sergeantbuckybear:

I’m not over this idea of Bucky being drafted.  He probably got the notice weeks before the World Expo and reported to the nearest Selective Service office to argue with his new commanding officers that he couldn’t go to Europe, he had a half-starved twig of a best friend to take care of, and who was going to pay the rent and drag Steve out of alleys and make sure he fucking ate? Sir, I understand, sir, but you don’t get it. This kid’s got a case of terminal stupid and I’ve gotta look out for him. But then he saw the salary he’d be pulling in by serving in the Army, and it was more than anything he’d ever managed down at the docks or working in the garage.  It was a lot of money, and it wasn’t like he was going to need it where he was going, so he took his uniform and went home to Steve.  Bucky braces himself before he walks through the door, all polished new shoes and swagger with his hat tipped to one side and his sergeant’s chevrons sewn to his sleeve, and tells Steve that he finally enlisted and he’s going to go single-handedly save the United States, and he’s grinning so hard his jaw aches, but inside he’s screaming and trying to memorize the exact shade of blue of Steve’s eyes because he knows that he’s going to die over there, but at least Steve will be be able to afford the rent and groceries. And Bucky doesn’t cry, he will not fucking cry, because he’s already a soldier, been one since the age of eleven and fighting a war against Steve Rogers’s bullheaded stupidity for years now.