Back To Brooklyn|Bucky Barnes

• Back to Brooklyn •

• 1946 •

It was the high of the forties, the industry booming with factories constantly spewing out ammunition and guns for the men overseas. You were a working woman, spending countless hours pumping out bullets the size of your ring finger. After all, you had two soldiers to make bullets for.

Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes were your boys. They were there when you moved to Brooklyn back in 1931, they helped you up when bullies picked on you at school, they held your hand when your father was buried, an American flag draped over his coffin. They were there through it all. Even while they were over an ocean.

You got letters very frequently. Steve wrote every other weekend, when he had spare time to send a quick 'miss you' with a small sketch of whatever was lying next to him. Usually his lunch. James sent you mail every week, plus some. To say the two of you were attached at the hip would be an understatement. You were as close to Bucky as he was to Steve.

It was a fateful December cold that brought your worries. You hadn't received a letter in over a month. You had pushed it aside at first, knowing how ugly the war was becoming in Europe. You constantly continued to send your own letters, despite the absence of a reply.

Then, one cold winter day- January 14th, 1946- you received a letter from Bucky himself.

My dear, dear (Y/N),

I'm real sorry I haven't written. I needed time to think about what I was going to say once I did write you. I needed a second to check over my words real quick, make sure they made some kind of sense. Maybe they will, keep your fingers crossed.

Well, I'd better just say it, right? I'd better just come out and tell you the news that's made me quiet for so long, don't ya think? But, you see, the thing is, I don't know if I want to. I don't know if I want to tell you. 'Cause I can already see those beautiful eyes of yours tearing up at what I need to say. And darling, I don't wanta make you cry. I'm sorry if I do.

Here's the news: Steve's gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Can't really beleive it, huh? I keep on thinkin' he's going to come in this tent and promise me he'll be right back, like he always did. But this time he didn't come back. I guess promises are meant to be broken. And that really hurts to think about, doll, because I promised my self somethin' that I don't want to break.

Here's more news: I'm comin' home soon. Two weeks at most. Hopefully that will make you smile. I'd hope you'd be excited to see me. Gosh, I'm really sorry if you're crying. I mean, here I am, a Sargent in the Army, have death himself in my address book, and I'm still crying like a little girl. Just smile and think of two weeks. Two weeks is all I have left over here, then I finally get to see you again.

Smile for me,
Your Bucky

He would have been so angry with himself if he saw you read that letter. Sitting by the fireplace, your eyes scanned over each word five times over, tears streaking down your cheeks as muffled, strangled sobs erupted from your chest. It was like a part of you had been taken. But it was bittersweet, because James was coming back. Coming back safe.

January 14th quickly became January 28th, too quickly for your taste. Yes, you wanted to see your James Barnes with all of your mind, body, and soul, but you didnt know if you could stand seeing him without the frail little blondie you called a brother. Even if Steve became tall and buff from a serum, he would still be that little boy with a heart far too big for his body to you.