Chapter 1: Good Food

Hello, thanks for clicking on this story, I hope you enjoy it :)

This is a concept I've had in my mind for a long time, it was only recently enough that I had it be focused around Steve and Bucky.

Anyone who's come over form my other fic, Inconvenience, thank you for trying out this story too, and I promise the hiatus on it won't be too long.

Steve started this Monday the same way he had for the last three years. He slammed his alarm clock silent, showered, dressed and ate breakfast all before 6:00am. He paid his respects to Peggy's picture before heading downstairs to put some buns in the oven. He then kneaded some bread, swept the floor and arranged flowers on every table by the time he turned the sign on the café door so that he read the 'closed' side. He loved the smell of the baking bread in the back, he even left the door open and had a fan waft the scent into the room. The look on customers' faces as they walked in and smelled it was worth more than a tip, though they were still appreciated.

His three members of staff on shift today were all checked in by 8:00am, and each knew what to do while he was in the back, baking some scones. It was nice, the methodical and repetitive patterns that came with baking. It was the same every time, and you only got better with each batch. A timer dinged, telling him that the scones were ready. While they were cooling he went through some the day's post. A few bills, but his subscription to 'Bake' was a far more interesting read.

When the scones were nice and cool, he cut one open and let Angie test it. She deemed the batch good, so it went on display by the register. He then went on to bake a batch of blueberry muffins just as good as the ones he made before.

At 3:00pm he deposited Saturday's earnings in the bank and at 7:00pm he turned the sign on the door so he read the 'open' side, then he dolled out the tips evenly, counted the cash in the register, brought some leftover baked goods to the local homeless shelter and was back home to take out the rubbish before his dinner burned.

Tuesday was very much the same, except he had a different set of three employees in and he baked different goods that day. Wednesday repeated the same process, as did Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Sunday was his day off. He went to church in the afternoon. Despite not being a very pious man he enjoyed listening to the priest's homily, as well as the conversations with the other members of the congregation. People spoke to him with genuine smiles and asked him how he was. He always told them he was 'good', and then he'd tell them that the café was doing well too. He would be invited to have dinner over at someone's home from time to time, and he'd graciously accept, always bringing a tasty batch of muffins, cookies, cakes or scones with him. They always made for a good dessert.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, that was his life, and he was content with it. He fell asleep with his arm draped over Peggy's side of the bed and woke up with it in the same place.

One Saturday night Steve was taking the bags of rubbish out to the alley behind the café as per usual. It was dark and cold this autumn night so he wanted to be quick about it so he could get back inside and have a nice, warm dinner.

He lugged the bags into the large bins and slammed the lid closed. He rubbed his hands together and walked hurriedly back inside, the metal lid had been almost ice cold. It was when he was in his room, changing into his more comfortable clothes that he noticed something amiss. As he clapped his hand onto the underside of his left wrist he immediately noticed that the watch he always wore out was suddenly not there. He frowned. He really didn't want to think that watch was gone for good, it had been a gift from his in-laws the day before his and Peggy's wedding. He thought back, remembering that he'd checked the time in the bank and had adjusted the long hand by a minute. He'd been asked the time by a volunteer in the shelter, which he gave, accurate to the minute.

The bins were the last option, unless he'd lost it on the way from the shelter to home. He sighed, slipping on his plimsolls and a long coat over his comfy clothes. He went back out into the alley, hoping that it'd be lying next to the bins, or at least in with the bags. That's what he'd hoped to see, but what he saw instead was much more out of the ordinary.

A boy, no taller than 5'5" was huddled against the bins, a stale muffin in each hand, both of which he was drooling over. That wasn't the most peculiar thing about him. His brown hair was matted beyond reason, he was wearing a grey gown, that definitely wasn't its original colour, and he was barefoot, his soles looking to be blackened from this angle.

"Hello?" Steve said, forgetting about his watch for a moment. The boy's brown eyes widened at him. He froze like a deer in the headlights, dropping the muffins. He stood to full height, which was barely up to Steve's chest, with his hands twitching by his sides, his eyes darting left and right. He took a step back. "Wait!" Steve declared, stepping forward with his arm outstretched. That was the wrong move to make. The boy darted away, grunting as he exerted his shaky legs.

Steve tried to follow, but his coat got caught on a jagged piece of metal jutting out of one of the bins. In the second he took to look down and free it, the boy was out of sight. Steve looked down the other end of the alley and left and right down the street, but there was no sign of him anywhere. He sighed, thinking about the boy and how hungry he looked, how filthy and in sorry need of a bath he was.

He didn't find his watch, it wasn't in the bins or the alley. The only thing he had to show for his efforts was a nasty tear in his coat that he'd need to stitch up. He decided to cut his losses for the night and hope that some good Samaritan would turn it over to the police if they found it. It had value beyond his sentiments, but he wanted it for the ties to Peggy and her family.

That night his steak pie didn't taste as good as it usually did. His mind was too preoccupied with thought of that boy who, now that he thought about it, was probably homeless. Or at the very least, he was just lost. Either way he regretted not being able to help him. He knew that Peg would've been better for the task, she wouldn't have scared him away, she would've spoken gently and calmly, coaxing him over to her warm embrace. Then she would've taken him inside, given him something warm to wear and put good food in his belly.

When his thoughts weren't of the boy they went to the watch. That made him feel guilt more than anything. He made a mental note to put the pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Carter next to Peggy's in the morning, hopefully they'd find a way to get that watch back to him from the other side.

He wondered if he should go to the police with what he saw, about the boy that is. Surely they'd get a better grasp of the situation than he would. They could more easily find the boy and make sure he'd go somewhere safe. Would they bring him home? He thought about that, and if that boy had been willing to run away and scavenge from rubbish bins then it mustn't have been much of a home to begin with. Still, there were places for children like that, hostels and shelters that would take care of him until someone could welcome him to their home.

The following day, Steve didn't go to the police. He did go to church as usual and prayed with the rest for good things to happen to them and the ones they cared about. He also prayed for the boy, for him to find somewhere safe and warm to spend his nights, somewhere he could get good, warm food and a soft bed. He hastily added a caveat for him to find his watch soon before he blessed himself out of the prayer.

He was invited to dinner again that night, but he politely declined, feigning an upset stomach. As he walked to the homeless shelter he hoped that little fib wouldn't make anyone think worse of the café's food. He did well enough for himself but he knew that losing patronage could only be a bad thing.

He walked into the shelter and was greeted with smiles by a few volunteers, as well as a few of the guests. He quickly spotted the woman he was looking for.

"Miriam!" He called with a smile, beckoning the older woman.

"Steven Rogers." She said with raised eyebrows. "I expected to see you around here, despite it being Sunday."

He quirked his head to the side, a wondering and confused smile on his face. He rarely came to the shelter on a Sunday, he was predictable that way. He came Monday to Saturday, that was the routine. His curiosity evaporated when the matron snaked her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out something he'd been sore to see. "My watch!" He declared, holding out his open palm.

"Yes, your watch." She said severely. "It was found not far from here by Terry over there." She gestured behind Steve to a young boy, about sixteen or seventeen, wearing a coat a size too big with dirty blond hair and a shadow of stubble on his jaw. He saw Steve looking and quirked an eyebrow. He held up his watch with a smile, nodding to him. The boy nodded back, then he looked down again. "The clasp is broken. I tried my hand to fix it but I'm no watchmaker, you'll need an artisan."

"Thank you Miriam, really, it means a lot. And tell Terry that he can come to the café sometime and have this watch's value in food." He chuckled, ran his thumb over the watch face and put it in his pocket, making a note to keep checking it was there. "But I actually came for another reason."

"Oh?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah," He thought of the boy again, he looked colder and more feeble now than when he last pictured him. "I was wondering if you'd seen a kid come in here? Young, about 5'5", brown eyes and matted brown hair. Probably wearing an old, grey gown?" He asked, trying to sound vague and hypothetical despite his description being anything but.

Miriam's brows furrowed in thought. "I can't say I have. I could always ask around, see if any of the other volunteers have seen him. If that doesn't work I can ask the guests, they all have their own Sherlockian network of eyes about the place." She smiled at him. "Why the concern? Someone you know?"

Steve shook his head. "Just caught someone eating out of my bins last night, and I'd rather he have some of your broth than my stale cakes."

She nodded knowingly. "I'll keep an eye and ear out, but don't worry yourself about it, he'll turn up at this shelter sooner or later."

"Thank you." They hugged, and he left, making the familiar walk home, only this time he didn't have the usual chipper demeanour of someone who just gave to the needy. He was happy to have the watch back, that was for certain, but it seemed a rather small blessing when a child was still out there, more than likely cold, hungry and hurt. He just hoped that things would turn out okay for him.

As soon as he got home he placed the watch in front of the picture of Harrison Carter. "Thanks Pop." He said, getting out the L through Z yellow pages and looking for a local watchmaker to get that clasp fixed. He found one that was close enough, called them and asked about the clasp. By the time he hung up the landline they were expecting him to drop the watch in on Monday morning, and he'd collect it in the evening.

He didn't really know what to do with himself at the moment, he usually had dinner around someone else's on a Sunday, but if he didn't it was always because he had something else planned. Maybe he should just order some food, it's been quite a while since he'd done that. Then he thought better of it. He'd have to pay for the clasp to be fixed, he didn't need to add unnecessary expense on top of that.

"Another time." He promised himself.

Instead he did what he always did when he had nothing better to do; he baked. Belgian chocolate cookies this time, wonderful to smell, even better to taste. He only had one for himself, then he wrapped another for later and put the rest in a plastic lunch box. Then an idea came to mind. He didn't want that boy eating stale cakes or muffins out of his rubbish, so what if he gave him fresh cookies instead. With a grin he slipped on his plimsolls and made his way to the alley behind the café. He made sure the boy wasn't there first, then he slowly and deliberately lifted the lid off one of the bins and place the lunch box on last night's bag of rubbish.

He debated whether or not he should wait just around the corner and catch the boy in the act. He decided not, instead going back inside and reading a book to try and get his mind off things. He had his second cookie after dinner, a nice pork chop with beef gravy and mashed potatoes, and then went back to his book.

It was as he was turning a page that he heard a metal clatter outside. Not an atypical sound, it was one he'd usually ignore and chalk up to some kids running through the alleys, but a nagging instinct told him that it was something else. So, on went the plimsols and his coat. He found himself turning into that alley more times than usual recently, but this time the sight that greeted him made him smile. The lid of the bin he put the cookies in was haphazardly strewn to the side, and as he approached it he saw that his plastic tub had been opened and over half of the cookies inside were missing.

He looked around again, just to see if there were any other signs that this was in fact his homeless boy and not some conniving tomcat who knew how lids worked. He found a sign, but it was one that made him scowl. That bit of metal jutting out of one of the bins, the very same one that had torn his coat the previous night, had apparently caught something else not a moment before.

Steve kneeled down, reluctant to just touch the thing and risk tetanus. He gently pulled at the reddened strip of cloth that hung to it. Parts of it were still that discoloured grey but most had been soaked by the blood. His stomach turned. Not only did that boy need to deal with the cold in what he now knew was a thin, flimsy gown, he also needed to nurse a no doubt painful cut. His only comfort was the fact that he knew the boy had at least some nice food in his belly. It was far from healthy but from what he'd seen of him that boy could stand to put on a couple of pounds.

As he was about to turn away, a glint of red caught Steve's eye. A drop of blood had splattered on the bin's lid, then there was another one only a few metres away. He was somewhat relieved to see that the drops weren't too big, and the trail was rather sparse. That meant his cut couldn't be too deep.

His eyes were glued to the ground, scanning the brick pavement for any drop of red. It was hard this time of day, his only light came from the street lamps up above but that didn't spill very far into an alley like this.

Steve growled in frustration when he realised he'd completely lost the trail. It had led him to the other end of the alley, around a corner and a few paces down the street to the left, but now there was nothing except the humming of the lamp posts overhead.

He didn't sleep easily that night, he was too worried about the boy, his health and his cut. For the first time in quite some time, he wanted to sleep in on a Monday. He didn't though and went about his routine as per usual, aside from the dropping off and picking up of his watch from the watchmaker. He decided to put out more food for the boy again tonight, this time a pair of blueberry muffins, warm and moist. He had to put them in a different box this time, one with clips on the sides instead of a pull-off lid.

When he went out to the alley this time he brought three extra things with him. The first was one of Peg's old hand mirrors. If the boy showed up again tonight he wanted to make sure he was at least able to walk straight, perhaps even get him inside and out of this god awful cold. He was wearing three layers and he was still feeling its nip. The second item was the other lunch box. This one had three more muffins stuffed inside, only one of which was for himself. The third item was a pair of pliers, which he used to turn that jut of metal inwards so it wouldn't snag anymore coats or cut anymore homeless boys in flimsy frocks.

He waited around the corner, only a few metres from the café's door, holding the mirror at just the right angle so he could have a clear visual of the bins without being in plain sight. He was standing there for a while, long after he went inside to put on a fourth layer, long after the street lights started their humming, and long after he was grateful he'd decided to wear his wellingtons instead of his plimsols.

He was nearly ready to call it a night and go back inside when he saw it, a shadow moving slowly into the alley. Steve couldn't help but grin. The boy was as small, dirty and skinny as he was when he'd last seen him. Hell, he even had dried blood running drops down his left leg, which was dragging behind a little as he walked.

Steve decided to observe a little more before making his presence known, wanting the boy to at least eat the food first if he decided to run away again. He watched as the boy took the lid off the bin. He was slow and careful while doing it, no doubt not wanting a repeat of last night's orchestra. He reached into the bin and took out the lunch box, fumbling with the clips for a minute before finally opening it. Steve could hear his stomach rumble even from where he was standing and smiled as he watched the boy scarf down his baked goods. When he was done he put the box and lid back in the bin and turned around again.

Steve decided to make himself known.

"Ahem." The boy jumped nearly a foot in the air, his feet slipping from under him. His rear hit the ground with a thump. He turned quickly around, trying to crawl backwards away from the tall man approaching him. "It's okay, it's okay." Steve said in the most soothing and caring voice he could muster. It must've had some iota of effectiveness because the boy stopped trying to crawl away. Instead he just sat there, trembling with tears brimming his eyes.

Steve got to his knees, barely a metre from where the boy was. From this perspective he could see that that gown was the only piece of clothing the boy had to his name, he had not even a skimpy pair of briefs to preserve his modesty underneath that dreadful garment. He held out the other lunch box, showing him the other muffins inside. "Here." He whispered. "It's yours."

The boy looked fearful above all else, as if Steve were a bogeyman of sorts waiting to devour him. He did move though, he moved forward to kneel in front of Steve, reached out and took one of the two remaining muffins from the box. He held the treat to his chest, as if it were about to jump out of his hands and back into the box of its own accord.

"You can eat it." Steve encouraged, hoping he wouldn't do a runner. He could more than likely catch up to him if he did, especially if that limp was genuine.

The boy raised the muffin to his mouth and bit into it. He looked at Steve, almost as if to ask that this was okay. He nodded, and the boy devoured it as if it were his last meal on God's Earth. Steve held the second one out to him, but not within his arm's reach. He'd need to move forward if he wanted it. He looked apprehensive, as if Steve was the bogeyman again, but the moan his belly let out gave away his need.

He shuffled forward on his knees, nearly dragging the gown down his front. When he was within arm's reach Steve handed the muffin to him, which he began eating with unblemished vigour. Steve ghosted his fingertips across the back of the boy's hand, a touch he barely acknowledged as he wolfed down his food.

"What's your name?" Steve asked in an almost-whisper, not wanting to startle him.

He didn't answer, instead his eyes darted to and fro, unsure what to do with his now empty hands.

"My name is Steve Rogers." Steve said, edging an inch closer to the boy who seemed almost too scared to breathe. "Where do you live?" Again, his question went unanswered. "Do you have somewhere to go?" The boy looked at Steve this time, not in the eye, but just at him. He shook his head, looking distraught. "Do you want to come with me?" The boy's eyes widened, he started to tremble again. Steve held out his hand, hoping the boy would take it with all his heart.

"You'll be safe, I'll give you warm clothes and a bed, and you can have food like this every day." Steve reached out a little farther. The boy didn't move away, but he looked at the hand as if it were a weapon aimed at his throat. He reached out with one of his own crumb-dusted hands and held it only inches over Steve's.

The man didn't make a move to close the distance, he let the boy do it at his own pace. When their palms met Steve smiled despite the fact that the boy's was cold, clammy and trembling. He moved to stand, keeping the boy's hand clasped in his.

The smaller one tried to stand too, but his foot slipped from under him and he was grounded again. Steve looked at his feet. The soles were blackened and coated in dried blood. There looked to be blisters on nearly every toe as well. He looked at the boy with pity in his eyes. He knew walking, let alone running, must've been a torturous chore on feet like those.

Steve let go of the boy's hand and for a second he looked panicked, as if he had done something he knew wasn't allowed and was about to be punished for it. Steve then held both of his arms out. The boy's look of panic disappeared and one of confusion replaced it.

"I'll carry you." Steve said, putting on the most reassuring smile he had. The boy lifted his own arms, shaking even more than before. Steve lifted the boy by his armpits with surprising ease. He was concerned with how light he was, even when you considered how small and thin he was. Hell, now that he was up close and personal with him he saw that the boy was even shorter than he originally thought.

He didn't smell good at all, but Steve didn't care about that. He was only worried about getting him inside and out of the cold. He realised now that much of his shivering and trembling was probably due to the autumn weather just as much as fear. The boy practically curled into Steve, no doubt trying to soak up as much body heat as possible. Steve held him on his hip with one hand supporting his rump and the other rubbing up and down his back.

"Let's get you inside."

Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoyed my writing and the premise of the story.
Please leave a review, favourite and follow, and if you've read this and Inconvenience please tell me how the writing compares in both, thank you :)