He’s Still a Jerk a Rebuttal by Steve Rogers (Included in the book On va voir because the trut

He’s Still a Jerk a Rebuttal by Steve Rogers (Included in the book On va voir because the truth is, Steve and Bucky are a pair of Actual Five Year Olds so Mr. Stark can now stop making all the Nonagenarian Jokes, please and thank you - Kate Morita-Dugan) This is all Bucky’s fault. Now I’m going to freely admit that at least eighty percent of the time, it’s really my fault.  I run my mouth off at times, but usually it’s for a good cause, because come on, would it actually kill anyone to behave like a decent human being? Seriously? So, I tell a person off for being an ass and this usually ends up with me eating cement but hell if I don’t make them work for it. So, yeah, usually my fault.  But this one is all on Bucky. One of the things that Bucky does for entertainment is to go through the Internet or a library or a bookstore and argue, quite loudly, with every thing that’s ever been written about us.  He used to do this even with the dime store pulp magazines, comics and books we’d read way back in the Dark Ages where fan fiction as you know it today did not exist and there was no such thing as AO3.  (Terrible times, I know.  Yes, I have an AO3 account.  Just don’t ask if I’ve ever written anything.  That’s classified.)  A library card was a godsend when it came to living with Bucky Barnes.   We’d never be let back into a library again, the way he carried on. Dump his loser ass, I’m telling you, sweetheart! He’s no good! You fucking idiot - of course it was the god damn stepfather.  Who else has the motive? Vampires.  Do not.  Fucking. Sparkle.  Oh come on, why in the name of Jesus, Mary and all the saints would you want to actually fuck in a fucking cemetery full of vampires? So that’s when Bucky’s reading fiction.  It gets worse when he finally gets to the non-fiction section, especially when it was stuff about me and the rest of the Howling Commandos, to say nothing of how Peggy ends up just being my girl, with not one word of how she actually built SHIELD.  I will tell you right now, please don’t ask him about the young teenage Bucky in the comics.  Not unless you really enjoy knuckle sandwiches.  I should’ve known I was in Serious Trouble when Bucky actually threw the latest book he was reading about us - I won’t name it here to protect the dignity of everyone involved - across the room. “Jesus, Buck, what’d that book ever do to you?” “That book is written by a lying liar who lies and if I ever meet Mr. E —- … well, he and I are going to have a Talk.” At some point in my life, I’ve actually picked up on the meaning of “not the hill I want to die on” and believe it or not, this was one hill I just wanted to avoid.  There’s a story about Bucky and poor Colonel Phillips and Talking that I’ll probably end up telling in this book - it’s just too good not to share.  “People will write what they want to write about ‘Captain America’,” I tell him.  “He’s more than just me putting on the costume now.  People like a good story.” “If they really want a good story, they oughta know the truth. Not this fucking comic book hero they’ve made you into,” Bucky growls.  “You’re more than this, Steve. Better.  I just hate it that they don’t know that.  For Chrissakes, they don’t even have anything about your Ma other than, 'oh, she was a saint, she was a nurse, she got sick and she died.’” And at that point, I realized he was right. Google my Ma or my father and you’ll just get the bare bones of things.  They were born and they died.  My Ma was a nurse who bought it after working in a TB ward for so long.  My father died in the Great War.  Now I don’t remember my father much and all I’ve got are Ma’s stories about him.  But Ma’s different.  She was the one who got me cracking the history books open, knew military tactics because it interested her, told folks off for calling women “the weaker sex” and taught me how to play poker like nobody’s business.  I know the color of her hair, the way she laughed - great hiccupy giggles that made me laugh too, the way she’d tweak my nose and mess up Bucky’s hair.  She was the only one, other than his Ma, allowed to mess up that hair.  I’m the only one, now, who really knows Sarah Rogers’ story.  There’s a great deal more there other than just “she died of TB.” I know Bucky’s stories too - a lot of the stuff that he’s still struggling to remember, the memories and the life that HYDRA stole from him.  You need to watch out for this guy because he’ll tell you that I’m the hero and he’s just the mook who came along for the ride, knew how to hold on to a good thing when he saw it.  He’s a fecking idiot who to this day, can’t believe it when I tell him he’s my best guy, my hero and always will be.  I threatened to write him a suitably sappy dedication for this book - all filled with ridiculous things like being the “moon of my life” and such - all apologies to George R.R. Martin.  I have to get back at him for the kitten thing after all.  I like to think that I’ve made a dedication page that won’t get me sued for plagiarism but will also please my ridiculous sweetheart who has the “drowned kitten” look down better than me.  You can turn the page after this - or take a look back - the dedication is there, clear as day.  I know Peggy’s story - or at least the part of her life that I had shared.  She was a Howling Commando, same as the rest of us.  She was the best and bravest woman I had known and yes, I did love her, but the fact that I loved her shouldn’t have been used to define everything that she was.  Hers was the last voice I heard before the ice, helped me with the fear and to face that end without regret.  She’d fought the war long before I ever came along.  Peggy Carter is a hero, same as the rest of the people I served with.  Better heroes than I could ever hope to be. I know the Howling Commandos’ stories - Monty, Jim, Dernier, Gabe and Dum Dum.  We had all gone on those missions together, gotten into one fine mess after the other and come out alive, worked with other squads and companies, bled on the sands of Utah Beach on D-day.  I wouldn’t be here if Jim hadn’t pulled me out of the way after an explosion that got me before I could completely tuck tail under the shield. That’s a story that never did make it into any of the history books.  I’d had a long argument with the brass that Jim Morita deserved a higher award than what was ultimately given to him, except that in the eyes of higher command, they still saw him as a “Jap.” So Bucky’s right.  I do know those stories.  I do know the truth about things.  I was there after all.  I guess I’m the only one who can tell them now.   At the end of the day, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who got handed one hell of a chance.  I made the best of it.  I’m not a hero. The real heroes, as a fellow soldier once put it, are the ones who never got to come home.  So Bucky’s right.  I need to tell their stories, which are part of my own.  Bucky’s still a jerk though.  - Steven Grant Rogers *********** Note:  Shout-out again to idrilka because the book Bucky was arguing with, the one with the author he’d like to “talk” to, is one of those academic authors from the fic Tin Soldiers, the ones who were very much in denial about the Steve and Bucky relationship.  *** gigglefits *** -- source link

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