Promise in Brooklyn

All Captain America and Marvel characters belong to Marvel Comics

I own nothing.

"Got rejected again? Huh?" Bucky Barnes called out in his charming Brooklyn accent, it was always casual. He strode with his confident swagger towards the back stair well of his apartment, and puffed a puffing a rolled lit cigarette. He stared, just stared with his pale blue eyes at his best friend-the skinny runt, Steven Grant Rogers, who was always too dumb to back away from pig head bullies had him on the ropes. The teenager sat on the last two steps apply a washcloth filled with ice over his bruised arm.

Bucky felt his lips stiffened upwards as he shook his head. "When are you going to get it through that thick skull of that you're..." He bit tongue his tongue, looking down Steve's face, his thin cheeks the color of ashen, and deep, crystal blues, staring back at him with burning stubborn defiance.

Rogers's thin face littered with purple bruises, and a marks of large knuckles. He felt the urge to knock sense into his friend, but instead he suppressed his sizzling anger. "Never mind." He drew out a frustrated breath, restraining his hot blooded Irish temper, and he curved his full lips into uneasy grin. "You're too dense to hear any words I say to you. It will just be a waste of breath on my part." He flicked his cigarette butt on the ground. "What am I going to with you, Stevie?"

Steve shrugged carelessly, "Throw me in the river?" he suggested, and his lips molded a lopsided smirk.

"Well, that's one option." Bucky returned, lifting both eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. "But knowing me, I'll probably dive in after you." he smirked; the edges of his lips stretched his youthful skin. He drummed his fingers absently over the wooden rail, and slicked his dark hair back, and off his forehead. "I'm serious, Steve, you gotta stop wastin' your time at the enlistment office. There's nothing for you over there...Hell, I don't know why I'm doing it." he chuckled lightly, setting his friend at ease.

Steve wrenched his eyes away; "There's nothin' for me anywhere, Buck." he spoke with bitterness wheezing from his throat.

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Sure there is..." He lightly punched Steve's frail shoulder, worried that he might've broken a few bones. "You're the best artist I know in Brooklyn, I'll admit you do act stupid when it comes to keepin' your mouth shut, but you have the skill. So don't go wastin' your life on other men's burdens. It ain't goin' to get ya very far if you act that stupid."

'I appreciate your honesty, Buck." Steve returned wiping the smudge of blood off his chin with defiance etched on his thin face. He lowered his head, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I want to fight on the battlefield with you… Just like we used to in the schoolyard."

Bucky shook his head in dismal, "This isn't a fight for some fat kid's from the Bronx milk money. This is war." His low voice drifted, as he clenched his jaw. "It's something that I never want you to enter…" He swallowed thickly, placing his hand firmly on his best friend's bony shoulder. ""I promised your ma that I would take care of you… I know that I'm not the greatest role model to stick around with." His clear blue eyes looked at drenched cloth clutched in Steve's frail hand." I make you shine my shoes to pay your share of the rent, but I'm trying to save you from destroying your life… The war changes a man. Sometimes it makes him forget who he was back home—-Sometimes even his own name."

Steve looked up at him with confusion written on his face, "How is fighting for a country that I love… destroying my life, Buck?" he grimaced.

"Listen," Bucky whispered, with a sincere glimmer in his eyes—the curved edges of his lips slacked into a frown, he blinked as his gaze slightly lowered. "You're all I have left to come back too, Steve. You're my best friend—I could never live with myself if I had to bury you next to your parents…" He withdrew a step back, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper of a drawing Steve did for him of his deceased father stained with smudges coffee."You're all I got left." He gently punched Steve in the shoulder. "So don't go blowing everything because of a damn uniform… No matter what, Steve Rogers… I'm with you until the end of the line." he promised.

Steve nodded, placing his skinny arm on Bucky's shoulder. "You're a good friend, Buck." He clasped his lips shut for a moment, before asking. "Why are you entering the lines?"

"I'm a soldier, Steve." Bucky answered with a shaky voice. "It's in my blood just like your talent for art." He allowed his eyes to drift to the drenched afternoon laundry hanging off a clothes line. "You're a soldier in your own battles—-I want to march through them with you like a commando in those old comic books the Delanty boys had in their old man's garage… But I have a mission to complete until the end."

Steve remained silent, narrowing his head, Bucky leaned in closer with a warm smirk tugged at his lips, "Come on, punk." he lifted Steve's chin up. "I'll buy you a milkshake—my treat."

"Your treat?" Steve tossed him a ghost of a smirk, and snorted. "How much milk money did you take this time?"

Bucky shook his head, laughing defiantly, "Come on," He slung his arm over Steve's shoulder, jerking him slightly in a friendly embrace as they both walked down the back alley as friends ready to take on battles of life—he paused had said something that enter deep into Steve's chest, it made his weaken heart swell. "Whatever happens to me over there… If I can't remember… I want you to be the first one to call my name when I reach the harbor."

"I will, Buck." Steve replied, watching his big brother smile brightly.

One hour after, they sit inside a beat up diner, factory rust hovers in the air along with scent of chocolate. Steve pressed his rigid bones against the cushion booth, looking at Bucky take sip of his thick chocolate milkshake with a double layer of whipping cream. "What will happen to you if I was dyin', Buck?' he asked suddenly, searching for the answer in his friend's gentle blue eyes. Will you carry on without my skinny ass dragging you down?"

Bucky clasped his lips tight, pushing his tall glass away from him. He didn't want to talk Steve's health. Every day that feeling of lost hung over him, when he checked the cluttered bedroom, and made sure his friend was still breathing. So instead of getting all sentimental, he masked his emotions with a light hearty joke. His face brightened, to hide away the inward pain. "I'll be free as a bird. Get any beautiful dame I want, and drain a few pints every night." He leaned back, with a false smile tugging against his lips. 'That's a good way to live in Brooklyn." He grinned, taking a swig of his milkshake, and felt the cream stain over the arch of his mouth. "Knowing you, Stevie Rogers, you'd probably come back to haunt me, with you hacking coughs." Steve rolled his eyes at him, and threw the cherry at his face. "You'll be a lot paler...the perfect ghost boy." he said with snarky tone.

'Steve huffed out a breath, and gave Bucky an inscrutable stare. "So you wouldn't miss me if God took me to see my folks?"

'Of course I'll miss you, jerk." Bucky replied, his voice crackling. "You're my best friend.' he swallowed down his words hard. "You're all I got left. So don't go dyin' on me...wait until we're at least ninety-five. Or if we can't remember nothin'." he lightly smiled. "Promise me, that, Rogers?' he spat in his hand, and stretched it to Steve. "Come on, punk."

Steve grimaced at the spit rolling over Bucky's palm. He sighed, and smirked before spitting in his hand. "This is stupid, Buck."

'Nah, you're stupid." Bucky teased back. "You're the stupidest kid I know, but someone's got to put up with you."

Grunting out a harsh laugh, Steve took Bucky's hand. They shook, and their promise. "Until the end of the line, Bucky Barnes?"

'Nothin' will separate us, Steve." Bucky whispered, giving Steve's small hand a light squeeze. "Not even death. I'll find you...That you can be sure of, punk."

Steve smiled, and looked into his friend's eyes. "I'll be waiting for you, big jerk. Just don't be late." he affirmed.

"Ain't I always," Bucky smirked, with a cocky gleam in his eyes.