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Bucky never wanted Steve to get into the army. He never let Steve know about it, but there was always a hollow, aching feeling in his gut when he knew Steve was out trying to enlist again.
He’d tried to broach the subject with him once.
"I’m not weak Bucky, I can do this, I thought you of all people would understand!”
"I never said you were weak pal, but bullets kill people, no matter how strong they are."
They didn’t talk about his enlisting much after that.
And he knew he could do it, he knew Steve would probably be a better soldier than any guy in the 107th, but Steve was his best friend, and it wasn’t exactly Bucky’s number one wish to see his best friend die. So every time Steve came home, angry once again at being rejected, he would try to cheer him up as best he could while secretly being pleased. Steve would stay at home, in Brooklyn, and Bucky, with any luck, would come back to him once this was all over. They would be okay.
Steve always was stubborn though, and he couldn’t really be surprised when he ditched him on his last night in Brooklyn to take one more chance at the enlistment office.
He wasn’t worried about it, really, he didn’t think he had a reason to be. Nobody knew Steve as well as he did, and all they would see is a skinny man with no muscle and too many health problems to be even remotely helpful on the battlefield. So he left with the girls and hoped that tonight would be a repeat of all the other times Steve had tried to enlist.
When the 107th was captured behind enemy lines, he thought again about how happy he was that Steve wasn’t there. He was even happier when they started poking at him with their instruments. He sent his thanks to whatever deity was listening that Steve would never have to go through this.
Name. Rank. Serial number. Steve.
The last part was always a whisper in his brain, something to keep him sane while he was being tortured. If he had to die there, like that, on a metal table with syringes being stuck into his arm, at last Steve was okay. At least he would be alive.
So when a much bigger version of Steve came bursting through the door, he thought he was just imagining it.
"I thought you were smaller."
Beyond all odds, he wasn’t imagining it. And while he was glad he was getting out of there, while he was glad he got to see his best friend, he was also angry. Completely, agonizingly pissed off.
Steve had told him about what they did to him on their way back to the camp, how they shot him full of some sort of serum—a fucking prototype for Christ’s sake.
"Steve, you goddamn idiot, you can’t just take risks like that. What if it didn’t work? What if it hurt you?"
"Bucky—"
"What if you had died, Steve?”
And, well, Steve hadn’t known what to say to that except “I’m sorry.” Bucky had rolled his eyes.
"Don’t be sorry, you stupid punk, just don’t risk yourself like that again.”
Bucky still wasn’t happy about it, though. Sure, Steve was alive, that part was a plus, but at what cost? Now he was in the war. And super serum or not, he could still die. He could still be shot, or tortured, or taken from him.
But he knew that Steve was happy, and that he expected Bucky to be as well, and so he put on a smile for his friend, tried to make it as genuine as possible, even if it fell immediately once Steve turned his back.
When they got to the bar and Steve announced that he wanted to put together a commando squad, he immediately agreed. There was no way in hell he was going to let Steve do this shit without him. If he was going to put himself in even more danger than he would be in if he had just stayed with the other troops at the camp, then Bucky would damn well be there to watch his back. Nobody else could protect him better than he could.
"No. That skinny kid from Brooklyn who never knew how to back down from a fight. I’m following him."
Even if he hadn’t asked, he would’ve followed him. He’d follow that idiot anywhere. To his death, if he had to.
As it turns out, he did follow him to his death.
"You remember that time I made you ride the cyclone at coney island?"
"Yeah, and I threw up?"
"This isn’t payback, is it?"
Jumping onto a train wasn’t one of Steve’s best ideas. But once they were on the train, it seemed like they’d be able to manage the mission. Jumping onto a moving vehicle was the hard part, really.
He didn’t know how it happened, exactly. He saw the guy going for Steve and he picked up the shield, taking aim with his firearm. The blast from the hydra tech pushed him far enough back that he hit the blown-out side of the train car. He grabbed on, tried to pull himself back in. Steve reached out a hand. He fell.
He might have imagined it would hurt, but it was just cold. And hey, at least he saved Steve. He could only hope that Steve would be okay without him, that the others would watch his back and keep him safe. He hoped the rest of them understood how important the was.
After the mission, which he couldn’t quite count as a success seeing as how he had lost someone, Steve went to the shell of the bar they had been at just before jumping onto the train. Back when everything seemed like it would be okay.
He sat and drank glass after glass, hating himself for not being able to reach just a little bit farther, for not being able to protect himself in that moment. If he had kept hold of the shield, if he had leaned over a few more inches, maybe his best friend would still be there.
And when the time came, Steve knew what he had to do. Maybe he was scared, but he didn’t feel it much. He closed his eyes, turned the plane downward. It was the only way to get out of this without hurting anyone else.
Peggy’s voice was in his ear, reminding him of their date, telling him that he’d better show up on time, but all he could hear was Bucky’s voice.
"Don’t be sorry, you stupid punk, just don’t risk yourself like that again.”