Chapter Text
Bucky Barnes liked to think he had an eye for the future. Not in the way of a fortune teller, or an oracle or anything, but in the way that he enjoyed progress. He was aware that relishing the thought of change was childish at best, and, as fate would show him, a naïve vulnerability at worst, but change was always gonna be there and he decided the best he could do was enjoy the good bits.
He'd never been a fan of school - the teachers couldn't care less about his education so he made it clear to them that he didn't care about their jobs. His dad's lectures on respect coincided with his frequent detentions; Bucky found it hard to respect people that didn't offer him the same courtesy. Now though... he made it work - he figured they all did.
Making friends seemed like an occupational hazard when you were surrounded by the same old people day in, day out; easy for standards to slip. His dad had once told him that people don't suddenly grow up - but that they reach an age where they have to start pretending that they have, and everyone else pretends to believe them. Bucky knew it was true because he'd seen adults do far stupider things than any kid ever could.
He remembered the third time Danny Adams had been called up to the front of the class to get the cane; the third time in a day. A lot of them found it funny letting him take the rap because he annoyed people with his stutter; but Bucky knew what Adams' parents were like, and he rather fancied the rest of them didn't. The teacher, Miss Marple, did nothing to remedy the situation - Bucky knew she didn't care who she punished, as long as she got to make an example of some patsy to keep the peace. It seemed like a lot of life went by that way.
He wished everyone else could see how fake it was. Maybe they did and they just didn't care. Or perhaps they were just tired of fighting for the impossible. What could he say; he knew the feeling. It was a feeling that comforted him; that things would one day be different, time would heal and he just needed to get by until it did. Progress. Change. It was constant, and he knew eventually that things would move on. He hoped so.
What he didn't plan for was a scrawny, overzealous kid picking a fight he was, in no uncertain terms, going to lose. Bucky tried not to judge people, assumptions were dangerous things, but when someone seemed almost satisfied to be thrown around like a rag doll, he decided they might need some help.
Brooklyn wasn't really known for it's street safety - heck, Bucky's dad had given him enough talks about gangs and goons to remember that, if nothing else; you never know what kinda enemies you're gonna make. So he figured the kid could use a hand; or maybe two and couple of kicks for good measure.
To be fair, what the boy lacked in skill or strength, he tried to make up for in enthusiasm and stamina. He could take a punch, for sure, and then two, and three. It was almost mesmerising. Despite the fact that he was losing, badly, the kid had the hard-boiled fighting spirit of a soldier man in the movies. His conviction was palpable, even from afar. Bucky hadn't seen true conviction grace the features of a person since his dad. What could the boy care about so much that would warrant taking this kind of beating?
"Hey! I can handle this!" Was the grateful reply as Bucky shoved one of the larger kids from behind. Unprepared, he toppled over, and that gave Bucky time to swing a fist at the other one. As Bucky suspected, they weren't exactly fighters, just willing to exert power over someone clearly much weaker. And since Bucky had surprised them into submission, he took that time to grab a skinny arm and escort/drag it's owner down the street until they'd gotten far enough away that they wouldn't be found.
"Can you let me go now? I can walk." Came the kid's voice. Bucky released him, having forgotten he was still holding on. The boy was awkwardly brushing himself down and Bucky was denied a good look at his face because of the blonde fringe that was swinging back and forth across it. When the kid finally met his eyes, he smiled. There was something endearing and affable about the earnest way he looked, but there also seemed to be a fair amount of defiance in his regard, and Bucky liked that even more. They looked about the same age, though the boy was shorter and his features weren't pronounced; more delicate and pretty.
Bucky wondered why he'd never seen him before - unless the boy only frequented the area in the evenings, which wasn't the greatest idea really - no wonder he'd found him in a back alley.
"Are you alright?"
The kid nodded, "yeah, I'm fine. I mean, I would have been anyway."
Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I ain't so sure about that."
The boy looked down. "Well, don't worry about it."
"Um," Bucky cleared his throat, "what I meant was, when I see someone enjoying a fight as much as you were, I just gotta to step in and steal the limelight. Couldn't have some other kid taking all the fights on this street - might start losing my credibility." Bucky smirked playfully, and was rewarded by a smile from the other boy.
"Seems you might have a bit of competition." The boy said warmly, and Bucky knew he'd done something right.
"So what's your name, then?" Bucky asked, almost anxious to know.
"Steve Rogers. Yours?" Rogers. It didn't ring any bells.
"James Buchanan Barnes. But most 'my friends call me Bucky." He'd been named after the fifteenth president of the United States, though he wasn't sure exactly why - now it was too late to ask.
Steve Rogers suited his name, and Bucky was going to remember it. The way he talked and walked reminded Bucky so much of himself that he could hardly keep from saying it aloud. Steve carried the same age and world-weariness inside him that Bucky did, he knew it. The difference was that Steve hadn't stopped fighting yet. Even Bucky's offer to walk him home was only accepted after Steve knew he wouldn't be going out of his way. A couple months back, that wouldn't have been true - but now he was staying with his 'aunts', it turned out he and Steve were almost neighbours.
Steve addressed him with an amount of care he was not accustomed to. "Hey, Bucky... I know I said this already but... Those guys, they're in my class and it's not the first time I'd- We'd done that. I just mean, they know you now. They're gonna come after you."
Bucky was both touched and amused by Steve's concern. "I knocked those greaseballs on their asses, they ain't gonna come anywhere near me."
Steve persevered. "Yeah, but that wasn't all of them. The rest of them could band together and attack you; ambush you when you're alone. You've made a target for yourself by helping me."
Bucky halted and took Steve's shoulders in his hands. He felt, for a moment, like his father when he'd told Bucky that his mother was never coming back. He smiled slightly to ward off the darkness.
"You wanna know why I helped you?"
Steve nodded.
Bucky wondered if there were two types of good people in the world; the ones that fight, and the ones that realise the fight never ends. Why did people like Steve have to get pummelled into their graves when there were bigger people that could end it? Why did people who were fighting for their country have to die before people started questioning who was in charge? Why did people have to die? What if it was a mistake? What if it wasn't their turn?
Bucky took a deep breath. "Well, one, because you were getting beaten to a pulp. And two, because I've seen that look you've got before. Some guys just don't care what happens to themselves. And you woulda kept going 'till they'd killed ya. They'd probably have to kill ya!" Bucky focused on regulating his breathing. "Steve, I helped you because bullies ain't no good to anyone, but neither's your dead body."
"Where did you come from?" Steve said, sounding strangely awestruck.
"Just down the street there. I'm staying with some friends of my dad's."
Steve didn't reply for a long moment, and continued to stare up at him until he frowned slightly, growing self-conscious. Steve's brain seemingly resumed working. "Right. Yes, I- I wasn't just fighting for fun, you know."
"I figured that much - looked about as far away from fun as you could get."
"No, I mean, they were bad people."
Bucky's heart clenched slightly. "They always are." Then he tugged Steve's sleeve and they resumed walking. Steve was quiet beside him though his thoughts were loud. It set Bucky on edge not knowing what he was considering for so long.
Then Steve said evenly. "Just because there are a lot of bullies, doesn't mean beating them is any less important."
Bucky had to hold his breath to keep from emitting the gasp that threatened to burst from his chest. Steve's words could have been his father's from beyond the grave and he would have believed it. Praying for his constricted throat to work, he rasped, "I know."
Maybe Steve was here to finish what his father started, to keep him on the right track, to stop him from losing faith... But Bucky's father had been wrong, hadn't he? More like this was his chance to save someone the way he couldn't save his father. To save Steve before he fought his way into the soil beneath them in a Chicago overcoat. Bucky just wished he didn't know how the other side felt - wished he didn't know how good it felt to fight for things, to protect people, to stand up for what you believed in, to be the one the people knew about. Cared about. Cried about.
Bucky was talking before he realised his mouth had opened. "Maybe it gets to you after a while, when the enemy never retreats. You beat one and then there's two more. Just seems more and more pointless. The only way you truly show how much you care for a cause is by dying for it. Everyone knows there ain't nothing so inspiring as a dead man."
He was ranting, he knew it, and Bucky was afraid that Steve would thing he was whacky or something. Instead, Steve spoke resolutely, utterly self-assured, "you know what bullying cowards are scared of most?"
Bucky turned to look at him. "What?"
"Believers. They're scared of people that won't give in. People who give as good as they've got, and who'll hit back pound for pound until they've carved out some clarity. Bullies are broken people that exist to break other people. And if my mother taught me anything, it's that standing up for what's right is how you make your way in this world. And it's how you make a better one."
It seemed to Bucky as if all that existed had been compressed into this one small moment. This one small boy; a completely uninvited, unprecedented and unequaled embodiment of the struggle Bucky wished did not exist. He cleared his throat. His voice was as shaky as his current grasp on reality.
"Ha, well, I saw you fight back there, Steve, and I ain't gonna lie - you're a tiny son of a bitch. But if anyone's a believer... You just better watch that believing of yours doesn't getcha someplace too dirty, huh?" Bucky hoped to heaven Steve was right.
Steve slowed eventually and Bucky assumed they'd reached his building. Faced with a glowing smile, it struck Bucky how human they were. He felt he could follow this golden child anywhere. How was it that Steve looked so young, when he carried the same weight that Bucky did?
"Thank you." Steve sounded out of breath. And Bucky knew those words should have come from him.
"For what?" Bucky marvelled.
"Giving a guy some back-up. I mean, I had him on the ropes, but, uh, I appreciate it."
Bucky could have ruffled the hair on his head, but he settled for an indulgent smile. "Uh-huh. On the ropes. Course you did." Steve was fascinating beyond belief, and Bucky couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Bucky felt as though he'd found the one person who understood, the one person who he could show the future too. "I'll find you after school tomorrow."
"Okay." Steve replied, and Bucky counted that as a win.