Work Text:
Bucky Barnes isn’t afraid of anything. He fights all the time, though he’s more likely to diffuse a situation with a snappy retort and a cocky grin than with his fists. Thugs don’t scare him. If you ask the other guys in the neighborhood, they’ll say Bucky Barnes fights all the time and watch out for that guy; he’ll blow his top. It’s an unfair assessment, really. Steve is the one starting fights (I don’t start them, Buck, those guys started it by saying those things to the lady, and I couldn’t just let them get away with it), and Bucky simply refuses to let him fight alone. Mostly because Steve barely weighs enough to withstand a strong breeze, let alone a fight, but also because Bucky knows Steve well enough to know that Steve never fights just to blow off steam—if Steve says someone deserves a swift kick to the keister, Bucky believes him.
But sometimes, a fight’s worth starting, and Bucky’s not afraid to do it.
Steve comes home with a bloody nose. That’s not new, and it isn’t the nose that bothers Bucky. He’s cataloguing the other injuries when he notices the bruises on Steve’s ribs. Steve’s been wheezing for days now, because it’s spring and pollen aggravates his asthma, and the thought of someone hindering his breathing more than nature already is makes Bucky’s hands curl into fists.
“What happened?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his voice light. “They insult a dame?” Steve shakes his head and doesn’t offer an explanation. “Talk bad about the US of A?” Another head shake. Steve’s not talking. Bucky purses his lips but doesn’t push, just gently cleans Steve up and helps him get in bed. It’s two days before Steve finally bursts.
“I was talking to Billy Howards on the corner.” Steve tells him, and Bucky tenses immediately. It’s a public secret that Billy Howards is a homosexual. “Some guys came up to us and I swear, Buck, I didn’t say a thing.” Steve’s all earnest and Bucky knows he’s not lying.
“But?”
“Well. They asked what me and Billy were doing, and I said we were talking, and they asked if I…” Steve trails off and bites his lip and Bucky thinks he’s going to suffocate. “They asked if I was Billy’s new boy. And I didn’t say anything and then they just…set to it.”
“You didn’t even open your dumb mouth and they beat you up?” Bucky asks.
“I might’ve said something.” Steve admits. Bucky is torn between laughing, because of course Steve said something, and crying.
“What’d you say, Steve?”
“I told ‘em…even if I was Billy’s boy, it was none of their business.”
“Jesus, Steve, you want to end up in the river with a brick tied to your foot?” Bucky starts pacing the tiny room, agitated and feeling caged.
“It’s stupid that they want to hurt him just because he likes men.” Steve says defiantly.
“Yeah, I know, pal, but your moral high ground isn’t going to make them stop.” Bucky chews at a hangnail. All he can see in his head is Steve, bloodied, lying in an alley somewhere with no one to help him. “Steve.” Bucky stops in front of where Steve is sitting and kneels down, putting his face close to Steve’s. “You gotta make me a promise.”
“I can’t promise I’m not going to help guys like Billy—you know that.”
Bucky makes an exasperated noise. “Okay, I won’t make you promise that. Just listen, will you? Will you promise not to…I don’t know, not to say anything that gives anyone the wrong idea?”
Steve’s brow is furrowed. “What do you mean? The wrong idea about what?”
“Steve, you…” Bucky gestures at Steve’s body. “You’re small, and that’s—they’re going to say things about you, and I need you to just not…encourage it.”
“Like don’t say it’s none of their business if I’m Billy’s boy?” Steve asks with an arched eyebrow.
“Exactly like that. You want to go to the ropes for Billy Howards, you be my guest. Yell for me, I’ll back you up. But don’t—don’t—antagonize guys like that, alright?”
Steve is quiet for a long time and Bucky has to get up and start pacing again. “You saying I look like a queer, too?” He finally asks.
“Steve, not to me.” Bucky insists. “But there are guys like that who just go around looking for excuses to hurt people, you understand me? If we join that war in Europe I’m doomed, pal, I got no hope of staying here, and I won’t be able to come find you and help you.”
“I won’t be here!” Steve protests. “I’m enlisting, too.”
Bucky lets that argument lie because he doesn’t want to get into it again, the fact that there’s no way the Army would take Steve. He needs Steve to promise. “Okay, fine, whatever.” He doesn’t even roll his eyes. “But Steve, promise.”
Steve searches his face and Bucky knows he must look half-wild with fear. “Nothing can happen to you, Steve. I won’t be able to stand it.” Bucky says softly, a rare moment of gravity he hopes will make Steve see reason.
“Alright.” Steve finally says. “I promise.”
Bucky lets out a long breath and throws an arm around Steve’s bony shoulders, squeezing him a little too tight for a second. Then he grabs his jacket from the hook by the door, pausing to point a finger at Steve. “Do not leave this room while I’m gone and do not open that window. Your wheezing’s keeping me up at night.”
It’s code for please take care of yourself because I need you, and Steve knows it.
Bucky pays Billy a visit after work, wincing when he sees the other man’s face. Billy’s not much bigger than Steve, really, and it looks like he’d taken the brunt of the attack. Five seconds of conversation convinces Bucky it had been a conscious decision, and he decides right then and there he’ll do anything for Billy Howards for the rest of his life.
“You want their names, huh?” Billy asks.
“I want their names.” Bucky confirms. He’d come to Billy because he knows Steve won’t tell him. Billy tells him and Bucky makes his way to the docks. He’s not even a little bit afraid. He fights dirty, so he gets in a few good hits and hurts the guys some, but they’re all bigger than he is, and there’s three of them, anyway. He ends up making a run for it, not possessing Steve’s hang-ups about running.
“Bucky!” Steve scolds once he makes his way inside. “You were supposed to be at work.”
“Oh, I went, don’t worry.” Bucky grins lazily, ignoring the dull throb in his chest that has nothing to do with getting kicked.
“You were fighting.” Steve’s not even accusing, because there’s no question.
“A little bit.” Bucky admits. Steve mutters something that sounds suspiciously like hypocrite but doesn’t say anything else. He gets the iodine at dabs at Bucky’s wounds, pursing his lips judgmentally when Bucky hisses but being gentle.
Later, they’re tucked into bed and the air is heavy with the scent of the menthol salve on Steve’s chest to help him breathe, and Bucky lies awake for a long time. Entering the war seems inevitable. Bucky’s not afraid to fight, and he has a few dreams of being a decorated war hero. But the moonlight coming through the window and illuminating Steve’s face makes him look pale and ghostly and Bucky’s chest seizes up and he has to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from gasping.
He is suddenly terrified, because going to war means he can’t protect Steve. Even if Steve manages to somehow get into the Army—it’ll take a miracle, really—Bucky can’t fight a bullet that wants to get to Steve. And, more likely, Steve will stay in Brooklyn, stupidly noble and not an ounce of self-preservation in him, and he will end up dying in a back alley for some old lady’s pocketbook, and Bucky is trembling with fear at the thought of bright red blood splashed across Steve’s face.
Bucky Barnes has never been afraid of anything, but he’s suddenly petrified at the thought of the world losing Steve Rogers.