Young James Buchanan Barnes -- Bucky, for short -- was a self-made badass of Brooklyn. At the mere age of nine, he already knew and used all the cuss words, was the reigning champion of the sandbox heavyweight ring at school, and frequently used the hidden corridor behind the utility closet in the bathroom in the third floor commons to escape punishment from the nuns at St. Joseph's Orphanage. Oh yeah! And he also knew how to smoke. He'd tell you, with a proud grin, that he had swiped a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes from the Schwab's Pharmacy at the corner, and that he'd already smoked three of them. Bucky was nothing if not proud, but he knew when was the right time to keep his head down.
He learned a few months after his eighth birthday that if you got something that someone else wanted, it was best not to show it off in person. Also that kissing boys is very, very wrong, and that yelling at the teacher after losing a fight was just asking to rub salt in a wound (almost literally).
However, not all kids were as smart as Bucky. One such instance of inferior intelligence was found in one eight-year-old Steven Grant Rogers --Steve, for short. And short Steve was. Bucky definitely wasn't what you would call short for his age, but he wasn't that much taller than the other kids. Steve, on the other hand, was so short for an eight year old that were it not for his aggressive attitude toward his peers one could mistake the kid for five! And he was scrawny too! Probably sicker than a dog more than half the time, and yet there Bucky found him: crap beat out of him and still stumbling up to fight.
"Issat all you got! Wussy buncha cowards!"
Bucky heard the high pitched slurs of a boy about his age as he passed the alleyway on his way to try and mooch a Hershey's bar off of Old Lady Davenport down by the supermarket. He knew it was in his best interest to keep walking and let the kid sort out his own mess, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked his head down the alley to get a better look at the commotion. What he saw after that sealed his fate for the rest of his life.
Surrounded by two boys, probably nine and a half or ten years of age, was a pile of sticks of a person colored in a sick, dull rainbow of bruises splashed with bright red blood around the right eyebrow and mouth. And the dumbass was still trying to stand up and fight!
"Hey, assholes! Why don't ya go pick on somebody your own size!" Bucky called to draw attention away from the crumpled heap of a boy. The older kids rounded on Bucky, but when matched with an opponent of similar stature, became quickly discouraged and scurried off to find something better to do. Bucky reached down to help the boy up, but only earned a scowl in return.
"I was doin' jus fine on my own," he protested bitterly, hitching himself up with some difficulty.
"Yeah, sure," Bucky agreed with all the sarcasm he could muster. Apparently it showed because the boy whined his response.
"I was! I had 'em on the ropes. A few more minutes and they'd a been runnin' scared!"
"A few more minutes, and you'd a been dead," Bucky insisted but more to himself, so as not to bruise the boy's pride to match his damaged corpse. "Look. I don't wanna fight with you. Let's just get you cleaned up. I know a back way into the orphanage just up the street where we can wash you up and send ya on your way." The boy didn't respond, but when Bucky started walking, he followed. "So, how old're you?" Bucky asked after a minute by way of small talk.
"Really," the boy countered in slight exasperation, "you don't wanna know my name or somethin' first?"
Bucky chuckled in response.
"Okay? Sorry I offended you, your highness," he chuckled again when the boy shot him a glare.
"It's Steve. If you actually care. Steven Grant Rogers," the boy -- Steve -- responded proudly.
"Well, I'm James, but please don't call me that."
"What'd you go by then?"
"Bucky."
"Then why don't you introduce yourself as Bucky?" Steve asked incredulously.
"Quiet, punk!" Bucky snapped, but it was half hearted at best, "you still didn't answer my question."
"I'm eight, but why do you care?" Steve seemed almost accusatory.
"Geez, why're you gettin' all bent outta shape? I just asked a question." Now it was Bucky's turn to look offended. He pouted and Steve burst out laughing. "What! What's so funny!"
Steve continued to laugh, but dismissively shook his head by way of explanation and eventually responded with a light, "Nothin'."
"So, you got my answer; how old're you?" Steve continued when he'd solidly gathered himself.
"Nine!" Bucky stated proudly. After that the two walked in silence. Soon enough, they reached the orphanage, and were climbing in the hidden entrance around the back of the building.
Though the secret passage wasn't an air duck or anything, the crawl space was small and dark, and took a lot of feeling around. Steve entered first upon Bucky's insistence that he wouldn't be able to see Bucky well enough to follow him.
"Just what're you implyin'. 'Cause I ain't blind if that's what you thought!" Steve had protested. "I'll have you know that I pride myself on impeccable vision!" Bucky had just rolled his eyes.
"I ain't implyin' anything. Just that it's darker than sin in there, but I've been through it enough so I can tell you where to go," he'd quelled. "Jesus, Rogers, have a little faith." And with that stated, Bucky helped Steve into the crawl space entrance.
Bucky shouted orders from behind. Namely 'left' or 'right' when Steve reached a turn. A couple of times, he ran Steve into the wall, because he'd been counting his own crawling paces and not thinking to take into account the size difference between himself and the other boy. At one point Steve had even asked if Bucky was really fit to steer given the situation, but eventually they got there bearings straight. The pair was about two thirds of the way through the maze of a crawl space when Steve's hand hit something that produced a dull clanging sound, and a thought struck Bucky.
"Ow!" Steve whined, but Bucky told him to hush and focus on the task at hand. "Well? Where to next," had been Steve's annoyed reply. Keeping Steve waiting on instructions had not been Bucky's intention; however, as the latest obstacle stood in his way, he couldn't help but think back to the frail form of the other boy and the woozy state he'd been in not fifteen minutes before. He had to think of a way around his current situation before he could proceed.
"Look," Steve began speaking, cutting off Bucky's train of thought, "I know this whole thinking thing is hard for you –"
"Hey!"
"But do you think maybe you could hurry it up a little? I'm kneeling in discarded gum, and I wanna get outta this craphole crawl space as soon as possible."
With that, Bucky sighed and gave up on looking for an alternative path that ultimately he knew didn't exist.
"How good are you with ladders," was what it came down to. The crawl space started about two feet off the ground and weaved and twisted until the task came to ascending two flights of stairs worth of ladder.
"How big's the ladder?" Steve asked incredulously, and Bucky could already tell that two flights would be too much. Whatever. If Steve started to cop out, Bucky could easily piggy back him the rest of the way up.
"Start climbin'," he instructed, "if ya start to get tired, I'll carry ya." And with that they were off again.
Steve made it to the top, and even managed the trapdoor hatch in the utility closet, but not without serious effort.
When Bucky crawled out of the hatch to join him, Steve was severely winded.
"Ya doin' okay there, buddy?" Bucky asked patting Steve on the Back. Steve coughed heavily, but held up a hand to ward off assistance.
"I'm fine!" he insisted when he'd finally caught his breath. By then, the two had stumbled out of the utility closet, and Bucky had Steve perched on the edge of the sink. With a wash rag from the closet, Bucky had started to rinse off the cut on Steve's eyebrow.
"Do you live here?" Steve tried to observe through a wince as the wet cloth hit his open wound.
"Of course I do, dumdass – hold still – how else would I've know about the crawl space?" Bucky answered distractedly as he nursed Steve's face. Steve resisted the urge to hang his head.
"I'm sorry." Bucky didn't even have to ask what Steve was talking about.
Instead, when he went to clean off the wash rag, Bucky shoved Steve lightly toward the mirror.
"Don't worry about it. It happened a long time ago." He added the last part with a down turned shake of the head. Steve frowned but didn't push it, opting instead to change the subject.
"Hey, I hate to push it, y'know since you helped so much already, but d'ya think you can get the gum off my slacks?" Bucky starts to laugh, but picks with the wet cloth at the stale gum embedded in the left knee of Steve's pants.
"Damn, Rogers. You're stretchin' me real thin." He looked up with the best disappointed face he could muster while trying to fight off a smirk, "And testin' my patience, too." Steve rolled his eyes an shoved Bucky's shoulder.
"Shut up, jerk." Steve quipped, "I'm just tryin' to be polite."
This time Bucky didn't even try to hide his smirk, but it faltered when he caught the earnest look of Steve's face. "Look," Bucky began, returning his gaze to the floor, now intent on hiding seriousness it held, "bein' polite, and bein' apologetic ain't the same thing. Don't ever assume you're "pushing it," he made off-handed air quotes to emphasize the quote, and continued, "If people wants to help ya, let 'em help."
"Apologetic," Steve noted, voice filled with snarkiness, "that's a big word, Buck." The mock pride rang through his tone, and Bucky rolled his eyes.
"Now who's being the jerk," he shook his head and patted Steve's knee to let the smaller boy know he was done. There was a moment of almost awkward silence, because neither boy wanted to admit that it was probably time for Steve to go home. Just ask Steve was about to open his mouth and bring the idea to reality, Bucky came up with an idea.
"Hey, Stevie!" The larger boy jumped with sudden and barely contained excitement. Steve glared at the nickname but didn't say anything, and Bucky went on. "Do you wanna see my inner sanctum!?" Steve looked sceptical, but decided not to mention it. Bucky seemed to notice anyway. "It's a real place, Rogers, I swear." Steve shrugged in response.
"I mean, I guess I don't really got anything better to do." It was a lie because they both knew Steve would be wanted home soon, but it was a lie they could both live with. So, Bucky snuck Steve down the corridor, knowing he wasn't supposed to have guests without the nuns' permission. It wasn't a very long corridor, and the fire escape was right at the end, but Bucky still took pleasure in sneaking around. He was, after all, a badass. Once outside, Bucky climbed the short utility latter and waited for Steve.
Once Steve had ambled his way over the lip of the roof, Bucky swung open his arms and with a shit-eating grin announced, "Welcome to my fortress of solitude!" Steve made a face.
"I thought it was your inner sanctum."
"Fortress of solitude, inner sanctum, same thing. The point is, I come up here to get away from it all. And I never let anyone else up here, so consider yourself lucky." With a finalising and satisfied nod, Bucky plopped onto the concrete. Steve followed and for a while the sat in comfortable silence. Bucky pulled out his carton of Lucky Strikes and offered one to Steve.
"I have asthma, dumbass." Steve informed bopping Bucky at the base of his skull. Bucky looked forlorn at the cigarettes before making an important decision.
"Eh," he shrugged as if the coming statement meant nothing. "Smoking is for losers anyway." And that's how James Buchanan Barnes, self made badass of Brooklyn, quit smoking.