Chapter Text
The universe had a funny thing of turning events against Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. One cold morning in February of 1941 - a woman Bucky had been seeing by the name of Irene - pushed and heaved through labor. Irene was her name - and in that instant she had severely regretted ever letting a smooth Brooklyn man charm her into bed.
She should've ignored his advances.
She should've just gone home with the girls - continued onto advanced education. Ignored the Brooklyn boy's wide smile in insistence on a dance, both already shitfaced in that summer of 1940. War was approaching fast - not like anyone was fully present in the head.
Of all places for Bucky to end up as well, he would've laughed in your face if you had told him that he'd end up a single father. Bucky ran a hand through his disheveled hair; staring at his newborn daughter in his arms as midwives frantically ran across the room.
From afar, Irene looked serene. Bucky could've sworn maybe it was a mistake, perhaps maybe, she'd wake back up like she usually did - and swat him with a laugh. An older midwife gently cupped his shoulder, confirming the latter choice. She wouldn't be waking up. Not now, nor ever.
"Mr. Barnes," She spoke hushed, "If you need assistance with a newborn, please reach out to me or the other ladies."
Bucky admittedly drowned out the rest of her speech. His eyes stuck on the lifelessness of Irene in that brown-sheeted bed. He always thought he'd get the picture-perfect life like his mom told him about. A wife, a few rugrats, Steve always next door. That was the life he planned, wanted, dreamt of since he was old enough to know what fucking was.
What do you do when it's dead? When the girl's cold, gone, and all you have as proof is someone who can't even talk yet?
He cradled the newborn, looking down at her chest rising and sinking. Bucky's mind racing with names as an assistant approached him with the certificate. Sadie? Maxine? Jade? Too many, too far. It seems useless now to him, doesn't it? A dream just died giving birth to a new path.
He was supposed to ship out in a few months. How's he going to leave this behind?
"Buck."
Bucky didn't look up, eyes wet and raw. He felt the faint footsteps of Steve sliding beside him on the bench outside of the bedroom. "She's perfect Buck." He whispered, eyes on the newborn. "Need help with a name?"
"I don't know." Bucky admitted, eyes still on the pink blanket in his arm. "Nothing seems right."
"Jackie?"
Bucky shrugged, exhaling raggedly as the newborn cooed in his arms. "Halsey? Hayley?"
Steve blinked, "You namin' a doll or? -"
Bucky laughed weakly, "Shut it punk." as Steve wiped his tears. The empty room seemed larger than ever to both men. Although eventually the door opened, a nurse stepping in gently as she squatted in front of both of them.
"You have a name for her?"
Bucky blanked again, before croaking out a name, "June."
Steve rubbed Bucky's shoulder, "It's perfect Buck." as the midwife squeezed his knee, "June Barnes?"
"June Engelica Barnes."
✭
By January 8th, 1942, Bucky had roughly just under a year with June in their shabby Brooklyn apartment. Steve, the godsent he was, always a helpful aide to feed her when Bucky went to the warehouse during the day. June's many sleepless nights didn't help - the way she'd wail for either man to scoop her up.
Sometimes Bucky swore he'd hallucinate her walking already, just falling out of her crib like a rocket. He moved pretty earlier, so did his sisters Becca and Beatrice.
Becca herself adored June. Always sewed little clothes for her to wear - even if Bucky groaned, "Beck! She's gonna just outgrow'em!-"
"Nah, she won't!" Becca called back, grinning ear to ear watching June's wobbly stance. "Look at her! A champ already,"
Beatrice however spoiled June rotten in a different way, more often with Steve. The pair teaming up to find the oddest canned food she'd be able to eventually eat. Beatrice spending hours going door to door, knocking her fist to the wood. "You all got any spare formula?"
"Not here honey, move along," The woman sighed, "Everybody's hurtin'!"
"I figured to ask!" Beatrice called back over her shoulder, briskly crossing the street with what little baby food and formula she had. Steve met her at the corner, joining her walk. "Any luck?"
"Nope, we got to make do."
Steve sighed, "I got to talk Buck into letting me work," stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Someone around here is desperate enough."
Beatrice stopped at the front step, hand on her hip. "I love you like a brother Steve, but your condition ain't good for work right now." Her eyes trailing him over, "You still got that nasty cough."
"I've always had that cough," Steve jutted his finger out, "Doesn't mean I'm useless."
"Ah, never said useless." Beatrice propped the door open, going inside to the living room. "I just mean I'm worried!"
Steve tailed her in, closing the door behind him. "Buck! We're back!"
"Upstairs!" He called, Bucky holding a bobby pin in his mouth. "Jeez Louise, Kid's a stinker!" He huffed as June giggled - legs flailing around. Bucky grunted, "C'mon you little Hyena, let me change yous-"
The most unique thing anyone who's ever met baby June, would tell you simply, her laugh is severely high pitched and fast. Quickly she had gained that nickname for it being so infectious - the other mothers on the block could identify her from that alone. It would be quite odd for her time, most babies after all, they'd be called 'cute as a button' over 'as cute as a-' dog, hunchback, a wolf.
However downstairs where Steve stared at Bucky's draft papers, that laugh sounded more like warning bells to something impending. His hand in his pocket, the other on top of the sealed envelope with 'James Buchanan Barnes' written on in ink. The dawn of a new life that chose to crash into the brick wall just outside.
Steve's smile twisted into a frown, "Oh Buck."