Warnings: This chapter contains descriptions of child abuse, domestic violence, and bullying. Period-typical anti-Semitism, ableism, xenophobia, homophobia, biphobia, racism, and sexism will be present throughout the story.

BUCKY

1.1

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

June to August 1930

Bucky discovers three important things the day he runs away from home. First: South Brooklyn, despite its name, is actually situated on the western side of the borough. Second: Red Hook may be a shitty neighborhood, but it's the only place in all of New York where you can get a decent view of the Statue of Liberty's big, green face. Third: the stubbornest cuss in all of America lives on Lorraine Street, and his name is Steve Rogers.

His ma would faint if she saw the part of town Bucky had wandered into, and Dad wouldn't hesitate to belt him for it. That alone is enough to make him regret running off, and he's right on the verge of turning around and starting the long trek back to his family's brownstone when he hears a cry of pain, almost drowned out by rough laughter.

There's a space between McPherson's Grocery and a pawn shop, a narrow alley that smells of rotten potatoes and piss, and Bucky sees a little kid on the ground, getting the shit kicked out of him by two older boys. Somehow he gets up on his feet, raising his fists, and Christ, Bucky's never seen anything to beat it. This kid is puny, and his bullies have already given him a busted mouth and black eye, but he holds himself without fear.

This isn't any of his business, and jumping into a fight to protect a boy he doesn't even know is just plain stupid, but Bucky doesn't care. He yanks the bigger of the bullies (a freckled, ginger-haired brute) off the kid, punches him right in the nose, and smiles when he hears bone crack beneath his fist. The boy clutches at his face, wailing and crying as blood dribbles between his fingers. He shouts obscenities in an Irish accent so thick that his vulgar curses might as well be in Chinese for all that Bucky understands him.

It's satisfying, sweet even, and for a moment, Bucky feels strong. Like breaking some mick's nose was just what he needed.

"Get out of here," Bucky says, and the red-haired boy scrambles away, taking his friend with him.

The kid wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand, then looks up at Bucky with eyes too old for the rest of him. "Thanks," he says, and his gratitude sounds genuine, if a little grudging. "You didn't have to do that."

Bucky isn't usually the type to stick up for strangers, but for some reason seeing this boy in trouble made him want to do the right thing. "Whatever," he says, and he holds out his hand. "I'm Bucky."

"Steve." They shake hands, and he's surprised at the strength of his grip. It's nothing too impressive, really, but more than he was expecting from such a shrimp.

"I'll walk you home," Bucky says. "In case those idiots get the idea to come back for more."

"That's nice and all, but I don't need a chaperone," Steve stays. He's smiling, soft and friendly. Still, there's some tension to it, like he's trying to be nice through well-hidden irritation.

Bucky laughs. "Jeez, what kind of kid your age says 'chaperone'?"

"I'm not a baby!" Steve shouts, and that gentle smile is gone, dropped like a cheap act. "I'll be twelve next month."

He snorts, because if this kid is eleven then he'll eat his hat—but Steve blushes so red, clearly angry and embarrassed, that Bucky can't help but believe him. "Okay, no need to get your panties in a twist. Let's get you home, all right?"

Steve says at least once every block that he's perfectly fine on his own, but he's too polite to outright tell Bucky to get lost.

"So, uh, what's wrong with you?" Bucky asks.

"Just about everything. You name it, I got it," Steve says, and he shrugs, casual, like it doesn't much matter to him.

"Oh." Bucky steals a glance at Steve, and he notices that, besides being beanpole skinny and sickly pale, his back is kind of crooked, and he's wheezing a bit just from walking fast in the summer heat. Normally Bucky would feel bad for any sonofabitch unlucky enough to be so scrawny and a little crippled, but something about Steve makes it impossible to pity him.

The Rogers' whole apartment could fit in his family's living room, the furniture is old and dilapidated, the linoleum peeling off whatever flooring hides underneath it. Though tidy and neat, the place smells vaguely musty, and even with the windows thrown open it's hotter than hell. Hand-drawn pictures are tacked onto the walls—the New York skyline, a dog panting as he sits on the cracked sidewalk, Mrs. Rogers laughing. They're detailed enough that Bucky finds himself staring, admiring how the rough lines still manage to make such clear images.

"That's really good," Bucky says, pointing at a sketch of some fancy old church.

A little smile pulls at the corner of Steve's mouth. "Thanks."

Mrs. Rogers asks Bucky to stay for dinner, but he waves off her invitation. "Nah, I should really be getting back home before my ma starts worrying."

Definitely too late for that, he figures, but it's a fair enough excuse just the same.

"Well, you're welcome here anytime, Bucky," Mrs. Rogers says.

"Thank you, ma'am."

It's a long walk from Red Hook back to Prospect Heights. By the time he reaches his family's brownstone, the sun is bleeding red into the horizon, Bucky's feet are killing him, and the anxiety he's been putting off all day has twisted his stomach into knots. He slips inside as quietly as he can, then tiptoes toward the staircase—

"Somebody's in trouble," Rebecca says in a sing-song voice.

His sister leans against the banister, smirking. She's Dad's favorite, always has been, and she sees less of his hand than Bucky, Deborah, and Abigail (even though Abbie is only five). Maybe because she's the most obedient, or because she looks the least like Ma, Rebecca doesn't have to walk on eggshells the same way the rest of them do.

Sometimes Bucky is noble enough to appreciate that his eleven-year-old sister doesn't get beat as often as he does, but usually—like right now—he just resents her for it.

"Shut up," Bucky whispers, "before somebody hears you."

"Hmm, let me think about that." Rebecca looks up, like she's actually considering it. "Nope."

He's ready to bargain or beg for her silence, but before Bucky can think of what to say, Rebecca takes a deep breath and shouts, "Daddy! James is home!"

"I fucking hate you, you snitching little shit," Bucky hisses, and he lunges for Rebecca. She tries to get away, but he catches her by the ends of her long, mousy hair, and yanks it hard enough to make her squeal in pain—

"Let go of your sister right now." Dad's voice sounds even and calm, but that doesn't fool Bucky. His father is bright and gregarious when he's in a good mood, but his anger is always such a cold thing.

Bucky releases Rebecca, who glares at him with glassy brown eyes, sticks out her tongue, and darts away upstairs.

I hope you die, he thinks, even though he knows this isn't Rebecca's fault, not really. Dad would never have let him get away with running off and staying gone all day.

When Dad unbuckles his belt, Ma whispers, "George, maybe we should—"

"Be quiet," he says, and Bucky hopes she listens, because it'll only go badly for the both of them if Ma speaks out further.

His father at least has the consideration to take him into his own room for the whipping, so Ma and his sisters can't witness it. The worst part isn't the stinging bite of the leather against his skin, or the promise of blue bruises, or even the familiar taste of his own tears. No, the worst part is how Dad asks those cool questions: Are you sorry for what you did, James? Will you do it again? Will you listen better next time? How he hits harder when Bucky holds his silence, promising to keep this up all night if he refuses to answer. So he breaks, like he always does, and sobs I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, I'll be better next time, I swear! Until the anger he feels for Dad and Rebecca pales next to his self-disgust, because what kind of boy cries like a little girl over a few licks with a belt?

That night, Bucky sleeps on his stomach, trying to ignore the ladder of welts burning down his backside. He hates himself for groveling, for being as weak as Dad says he is, and he swears that someday he'll be stronger.

Bucky's back, bottom, and legs sting like fire throughout the service, but all evidence of his beating is hidden beneath his Sunday best. He vaguely hears Pastor Peterson's booming voice telling the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. He knows now what sodomite means, because Dad told him what the queers in the bad parts of Brooklyn would do to him if he keeps sneaking out. That threat was frightening and gross, but not scary enough to cow him completely.

Bucky pretends to listen to the pastor, but he can't stop fidgeting, restless and bored. Church is worse than school, because at least he learns real stuff at school, not fairy tales dressed up as truth. A boat that can hold every kind of animal on earth? Jonah surviving three days in the belly of a whale? Jesus dying and coming back to life like some kind of divine zombie? Sure.

He'll believe in miracles the day he sees one.

For some reason, he can't stop thinking about Steve, the skinny boy with big blue eyes who's too brave for his own good. Bucky's bruises have turned a sickly yellow-green by the time he works up the courage to wander back to Red Hook. It starts raining when he's still a few blocks away from the Rogers' ugly apartment building, and by the time he knocks on the door of number 413, Bucky is soaked.

Steve answers, frowning. "Bucky?"

"Can I come in?"

Steve looks wary, but he invites him inside just the same. Bucky sits on the threadbare couch, shivering and wet, and grins at Steve as widely as he can manage. "Your ma did say I was welcome anytime."

"She sure did." Steve smirks, grabs a towel, dumps it on Bucky's head, and says, "Are you trying to catch pneumonia or something?"

"I'll be fine," Bucky says, since he never gets sick. He doesn't admit this, though, because it seems mean to rub that in Steve's face. "So what are you doing today?"

Steve grabs his sketchbook and sits next to Bucky. "Just drawing. Nothing special."

Bucky dries his face and neck, rubs the towel over his damp hair, then nudges Steve with his elbow. "I don't know about that. Your art looks special to me. I've never seen anybody draw like you do."

A rosy flush colors Steve's cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck. "You must not've seen many good artists."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You don't know how to take a compliment real well, do you?"

Steve smiles, so shyly and sweetly that it's difficult to reconcile with the stubborn bastard Bucky knows he can be. "Sorry, I guess I'm just not used—" He cuts himself off, then asks, "Why are you being so nice to me anyway?"

Bucky throws an arm around Steve's narrow shoulders. "Because I like you. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

He cajoles Steve into drawing him, and even though Bucky has a hard time staying still long enough to pose, he enjoys the undivided attention. How Steve's gaze flits between his sketchpad and Bucky's face, dark eyebrows drawn together, full bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrates.

He's pretty, Bucky thinks, almost like a girl. So small-boned and fragile, with long-lashed eyes and a plump, pink mouth. But despite his stature, there's something incredibly boyish about Steve too, a maturing masculinity that shines through his polite demeanor and delicate appearance.

This time he makes it back to Prospect Heights before anybody can truly miss him. He reads "Sleeping Beauty" to Abbie, plays dolls with Deborah, and hides Rebecca's favorite stuffed animal in the attic. It's a fluffy white rabbit that Dad won for her at a carnival game three years ago, and even though Rebecca pretends to be too old for Snowshoe, she still keeps the damn thing in a place of pride on her windowsill.

It's a good day, but when night falls, sleep won't come. Bucky tries lying every which way, counting sheep, and clearing his mind, but none of it works. He keeps thinking about the way Steve looked as he drew him, the intensity of his expression, so focused on capturing every fine detail. For nearly an hour he was the center of Steve Rogers' world, and he loved every moment of it.

Bucky is careful to visit Steve only when Dad is at work, and even then he limits his visits to a few hours so that he doesn't catch Rebecca's attention. She'd tell on him in an instant, the snitch, if she thought it would get her points with their father. (To be fair, Bucky would rat on her just as quick if it would win him any favor from Dad.)

When Steve says he's turning twelve on Independence Day, Bucky cracks up laughing and says, "You're full of shit."

"Am not!" Steve says. "It really is my birthday, I swear."

"Swear on what? Your mother's life?" he asks, challenging.

Steve punches his arm with more force than Bucky would have expected. "I'm not swearing anything on my ma's life, no matter how true it is."

"Then just swear to God," Bucky says. It's a game he plays, trying to get Steve to say something sacrilegious.

Steve gives him an unimpressed look. "Quit trying to make me blaspheme. It's not gonna work."

Bucky might go to First Baptist Church every Sunday like clockwork, but it's obligation that drives him into the Good Lord's house, not faith. Steve, on the other hand, never misses Mass, simply because he finds peace there. Belief in something higher and greater than himself comes naturally to him, and Bucky envies this almost as much as it confuses him.

Today, they sit on the fire escape, drinking cold Cokes that Bucky purchased, legs dangling between the railing bars as they watch the people milling along the street below.

"You can't keep buying stuff for me," Steve says, turning his barely-sipped soda in his hands. "It's not fair."

"So what?" Bucky asks, and he takes a long swig of his own Coke, so sweet and fizzy. It tastes of summer, like fireworks and carnivals and picnics in the park. "Friendship is about being there for somebody, about giving each other what you need. Fairness hasn't got much to do with it."

"Maybe," Steve says, "but I still don't like you paying for my things all the time."

Bucky pops him on the back of his hard head. "It's a goddamn Coke. Get over yourself."

Steve scowls when he takes the Lord's name in vain. "You're gonna get struck by lightning if you keep that up."

"Oh, I'm so scared," Bucky says flatly. "As if God's got time to be throwing lightning bolts at blasphemers. He's a little busy with wars and starving kids and polio to worry about the likes of me."

Steve laughs. "God knows everything and he's everywhere always, so he can worry about blasphemers and polio at the same time. Don't they teach you anything at a Baptist church?"

Bucky finishes off his soda, then drops the bottle to the ground. The glass shatters as soon as it hits the pavement, and he smiles, happier to have caused some small destruction. "They teach me plenty. It's not Pastor Peterson's fault that I don't listen. Anyway, at least our services are in a living language that actually people speak."

This turns into an argument about the purpose of baptizing newborn babies, whether or not original sin is just placing blame or explaining human nature, and the benefits of weekly versus quarterly communion.

"C'mon," Bucky says. "You can't really believe that wafers and wine are literally the body and blood of Christ?"

Steve shrugs. "Is it any more ridiculous than believing a guy performed miracles, gave up his life to save the world, and rose from the dead?"

"I guess not," Bucky admits, "but I think it's all bullshit anyway. No offense, but I really don't get how you buy this stuff."

Steve pulls his legs up against his chest, frowning. "I don't know. Maybe I just want to believe there's something after all this, so that I won't be scared stupid when I die."

"You're not gonna die," Bucky says. "I mean, of course you will someday, because everybody does. But look at you now, you're fine!"

"You've only ever known me in the summer, Buck. Last winter I was laid up with double pneumonia for weeks. It got so bad that Ma called in Father McCauley to give me last rites." Steve smiles weakly, but he won't look Bucky in the eye. "That's the second time that's happened, so I guess that whenever I do die, God should be good and ready for me."

Bucky feels a shock of fear so startling that it takes his breath away. Steve's been a part of his life for such a short time, but he already can't imagine living without him. He hugs his friend harder than he means to, and they fall to the metal fire escape floor all tangled up together, laughing and breathless.

"You're not gonna die," Bucky says again, but even he can hear that it's desperation behind his words now, not confidence.

Bucky takes Steve to Coney Island for his twelfth birthday—which, God above, really is the Fourth of July, and it's too funny that Steve (who's so patriotic) was born on Independence Day. He buys fresh hot dogs and fluffy cotton candy for both of them, and then he makes Steve ride the Cyclone. It doesn't take much prodding, because he's the bravest boy Bucky's ever met, and if the kid is intimidated by anything he's yet to find it. But all the courage in the world isn't enough to keep Steve from puking up his guts in the nearest garbage can. Afterward, he wipes his sticky mouth with his shirt sleeve, glares at Bucky, and promises to get back at him for this someday.

They spend the rest of July exploring Brooklyn together, blowing Bucky's allowance on candy, cold soda, and theater tickets. He helps Steve out of more than one scrape, and he picks up bruises from strangers to go along with bruises from his father, but he's lucky to avoid any noticeable injuries that would attract his parents' notice. By August, he's certain that meeting Steve was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he's more than a little in awe of his friend.

That high esteem doesn't seem to go both ways, though. Except when he loses his temper, Steve is unfailingly nice, but he still holds Bucky at arm's length. It takes a whole summer of doggedly visiting Red Hook before he realizes why Steve is so suspicious of his friendship; it's because no one besides Mrs. Rogers has given him reason to believe that he's worth caring about. This is so ridiculous, so wrong, that it makes Bucky want to throttle every bully who's made Steve feel less-than over the years. Sure, he can be mulish and kinda self-righteous, but Steve is also brave and clever, kind and good. He's different, special, and Bucky doesn't understand how the whole world doesn't see it.

The Sunday before school starts back, Bucky risks his father's ire and sneaks out to catch a movie with Steve. They don't make it to the theater, though, because Steve stops at the mouth of an alley, wearing the expression that means he's about to drag Bucky into trouble. A few neighborhood bullies are beating on a skinny, curly-haired kid, calling him a kike and worse, saying he better give up the money they know he's got. One of the bullies is Seamus Rourke, the ginger-haired boy whose nose Bucky broke on his first day in Red Hook. Seamus already hates him, and if he has it in for Jews, that's just one more reason to stay out of this fight. Bucky tugs at Steve's sleeve, more nervous than he wants to let on, and hisses, "Come on. Let's go."

"I can't, Buck. I understand if you don't want to help, but—"

"Oh shut up. Like I'm gonna leave you here alone." Bucky swallows, makes himself smile at Steve, and shouts, "Hey, Seamus! Don't you have anything better to do than beat up kids half your size? Or are you just so poor that you'll stoop to stealing from little boys?"

Seamus stops punching the Jew, and he's grinning in a mean, ugly way when he turns to Bucky. "What would you know about it, rich boy?"

Bucky shrugs. "I know you're as stupid as you are ugly, and that's really saying something."

"Keep walking, you two." Seamus puffs himself up and crosses his arms over his chest, like a gangster from the movies, and it looks so ridiculous that Bucky almost snorts. "Unless you want some of what this kike's getting."

"Just leave him alone," Steve says, "and we can all go on our own way."

Seamus laughs, and the other boys laugh with him. "What d'you plan to do about it, Rogers? Sneeze on us?"

Bucky strides over, Steve right beside him, and pushes Seamus in the chest. "You gonna make me break that ugly Irish nose of yours twice?"

Seamus punches him in the eye, and Bucky almost loses his footing. He's never been hit in the face before—his father is much too smart to leave bruises where other people can see—and he blinks against the blinding pain. Anger overcomes shock and hurt when one of Seamus' buddies hits Steve in the breadbasket, and he goes for that one instead. Slams the thickset, blonde boy against a shop wall and starts punching him everywhere he can reach: face, belly, ribs, kidneys. He falls to the ground and tries to curl in on himself, but Bucky kicks him in the gut once, twice, again, so angry he can barely breathe for it.

"Bucky! He's down, stop kicking him!" Steve shouts, and he turns, startled and ashamed to be caught losing his temper so badly, in time to see Seamus push his friend into the trash cans. The Jew is handling the third bully, throwing decent punches despite his size, so Bucky ignores him and goes for Seamus.

It's ugly and brutal and over fast. Seamus gets a few good licks in, but he makes the mistake of going for body blows. Bucky's too used to punches to his belly from a grown man for that to slow him down much, and he fights through the pain like he doesn't even feel it. Grabs Seamus by his wiry red hair and bashes his face against the brick wall as hard as he can. The kid shouts, clutching at his bloody brow, cussing Bucky in English and Gaelic. "Goddamn Jew-lover," he spits.

"Yeah, yeah. Go home and fuck one of your twelve sisters," Bucky says. "Or bend over for your priest; I hear they like that. Whatever gets you out of my face."

"This isn't over, Barnes." Seamus gives him the kind of hard look that promises retribution, but he and his buddies hurry off just the same.

Bucky turns to Steve, grabs his hand, and helps him up. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," Steve says, but he's looking at Bucky oddly, like he doesn't quite recognize him.

"Thanks for helping me." The Jew smiles, wipes his bloody nose, and says, "I'm Danny, by the way."

"Sure," Bucky says coolly. "Well me and Steve were headed to a movie, and we ought to get going if we want to catch it."

Danny's smile falls. "Okay."

Bucky keeps quiet for three blocks, but of course Steve can't take a hint, and he asks, "Why were you like that with Danny?"

"Like what?" Bucky asks.

Steve sticks his bruised hands in his pockets. "I don't know. Kinda mean, I guess."

Bucky scoffs. "Why should I be nice to a stranger? If he could take better care of himself I wouldn't have a shiner right now. You realize I'm gonna be in deep shit with my dad, right? All because some Jew couldn't hold his own." He kicks an empty beer bottle down the sidewalk and tries not to think about how his father is going to react when he goes home.

Steve grabs him by the arm, frowning. "Are you serious? You're mad at Danny 'cause he got set on by three bullies? Or because he's a Jew?"

Bucky can't help it; he laughs. "Yeah, that's it," he says. "You're right on the money, Steve. I just hate those uppity Jews. Can hardly stand any of them—not even my own ma."

He wants to take it back as soon as he says it, because this is a secret that Bucky's been drilled to keep all his life. Like the bruises Dad gives him, this is the kind of truth that belongs behind closed doors. Not a thing to be shared, not even with Steve.

"Fuck," Bucky hisses. "Forget I said that, all right?"

Steve's bright eyes widen. "But I thought you said your ma goes to church with you on Sundays. Don't Jewish people have a temple or something?"

"Do I look like I know where Jews go?" Bucky shouts. "You see me wearing a kippah or hear me speaking Yiddish?"

"No," Steve says, raising his hands. "But I wouldn't think any differently of you if you did, Buck. So you don't have to get so upset, okay?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you." Bucky runs his hands through his hair, takes a deep breath. "I've just—I've never told anybody this before. We're not supposed to talk about it. Dad doesn't want anyone to know."

"Things probably would be a lot harder for you and your sisters if people knew," Steve says quietly, but Bucky can tell he doesn't understand. It's not in his nature to lie, to pretend to be something he's not.

But then again, the things that might shame Steve the most are visible for everyone to see. His weaknesses are impossible to hide, and he doesn't have the privilege of escaping from them the way Bucky does.

He misses the first day of the new school year because he's too bruised to get out of bed. Dad had demanded to know where he'd been, who he was with, and how he'd gotten a shiner. For the first time in his life, Bucky kept silent through his beating. He didn't say one word, because he knows that if his father finds out that Steve dragged him into a fight he'll never see his friend again.

Abbie and Deborah kiss his cheeks before they head off to school, and even Rebecca ruffles his hair fondly. She whispers, "I hope you feel better soon, Bucky," and leaves him in Ma's care. Like Dad, Rebecca nearly always calls him James, and he doesn't miss it when she uses his nickname instead. He thinks that might be something like an apology from his sister, even though she didn't do anything to get him in trouble this time.

Ma reads to him to distract him from the aches all over his body. He pretends to be too old for fairy tales, but they're his favorite stories, and he's not fooling his mother.

"Which one do you want to hear next, boychick?"

He smiles into his pillow, because it's rare for Ma to speak any Yiddish. Bucky doesn't even know what boychick means, but she murmurs it with such soft affection that he's sure it's something good.

"Sleeping Beauty," he says. "Please."

Bucky soon dozes, lulled by the sweet sound of his mother's voice. When he wakes it's only to catch the moral at the end of the story:

"…Who could wait a hundred years,

Free from fretting, free from fears.

Now, our story seems to show

That a century or so,

Late or early, matters not;

True love comes by fairy-lot.

Some old folk will even say

It grows better by delay…"

"That's dumb," Bucky says, too tired and fuzzy-headed with pain to hold his tongue. "Who wants to wait a hundred years to fall in love?"

Ma brushes his hair away from his face and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Sometimes the right person is worth waiting for."

Stupidly, Bucky thinks of Steve. It's like he was sleepwalking for the thirteen years before he met his friend, going through the motions without any purpose, and he didn't even know it until Steve woke him up.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and reminds himself that "Sleeping Beauty" is a love story. Steve probably wouldn't appreciate being thought of as the prince to Bucky's princess.

"Was Dad?" he asks. "Worth waiting for, I mean?"

"I wish you could have known him before the war, Bucky. He was different. More like…" Ma smiles, but she looks so sad that he almost doesn't recognize the expression for what it is. "More like you, actually."

"I don't believe that," Bucky says, harder than he means to. "I'm nothing like him."

This isn't true, though. Not really. Bucky looks just like his mother—has the same blue-grey eyes and dark hair and beautiful features as she does—but it's Dad he takes after in other ways. They're both outgoing and charming, friendly to the people they like, vicious to the ones they hate, and violent when they can get away with it. Their biggest difference is that his father's fury is so reserved, colder than winter, while Bucky's burns red-hot.

"Sometimes war makes monsters out of good men. That's no excuse for what he does to us, and I know that, Bucky, I do. I wish I was better, stronger. The kind of woman who could leave." Tears slide down her cheeks now, but his mother's voice remains steady when she says, "We can't always help who we love, boychick."

Author's Notes: The quote at the beginning of this chapter is by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and the "Sleeping Beauty" moral that Winifred Barnes reads to Bucky comes from Charles Perrault's version of the fairy tale, "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood."

Becoming will be canon-compliant with all three Captain America films and The Avengers movies, and it spans a century of Bucky Barnes' history, beginning with the day he meets Steve Rogers. This story will be split into four major parts (plus an epilogue), and each section's title reflects something about Bucky's identity during that point in his life. "Bucky," the first part, spans his childhood and young adulthood in Brooklyn, from 1930 to 1943. "Sergeant Barnes," the second part, follows Bucky throughout his time as a Howling Commando, serving beside Steve in WWII. "The Winter Soldier," the third part, covers Bucky's time as a prisoner of war (1945 to 2014). And "The Ghost," the fourth part, takes place after the events of Captain America: Civil War.

I'm very excited to try my hand at a Stucky multi-chapter! Hopefully you guys enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it.

Thank you so much, Next to Something, for your insightful input! And for being such a good sport as I try to drag you down into Stucky hell with me… ;)