1974:

James had been living this way for years – decades, probably even a century – long enough that he had lost track of the years, the date, even some of the battles and wars entirely. But the one he was living at the moment was long enough that he remembered it. It was called the Vietnam War, he was smack-dab in the middle of it, and for the first time in over a decade, he was freaking out over what was happening around him. He'd spent a lifespan as an apparently-eighteen-years-old soldier, and he knew by now when he was in the middle of a losing battle.

He was in the middle of the Vietnamese jungle, back to back with his one and only remaining brother in arms, and they were losing this little skirmish rather desperately.

His companion was a buff soldier, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and as young as James, who had kept to himself as much as James had until this inconvenient moment had thrown them together. Well, inconvenient for James, anyway; more than likely detrimental to the blonde who's dog tags proclaimed "S. Rogers." James wouldn't die, and he didn't want his only ally to die either, so…

He took a deep breath and demanded loud enough for Rogers to hear over their converging foe, "Don't freak out, okay?"

Before he could second-guess himself, he clenched his fists and swung hard at the oncoming enemy. In rare moments like this when he did employ his mutation – skin that could turn into metal – it really did come in handy.

Rogers wasn't freaking out over his transformation either, oddly enough. In fact, James could've sworn he heard a startled laugh before there was a blast of cold air at his back, and he glanced at Rogers to see that the teen… suddenly had skin made of ice?

James swore, realizing his fellow soldier was also a fellow mutant! And apparently they worked very well together; the enemy was soon lying around them in an unconscious circle.

Once they were certain their foes weren't going to get back on their feet, James blew out a breath and took a step away from Rogers' back, his skin becoming flesh again as he commented, "I feel like James Bond."

Rogers snorted a laugh as he turned to James with an outstretched hand, his skin almost back to normal. "Steven Grant Rogers," he offered.

James accepted his hand with an exhausted smile. "James Buchanan Barnes; nice to meet you, Steve."

Steve gave him a strange look at the nickname, replying amicably, "You too, Bucky."

Bucky laughed out loud before he realized where they still were – surrounded by dead bodies from both sides of the war – and suggested, "What do you say we get out of here?"

Hours later, they were lying across from one another on opposite sides of a fire, staring up at the sky when Bucky commented, "So… ice."

"Metal, huh?" Steve shot back at him.

"You actually did cross my mind," Bucky admitted. "I saw the way you kept to yourself, and I wondered if you might not be a mutant. Told myself I was over thinking a shy kid and let it go, though."

"I'm hardly a kid," Steve snorted.

"How old are you then?" Bucky asked curiously. He'd met a number of mutants in his life, but none of them shared his mutation for not aging past their teen years.

There were a couple of brothers – fellow soldiers and mutants that Bucky had run across a couple of times – who appeared to age slowly, but he'd never met anyone else who'd stopped aging.

"You don't wanna know."

"How slowly do you age, then?"

"Ah," Steve paused. "I don't."

Jackpot! Bucky replied casually, as if it were no big deal, "Me neither." He glanced at Steve, saw how widely he was grinning at that surprising announcement, and asked, "So, where are you from?"

"Brooklyn, New York. You?"

"Romania," Bucky answered faintly, fighting off something that just might be genuine excitement at this turn of events that seemed too good to be true. "But I fled to New York City when my family realized what I was and kicked me out. Eventually I got tired of being homeless and joined the army."

"You're kidding!" Steve laughed, but some of his mirth fell away as he asked cryptically, "Do you ever think about going back?"

"Nothing and no one for me to go back to," Bucky shrugged. "Why?"

Steve sighed and looked back to the sky as he exchanged a question for a question. "Do you ever close your eyes and see them – the battles and the people you've killed?"

"Every night," Bucky murmured solemnly, also going back to staring at the stars.

"If I'm going to live forever, I don't want to spend forever as a soldier, but I'm like you – nothing and nobody to go back to – and at least being in the army gives me someone to count on."

"Exactly," Bucky replied, thrilled beyond words to finally find someone after all this time who understood. Then his head snapped up as a thought hit him and he asked carefully, not sure how to word it, "But what if we could count on one another – go back to New York City, you and I?" Steve just stared at him, but Bucky was starting to get enthused about this idea the more he considered it. "I know we just met really, but it's not like we don't have the time to get to know one another! We can get an apartment together if we get a couple of normal teenager jobs and pinch pennies hard enough." He was sitting up now as he continued fiercely, "We could get out of here and live like normal people, you and me. We'd have the best of both worlds – normal and with someone who won't leave us!"

Steve was sitting up now too and the solemnity in his eyes surprised Bucky as he asked, "Promise we'll stick together?"

"Of course we will; I'm not a big enough loner punk to just leave somebody like that."

"Nah," Steve gave him a quick onceover before deciding teasingly, "You're more of a jerk."

"And you're the punk, apparently!" Bucky chuckled as the two of them lay back down.

Steve was still beaming as he declared, "And now you're stuck with me forever."

Bucky beamed to himself as he joked, "New York City better watch out."