Bucky Barnes is fourteen. He’s starting to fill out in a way that it seems Steve never will. It’s springtime, and the city is finally thawing.
He’s looking forward to spending more time outside again; he thinks the fresh air is good for Steve, and it’s fun to throw a ball around or climb on things while Steve is sketching,
and there’s usually girls to talk to, and these days people who know they can’t get away with picking on Steve will hang around sometimes, and they all tell jokes or play stickball,
they sneak into movies, they perch on stoops and chatter like birds until someone’s mother or sister starts hollering, and then they scatter like birds, too.
He’s on the way to Steve’s house, whistling a tuneless little ditty, wearing a new pair of shoes because he’s still growing, growing, growing.
His mother keeps bothering him about seeing if Steve wants some of his old clothes, since Becky’s certainly not interested, and to let them gather dust in his closet would be wasteful.
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