May 21st, 1941
Warm sunlight poured through the windows of a small apartment in Brooklyn, painting the cream walls a pretty shade of yellow. Only one occupant was home on the warm Wednesday evening. The clock read about 7 o’clock.
Bucky leaned back on the couch and breathed a deep sigh. Steve was out, giving some tupperware back to Bucky’s sister Becca. She’d baked them some cake a few days ago and dropped by with it. Steve insisted he take it back.
Bucky had to get up soon. His laundry was in the sink and needed to be hung up to dry. He was due back at the docks tomorrow after all. It wasn’t awful, he did like his job. He was one of the fellas that loaded cargo onto the ships and made sure it was all in the right place. It was skilled work and it paid well. He was glad of that given Steve’s patchy work patterns. They never had to worry too much about money, they had savings after all, even when Steve would inevitably lose his job, but his working made things hell of a lot easier.
They were both glad of the roof over their heads, and that it wasn’t a bad place either. They’d seen the depression but Bucky’s family managed to dodge it and so did Steve’s.
Sarah, being a nurse, wasn’t laid off. Winifred was also a nurse, working with Sarah, and wasn't laid off either.
Bucky’s father George, was a manager at the docks at the time and was deemed needed by the company. Bucky knows he still feels guilty about firing those boys, but he had to otherwise he’d have been fired himself.
A knock came at the door. Bucky thought Steve must’ve forgotten his keys again, the door shouldn’t have been locked either way. He opened the door to see a person dressed in uniform.
“Good Evening, you are James Buchanan Barnes?” The man asked.
Bucky nodded. “Yes,sir,”
The mailman extended his hand with a letter. He took it and saw the emblem of the United States on it.
The world zeroed down to the letter. He knew what it was. The mailman knew what it was.
“Sir?” He asked. Bucky snapped back to reality and grabbed the letter.
He stepped backwards. “Thank you, have a nice day,” Bucky said as he shut the door.
It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. Not again. Not again.
Bucky tore open the letter and saw his name in perfect print beneath the bold writing of “ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION”.
His throat started to seize up. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t go back to the army. He’d done it before, he couldn’t do it again.
Bucky fell to his knees, clutching the letter. Everything was ruined. Everything.
Steve arrived home and was confused to see the door slightly ajar. Has Bucky gone out? They were kind of low on milk, he might’ve gone out to get some. He wouldn’t leave the door open because he never would’ve left it unlocked. Not in Brooklyn. Steve pushed the door open and found the apartment looking relatively normal. Everything was as it was when he left, even Bucky’s clothes still in the sink.
“Hey Buck! I’m home!” He shouted. Nothing. He had gone out, and left the fucking door open.
Goddammit, Buck, Steve thought. He wanted to get started on the dishes when he got back. But there was his washing in the sink and his coffee left on the kitchen table.
He walked over to the table and set down yet more of Becca’s baked goods. If she keeps this up Steve might break over 100 pounds. He wouldn’t complain. As Winifred Barnes and Sarah Rogers always said, he needed more meat on his bones. Winifred still says it every so often when she sees him.
Something caught his eye on the floor next to the table. A piece of paper. Steve turned to look and froze.
“ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION” seemed to glare at him from the floor. Steve bent down to pick up the letter and read more.
Addressed to James Buchanan Barnes, he was to report to Local Board No.8 at 39 Whitehall Street in Manhattan, New York on the 29th of May, 1941.
He read it again. And again. And again.
“Bucky?” He’d meant to shout it. It came out as more of a whisper. “Bucky!?” He tried again.
No answer.
Steve ran into their bedroom. Everything in its place.
Oh God he’s done a runner Steve thought. That could get him in prison.
“Bucky?” He asked again.
A shuffle came from the bathroom. Steve dove toward it and found Bucky curled up on the floor between the sink and the wall. He looked pale, his hair was slick with sweat and his eyes were screwed shut tight, breathing hard and fast.
Steve dropped down to his side immediately. “Hey, Buck?” He whispered softly. He reached a hand out to rub up and down his forearm, maybe coax him out of that small space. Bucky didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey, hey, Buck! Breathe, honey, breathe,” Steve said. Bucky’s eyes shot open and he locked onto Steve’s. His stormy grey eyes seemed like a hurricane.
“Buck, you gotta slow your breathing down, come on, baby,” Steve told him. “Breathe with me, okay? In…” He said as he took a deep breath in. Bucky copied.
“And out, come on, you’re the expert here,” Steve tried to joke. Bucky breathed out.
Steve did this a few more times, never looking away from those stormy eyes.
“You wanna come out, doll?” Steve asked gently. Bucky nodded and began to shuffle out.
As soon as he was able to he all but collapsed into Steve’s arms, burying his face in the blonde man’s neck.
He sobbed, great, heaving, wailing sobs. The neighbors must’ve thought someone died. Steve could only cradle him as best he could. He stroked the back of his head and held him tightly around his waist. He never wanted to let go.
Because now there was a real chance that he’d never come back.
Before he never wanted to let go because he wanted Bucky to just stay forever. Now? Well, now he may never even see his body again. He just may have to pretend there’s a body in a casket.
Steve pushed the thoughts from his mind. Bucky’s still here in his arms and he needs him to be strong now. He needs Steve to have confidence he’ll come back, even if he has doubts.
Bucky finally looked up with teary eyes. Steve had started to cry a little too.
It was hard not to, with the man he loved sobbing in such a way.
“I don’t want to go back,” Bucky whispered finally. Steve gripped him tighter.
“I know,” he breathed.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Bucky said. The image of a coffin flashed through Steve’s mind once again, it was looking too rea.
“What’re you gonna do?” Bucky asked, raising his head. His eyes swam with tears as his hair fell into his face.
“What do you mean, baby?” Steve asked.
Bucky swallowed. “Are you going to be okay? You’re going to struggle without my paycheque from the docks, and who’s gonna-“
“Buck, don’t you worry about that, I can take care of myself,” Steve interjected. Bucky sighed.
“Stevie, we both know what’s gonna happen, you’re gonna get sick again and lose your job, and then it all goes-“
“You really think your mom is gonna let me lose this place? Your place?” Steve asked, interrupting him. As much as Steve hated it, Bucky was right. It happened nearly every winter. He’d get sick, his employer would hold out for a day or two but eventually he’d lose his job.
Bucky knew Steve was right too. The Barnes’ treated him like their own, because he sort of was.
“And who’s gonna help out my sisters? I-“
“I’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay, you just need to concentrate on making sure you come home to me, babydoll,” Steve whispered. Bucky couldn’t help but smile.
At least he had something to look forward to after it all.
~
Winifred Barnes had always doted on the two of them. Bucky was her only son and he was evidently her favourite, despite how uncomfortable Bucky seemed to be with it.
It was Friday Night, Shabbos was about to begin. Despite Steve being Catholic, he always attended. Winifred found him incredibly useful. It was a Jewish Tradition but also time with family. He’d gone every Friday since he was 7, his mother often joined him. When she couldn’t she sent him over with an array of baked goods and a promise of saying Happy Shabbos from her. When her illness started taking it’s toll, shabbos was held at the Rogers’ household since Winifred practically lived there too to help take care of Sarah.
Winifred greeted them at the door and took their jackets.
“Steve, I made your mother’s Mac and Cheese!” She said. Steve couldn’t help the smile. Only Sarah and Winifred could get it right and it was good comfort since his mother’s death.
Bucky stayed quiet. He sat down in the living room with his sisters immediately. All three of them were there. Rebecca, the oldest after Bucky, then Anna and Janet. Becca was only 3 years younger at 21 and Anna was 19, while Janet was 9 years younger at 15.
Bucky’s father, George Barnes, came out of the bathroom and saw his son.
“Hey, Bucky!” He said. Bucky got up and hugged his dad. “Where’s Steve?” He asked.
Steve walked into the living room and George smiled. He walked over to Steve and gave him a hug too. Steve was like a second son to him, as George saw Steve growing up without a dad and felt the need to step in. After all, he’d known Joe Rogers. They’d gone to school together. It wasn’t right watching a pal’s son grow up without a father - especially knowing what Joe would have to say about it. The stubborn git would’ve haunted George forever. And also, what kind of father-in-law would he be to not treat his son’s fella like family?
Bucky’s family, and Sarah, all knew about the both of them. They knew before either of them did.
Bucky swore he’d always remember the time when his father told him that he was loved no matter what.
That cool Saturday night, he and George were at Steve’s place in the winter of 1935 looking after him because Sarah had to work. He was sick again with pneumonia.
George saw how his son looked at the other boy, the concern in his eyes.
Bucky came out of Steve’s room for a little bit, sitting on the couch with his father.
“Steve’s a good kid,” George started. Looking back Bucky knew how uncomfortable that conversation must’ve been for George. Bucky knew his grandfather, and he was not a good man. Talking like wasn’t second nature to George. It was incredibly uncomfortable and he powered through, which if anything made it that bit more meaningful.
Bucky nodded. “I hope he’s gonna be okay,”
George patted his son’s head. “He will be, Bucky,” he said. George then sighed and turned to face him.
Bucky turned as well and looked confusedly at him.
“I know, son,” George told him bluntly.
Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “About what?”
“How you feel about Steve, it’s okay, son, it’s okay,” George replied, reaching out to hug him. Bucky crashed into his arms with tears forming at the edge of his eyes.
“You’re not mad?” He asked. His voice was muffled by his father’s arm.
George chuckled. “Not at all, not at all,”
“How? I mean, I’m a queer, I-“
George shushed him. “So what? You know full well I don’t give a rats ass what the rest of the world thinks about anything. You’re my son; I love you. How can I be mad at you for loving someone?”
Bucky nuzzled closer into his father’s embrace.
The next morning they went home. Sarah thanked them profusely and offered to pay them but George waved her off.
They got home and Bucky went to his and Becca’s bedroom. He sat on his bed, when his mother came in.
“Your father told me what happened last night,” She said softly. Bucky seized up once again.
His mother sat down next to him and held him around the shoulders.
“This world is cruel, especially to those like you, my darling. But your father and I’s love for you will never change, not because you love someone,” She told him.
“How?” Bucky asked. “How? The-“
“They can go fuck themselves,” Winifred stated bluntly. Bucky’s mouth hung open at the curse words but he started laughing.
“You’re my son. If they want to come get you they’ll have to come through me first,”
Then came that night in June of ‘34, 17 years old, watching the sun set over the towering skyline of New York.
Two became one, and they couldn’t hide it from those close to them.
Steve sat down next to Bucky on the floor, bringing him back to reality.
“Hey, Ma?” Bucky said. Winifred hummed from the kitchen. “Come in here a second?”
George furrowed his brows as he slumped down on his armchair. “You two got knocked up or something?” He joked.
Steve chuckled while Bucky laughed quite loudly.
“Yeah, dad, sorry, didn’t use protection,” Bucky said. He and George began cracking up at the joke and Janet’s subsequent questions.
Winifred walked in and hit him with a tea towel, as George made loud squawks of protest.
“Anyway, what is it, Bucky?” She asked.
“I… I’ve been drafted.” He stated. The room fell silent.
Becca and Janet stopped talking. Anna put down her book. George froze in place, mid-lighting his pipe.
Winifred was the first to move. “Oh my boy,” She whispered as she dove towards him. Bucky got up to meet her halfway, hugging his mother. The fear in his eyes was too much to mask.
George got up and joined the hug, prompting the entire family to join too. Bucky was in the centre breathing heavily.
Dinner was served shortly after, and they mostly talked about memories. The first time Steve came for Shabbos, Sarah, graduating from school, Janet’s first steps, that time Anna shaved off an eyebrow and the time that Steve won a fight.
Later on they all sat in the living room and talked while Winifred was in the kitchen washing up. Bucky sat on the counter in the kitchen with his mother.
Steve could hear them talking.
“Ma, please look after him,” Bucky said. Steve knew the look Winifred was giving him.
“Of course I will, son, I know what he means to you,” She replied. “We’ll help him out whenever he needs it, and more, I hear Becca’s fattening him up with cakes and cookies,”
Bucky chuckled. Steve thinks a nod must’ve been there somewhere.
“Thanks, Ma, thank you so much,”
Winifred tutted. “Oh shush. I’ve come to quite love that Rogers boy, as has your father. I thought it was assumed that we’d help him out in your stead,” She told him.
“Still, thank you, ma, and dad,” Bucky said.
George had fallen asleep in his armchair in the corner, next to the lamp, as he always did on Fridays.
Anna and Janet were talking about Anna’s latest book, while Becca was talking to Steve about something he couldn’t quite hear.
The days leading up to the 29th were slow but somehow too quick. Before Steve knew it Bucky was getting ready to walk down to Manhattan with all his paperwork. He was ready around an hour before he needed to leave.
Steve hadn’t heard him get up, so he was confused when he noticed the absence of Bucky in their bed.
“Bucky?” Steve asked. A short mumble Steve couldn’t make out came from the kitchen.
Steve walked out of their room in just his boxers and a vest, looking at Bucky dressed in some of his best clothes ready to go.
“You don’t have to leave for an hour,” Steve whispered.
“I’m nervous,” He admitted. Steve was suddenly striding across the room and pulling Bucky into a hug.
“I don’t want to go,” Bucky whispered. Steve nodded.
“I know, baby,”
~
Bucky was to report to Camp Upton, in three weeks. He was told at the induction.
He passed everything with flying colours, receiving a fabulous 1B from the Doctors.
The next three weeks felt like a fever dream. Bucky continued to work at the docks, coming home at night and enjoying time with Steve. On the two Sundays they had before shipping out, they stayed home. In bed, mostly.
Bucky held Steve close. Like it was the last time he’d get the chance to. Steve held on tighter. After all, Bucky was being ripped away from him. Maybe forever.
The night before Bucky had agreed to take two lesbians out to a science expo, because he was a massive nerd.
They arrived mere hours after Steve got his ass handed to him in an alley, and Bucky saved him once again.
“You’re not going to have me looking into alleys for ya, Steve, quit it,” Bucky chastised.
“I can handle myself, Buck, you quit it,” Steve mumbled. The other chuckled and shook his head.
The morning of the 3rd of June was a cold one. Like the world knew all Steve’s warmth was about to be ripped from him.
Bucky had scraped together quite a bit of money so Steve would have something to live off of should the worst happen, leaving it in an envelope in one of their kitchen cupboards.
Bucky awoke early, so early that it was still night. The lights of New York shimmered outside of his window. He went to the kitchen and found a bit of paper.
“Dear Steve,
I’m writing this on the very early morning of the 3rd of June, 1941. Read this should the worst happen.
I could die. That truth has been setting in since I got the draft letter and went to hide in the bathroom.
I thought of doing a runner, but I knew what my dad and you would have to say about it.
If I die, which I’m not gonna lie, it seems pretty damn likely, please take care of yourself. I mean it. I know what you were like after your Ma died. Please, Stevie. If I haven’t made it home to you, please, keep the home alive. For me.
I’ll be looking after you, from wherever we go after we die. I’ll be there with you. Helping you out. Everything I can do. Hell I’ll even get in trouble with the Big Guy for you.
Move on, too. If you find someone else to make you happy go for it. Live your life in a way that makes you happy, all I want is to see your smile. Doesn’t matter what it’s caused by. If that’s another man, or another woman, I don’t care. As long as they’re a good person and they make you happy I’ll be more than happy.
I’m sorry it had to be like this, Stevie. But please, know that I love you and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Tell my Ma and Pops I’m sorry, and that I love them. Same for Becca, Banana and Janie.
Don’t forget me,
Bucky,”
He sealed it and put it in a drawer where they kept all the photos they couldn’t put on their walls. Their friend owned a developing studio so they could develop photos there that they couldn’t elsewhere. Nothing rude, Steve wouldn’t have that, photos that any other couple would have on their walls.
Bucky crawled back into bed, the sun just creeping over the horizon. They were doomed. He was sure of it.
Steve woke up an hour earlier than he should’ve. He rolled over and stared at Bucky, who was staring back.
“You’re up early,”
“So are you,”
Bucky’s eyes drifted away.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Since ‘bout 3.” Bucky mumbled, his voice thick and raspy.
Steve leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Why don’t you try to get a bit more sleep, baby?”
“Don’t want to,”
“Hm, why?”
“I want to remember as much of you as I can,”
Steve reached out his arms to pull him close.
Bucky was dressed in his soldier uniform, hat sitting at a slight angle that would’ve had a drill sergeant in a five minute screaming rant.
Bucky had a bag over his shoulder with everything he needed, almost. It was a shame Steve couldn’t get in it.
“That’s that, I guess,” Bucky said. Steve nodded. He was going to walk down with Bucky too. His family would meet them down at the docks.
“I’m gonna miss you, baby,” Steve said. Bucky looked at him and for the first time since that bathroom, he let Steve see the fear all over his face. Eyes like hurricanes with the rain to go with them.
They both moved toward each other, Bucky dropping his bag, and threw themselves into a tight hug.
“I don’t want to go,” Bucky whispered. His voice was muffled by Steve’s shoulder but the terror was evident. “I ain’t seen anybody come back from those ships,”
Steve grimaced. Not many had. They needed all the numbers they could get, people died and those who were there were needed all the time.
“You’ll come back. I know you will. You’ve got your leave in a few months don’t you?” Steve said.
“Will they let me have it?” Bucky asked. Touché.
Down at the docks, things were tense. The two of them kept a safe distance from each other, too far. They may as well have been across the Atlantic already.
“I can’t believe you get to go to Paris before me.” Janet joked. Bucky gave her a laugh.
“I’d let you go if I could,” He stated. Winifred gave him a look that shut him up rather quickly.
~~
They did, as it turns out.
In the early days of November, 1941, Steve had recently recovered from his first bout of pneumonia of the season. Hopefully his last, because it was tougher than any other time.
Bucky hadn’t been there. Anna, his sister, had moved in temporarily to help him out and he was eternally thankful for that but it just wasn’t the same.
He had managed to persuade his employer to let him keep his job if he worked extra hard over the Christmas season, so that was great.
The universe let him have a little win. He wasn’t getting a lot of those since his fella was shipped out.
A knock came at his door. Probably Winifred checking in on him on her way to do some shopping.
He opened the door and was face to face with Winifred and Becca, alongside Anna and Janet.
“Steve! We’ve got news! We’ve got news!!” Winifred said as she made her way inside. The girls followed her, smiling brightly. Steve furrowed his brows. What’s going on?
“Bucky might be coming home soon! We’ve heard from Mrs Reynolds next door that a bunch of the New York fellas are coming home pretty soon!” Winifred practically shouted. Steve couldn’t stop the smile splitting his face.
He ran toward the girls and hugged them all tight. They hugged back, holding him gently.
“We’ll just have to wait for his letter to you,” Anna said. Steve nodded.
“As soon as I know anything I’ll run straight over to ya,” He told them.
Winifred frowned a little and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Maybe don’t run, your fella wants someone to come home to,”
The girls all laughed while Steve rolled his eyes with a smile. She was the only person able to make jokes about his small stature, aside from Bucky. She never meant any of them.
Steve tore open the letter the next day.
It was the usual yellow paper Bucky used in the Army. It had to be him. Had to be.
He was coming home. He was coming home to him.
The day Steve had to be at the docks couldn’t come soon enough. He’d booked the day off work and everything.
He met up with Bucky’s family and they all walked down together with bated breath.
And then he came out of the door on the ship. Kitted out in uniform and his hat at that same slight angle.
Steve’s heart nearly jumped out of his throat. He looked tired, drained but he was there.
Bucky’s eyes scanned the crowd and Steve was waving wildly.
Steve yelled as George picked him up so Bucky could see him better. Bucky did and began cracking up at the sight. That smile was better than anything Steve had ever seen. It was warm, beautiful and bright and the world seemed to lighten around him.
All was right with the world once again.
Steve was put down and started rushing toward the plank that Bucky was now at the top of.
Bucky got down the plank as Steve started to get out of breath. He couldn’t stop running though. He couldn’t.
Bucky let his bag fall to the floor and he enveloped Steve in his arms. Finally.
Warmth flooded through the both of them as they embraced but it was over all too soon. They were in a very public place. Many people could see, although they weren’t paying attention.
Bucky pulled away and it looked like it was killing him.
They walked back to their apartment in Brooklyn, a long walk, but neither minded. They talked a lot.
Steve talked about his life while Bucky was away, things that happened since the last letter, everything. Bucky just listened.
It took everything in him not to take Steve’s hand.
Finally they got back to their apartment and Steve unlocked the door.
Bucky stepped inside and the familiar scent of home washed over him. It smelled of a small fire, oil paints, a bit of damp and Steve.
Steve shut the door behind him and locked it as Bucky set down his bag.
They turned to each other, and just looked.
Steve raked Bucky in. He was there. He made it home.
He looked tired, his face looked slightly sunken.
The glint in his eye had dimmed.
Bucky dove in for a hug which Steve gladly gave.
“Buck,” was all he could choke out. He felt Bucky breathe in deep, inhaling his scent. As if he’d never get it again.
They held each other there for a long while, swaying back and forth a little.
“I missed you,” Bucky said, muffled by Steve’s shoulder.
“I missed you too, baby,” Steve answered. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky choked out a sob and drew back. His eyes swam with tears and the ghosts of all he’d seen.
“I just want to lay in bed with you,” He stated. Steve smiled.
“Well then let’s get into bed,” he replied. Bucky took Steve’s hand and led him to their room. Steve had changed it every so slightly, one bed had been moved to the wall and there were many more blankets than Bucky remembered.
“What happened?”
Steve glanced at the separated beds. “It was too big without you,”
Bucky smiled and began to move them back together. How they should be.
They both took off their outer layers of clothes, leaving them in shorts and a vest, or long johns in Steve’s case.
They climbed into bed, Bucky laying on his side and pulling Steve toward him.
Steve put one of his arms out and Bucky carefully laid his head on it so that it wouldn’t cut off circulation to his hand, and cuddled into the side of Steve.
“Have you been okay here? Without me?”
“Yes, Buck, of course I have,”
“Not too cold? No frostbite?” Bucky asked.
Steve laughed. “No, no, it’s been cold but not that cold. I’ve just doubled up on blankets and slept in my long johns,” he explained. “I can get by on my own,”
Bucky hummed. “I don’t want you to though,”
Steve kissed his hair. “I know,”
Bucky raised his head to look at Steve. It was broad daylight so they could see each other clearly.
Bucky leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve kissed back immediately, cupping Bucky’s face with his hand and stroking his cheek.
Settling his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, Bucky sighed.
“It was horrific,” He whispered. Steve tightened his grip around him.
“We got fucking hung out to dry,” He carried on. “There were men- boys, out there. They were 16, Steve.”
Steve could only hold him as horrors tumbled out of his mouth. He recounted how he’d tell stories around a fire to those young boys who had not long grown out of bedtime stories, miles away from home. How he’d hold them when one of their comrades died despite wanting to bawl his eyes out alongside.
How we would when he found their own dead bodies.
Finally safe and sound, Bucky was overtaken by sleep. He looked years younger. The tense lines of his face relaxed.
Steve slipped out of bed to grab his sketchbook and pencil and began to draw him.
The world grew dark around them. They didn’t care.
Wrapped up in each other, what else could matter?