Chapter Text
Brooklyn had a way of glowing in the summer — not bright, not clean, but warm. The kind of warmth that seeped into your bones and made you believe, just for a moment, that the world wasn’t as hard as it really was. You walked between Steve and Bucky down the cracked sidewalk, the three of you moving in easy rhythm like you’d been doing it your whole lives.
Steve coughed into his sleeve, shoulders tightening with the effort.
You nudged him gently. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, which meant he absolutely wasn’t.
Bucky scoffed. “He’s lyin’. Again.”
Steve shot him a glare. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No,” Bucky said, slinging an arm around your shoulders instead, “but your sister might.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t shrug him off. Bucky Barnes was trouble, but he was the kind of trouble that made you feel safe. He walked with confidence, but he never used it to overshadow you. If anything, he used it to make sure you were seen.
“You two are impossible,” Steve muttered.
“And you’re stubborn,” you said, reaching up to straighten the collar of his jacket. “At least pretend you’re taking care of yourself.”
Steve’s cheeks flushed pink. “I do take care of myself.”
“Sure,” Bucky said. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
You laughed, and Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you like he was storing the sound somewhere private. Steve noticed — he always noticed — but he didn’t comment. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking.
The three of you ended up outside the military recruitment office — again. Steve stood in front of the door, jaw set, determination radiating off him like heat from pavement.
“Steve…” you said softly.
“I’m doing this,” he replied, not looking at either of you.
Bucky sighed. “At least let us come in with you.”
Steve hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But don’t make a scene.”
“No promises,” Bucky muttered.
Inside, the air smelled like old paper and disinfectant. The recruiter barely glanced up when Steve approached the desk. You and Bucky stood behind him, silent but tense.
Steve handed over his forms. The recruiter skimmed them, stamped something, and slid them back without meeting his eyes.
“Sorry, son. Not this time.”
Steve’s shoulders stiffened. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake,” the man said, already reaching for the next file.
You stepped forward. “He’s stronger than he looks. He’s—”
“Ma’am,” the recruiter interrupted, “your brother’s been denied five times. It’s not happening.”
Steve’s face went pale. Bucky’s went red.
“Hey,” Bucky snapped, stepping forward, “you don’t gotta talk to her like that.”
“Buck,” Steve warned.
You touched Bucky’s arm. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. It never was.
Outside, Steve walked ahead, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You and Bucky exchanged a look before hurrying after him.
“Steve,” you called gently. “Wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
You stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You’re not less than anyone else.
Not to me. Not to Bucky. Not to anyone who actually knows you.”
Steve swallowed hard. “I just want to do my part.”
“You do,” you said. “Every day.”
Bucky nodded. “She’s right, punk. You don’t gotta prove anything.”
Steve looked between the two of you — his best friend and his little sister — and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “Both of you.”
The three of you ended up at the corner diner, sliding into your usual booth. Steve sat across from you, staring at the chipped tabletop. Bucky sat beside you, knee brushing yours under the table.
“You know,” Bucky said, “if they had any sense, they’d take you in a heartbeat.”
Steve huffed. “Yeah, well. They don’t.”
You reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “When the time’s right, you’ll get your chance. I know it.”
Steve gave you a small, grateful smile.
Bucky watched the exchange with something warm in his eyes. “She’s right, you know. She usually is.”
You nudged him with your shoulder. “Usually?”
“Fine,” he said, smirking. “Always.”
Later, when the night grew quiet and the streetlamps buzzed louder, Steve peeled off toward the apartment, promising he’d see you in the morning.
Bucky insisted on walking you home.
“You don’t have to,” you said.
“Yeah,” he replied, “I do.”
You walked in silence for a while, the kind that only existed between people who trusted each other. The kind that didn’t need filling.
“You know,” Bucky said eventually, “he’s lucky to have you.”
“He’s my brother,” you said. “Of course I’m gonna look after him.”
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. “But you do more than that. You make him feel like he’s not fightin’ the whole world alone.”
You glanced up at him. “And what about you? Who looks after you?”
He smiled — soft, real. “I manage.”
You stopped at your building’s stoop. Bucky lingered on the bottom step, hands in his pockets, eyes on you like he didn’t quite want to leave.
“If Steve enlists again,” you said quietly, “I’ll be there. I’ll keep him safe.”
Bucky nodded. “I know you will.”
He hesitated, then stepped closer, voice dropping to something almost tender.
“And I’ll keep you safe. No matter what happens. You got my word.”
Your breath caught — not from surprise, but from the weight of it. Bucky Barnes didn’t make promises lightly.
“I know,” you whispered.
For a moment, the world felt still. Just you, Bucky, and the warm Brooklyn night.
Then he tipped his head toward your door. “Go on. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
You smiled, stepping backward toward the entrance. “Goodnight, Buck.”
“Goodnight, doll.”
You didn’t know it then — none of you did — but this was the last truly peaceful night the three of you would share for a very long time.