The car rumbled along, the moving van behind it as it ever had been for the last couple of days. And as ever, from his perch in the back seat, Steve Rogers was staring out the window, his jaw set mulishly as his mother navigated the vehicle down the unfamiliar roads. They had left home, left Brooklyn, New York, and it did not seem like they would be back again anytime soon.

Steve didn't want to move. He may not have had a lot of friends at school, and he was the smallest boy in class, but he loved Brooklyn. He loved all the busy people walking to and fro before the apartment he shared with his mother, and he loved the sounds of the traffic at night. The park was not too far away, and while he wasn't very strong, he could play ball there, whenever he felt well enough. It was home, the best place in the world. So why did he and his mother have to pack up and move across the country?

Minnesota seemed like it was half a world away, far beyond the borders of New York and impossibly set nowhere near an ocean. It had the Mississippi River, according to Mom, but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

Sarah Rogers, with tired, blue eyes, glanced up in the rearview mirror, giving her little boy an equally tired smile. It had been rough, moving both of them across the country with the beat-up Pontiac left by her husband, but it was the best thing for them. No matter how rambunctious her eight-year-old could be, despite his ailments.

For the moment, he was sitting quietly fidgeting as she revealed how close they were to their new home now. However, it would not last long. As they drove over yet another bridge (so many bridges, he'd mused, and none of them like the great, big Brooklyn Bridge), he sighed audibly.

"Mom, do we have to stay here?" he groaned, big blue eyes finally turning from the passing office buildings as they gradually morphed into houses and such. His mom shook her head, gold curls matching his in shade shifting as she let out a slow breath.

"Stevie, this is where my job is now," she reminded him, not for the first time even that day. It was true, though; a good opportunity for a nursing position had opened up at the Children's Hospital, one that could benefit her own son as well as herself. And, with Joseph gone and unable to help provide...there was no other option. "We do have to stay."

"But what was wrong with Brooklyn?" he crowed, shifting harder in his seat, mottled red starting to flood his cheeks. Blinking away the sting of his sudden tears (he would cry, he couldn't; he was a big boy now, and crying would only make things worse), he mumbled, "Why couldn't we stay home?"

Sarah was silent for a long moment, blinking against tears as well.

"...You know why, sweetheart," she breathed, meeting his eye again briefly before focusing on the road. He did know, a little. He knew it had to do with Dad's death. Joseph Rogers had been serving overseas, lost in the effort of freeing a faraway country—Kuwait, his mother and teachers had called it—but he hadn't understood too much about it. Just that his dad had left them, deployed and ready for battle, and then he came back seven months later in a coffin. His mom had been so sad, and often looked like the life had been drained out of her. Staying in the apartment meant being reminded of Dad every day, with pictures of him on the wall and his medals displayed with the flag that had been given to them at his funeral. It still came as a shock that, once school was done for the year, they would be packing up and leaving. He sniffed, glancing down at his shoes as Sarah cleared her throat. "But don't you worry. We'll be just fine here. You'll be fine." Steve looked up at that, a look of skepticism on his face not suited to an eight-year-old. However, his mother wagged a finger back at him, a tiny grin tugging at her lips as she warmed to her theme. "You'll have Bucky and his brother looking out for you at school when it starts in the fall, and you'll probably make even more friends."

That was true, if only in part. Bucky, Steve's best friend, had moved with his family to Minnesota the year before. In fact, it was his mom who had helped Sarah find the position at the hospital, the two women good friends as well. She'd wanted to help in whatever way she could, and she found a way to at least give her the chance to recover, away from Brooklyn and all the memories.

Still, Steve couldn't quite believe her speech about making many more friends. Not many kids liked him at school as it was. He was quiet, actually liked to read, and was too small for any of the other boys to take seriously. That meant that he was picked on, pushed around a lot whenever the teachers weren't looking, the mocking voices of the other children only hushed when an adult happened by.

If moving was good for anything, it was to get away from those bullies. But that did leave the question of what kind of bullies he would be facing in the new town, in the new state. He said none of that aloud, though.

"Maybe," he muttered instead, not wanting Mom to feel worse than she already did. Moving wasn't easy for her, either, he knew, and he inwardly decided to try and be better about it. Only for her sake. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, her focus returned entirely to driving, following the map she had taped to the dashboard. The young boy looked out the window again, sighing under his breath as the vehicle exited off the freeway, cutting this way and that as they found their way to the new neighborhood. Instead of the brownstones and various-shaped buildings being jammed in up against one another, the houses in the suburb were spaced out, green grass stretched out before and behind them. He blinked then, perked up a bit. It would be nice to live somewhere with a yard, he conceded, somewhere to play that didn't mean walking six blocks to get there. That was something, at least.

His mom maneuvered the car into a cul-de-sac, six houses ringing the circled black top. She drove the the one with white siding, dark trim and shingles framing it. A front porch with a well-padded and well-loved loveseat framed the dark blue door, the brass numbers of the domicile shining in the early June sunlight. The basement windows were lined with the same trim, barely seen above their rain barriers. That was where they would be living; according to Mom, Mr. Barnes had outfitted the basement into an apartment for them over the last few months, building on what was left by the previous owners of the house. Either way, it would be their new home.

As she parked the car along the road, just a few feet from the mailbox, Sarah looked back at her boy once more, an encouraging smile given to Steve before she unbuckled. He tried to return it, but it hurt a little to do so.

As soon as he had unbuckled and climbed out the back, his mom meeting him along his side of the car, the front door swung open. Two adults, both with nearly black hair and looking slightly careworn, moved to greet them. Mr. Barnes trailed a little behind his wife, meeting Steve's eye and nodding a hello as Mrs. Barnes swept Sarah up in a hug.

"Freddie, George," his mother breathed, relief in her tone as she squeezed her old friend back. Mrs. Barnes (Freddie, he repeated silently, muting his giggles at the boyish-sounding name being applied to her), smiled broadly, holding her at arm's length after a few moments.

"Sarah, you made it," she said, stepping to the side and pulling Steve into a hug as well. The small boy didn't mind it too much; Mrs. Barnes had always been that way, and in truth, he did miss her hugs when the family had moved. When she ruffled his hair, though, he let out a grumpy huff. Her smile did not waver at that, greeting him as well. "Hi, Stevie. Bucky and the other kids are in the backyard, if you want to go play for a bit."

Steve shot a glance back at the car, at the moving van now parking as well, and then he looked up at his mother. Sarah inclined her head, flicking her gaze towards the house itself. It would be alright, for a few minutes, to take a break and have a little bit of fun, if he could.

"'Kay," he murmured, barely able to take two steps before his mother took his hand and crouched before him. He braced himself, knowing she would be patting his pockets for his allergy shot, and his inhaler (each one relegated to a different pocket of his shorts). Blue eyes almost rolled; he wasn't a baby, and he knew better to have his medical stuff with him. One stern glance from his mother told him to stop with the protest before ever saying a word. Satisfied that he was prepared, she patted his cheek affectionately, bidding him to go. Mr. Barnes flapped a hand at him, telling him to follow, and so he traipsed after the older man, the low chatter from behind the house growing as they went through the gate of the fence into the yard. Sniffing against the smell of the flowers lining the walkway (hay fever, his mother had warned him, was well under way for him already), he felt the sticky heat enfold him as he walked, stopping short when he saw all the other children there. In the far corner was a sandbox, two small girls playing in it. One had black hair, the other dark brown, the pair of them piling up sand for a castle and shaking it out of their brightly-patterned rompers. Over to the other side, three boys were tossing a football back and forth, one of the foam ones he'd seen in the store and on television. They were joined by another girl, roughly a year or so older than him. However, his focus was drawn onto the boy brushing his chin length hair behind his ears, the cut of it making it flop everywhere. Pale blue eyes glanced over, and his smile grew wide as he stopped.

"Bucky!" Steve called out, waving frantically at his friend, the familiar face so welcome in that moment.

"Stevie!" the other boy crowed, dropping the ball and running to him. At nine, Bucky seemed to have gotten so much taller, the dark strands of his hair flopping into his eyes as he jogged across the lawn. He nearly barreled into Steve, nearly crushing him in a hug as strong as his mother's. A great sense of relief and pure happiness flooded the blond boy, his earlier churlishness forgotten for an instant. It so good to see his best friend, he didn't even mind the use of the baby-ish nickname. "Haven't seen you in forever!"

"I know," Steve replied, thumping his back and pulling away. Mr. Barnes stepped back, admonishing the boys to have fun and be careful while he went to help move things inside. Absentminded nods were dipped at him before Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder.

"It's so cool you and your mom are gonna live with us," he said, grinning and revealing the gap on the bottom row of his teeth. Brushing a bit of dirt off his t-shirt, he proclaimed, "We can do sleepovers and not hafta cross the street or somethin' like in Brooklyn."

At the mention of their old town, of the old neighborhood, Steve felt a bit of the joy leave him. Sure, it was a pain to have to cross the street to play with Bucky there, but...it was still home.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, hands tucking into his pockets as he sighed. Sensing his sadness, Bucky raked his fingers through his hair again, unsure of what to do to make it better. Lighting upon the answer, he flapped a hand back towards the others with the ball.

"Oh, you should come play," he said, his bright gaze darting over his friend in quick examination. "You got your inhaler?"

Steve let out a huff. Bucky could be just as bad as his mom about that stuff. "Yeah. And the epipen."

Reassured that his asthma nor his allergies would be a problem, he tugged on the shoulder of Steve's shirt, saying that he had to come meet everyone then.

"Who's the short stack?" asked the tallest boy, lanky brown hair pushed out of hazel eyes. He had to be around eleven or twelve, Steve thought as he looked up at him. Bucky hooked a thumb at the blond boy, smiling affably.

"This is Stevie. He and his mom are moving in downstairs. They're from Brooklyn, too," he introduced, and Steve lifted his hand in a timid greeting.

"Hi."

Bucky pointed now at the older boy, saying, "That's Hank, and his sister Heather is over there with Andy. They live in the blue house on the other side of the cul-de...cul-de-sac."

Steve glanced over then, to the older girl. Her long ponytail was held by a bright yellow scrunchie, a hello given before she wrenched the ball out of Bucky's older brother's hands. His friend snickered at that, but he tugged on his sleeve again and walked him over to the sandbox, to the two youngest. They paused in their play, the pair of them staring at the newcomer with wide eyes.

"This is Hank and Heather's sister, Holly. She's friends with Becca."

Becca grinned at Steve, her small hand raising and waving at him, green eyes dancing with light. Holly, however, merely stared at him. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek just below her left eye, her hair frizzing out of a ponytail similar to her sister's. Dark irises scanned over him as she plopped back down in the sand, grabbing up the abandoned shaper and starting the castle project again.

Watching her work, Steve snorted out a chuckle. "Babies in the sandbox."

Becca's gaze darkened at the insult, and Holly's head came up at that.

"We're not babies!" she insisted, pushing the plastic shaper to the side and stumbling to her feet. Holding up four fingers, she told him, "I'm four and half!"

Bucky frowned at his friend, but Steve merely shrugged.

"You're little, though."

The younger girl's eyes narrowed at him, and she raised her chin, hands planting on her hips. "So are you."

The sting of her words made him flinch, and Steve's own gaze sharpened. What a little brat, he thought to himself, and as he opened his mouth to say more, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"C'mon, Stevie, let's play catch," Bucky said, tugging again to draw him away. Casting one more glance over the little girl, he rolled his eyes when she stuck her tongue out at him and turned around. Girls were so silly, he mused as he strove to keep up with his friend's stride, meeting the other boys on the far end of the yard. Heather joined them as well, determined to be part of the game as much as they. Bucky and Steve were on one team, Andy and Hank on the other, with the young girl acting as the monkey in the middle. Many minutes were passed in this fashion, with the little girls cheering for their siblings from the sandbox. They would toss the ball back and forth, and if the person in the middle caught it, they would take the place of whoever had thrown it last. The heat of the sun made sweat bead down Steve's face and back, but he refused to stop playing, finally enjoying himself for the first time in days.

It was his turn to be in the middle, with Andy having captured his poor throw that time. Back and forth the ball was tossed, the older boys using their own strength and skill to keep it just beyond his reach, forcing him to jump and run harder than before. It was then that Steve felt the unpleasant familiarity of tightness in his chest, his breath starting to fail him as his face became beet red with exertion. Stopping his running, he braced his palms along his knees, bending at the waist and struggling to breathe. Suddenly, the game came to a screeching halt, all the children laughing and playing staring for a couple seconds.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard one of them—it was Hank, confusion in his tone—wonder, and he tried to speak, wanting to explain. However, Bucky was there first, catching him by the elbow and practically forcing him to sit down.

"He's got asthma," the brunet boy explained, worry lacing the hard edge in his voice. "We gotta go get his mom and tell her."

Steve fished in his pocket as his bottom connected with the earth, the ever-present inhaler taken out. Giving it a shake, he clamped his lips around it, depressing the top and inhaling deeply. The medication flooded into him, his haggard breaths beginning to catch and fill his lungs again. Water dripped out of his eyes as he tipped his head down, shame and embarrassment flooding through him. Now, the other kids definitely wouldn't want to play with him anymore, and he certainly wouldn't have any new friends.

Nobody really got how badly his asthma affected him, and it was something that made them all think he was too sick and weak to do anything. Nobody but Bucky, and even he had gotten impatient with it a few times in the past. Blinking past the wave of water coursing out of his eyes, he saw Andy take Heather's arm, drawing her away and bringing her to follow Bucky and Hank as they ran to the house, yelling for Mrs. Rogers to come out.

"Maybe we shouldn't play this anymore," he heard the older girl say, and he could feel his gut constrict with the sorrow and the shame. The first thing to go right since the move, and it went wrong, anyway. Angrily, he flung his inhaler to the ground, pulling his knees up and slinging his arms tightly around them. He hated it. He hated being here. He wanted to go home, where everything made sense, at least.

"You okay?" a high-pitched voice asked, and he looked up. The little girl that had sassed back at him, Holly, stood there, his now-dirty inhaler in her hands. Her face filled with worry, too. He blushed hard again, his focus latching onto his scuffed sneakers.

"In a minute," he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and refusing to look at her. Light footsteps tamped down the grass, and he heard a little oomph shoot out of her as she sat down. Her arm rest against his, and he finally glanced over at her once more.

"Okay. I'll sit with you," she said, chin raised decisively. Sniffing hard, and coughing slightly, Steve shook his head.

"You don't hafta. You can go back to Becca."

She turned her head toward the sandbox, which was now empty; Becca had, it turned out, gone in with her older brothers, leaving them all alone in the yard.

"Nah," Holly told him, crossing her legs and resting her filled hands in her lap. Her dark eyes ran over the inhaler for a few moments, examining it curiously, before she silently handed it back to him. Taking it, Steve felt his shoulders hunch slightly. He felt bad, now, for calling her names. He just...he felt bad, and he didn't like it.

"Sorry I called you a baby," he said, fingers closing over his inhaler. He watched as she shrugged, shaking her head.

"'Sokay," she returned, looking up at him then. Taking in the sight of him, with his blond mop of hair framing his sad, blue eyes, she shrugged again. "Sorry I called you little, too."

Steve shook his head, wincing as he could now hear the distressed shouts coming from inside the house. "It's alright. I kinda am."

Holly looked at him again, her pursed lips suddenly creasing into a true smile. "I like that. You're not too big. It's hard to be with big kids sometimes."

She nodded to the house, where her own brother and sister had gone with the Barnes children, and Steve took in the sight of her again.

"I get it," he replied softly, grinning at her for the first time that day. As she returned it, her fingers gripping and pulling at the grass around them, the back door of the house cracked open. Mrs. Rogers came out in a fast run, dropping to her knees beside her son to check him out. When she assessed that he was well again, she chided him for working himself up like he had, hearing from the boys how he'd pushed himself too hard in the game. As he hung his head in contrition, he felt a warm, sticky palm wrap around his wrist and squeeze. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Holly stiffen beside him, staying put even as his mom told him he had to be more careful, had to watch out for himself better and not be so reckless with his health. When she'd finished, she'd hugged him, much as she always had, before helping him onto his feet. Brushing the dirt and grass from the seat of his shorts, Sarah blinked at the little girl still there with her boy, attempting to keep her voice even as she said hello. Holly nodded at her, but as she opened her mouth to introduce herself, two more heads peeped out the back door. Hank and Heather were yelling for her to get moving, since their mom and dad had called for them to go back to the house. The palm on wrist squeezed one more time, and then dropped.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said to him, the only farewell she could give before her brother and sister called for her to come home with them. His bright gaze followed her to the house, the three children from across the way gone within a minute.

It still wasn't Brooklyn, he thought to himself as he followed his mother inside, ready to help unpack with her and the rest of the Barnes brood. But, as Bucky helped him bring a box of his action figures down to the room that would be his and began to set them up, maybe it would be okay. Someday.

A/N: I know what you're all thinking. "You're starting a new AU, even though the other one isn't done yet? You should work on that one!" Believe me, I know I should, but...this idea is yet another one that won't leave me alone. A childhood friends fic, that also stars skinny!Steve, because he deserves love, too. Like with DTH, it will be updated slowly, as I am still sort of recovering from the Of Time series and am trying to get better about adjusting.

So Steve and his mom move to Minnesota over a year after his father's death and burial, and they meet some old and new friends. Should be interesting, as time goes on...essentially, I made Joseph Rogers pass away during the Gulf War, as one of the casualties. Hope this doesn't offend anyone terribly.

I also have a Twitter account specifically for story updates, which I will be doing for this story as well. My handle is PhanProTweets.
Lastly, this work is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others'. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Pontiac, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!