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“So. You like her?”
Bucky rolled his eyes as he tipped back the last of his beer. The dive bar was starting to grow busier, drunken Brooklyn locals filling the shabby space with loud talk and louder laughter. Bucky and Steve were tucked into their usual table in the corner, Steve nursing a glass of water as Bucky swirled the dregs of his beer. “Jesus, are you twelve? We went dancing, I took her home, we had a good time. That was all.”
“And you like her,” Steve teased him.
“Alright, and I like the dame well enough. Happy?” Bucky went for another eye roll as he got to his feet. “I’m going to grab another drink. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
It was Steve's turn to be put out. “What could I possibly do in five minutes?”
“It’s you, Steve. So a lot.”
Grinning at Steve's sound of protest, Bucky wound his way through a clump of burly shoulders to the bar, still riding the wave of last night's date. Dolores Johnson. Dot. Smart as a whip with a sense of humor to match. Red curly hair and a blue dress that had plagued Bucky's thoughts since he had dropped her off on her porch. And she had mentioned a little sister—just as smart as her she said, but more reserved. Needed to get out more.
"I know someone just like that," Bucky had replied, even though Steve would give him a good kick in the shins if he knew Bucky was playing matchmaker on his behalf. Bucky couldn’t comprehend how Steve was willing to march up to half the bullies in Brooklyn but couldn’t get through asking one girl to dance without needing to reach for his asthma cigarettes.
Bucky paid for the beer and made his way back to their corner. The bar was crowded now, and it wasn’t until he was nearly at the table that he saw that Steve wasn’t sitting there alone. Their regular spot was filled with three young men who had obviously had more than a few drinks already. The one on the end looked vaguely familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place him. He definitely wasn’t from Auburndale. George Washington, maybe?
The three men towered above Steve, meaning Bucky couldn’t see his friend’s face until he was closer. Steve was sandwiched in between the other two men, both a head taller than he was, his eyes on the floor. The one that looked somewhat familiar met Bucky’s eyes with a flash of anger that took Bucky off guard, until his face changed into a leer.
“Hey, boys.” Bucky leaned on the table as he arrived, eyeing the man to Steve’s right. “I know it’s busy tonight, but maybe you could all be good sports and find somewhere else to sit, what do you say?"
Steve’s eyes didn’t move from the floor. Bucky placed his drink on the table, wanting both hands free—just in case.
The familiar face was still staring down Bucky. “We like where we’re sitting, Barnes. But you can join us if you’d like.”
So they knew his name. Fine. The familiar face—who seemed to be the leader—scooped up Bucky’s beer and downed it in two swigs. Bucky wished that he had had time to spit in it. “Join us,” the leader insisted.
Bucky looked from the leader, to his two friends, to Steve, and gave in. Whatever this was, it wasn’t worth a fight—not when they were outnumbered, not when he knew that Steve would be too stubborn to keep his nose out of it. “The table's yours,” Bucky offered. “Steve and I will find somewhere else. Enjoy the free drink.”
The leader nodded to one of his friends, who moved in a way that made Steve yelp in surprise. Bucky’s eyes whipped over to them and saw with horror what was keeping Steve quiet. One of the men was pushing a knife against his ribs.
Bucky swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “What do you want?”
The leader patted the seat beside him. “To have a chat. Now, sit down. Don't make me ask again."
Eyes not leaving the knife in Steve’s ribs, Bucky lowered himself into a chair beside the leader. The man stuck out his hand. “Dylan Johnson. We haven’t formally met. But I believe you’re very well acquainted with one of my sisters.”
Well, shit. Bucky took Johnson’s hand, keeping his face neutral as Johnson attempted to pulverize his fingers. “I took Dot to the movies last night,” Bucky said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “She had a nice time. I had every intention of calling her for a second date.”
Johnson didn’t let go of Bucky’s hand. “Did you now?”
“I was a perfect gentleman,” Bucky continued, keeping his tone light, keeping watch on Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve’s eyes were still on the table, and his breathing was becoming harsher. The men on either side of him were grinning, seeming to think that they were inspiring fear in the younger boy, but Bucky knew better. It wasn’t fear—it was anger.
Don’t do anything stupid, Steve, he prayed as he turned his full attention back to Johnson, who finally let him go. His fingers were already aching, with red marks where the other man’s hand had dug into his skin, but Bucky took it back as though nothing had happened.
“You took advantage of my sister, Barnes,” Johnson hissed.
“No, he didn’t.” Steve’s head snapped up. Bucky tried to shoot him a warning look but Steve was glaring daggers at Johnson, fixed on his target. One of Johnson’s friends prodded the knife into Steve’s ribs in warning. Steve ignored it. “Bucky would never take advantage of a woman. Ever.”
Johnson might as well have not heard him. He leaned forward, and Bucky could smell hard liquor on his breath, mixing with the beer. “You and me. Outside. Now.”
If it wasn’t for the blade still held next to his best friend, Bucky would have laughed in his face. “Fine,” he agreed instead, ready to be done with the whole thing. “But your friends over there are going to let Steve go first.”
Johnson’s response was a wolfish grin. “After. Not before.”
With a signal from their leader, Johnson’s friends dragged Steve away from the table, although not so roughly as to be conspicuous, and started marching him towards the back door.
Johnson gestured after them. “Ladies first.”
And Bucky had little choice but to follow Steve and his captors out of the bar.
The back alley was lit by a single yellow street lamp. Bucky kicked aside old bottles, wrinkling his nose at the smell of week-old garbage and cigarettes. The two men from the bar were holding Steve a few meters away from the door, one of them now with a hand over Steve’s mouth.
Bucky started forward with a shout of outrage, too late registering the look of warning in Steve’s eyes as an arm the size of a tree trunk wrapped around his neck and he was pulled against a large, warm body that stunk of sweat and onions. So, there was a fourth one. Great. Bucky struggled, stomping down on his attacker’s foot, but a second python-like arm pinned his arms behind his back, locking him in place as Johnson sauntered out of the bar, as causal as if he were strolling up his own driveway.
“Too chicken to go up against me yourself?” Bucky spat at him as the other man approached. There was a knife in his hands now—distinctly nicer than the one his crony was still holding way too close to Steve for comfort.
Johnson ran his fingers through his hair, fixing it back in place. “I need to teach you a lesson about taking advantage of people’s sisters, Barnes.”
Bucky bit back the protest that he had done no such thing, doubting that the drunken man with a knife was about to listen to reason. He looked behind Johnson to where Steve was still struggling valiantly against his two captors, and made a decision. If he couldn’t get himself out of this, he would at least stop them from hurting Steve as well.
“Fine,” he said, catching Johnson off guard. “You’re right. Let me have it.”
There was a muffled yell of protest from Steve, but Bucky didn’t break eye contact with Johnson. “Do your worst,” Bucky challenged.
“My worst?” Johnson contemplated the words as he moved towards an inch of Bucky’s face. Bucky swallowed the quip about Johnson needing to pay more attention to his dental hygiene. “What would the worst be for Bucky Barnes, I wonder?”
He scraped the tip of the knife down Bucky’s cheek, although not quite placing enough pressure to draw blood. “Would it be losing that pretty face of yours? I bet my sister wouldn’t be so into you then.”
“Actually, girls are into me for my lack of desire to play with knives. Girls aren’t really into psychopaths."
The tip of the knife bit into Bucky’s cheek, drops of blood pooling on his chin, before it moved to hover by one of his eyes. “Or what about loss of sight? So you couldn’t see the pretty girls anymore? I think that would be fitting, wouldn’t you?”
Bucky felt his breath hitch in his throat. He had been expecting a beating, and a nasty one at that, but he had underestimated how far the other boy was willing to go. Johnson’s face lit up at that first hint of fear. “So that one scares you. But I think we can do better. You did say to do my worst, Barnes.”
Whatever fear Bucky had been feeling felt like nothing compared to what blossomed in his chest when Johnson looked over at Steve. He tried to keep his face neutral, but it was too late. The other man had seen the panic there.
Johnson started to make his way towards Steve.
“Don’t you touch him!” Bucky yelled after him. “I swear to God, if you do anything to him—”
The pressure on his throat vanished as a foul-smelling, damp hand covered his mouth. Bucky struggled against the giant holding him back as Johnson got within a foot of Steve, who looked up at him defiantly—not a trace of fear in his eyes.
“What should we do to him, Barnes?” Johnson crowed. “What do you think I should take? An eye? An ear? His tongue?”
With a desperate struggle, Bucky got himself free enough to sink his teeth into the giant’s hand, resulting in a howl of pain. Bucky made the most of the distraction, wrestling himself out of his captor's grip and throwing himself at Johnson.
He’d only gotten a couple of paces before Johnson tugged Steve out of his friends’ grip to hold him in front of himself as a shield. Bucky’s attack came to a sudden halt as Johnson pressed his knife against Steve’s throat.
“Oh no, Barnes. You don’t get off that easy.”
Bucky practically snarled at him, but didn’t dare move any closer. Johnson bared his teeth at him in a grin as his three lackeys closed in around them, surrounding Bucky. Even if he could take on all three of them, he didn’t dare with that blade so close to Steve’s throat.
“You haven’t learned your lesson yet,” Johnson said. His hand was shaking slightly, the blade nicking Steve’s neck, drawing blood. His other hand twisted Steve’s arm behind his back, making the smaller boy bite back a cry.
Bucky gritted his teeth. “Fine. Hurt me then, asshole. Come on—I won’t even stop you.”
“But Barnes,” Johnson said as he twisted Steve’s arm harder. This time, Steve couldn’t stop the shout of pain. “I am hurting you. This is the best way.”
He continued to twist as Bucky cast about for what to do. If he did nothing, Johnson was going to break Steve’s arm. But if he tried to stop him, it would be something so much worse.
Steve’s breathing was becoming faster and harsher. At first, Bucky chalked it up to pain, but as it escalated, and he recognized it for what it was, his eyes widened in panic.
“Johnson, let him go.” Johnson just grinned at him, but Bucky pressed on. “Let him go—he’s having an asthma attack.”
For the first time, Johnson hesitated, cottoning on that Steve’s breathing was becoming shallower by the second.
“Johnson!” Bucky yelled. “He could die. Do you really want the cops on your case about a murder?”
Johnson’s friends looked at each other. “Dylan…” one said, unsure.
“No,” Johnson breathed. “No, he touched Dot—”
“His breathing sounds real bad,” the big one said, starting to sound scared.
“Stop it,” Johnson snarled at Bucky. For a second Bucky was lost, not understanding, before he got it. Stop the asthma attack.
Bucky patted himself down for the asthma cigarettes that he carried, always carried, when he caught Steve’s eye.
And Steve Rogers fucking winked at him.
“I can’t!” Bucky shouted, keeping up the air of panic even as he realized what Steve was doing. “His asthma cigarettes are back in the bar. I have to get them now, Johnson. or you’ll have a hell of a time explaining this to the police."
“I’m out!” one of Johnson’s friends said, taking off down the side alley. The other two were quick to follow. Left on his own, Johnson practically threw Steve at Bucky, who caught his friend with both arms. “We’re not done, Barnes,” Johnson snarled, and then took off running after his friends.
Bucky sighed in relief until he realized that Steve’s breathing still wasn’t even. He froze. Was Steve actually having an asthma attack? He was already reaching for the pack of cigarattes in his pocket when he realized that his friend was laughing.
“It’s not funny.” Bucky pushed Steve away so he could hold him at arm’s length, checking him over for damage. “Your arm…Steve! Stop laughing!”
But Bucky could already feel himself giving in, and soon the two were leaning into each other as tears ran down their cheeks, reveling in the relief that they were both okay.
Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him for a hug, which finally got Steve to stop. “Bucky,” he groaned. “I’m okay. Really.”
“If anything had happened to you because I dated some girl—“
“You said you liked her.”
“I did. But I like you more. Although,” Bucky continued, leaning away from Steve so he could mop his eyes. “It is a shame. She had a cute sister.”
“When are you going to stop trying to set me up on dates, Buck?”
“When you start asking them yourself.”
“I’ll make sure to choose ones without brothers."
Bucky helped Steve to his feet. “Back to the bar? I don’t know about you, but after that, I could use a real drink.”
"Fine. You're buying though."
"Yeah, yeah." Bucky gave his friend a final once-over. "You sure you're good?"
Steve shrugged him off. "Get that drink in me and I will be."
"As if one beer doesn't put you on the floor." Bucky grinned at the look of indignation on his friend's face, then led them back into the warm light of their favorite bar.