Edit [July 21, 2013] - Hi! You may have already seen this fic on another account by the name of Child's Knight. That account along with the email connected to it was hacked and so I'm moving all those stories to this new account (variable 4).

They woke in a panic, the all encompassing smell of smoke filling their nostrils with every intake of breath. Sounds of panic arose as he groggily awoke, his hand pulling at his shirt collar with the increasing heat and the tightness in his chest. Suddenly it occurred to the small boy that something was very wrong. Night was a time for sleeping, not screaming and yelling and crying. A quick glance around showed him the confusion of the other boys, their faces plastered with fear and terror. The crack between their rickety door and old wooden floor let wisps of grey swirling smoke seep into their room.

While he let his eyes cast about, he noted the emptiness of the bed on the far end of the room, covers thrown back and devoid of any child it should have held. Before he could ponder the absence further, a croaky voice from the other side of the door called out to them.

"Boys? Are you in there?" A silly question, he thought, considering the sisters had a strict bed time and hourly check-ins to make sure they remained where they were supposed to be. It seemed no one else shared his sentiment because they shouted back as if the nun could possibly have forgotten them without having eyes directly on them. "Don't go out this door! The building is on fire and the halls aren't safe. Go through the window and line up with Sister Bess." They heard clunking footsteps as the nun hurried to the next room to deliver the same message.

Glancing warily around, the boys sat still in their beds, afraid and lost though given simple instructions. Violent coughing broke the silence, drawing their attention to Steve Rogers, who curled around his pillow and tried to breathe through the thickening smoke that was filling their room.

"What are you waiting for?" he choked out, his asthma attack hardly allowing him breath to fill one of his frail lungs let alone speak. Yet somehow he did. "We gotta get out of here. Window." He raised a shaking finger to the green musty curtains. When still no one moved, he barked out more frustratedly, "Go! Or else we'll die here!"

That certainly got them moving, and soon enough he found himself crouching on the window sill, turning back one last time making sure no one was left in the room. His eyes settled again on the empty bed, an abrupt rush of panic shooting through him upon realizing that they were down one. Where had the boy gone? Surely one of the nuns had found him and gotten him out.

"C'mon, Steve! Get away from the smoke!"

Reluctantly, Steve hopped down to the rough cement below, knees nearly giving way on impact (both his hands hit the pavement to absorb some of the shock), and then hurried to the rest of the group where the sisters were conducting a head count. His breathing was slowly coming under control, the attack on this respiratory system abating. Away from the smoke his lungs seemed to realize that they were supposed to be using the air he struggled to inhale.

The smell of their home burning was foul, its stench only making worse the apprehension of losing the one place they had left. St Catherine's Orphanage wasn't anyone's first choice of home, or second or third for that matter, but it remained that the parentless children on the sidewalk watched once more as home vanished into smoke.

"We're missing one–"

"James!"
"He wasn't with the other boys–"

"No one's seen him–"

"He's still inside! One of the boys saw him sneak out of his room before the fi–"

The empty bed.

Without another thought, Steve rushed back to the glowing building, ignoring cries for him to get right back over here, Steven, or so help me–

Heat radiated from every surface around him, drawing sweat from him as if wringing out a wet cloth. Steve pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, hoping to keep out at least some of the mucky air.

He called out several times, voice quieting and growing tighter with each lungful of rancid air. Before long he was coughing stumbling forward with stinging eyes, still trying to find the missing boy.

"Anyone there?!" someone shouted, and thank god because Steve couldn't take much more of this.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" he replied– or tried, a cough cutting the shout short.

The boy – James – was in the kitchen, a compact space that was by no means suited to cook for and feed nearly forty children. The entryway to the kitchen was blocked by a fallen beam, the large wooden support sitting diagonally across the entrance, and very much on fire and hot. There was no way over or under the flaming obstacle and Steve knew that the small window on the back wall had metal bars across it.

"I was hoping for the fire brigade," James said, a look of desolation striking his face as his eyes fell on his scrawny rescuer.

"I'll get you out."

"Yeah, you and your big muscles."

That was probably why Steve hadn't talked to the other boy at all in the month since he'd come to the orphanage, he thought crossly. Probably a bully, this one. The feeling of resentment was cut short as more fiery bits began falling from the ceiling, nearly landing straight on him if it weren't for James' frantic warning.

"Just get out of here!" James yelled at him and pointed down the hall to the exit.

"No! Not without you!" Steve yelled right back, the cry a hoarse one, as more coughs tore at his throat.

Ignoring that, Steve put his hands on the beam and somehow, despite his size and all other factors working against him in that moment, he heaved the beam aside. Adrenaline, they would later decide, was the only reason that he'd been able to move the beam.

For a long second they could do nothing but stare at each other in astonishment, James with his mouth hanging open and Steve's mind reeling in pure 'What the heck did I just do?!' Before either really knew what they were doing, Steve had grabbed James' hand, not feeling any pain the action should have caused – again, adrenaline, they later decided – and they ran to the nearest door to the outside.

The rest was a blur – finally getting outside, Steve's near hour-long asthma attack, the treating of their burns and scrapes, and of course the furious telling off from the Sisters (Steve for being reckless and going into a building that was on fire, and James for breaking curfew, sneaking into the kitchen, and generally being troublesome).

"You're stupid." Steve looked up at James from where he sat, the other boy's face sooty and hair damp with sweat. He probably looked the same. He plopped down next to Steve on the ground. "My name's Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

"Steve Rogers," he replied, stretching his arm out for a handshake, but stopping awkwardly mid-way seeing his hand covered in white bandaging. "I'd shake your hand and everything but…"

"Like I said: stupid."

They didn't talk for a while, instead watched as things around them began to calm and the flames roasting their building were put out.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked idly.

"Yeah. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Asthma sucks though."

"And you know, grabbing a burning support beam. Which was stupid, by the way. If I haven't mentioned it yet. "

"Was it?"

"Very. Incredibly. And– um… Thank you."

That night's wasn't the last of stupid actions done by either of the two.