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Steve’s life had changed drastically in the short time of a few months. From a skinny kid from Brooklyn who could be taken out by a gust of wind, to Captain America, the American hero.
The line between science and magic seemed thin to him. He felt like he was Cinderella, Dr. Erskine was his fairy godmother, and the wand transforming him came in the single most painful experience of his life.
He had the same face, but this wasn’t his body. It was bizarre. He now had all the muscle and power he needed to do what he always wanted. Stop bullies.
Since he was a little squirt on the playground pushing Freddie Myers off Lillian Duke. That got him a bloody nose and dirt in his eye.
It didn’t matter if he was thin and sickly, or made of muscle and ideal health. He was going to stand up for what’s right, even if it was at the cost of himself. Back then he threw himself into fights, to shift the bullies attention.
He’d happily get his chest kicked in while a young lady was able to slip away from her yard dog of a boyfriend.
Back then all he could do was offer himself as a different target. Now he was a shield. Capable of taking punches and then some, without getting knocked off his feet. He could stand in front of others, protect them, and not be laid up for a week after.
Sarah Rogers, God rest her soul always said Steve’s heart was three sizes bigger than his body. Now it seemed the two were at an even match.
He never idealized war or romanticize violence. Contrary to what most everyone is sure to think of him, he doesn’t like fighting. He’d rather be at the park, sketching trees, naming all the squirrels he sees.
He hates seeing good men lose their limbs, bleeding out as their eyes dart around desperately, he despises holding a bloodied note in his hand, and having to deliver it to a wife, parent, child.
Unfortunately he’s learned in his life there are bullies that do not stop unless you knock them down, and make sure they can’t get up.
You can’t talk to them because they only want to hear their own voice.
You can’t appeal to their humanity because they have none.
You can’t reason with them because they’ve lost all sense of reason.
On the day of his judgement, standing before the great king, Steve will be asked why he killed so many men, when in the good book it tells clearly states, thou shalt not kill.
God will ask him, why did he go against his commandment.
And Steve will answer truthfully.
He made no mistakes, he has no regrets, and he will not repent nor seek forgiveness.
He killed those men not with hate in his heart nor the desire to gain power, but a dream in his soul. That one day America will become the pillar of hope, acceptance, and community.
That all the bigots and fascist are cleansed of their nation, that one day a man may kiss his fella in public, the same as any man with his gal.
That there is no more spewing hatred to those that speak another language, have darker skin, or a unique culture.
That children never ask their mothers about the bad men trying to kill them and take them from their homes.
That America, is as it was made to be, a place of Freedom from oppression, fear, and hatred.
And if God condemns him for these actions, sends him to Hell for standing up for what he believes in, and tearing down monsters, Steve will politely share his disagreement, and walk into Hellfire.
Unfortunately to say not every man in the troops shared his ideals. Some were just itching to get their hands on a gun and do some killing that was portrayed as “good.”
If you ask him those men were unhealthy. Anyone who goes into war with a smile isn’t safe to be around. He’d have them in a mental hospital, not on the front lines.
But the army was desperate, the draft took young men from all across the nation. And at the rate they were dropping it seemed there was never enough of them.
Just around the camp there were men only on a technicality. Their faces will still so smooth and baby soft. Practically still boys. There was one lad near the gate that looked to still be in school.
Steve took a better glance and realized it indeed was a boy. He must be 13 or 14, no older than that. Sometimes Boy Scouts came by the camp to bring rubber bands or blank paper. This boy wasn’t in uniform, but he did have one of those flat caps, must be a newsboy.
Steve always was in a good mood after some kiddies came by. It rejuvenated him. Their young faces and eager salutes reminded him that all the blood sweat and tears was for them. For every young boy and girl to live in a safer world tomorrow.
Steve strolls over to the boy a shiny silver dollar ready in his pocket.
“Hello there son. What’s in the funnies?”
The boy glances towards Steve and his demeanor changes. The gum he was chewing is spit out frantically and he clicks his heels together routinely. He salutes with perfect straight posture.
“Barnes at attention sir!”
Steve blinks. Admittedly a little confused. There were teens who would salute him or ask for an autograph but this was a lot.
“…At ease son. There’s no need for all that. What’s your name? And what are you doing around these parts?”
The boy lowers his hand, but still looks tense as a coiled spring.
“I am James Buchanan Barnes sir! Here to serve my country sir! I have instructions to meet with a Cornel Robinson sir!”
Steve’s heart drops down into his stomach.
This boy, this baby was given orders to report to camp? And Cornel Robbinson….it was for basic training. That couldn’t be right.
“Son, are you trying to tell me you’ve been accepted into the army?” Steve whispers, the words taste vile on his tongue. It’s 20 flavors of wrong. This boy’s head didn’t make it up to Steve’s chest.
It was already bad enough so many good men were dying in this war, but freedom comes with a price, a heavy one, someone’s got to pay it.
Not children. Never a little boy like this. The thought of a little fella like him so much as stepping onto a battlefield made Steve sick.
“Yes sir! My papers sir!” The boy, James, takes a folded paper from his pocket. Steve takes it and reads over with red ears. Who on earth thought it was a brilliant idea to allow this child into a man’s war?
The boy had qualifications, Steve couldn’t deny that. Fast, intelligent, an excellent shot. Though it didn’t make one difference. He should be back home with his family.
If he wanted to help the war effort so much he could collect some scraps or something. Not take up arms.
Steve wasn’t going to stand for it. He didn’t give a damn what propaganda for child soldiers the troops were pushing, or how in need they were for more men.
Boys don’t belong on a battlefield.
He’d march down there himself to old Robinson himself and demand the boy be sent back home with an honorable discharge. He was Captain America, he sold all the war bonds and was chosen to be the super soldier.
He knew exactly what kind of pull he had around here, and didn’t enjoy using them often, but stopping a boy from getting slaughtered by Nazi’s was the best reason he could think of.
Taking a calming breath Steve holds the tip of his nose to steady himself.
“Son this was a gross mistake. Someone has put you here, and they will be held accountable for it. This all must seem very overwhelming but you don’t have to worry. I’ll see to it that you’re home with your folks by supper.”
Steve turns on his heel to go and find whatever chuckle head decided to sign off on a baby joining the army, and having them removed immediately.
However he’s stopped by two little hands wrapped around his, pulling him back. He turns around to see James looking up at him with a desperate expression.
“No sir!” James cries and Steve stares down at him, and at the boys hands clinging onto him.
James pulls back his hands and tucks them behind himself.
“Sir apologies that was out of order. Please don’t sent me home sir. I can work harder than any man here, I swear it. I’ll listen to your orders like a dog. I can’t go home. I’m beggin you.”
Steve replays the boys words around in his head.
In that little speech he never once asked to stay because he wants to be a war hero. He didn’t want riches or fame. Certainly didn’t seem eager to start killing.
Please don’t send me home.
Steve saw himself in the boys wide eyes, although when he was hiding under the table from Joseph Rogers, his crying eyes were blue. The boy in front of him had brown eyes. Big and soft. Like the sun shining through a glass of whiskey.
Steve had never seen his own face when he asked teachers if he could stay on the playground for a while, or beg to sleep over at a friend’s house, even on a school night.
Now he saw exactly what it looked like to be a boy terrified of going home. Someone in that house was not treating the boy right. Steve was no stranger to pain, but coming from your own parent, a man who calls himself a father, that’s a wound that doesn’t fade no matter how much you grow up.
How bad must things be if this boy was throwing himself into a war so he could find a moments peace?
When he was that age Steve dreamed of joining the army so he could be whipped into shape, become a man that was always there to protect others.
This boy just picked one war zone over another.
Steve sighed deeply, kneeling to the boys height.
“So you’re in no hurry to go home are you? I understand that. But war is not a game son. It’s not like in the movies where the hero always wins. People die. You could die.”
“Don’t send me home sir.”
James whispers, with a soft pleading look, and Steve could read his face clear as a book.
He might die at home too.
Steve prided himself on making the best decisions possible for everyone involved. That didn’t always mean pretty or particularly convenient.
If he sent this boy with his bags packed, back to the Hell he had just freshly crawled out of there’s no way of knowing what will happen to him. And he can’t protect him either.
Here at least he can keep the boy glued to his side.
“…well if your papers are signed off and you’re hell bent on sticking around there’s not much I can do about it can I?”
James nods his head, relief painted on his face as he stands with attention.
“Yes sir. T-thank you sir.”
Steve’s hand lightly rests on James’s shoulder, his words firm and clear.
“Alright son. You’ll stay. But I am personally making arrangements that you will stay by my side at all times. You’ll stick to me like glue, I want you to be my shadow. My routine is yours. Your tent will be with me. And most importantly if anyone gives you a lick of trouble I want to be the first to know.”
James stares up at him in awe.
“Golly…alright sir. Anything you say.”
Steve chuckles. Young and eager to please. Reminded him of someone else he knew.
“I’ll stop you with all this sir business. There’s no need for such stiff formalities My name is Steve.”
Bucky’s lips turn up a bit at the corners.
“Alright…well you can call me Bucky then. That’s what all my friends call me.”
Steve matches his smile.
“Are we friends?”
Bucky grins soft and boyish, his eyes holding an earnestness.
“…I wanna be.”
Steve pats his hair, soft and bouncy brown curls. Cute
“I’d like that too Bucky.”
****
Steve had no question that Bucky would adapt quickly. From his papers alone he could tell the boy was a very fast learner.
He was at a college reading level in junior high, had straight A’s, especially in gym, not a single write up, not once, he was clearly a very good boy. Especially for such a young age.
The full riffles were heavy for him, though he would still hit the target each time. Regardless Steve made the adjustment of Bucky having two hands guns, easy to hold and shoot.
The last thing he needed was the gun slowing Bucky down with its weight and risk putting him in danger.
Bucky was very well organized, especially for a boy his age, he put grown men to shame. His guns were cleaned, uniform spotless, and his grooming was perfection.
Even right now he was up early to shower before the day starts, and this was a lighter day. That’s just Bucky. He put in the effort.
Speak of the angel Bucky walks back into the tent, hair still a little damp and rubbing his bottom through the towel wrapped around his hips.
Steve fusses.
“Bucky why are you rubbing? Do you have a rash? I KNEW the laundry staff wasn’t using enough corn starch in your drawers. Let me see.”
His worrying hands are smacked away by Bucky.
“No I don’t have a rash! It’s just Jenkins and his lackies being assholes. Fella can’t even take a shower in peace…” Bucky grumbles taking out his uniform from under the bed.
Steve’s ears turn red and quickly stands up. If they touched Bucky he was going to….he didn’t even know what he would do yet. But it will he slow.
“Did they put their hands on you?!”
“Ugh…no! It was just…t-towel snaps. I was grabbing somethin’ and they got me…it’s stupid! Can we stop talking about it?” Bucky huffs spinning around to face Steve.
His cheeks are tinted red with embarrassment, his eyes won’t meet Steve’s, glaring at the ground, the soft brown of them glassed over, not crying, just a bit shiny. And when he speaks his bottom lip trembles, he bites down on it trying to make it stop.
Steve has…the sudden urge to take a life with his bare hands.
Bucky turns back around and starts to change into his uniform.
He was just trying to take a shower, he was already the youngest in the army, and called the mascot at that. Now these bastards were harassing him like a couple of high school bullies. It was immature, completely unacceptable, and just plain idiotic.
“Jenkins…” Steve murmurs trying to place the name to a face. He knew him. Gap tooth, sandy hair, DoD 2849174144
“Yeah he’s an asshole. But what are you gonna do about it?” Bucky huffs turning around with his shirt and socks now on.
Steve is up and gone, the tent flap still open from him running out.
“…Steve?”
***
Steven didn’t care if he was still in full uniform and the men in the showers were either naked or half dressed, this was not something he would be putting off.
They clearly didn’t care about treating Bucky with dignity, nor showing respect towards a young boys modesty.
Honestly. What kind of grown man sees a child, surrounded by older and bigger men, and decides to pick on him? And for what? To get the rush of picking on someone smaller.
For some reason, Steve wasn’t to fond of that.
Jenkins is still in the showers, chatting with the other men. Like he hadn’t just humiliated a 14 year old boy, who’s already out of his element.
That’s the thing about bullies. Their victims never forget the humiliation, the pain, the feeling of being helpless to fight back. But to men like Jenkins…it was just another Tuesday.
“Jenkins!” Steve barks and the blonde turns around, not able to get a smart aleck remark out before his jaw is being introduced to Steve’s fist.
The man goes down like a sack of potatoes, his face meeting hard tile, that is sure to give a nasty headache for days on end.
Good.
Steve kneels down, not caring about his suit getting wet and soapy, and places his hand on Jenkins head, forcing him to stay pressed against the tile.
“If I ever hear of you picking on Bucky again, you won’t have to worry about any Hydra agent killing you.”
You’re darn right he was being aggressive, but a clear and hard message needed to be sent. He never wanted to hear of these grown men picking on his-…picking on the boy again.
Jenkins nods, as much as he can at least, and Steve takes it as acknowledgement.
He marches off out of the shower room, and back to the tent, he’d assure Bucky Jenkins would never pull a stunt like that again, or any stunt of the matter. Maybe he could even get Bucky private showering privileges.
There’s a case to be made that it’s inappropriate for such a young boy to be without clothes in front of grown men.
Steve makes a mental note of that, while heading towards the infirmary.
The secretary a lively woman by the name of Martha sits at the front desk reading one of her magazines while filing out paperwork. Steve could not understand how she managed to multitask so easily.
“Well hey there Captain. What can I do for you?”
Have Jenkins booted out of the army with the most dishonorable discharge we have available. Better yet gather every man in this camp that likes picking on little boys and I’ll deal with them myself.
“I was hoping you have cooling ointment or perhaps a bottle of lotion. Something that will…soothe a tender area.” Is what he actually says.
Martha chuckles leaning in with a knowing smile on her face.
“Oh, you feeling a bit of guilt after punishing the little scamp? Can’t let any of those crocodile tears make you soft Captain. Spare the rod spoil the-“
Steve interrupts her, not wanting to hear any more.
“Ma’am I have never raised my hand to Bucky, nor any child, and I never will. Despite what the good book says. I would appreciate it if a grown woman serving in the US army could show a bit of decorum, and refrain from gossiping like a hen.”
She keeps any more opinions to herself and quietly hands him a small tube of lotion.
Steve marches off with a curt nod. Maybe he was a little snippy but he just cannot stand people who take amusement in a child’s embarrassment or pain.
He already had controversial opinions on corporal punishment, that it shouldn’t exist towards children, but treating it as something to tease and giggle about just ruffled his feathers the wrong way.
Back at their tent Steve knocks, or does his best attempt at knocking with a flimsy tent, and calls softly. He didn’t want to walk in on the boy changing and add any more humiliation to the poor boys day.
“Bucky? Can I come in?”
“Yeah Steve, I’m decent.” Bucky murmurs, Steve can hear him shuffling around in the tent. He comes in and the boy is laid on his stomach, flipping through a comic.
“Where’d you go?” Bucky murmurs not looking up from the colorful panels. He only had 2 or 3 stored in his bag, so he made a game of trying to memorize them until he could recall details from memory.
“To have a talk with Jenkins. He sends his apologies.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.
“Steve you can’t just go rushing in like my knight in shining armor. People will say I’m a teachers pet.”
Steve pats Bucky’s curls lightly. Another reason he should have a shower uninterrupted was so he could keep his hair shiny and soft.
“It’s my job to maintain dignity and respect among all my men. Anyone who’s picking on you is disgracing the entire face of the army. I can’t, and will not have that.”
“Gee wiz old man. It’s like you’re a walking Uncle Sam poster.”
“I’m barely 31.”
Steve chuckles lightly poking the boys cheek. Bucky bats his finger away with a pout. He still had enough baby fat to give away his youth. And when he pouted it just made him look like a chubby little chipmunk being told no.
Cute.
“Oh, and I got some ointment to soothe the sting on your tushy.” Steve pulls out the tube showing it proudly.
Bucky’s face burns red and snatches the tube.
“Kay. Thanks.”
Steve cocks his head, he had offered a perfect solution. Why was he still so flustered?
Maybe he didn’t know how to apply it himself.
“If you want I can rub it in for y-“
A wet towel is thrown in his face.
“Get out!”
****
Steve prided himself on making sure Bucky had plenty to eat, he knew all too well what it was like to go to bed hungry, and he wouldn’t allow his- the boy to experience that.
No missions, no training, no nothing unless Bucky had a full stomach. And then wait a few minutes so he could digest. No one wanted him to get cramps.
Bucky didn’t technically have to eat first, so long as he got what he needed, Steve wouldn’t make any arrangements. Not there would be anything wrong with him doing so. Bucky was a growing boy, he needed meals for his development.
Steve walks towards the mess hall, with Bucky bumping into him every few steps. The boys nose was buried in a book. Steve felt bad he kept having the reread the same comics and lended Bucky one of his favorites.
Murder On The Orient Express.
Though now it seemed to come back to bite him because Bucky wouldn’t put the book down.
“Bucky it’s breakfast time. You can read after you get something in your tummy.” Steve urges gently, guiding Bucky away from running into a flagpole.
“Huh? Yeah no yeah…sure thing.” Bucky murmurs flipping the page. It was Steve’s own fault. It’s a murder mystery, impossible to put down. When he first got it he read the whole book in a day….twice.
“Alright just finish that chapter. Then breakfast.” Steve says with his best attempt at firm, standing in line behind a handful of men while scanning the breakfast options.
They were very fortunate in their army to have somewhat of a selection. It’s not exactly fine dining but Steve knew how to take lemons and make a peach pie.
Let’s see, eggs Bucky liked them sunny side up, some milk, and water in case he wasn’t in a milk mood, a shiny apple…
Steve fills up Bucky’s tray while the boy shuffles behind him, one hand hung onto the back of Steve’s uniform, being pulled forward every time Steve moved up.
“Buck…they have cinnamon oatmeal.”
Perhaps the only sentence that could get the boy to look up from his book. Cinnamon oatmeal was by far Bucky’s absolute favorite food in the entire world. He’d take it over ice cream, candy, cake, everything.
“Hot dog!” Bucky tucks the book under his arm and goes to grab the last bowl. Before some slugger pushes in front and snatches it up.
Bucky clicks his tongue but doesn’t make an attempt to get his food back. He didn’t see it as something to make a fuss over.
Steve did.
“Excuse me, you just cut m-the boy, in line.” He says stepping forward and crossing his arms.
Bucky pulls on his sleeve.
“Steve it’s fine-“
Steve pats his head lightly shushing him.
“No it’s not fine. This man cut in front of you, but he’s going to make it right by handing over that oatmeal. Now.”
The man scoffs.
“You can’t be serious. The little runt doesn’t need it.”
Steve puts his hands on his hips.
“Excuse me?”
Bucky rolls his eyes.
“Oh boy…”
“Bucky is not a runt, he is a strapping young boy. And in order to stay that way he needs 3 square meals. So I’ll say it again, hand over the bowl.”
The man decides an appropriate response is to take a spoonful and shove it in his ugly mug while making eye contact.
“The twig can skip a meal.” He spits through a mouthful of mush.
Steve’s ears burn cherry red.
Bucky takes a step back.
A heavy “WHACK!” is heard throughout the mess hall, Steve’s fist launching into the man’s chin, sending him up about 2 feet. By the time gravity does its job the man has landed hard on the ground, while Steve catches the oatmeal.
He reaches behind the counter and grabs a clean spoon.
And places the bowl on Bucky’s tray.
“Come on let’s find a table.” Steve murmurs stepping over the man’s unconscious body. Bucky follows behind carrying the tray.
“Y-you can have our table cap. We’re done anyway.” A soldier murmurs quickly clearing off his food.
“Y-yeah. All yours. Enjoy your breakfast.” Another smiles tucking his cap down and scurrying off.
Bucky sits down digging into the oatmeal. Sighing in contentment as the sweet taste meets his tongue.
“Good?” Steve asks sipping his own coffee with about 5 cups of cream. He didn’t care for bitter.
“Amazing. You didn’t have to do all that though.” Bucky murmurs his cheeks stuffed. Steve unfolds a napkin and dabs a bit of oatmeal off his chin.
“Of course I did. You need the calories to grow big and strong. Like me.”
“Yeah eating healthy did that. Not the DNA altering science fiction come to life thing.” Bucky hums with a cheeky grin.
Steve sips his coffee.
“See? You understand.”
Bucky sips his milk, leaving behind a mustache.
“You know the fellas got to eat good too. What about Caleb’s being healthy?”
Steve glances over to Caleb’s, being fanned by some men trying to wake him up. He scans over the man’s crooked teeth, balding head, scratched face, and jelly gut.
Bucky meanwhile has straight pearly whites, a head full of brown curls, a soft and sweet baby face, and baby fat on his tummy, but a healthy amount.
“The men are all fully grown, any prayer of improving their health has up and gone years ago. You’re young and your body is still developing. Ergo you need it more.”
“Whatever you say Doctor Roger’s.” Bucky shrugs taking the book back out and setting it on the table.
Steve raises an eyebrow.
“Bucky…”
The boy huffs, his lips pursed together as he looks up at Steve.
“What? We’re not saying Grace. I won’t get to read it till tonight.”
Steve shakes his head. Of course he’d get paired with a kid whose worst habit was quietly reading. A bit difficult to discourage.
“Alright, but It’ll be awful hard to read if you spill on the pages.”
Bucky looks at the swarm of food surrounding him, to the book, and Steve can see him doing the work in his head. Bucky wasn’t a clumsy person, but he could get just the tiniest bit completely distracted while reading.
Bucky sets the book down next to him, carefully placing his napkin over it. He looks back at Steve and shovels some eggs into his mouth.
“I’m doin’ it because I’m hungry. Not cuz you told me to.”
“I know Bucky.”
***
Drills don’t start until 1000 hours, and it was only 0830, gracious he hated military time, so they had a little time to kill. Bucky could read his book, or they might take a walk.
Tray, mostly, clear Bucky gathers things up ready to put his dishes away and presumably go back to reading.
Steve taps the table.
“Bucky eat your prunes.”
Bucky grimaces his little button nose wrinkling up.
“Heck no. They’re awful and I can never get the taste out of my mouth.” He pushes the plate away.
Steve guides it right back.
“Oh come on they are a perfectly fine fruit. Besides the fiber keeps you regular.”
Bucky’s cheeks flush pink and holds the book closer to his face. If looks could kill Steve would be dead and buried.
“Gee Steve, think you could you say it a little louder? I don’t think the entire camp heard you.”
Steve smiles sheepishly, lowering his voice. Bucky got enough hazing as it was. He certainly didn’t need Steve to be handing out ammunition.
“Sorry. But really you should at least have one or two.”
Bucky sighs deeply, his eyes rolling back so hard Steve worries they could get stuck.
“Come on do I really have to?” He asks, his voice pitched up high that some might describe as a whine.
Steve leans his cheek in his hand, pondering deeply.
“Well…if you’d prefer castor oil….”
Bucky snaps up glaring at Steve and calls his bluff.
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
“Well I certainly don’t want to, but I’d rather pinch your little nose than have a fussing boy with a hurt tummy while on patrol, because he’s backed up.” Steve shrugs calm as a cucumber.
Bucky stares him down, scanning his face for any sign of posturing. He knew for a fact they had castor oil somewhere in camp, but Steve being willing to spoon feed him medicine was another story.
The staring contest is ended when Bucky pops two into his mouth, chewing with a deep pout.
Steve is throughly relived. He didn’t have the backbone to force a spoonful of castor oil down Bucky’s throat.
Thankfully he had a decent poker face.
“Now was that so terrible?” He smiles standing to take his and Bucky’s tray to the bin.
“…yes…” Bucky grumbles wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Steve pokes Bucky’s cheek, earning a “humph”
“Oh don’t give me that look. Go read in the tent, I’ll come get you for drills.”
Bucky’s mood is quickly lifted as he takes the book under his arm and goes running towards the campgrounds.
Steve shakes his head softly with a smile.
“What am I gonna do with him?”
***
Drills, chores, maintenance, and field exercises ate up the day quickly. They were currently at a loss to find any Hydra bases. The search team aren’t scheduled to report back for 2 more days.
It’s a whole lot of hurrying up and waiting.
Bucky wouldn’t take it so hard if his bedtime wasn’t at 2100 hours.
Steve really wanted to be lenient and let him stay up later, but with how early they had to wake up each morning, not to mention surprise drills at night, it was the only way to make sure Bucky was getting his 8 to 9 hours.
Preferably 10 but sending him to sleep while the sun was still setting was just cruel.
On the one hand Steve was pleased with the scheduling, Bucky woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed every morning, and that energy lasted through the day.
However there were two very prominent reoccurring issues.
The first being that certain men were loud as all hell. Lights out wasn’t until 2300 so they had 2 hours of downtime. And in the army that may as well be 2 weeks paid vacation.
Steve could understand wanting to unwind, lord knows he was aching to take Bucky to a baseball game or picture show, but they were so loud and rowdy it was really getting on his nerves.
He retired early along with Bucky to make the boy feel less alone. Captain America goes to bed early. So it didn’t make Bucky a baby.
But the solidarity didn’t have its indented impact when they could hear cussing and the loudest of wheezing laughter from their very…very thin tent walls.
Just last night Bucky was burying himself under the pillow to block out their cackling.
The next morning he woke up with eye bags.
The second and much more urgent reason was that it upset Bucky. He’d try and brush it off and wouldn’t bellyache about it, but Steve knew his-the boy like the back of his hand.
Bucky wanted to be treated like a real soldier. He wanted to be playing cards with them. He wanted to be one of the fellas, not just the baby faced mascot no one took seriously.
So Bucky was not only losing sleep thanks to these loud mouths, but also feeling excluded.
That simply would not do.
With a half hour before Bucky’s usual bedtime Steve pulled the boy aside to get him out of earshot for a couple of minutes. Just enough to talk with a couple of the men.
“Bucky, I need you to go and find a good stick in the forest. Something sturdy.” Steve murmurs holding the tent flap open.
Bucky promptly scrambles up out of bed placing his hands out.
“Whoa whoa, Steve l-let’s be reasonable. You don’t like hittin’ remember? Is this about your watch? Because that was a total accident, and not even my fault! Not completely anyway…”
Steve cocks his head to the side, Bucky had the uncanny ability to puzzle the absolute heck out of him.
“…what in the world are you talking about?”
Bucky blinks, sharing a same look of confusion.
“You…you want me to go pick a switch?”
Steve’s teeth are no stranger to his bad habit of clenching them. He also has been chewing on pencils since the second grade. Really it’s a miracle they weren’t all twisted.
But at this moment, they might actually be close to breaking like fine china.
Of all the corporal punishments, and Steve had a burning hatred for all of them, picking a switch might be the one to get him the absolute hottest under the collar.
What kind of barbaric psychologically twisted bastard….deep breathes.
Deep breathes.
“No Buck. Never. You’re right, I don’t like hitting, and there’s nothing you could do that would change that.” Steve says his voice the tiniest bit strained as he pictures walking into Bucky’s house and personally wringing James Barnes Seniors throat.
“The stick is for…well no. You probably wouldn’t like it.” Steve waves a hand going about the tent, cleaning some papers.
“No, hey.” Bucky shoves him lightly.
“What’s it for?” He asks piling himself onto Steve’s back, clearly having no intention of letting go unless given an answer.
“Oh nothing really…I was just going to teach you how to make a stake. But you probably don’t have any interest in t-“
“A stake?! Like the kind to kill vampires?!” Bucky’s eyes are dancing with stars, his entire face lighting up.
Steve felt bad for any vampires he came into contact with.
“I take it you’d like that?” Steve chuckles as Bucky puts him in an excited head lock, still clinging onto him like a monkey.
“Hell yeah I would! I’m gonna find a big one, the biggest one in the whole forest.” Bucky scrambles off of Steve and puts on his boots, not bothering to tie them up.
“Just be back before 2100.” Steve murmurs tapping his watch…that wasn’t there.
“Bucky what did you say happened to my watch?”
Bucky darts out of the tent running lie his tushy is on fire.
“Can’t hear you Steve! Too far away!” He calls back running into the woods.
Steve huffs crossing his eyes in fond exasperation. Oh well, it was a cheap watch anyway.
Once Bucky is out of eyesight, disappeared into the forest clearing, Steve dusts off his uniform, making sure he looks good.
…no matter how difficult that task was while wearing green.
He steps outside the tent and strolls towards some of the men, it’s not much of a travel they are right next to their tent.
…you think the close proximity would have them learn to shut the- they would be a little bit more courteous given a young boy is trying to sleep in peace.
Steve stands near their sawed off stump they were using as a table for their poker game, and clear his throat.
“Evening gents.” He greets trying to manage authority and friendly at once. He was still getting his head wrapped around the whole leader thing.
“Hey cap.”
“You wanna play?”
“I’ll take your shield as winnings.”
Steve gave a polite chuckle at the joke, and claps his hands together.
“I’m afraid not boys. You know I like to retire early. Get a good nights sleep in peace and quiet.”
Hint. Hint.
“Unfortunately these last few nights Bucky and I have had the darnedest time laying to rest. You boys know as well as I that the tent isn’t exactly soundproof.”
He looks at their blank expressions, like he’s got crabs crawling out of his ears. He’d compare them to children but as Bucky proves, that would be an insult to the younger generation.
He dumbs it down best he can without losing his own brain cells in the process.
“What I’m trying to ask is you fellas maybe pack it in a bit earlier, or better yet, stay up late as you want. I’m not your Pappy. But maybe just keep the chatter to a soft whisper? Buck and I would appreciate it.”
“Aww that’s real cute cap. Gotta make sure yer babes got peace and quiet. You give Barnes a bottle before beddy-bye? Or do you still breastfeed?” A red headed man, with freckles, Charles, snickers looking around at the other men for approval.
They all howl and snort at that joke.
Real funny.
Steve laughs along dryly, his lips pursed together.
“Alright alright you got me. Have fun with your game boys. Don’t let Mason cheat you again.” Steve gives a light wave and strolls off.
“See ya cap.”
“Have a good night.”
Steve whistles softly, the melody of ‘It Don’t Mean A Thing’ Steve had a horrific case of two left feet, but if there was one person who could get him dancing it was Duke Ellington.
Steve makes his way to the mechanical area, a fellow Steve working under a jeep.
“Hey there Banks, how’s your night?” Steve hums lightly kicking the older man with his foot.
Steve Banks slid out from under the jeep chuckling at the familiar voice.
“It was goin just fine till you showed your ugly mug. You here to get your watch?”
“You have it?” Steve murmurs, his head tilted.
Banks walks over to his bench and takes out the watch, tossing it to Steve.
“Yeah Barnes came in earlier begging me to fix it up, little ankle biter was near tears. Said he was just looking, and it slipped out his hands. Felt real bad about it. He even offered me a shiny quarter.”
Steve’s heart melts into a puddle right there. Looking down at the watch, and gently tracing over the newly replaced glass. Well now it was certainly more than just a cheap watch.
He fastens it around his wrist, planning to never take it off.
“Well that was nice of him, but actually I was wondering if you had any old tire irons or some scrap metals you don’t need.”
Banks laughs, cleaning some oil off of his fingers with a red rag that was probably older than everyone in the camp…combined.
“Sure I got plenty. Can’t tell you how many times some chucklehead ran over one of my best tools. They should be outside and to the left. Take all you want.”
Steve smiles. Perfect.
“Thank you banks, don’t bust a gasket.” He calls strolling out the garage door.
“Just as funny as the last 25 times you made the joke Rogers!”
Steve follows the directions and sure enough is met with a pile of metals. Old pipes, engines, a crowbar or two…
He rustles through the pile selecting the best option. Settling on a nice thick…honestly he didn’t know what the heck it was. But it was big and heavy so he tucked it under his arm and strolled back to camp.
He arrives back at the men’s poker game, clicking his heels together as he faces them.
“Hello gents.”
The metal bends from the pressure of his hands, forcing every inch closer together, with a very unpleasant ‘KREEAAAK!’ As the metal, that was not meant to bend, is folded and twisted into a tight compact ball.
Steve pats it down, making sure it’s even, and drops it on the ground, the impact leaving a decent sized hole in the dirt.
Steve smiles down at the metal ball and looks back to the men, jaws now slack, no more clever jokes to tell.
“You will be quiet as mice in church, if my-if Bucky is woken up, so much as once, by you crackling hyenas, I will twist your bones into pretzels.”
The men all nod, it seems their necks were the only parts of their bodies still capable of moving.
Steve grins and puts his hands in his pockets.
“Great. I’m thankful fellas, really.”
***
Bucky comes back a bit later with 10 sticks, because he couldn’t choose just one, they all looked so good, and perfect for stabbing.
Steve sat him down and demonstrated how to carefully carve a slick point to the end of the stick. You had to work on it for a while but the results spoke for themselves.
Bucky was a natural.
His first was a little uneven with bits of bark still stuck on, but his second he had gotten the hang of it, and his third it looked like he’s been doing it his whole life.
“Dracula you’re mine.” Bucky cackles sinisterly, a toothy grin on his face as he jabs the air with the sharp end of his favorite stick.
“Go hunting in the morning. It’s already 20 past your bedtime.” Steve says ruffling Bucky’s curls lightly, and setting the remaining sticks on a shelf for tomorrow.
“Aw Steve.” Bucky huffs, but hands over the stake without too much protest.
Bucky takes off his boots and overcoat, stripping down his bulky pants and tucks himself into bed.
Steve can already sense it.
“Bucky it’s already past your bedtime.”
“…just one tiny chapter? I’m a quick reader.” Bucky murmurs softly holding the book to his chest like a teddy bear and looking up at Steve with the most lethal pair of doe eyes.
“…Mother Mary help me. Fine fine. But it is lights out the second you’re done.” Steve says pointing a finger and trying not to smile when Bucky lights up and opens his book to where he left it.
Steve had surrendered the book, it was Bucky’s now. He liked reading but his favorite pastime was sketching. Bucky might be obsessed with books.
Steve unlaces his own boots and catches a bit of gold out of the corner of his eye and smiles softly.
“Thank you for trying to fix my watch. That was very sweet of you.”
Bucky perks up, clearly hoping Steve had forgotten about the slip of tongue. He can see Bucky try and come up with a good rebuttal, but the pink in his cheeks and avoided eye contact gave him away.
“….yer welcome.” He mumbles taking a stolen glance at Steve, and quickly darting his eyes back down when their eyes meet.
Good heavens sometimes he could just grab the boy and hug him till his bones popped.
Instead he settled for brushing over a brown curl, soft from his shower.
“Goodnight buck.”
Bucky dog ears his book and tucks it under his pillow, turning off the lantern.
“Night Steve.”
They sleep peacefully.
Not one little peep wakes them.
***
Steve is stood in front on the General, doing his damndest to stay quiet as Bucky is torn apart by Micheal, a prodigal shooter in the field, and responsible for their latest victory.
Bucky is accused of insubordination, putting the mission and dozens of men’s lives in danger.
“I told the little shit to stay behind the tree line! But of course he went against a direct order! I want this miserable waste of space out of my army!” Michael spits, glaring daggers at Bucky.
Steve can’t take any more of this.
“I think you’ve made your point-“
“Oh go fuck yourself Rogers. You’re a decorated mascot, you should be thrown out along with the kid.”
Bucky throws himself into the man’s stomach tackling him to the ground and punching his teeth in.
“Don’t you ever talk to him like that! Steve is the greatest man in this army! You should be kissing his boots!” Bucky seethes, true hatred in his eyes. Steve has seen him miffed, but now he looks ready to kill with his bare hands.
“Bucky! Enough!” He pulls the boy off, not before Bucky gets a kick to Michael’s nose, cracking the bone with a sickening pop.
“You don’t have any right to say one bad thing about Steve! You’re nothing but a miserable drunk! Check his tent I’ve seen him with a flask!” Bucky screams still lunging forward while Steve holds him back.
“You lying little fuck!”
Bucky pushes off Steve and shoves his hands into Micheal’s chest.
“I only moved position because he was too fucking hungover to notice the Hydra goon with a gun pointed at him! I shot the bastard! I saved his worthless life!”
Micheal grabs Bucky by the arm, in a tight hold sure enough to leave bruising. Bucky flails like a fish out of water.
“I am sick and tired of getting lip from a street rat like you! You’re still young enough for that mouth to get you whipped!” A hand goes to unbuckle his belt, and he folds it in half, raising in into the air.
It cracks down on Steve’s hand.
He wraps his fingers around Micheal’s wrist, and just barely resists the urge to crush it into dust. God forgive him, it would be so easy. Wrath is a sin and he is on the edge of falling for the Devils temptation.
“Bucky. Take a walk.” He grits out, even while seething, placing a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder and guiding him to walk.
“Sure thing.” Bucky huffs fixing his wrinkled shirt.
As Bucky marches out of the tent, Steve turns to the General.
“Sir. I demand a search of Micheal’s tent. If there is unwarranted alcohol I am inclined to believe Barnes, and Micheal will be held in trial effective immediately.”
The General was sure to smack the face of any man to give him orders, but Steve was not any man. The General gives Micheal a long look.
“…I find one drop…you deal with me.” Is all he says before leaving.
Micheal and Steve remain.
He slowly lifts the man off the ground by his arm, so they can speak eye to eye.
“S-Steve you heard what he said to m-“
Steve squeezes tightly, a purple darkness painting over Micheal’s hand, just a tiny bit more and the bones and skin would be separate.
“I do not care, if he took a piss in your mother’s open grave.” Steve speaks lowly.
“If you ever so much as touch a hair on my boys head, I will cut you open with my bare hands, and leave your corpse to the birds.”
The fear in Micheal’s eyes is a familiar one. That of a cornered animal, facing its predator, too tired to continue running, and defenseless to fight. All that is left is to stare deep into its enemies eyes, searching for mercy.
And it finds none.
Steve throws him into a desk, not bothering to look back as he goes in search of Bucky.
Bucky was mischievous on occasion, but he was no liar. If he said Micheal was drinking on patrol, and that he was the one that earned them a needed victory, Steve believed him.
***
It’s a half hour when he finds Bucky, a half hour too long that shaved a few years off bis lifespan and added about 3 gray hairs, but he’s just happy to have found him.
Bucky was in the forest, breaking sticks and throwing them as far as they would go. He’s sat on a log, knees tucked up to his chest. There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind there’s a few tears on his cheeks.
“Bucky?” He murmurs softly, staying his distance, just in case.
Bucky doesn’t look up.
“He was drinkin’. I’m telling the truth Steve.”
“I believe you Buck. You’ve more than earned the benefit of the doubt. I trust your word.” Steve steps closer, slow and steady, like trying to get near a bunny without scarring it away.
He settles himself on the forest floor, not caring about any twigs or bugs that might get on his suit.
“I got a feeling that’s not all that’s upsetting you.”
The sentence settles in the air. Bucky doesn’t speak. Neither does Steve.
“He’s an asshole. Always pushing me around. And no one does anything. Why is that huh? Whenever I push back I’m the bad kid. I’m supposed to just let him do what he likes…” Bucky looks into the distance, his shoulders shaking.
“Micheal will be disciplined. His behavior was completely-“
“I ain’t talkin bout him…”
Steve’s chest weighs down. He had a feeling. No way a man screaming in his face and pulling out a belt didn’t bring back some very unwelcome memories.
“…we’re gonna win this war Steve. I know it.” Bucky whispers. And it doesn’t sound triumphant or hopeful.
“…and then I’m gonna have to go back.”
The helplessness Steve feels, is worse than anything he’s ever known. More than any back alleyway, than any broken bone, than any asthma attack.
He would go back to his old body, and throw himself in the middle of a fight ring to be ripped apart, if it meant Bucky could stop hurting.
“Bucky-“
“No…just…just let me say it.” He whispers taking a shuttering breath.
“…I got so damn tired of it Steve. I can handle him wailing on me, I can take it. But he started doin it to my baby sister, Becca, and I just jumped on him. I broke Ma’s vase on his head. He was knocked out of the floor. I figure, that’s it. I’m old enough to fight back now, he’ll stop….”
Steve aches to ask “what next?” But knows this isn’t something to rush.
“…my Ma looked at me with…I dunno what her face was saying. But she never looked at him that way. Not even when he gave her a black eye. My sisters were crying. And Ma started throwing things. At me. Yelling I gotta get out….so I did. She slammed the door, and the last thing she said to me was she don’t got a son no more.”
Steve can’t stop himself. He needs to hold this poor, neglected, suffering child.
His arms reach out at the same time Bucky launches himself onto Steve’s chest, hugging around his chest with all the strength he has.
“I got no where to go Steve…either I die in this war or I’m on the streets…” He sniffles out, the dampness of his tears wetting Steve’s uniform.
Steve rocks him, not caring how infantile it is, Bucky has more than earned being little for a bit. The comfort and vulnerability he had been denied so long.
“You’ll stay with me. I’ll sort it all out Buck. I swear on my life, you’ll be safe with me. I will never let any harm come to you. I promise.”
“…you called me your boy. I-I wasn’t eavesdropping…just heard…..you mean that?” Bucky whispers oh so softly, curling himself against his chest. Bracing himself for the rejection, but before it came he could enjoy the comfort for one more minute.
Steve gently takes Bucky’s face in his hands, cradling him like a precious treasure.
“Yes I did. I think of you as my own son Bucky. I love you with all my heart. You say the word and you’re stuck with me forever. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Bucky lets out a sob, one that’s been held in far too long, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“…I want that. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I-I love you. You’re my best friend. I-…oh Daddy….daddy….” Bucky sobs burring himself into Steve’s neck.
“Shh shh baby. It’s alright. I got you.” Steve soothes rubbing circles onto his back.
“Daddy’s got you.”