inspectors out twice now. The only heat radiating through the apartment comes from the kitchen, where a pot is steaming over the stovetop. Bucky stops for a second to soak up the smell of dinner, leaning against the closed front door. He hadn't noticed he was hungry until his stomach rumbled.
Before he has to wipe drool from his chin, he quickly trots down to his room to remove his shoes and dump his jacket. Robbie sits on his bed, reading a comic book, and only offers Bucky a wave in greeting. Bucky can hear his sister bustling around in her room, the soft sounds of music floating into the hallway from behind the closed wooden door. As he approaches her door the music quietens.
"Bucky? Is that you?"
"Yeah, Isabel, it's me," Bucky replies, his voice sounding somewhat flustered.
The door to the girl's room opens and his sister's cheerful face peaks through the opening. "You're home early? Mom and Dad are out tonight at a dinner for Dad's new work, so we're on babysitting duty. Oh, and the heating has stopped working again," she informs him as she opens her door up fully. A stray chocolate brown curl falls across her features and she tucks it behind her ear, pulling her jacket tighter around her frame. Behind her, Becca is sitting in a bundle of blankets. She smiles at Bucky from her cocoon and he winks at her, making her giggle.
"I can see that, it's like an icebox in here. It's supposed to be spring," Bucky grumbles, turning back into his own room, where this time he meets the unmistakable smell of body odor. Eyeing the offending pieces of clothing lying on the floor, he throws them into his washing basket and shuts the lid.
"Tell me about it. We can get the repairmen out tomorrow. Maybe they'll actually fix it this time," she laughs. "How was Steve today? I haven't seen him in a while," she asks quietly, lingering in the doorway.
Bucky debates whether or not to be truthful with her. After Christmas lunch, when Steve had mentioned a job coming up, Isabel had confronted Bucky to ask what he'd meant. He'd ended up letting the cat out of the bag, telling her that Steve was planning on enlisting for the army. Steve, though, still thinks that Isabel doesn't know, and he's still doing quite well to keep the secret. When Bucky had told Isabel, she'd dismissed the idea on Steve's illnesses alone, carefully reminding her brother not to worry as it was probably just a phase. What Bucky hasn't let on is that he is currently humoring their friend by training him at the gym to try to help his enlistment attempts, and he definitely isn't ready to tell Isabel that he's agreed to go to war if Steve is accepted.
He forms his answer very carefully. "Steve's taking this whole Army enlistment thing seriously. I don't know if you were right about it being just a phase," he finally replies, sighing quietly. "You know what he's like, Issy. If he wants something, he won't stop until he gets it, and he's got this overwhelming sense of justice or something. He doesn't really think."
"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "But you and I both know that his illnesses will hold him back, they always have. I doubt this time will be any different. He can enlist as many times as he wants, but I don't think it's anything to worry about," she says simply, reverting to the same argument they all seem to fall to. Bucky nods in agreement, maybe a little too quickly. She narrows her eyes at him slightly before looking down at her feet.
Bucky knows that she knows he's holding out on her, and feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He is kind of lying to her. Well, not technically, he's just withholding the whole truth, but his intentions are good – he just wants to keep her from getting upset or being angry with them. She's well aware that war is not something to take lightly, she's seen the consequences of it being a nurse at the hospital. The idea of her brother and best friend fighting overseas would be devastating. Really, Isabel's still just a kid, coming up twenty-one at the end of the year. Could he really burden her with the knowledge? He supposes she does have the right to know…
Suddenly, the smell of burning, which is awfully familiar in the household, wafts through the doorway from the kitchen. Isabel's head snaps up, eyes wide. He hears her mutter something under her breath in annoyance as she flies down the hallway.
"Oh shit!" His sister cries, which their mother would say is very unladylike, followed by a loud clanging of pans and plates. Bucky shakes his head and laughs, plastering on his normally natural, confident façade. He wanders down the short hallway and stops by the entrance of the small kitchen, his mouth stretched into its trademark smirk.
"What disastrous dish have you cooked up for us tonight, doll?" He teases as he leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Whatever tension that had been present before leaves the room when Isabel scoffs at his comment, her full eyebrows raising slightly to the challenge.
"Says the one who can't cook. You always suggest going to a diner or eating at Steve's when it's your night to cook." She grabs four plates from the cupboard beside her, piling the food onto them generously. Bucky calls out to the twins, who come running from their bedrooms and set themselves up at the table. He takes the plates from Isabel and sets them in front of the twins, getting a good look at the burnt potatoes and vegetables. Becca's face curls up in disgust, and Robbie tries to push his plate away. Isabel's warning glance sees Robbie pull the plate back toward him and take a large bite of broccoli.
"You still didn't answer my question. What is it?" Bucky jokes as Isabel hands him his own plate, earning himself a nudge in the ribs.
The evening ends like any other. The twins head to bed around eight and are asleep within minutes, Bucky and Isabel staying up later and reading their own books to the background noise of the radio, making small conversations here and there. Their parents return from the dinner party around eleven, George dressed in a handsome tuxedo and Winifred wearing a dazzling emerald green dress. Despite only just picking up work again, the Barnes couple seem to be returning to their former glory, slowing building up their savings again. George pours himself a glass of whiskey, drinking it slowly in the corner by the window and looking out at the Brooklyn streets below. Meanwhile, Winifred stays up a little later to fill Bucky and Isabel in on their night, describing a lavish night of meeting George's new colleagues, fancy dinners and dancing in Manhattan. Isabel and Winifred gush over the details, as Isabel hasn't experienced anything of the like in her lifetime, while Bucky sits contentedly by the fireplace, their chatter distracting him from his thoughts.
However, later that night when the apartment falls into silence, Bucky lays in the darkness of his bedroom. The sound of the wind against his window is comforting. It reminds him of where he is, that he's safe. His sleep so far has been invaded by nightmares from his worst imagination, mainly of himself and Steve suffering horrendously in a warzone that he has no control over. They're always muddy and bloody, rifles slung over their shoulders and helmets clipped under their chins, trudging through the tranches of Europe, and their adventures always seem to end in tragedy.
He stares up at the paint peeling on the roof, unable to go back to sleep. How could he have let Steve's fascination go so far? He should have been more forceful with his friend and shut down the idea as soon as it was raised. He knows Steve will keep trying and keep being rejected because of his ailments, but he can't shake the fear of Steve actually being accepted. He can't dismiss the image of tiny Steve swallowed up in the green of the army uniform, holding a rifle that was just too big and constantly lifting his oversized helmet off of his eyes. He knows Steve won't fare well in battle – no one does, the odds aren't exactly in the soldiers' favour – and that is only if he makes it to the warzone. The cold of the air could be enough to seize up his lungs, or he could have a fatal asthma attack, or one of his stomach ulcers could burst and he could bleed internally. The options are varied, and terrifying. And while all of those things could plague Steve here in Brooklyn, he'd be home, close to medical help and in access of medication. On the battlefields, help would be few and far between.
Plus, Bucky knows that Isabel and his family would be devastated if they left. He knows how the waiting game would affect them, waiting to hear from her Bucky or Steve if they are still alive, where they are, and if they are coming home. And he can't even imagine what it would be like if one of them had to write home to inform both their families that only one of them would be returning, hoping to give the news themselves before the letter arrived in the mail.
He pushes the idea out of his mind. Right now, they aren't being sent off to war, they haven't been accepted, they haven't even enlisted. Yet, no matter how much he tells himself that, he's still frightened of the idea. And to top it off, he's lying to Isabel, keeping her in the dark. Everything is spiraling a little too far from normal for his liking. He knows it's selfish, but he wants everything to stay just the way it is now, despite how dull and monotonous it can be at times. He wants Steve to be better, to not be sick anymore, and to find happiness in something that isn't fighting a war, and he wants–
He doesn't really know what he wants, and honestly, he doesn't really want to think about it. He rolls over and pulls the blanket over his head, covering his world in blackness. He tries not to think, tries to clear his mind, and eventually finds himself falling asleep as the sun outside rises above the horizon.