𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 had passed and the soldiers had shipped out and moved to the main Allied headquarters located in London. While Steve was called into a meeting to discuss his findings, a portion of the 107th regiment had been released and settled down in one of the local bars. A few hours later, Steve took a seat at their table and made his proposition.

Dugan set down his pint with an amused look. "So, let's get this straight—"

"We barely got out of there alive, and you want us to go back?" Jones asked, interrupting Dugan's train of thought.

"Pretty much." Steve nodded his head in agreement.

"Sounds rather fun, actually." Falsworth leaned back in his seat bemused.

Morita belched before setting his own punt back down onto the surface of the table. "I'm in."

"Moi je combattrai jusqu'à la dernière fois que ses bâtards sont morts, enchaîné, ou bien pleurer comme un petit bébé," Dernier spouted in French.

Jones chuckled and added a side comment, "J'espère tous les trois."

"Moi aussi." Dernier laughed and shook Jones's hand.

When Jones realized that no one had understood, he clarified, gesturing between himself and Dernier. "We're in."

The group turned to look at those that hadn't said anything yet. Howlett offered a gruff nod of his head while Rambeau sighed before turning to look at Dugan. "I'm in if you are."

"Hell, I'll always fight." Dugan grinned as he nodded his head. "But you got to do one thing for me."

"What's that?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Open a tab." Dugan finished off the rest of his drink and slammed the pint back down. Steve laughed but agreed as he approached the bar table. Dugan leaned in toward Falsworth. "Well, that was easy."

"Another round," Steve requested, setting some cash down on the table to pay for the liquor.

The barkeeper shook his head in disbelief as he looked beyond Steve at the table he'd just left where the men were growing rowdier by the second. "Where are they putting all this stuff?"

As Steve joined Bucky at the bar counter, "There's a Tavern in Town" started to play at the piano and singing could be heard in the other room. Bucky chuckled and took a sip from his own glass. "See? I told you. They're all idiots."

"How about you?" Steve asked. "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

"Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him." Bucky took another drink and then asked, "But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

"You know what?" Steve replied as he looked at the poster on the wall behind them. "It's kind of growing on me."

David slid into the seat at the bar beside him, looking over his shoulder into the next room skeptically. "So you're really making a team out of that bunch?"

"That's the goal." Steve nodded his head.

"Not a bad choice really," David noted, forgetting any past reservations as he lifted the glass pint toward his lips.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking a drink."

"I don't think so," Bucky replied and took the glass from his hand.

"C'mon, Bucky." David frowned as he complained. "I'm in Europe, let me live a little."

"And what would Becky say about that?" Bucky asked, revealing he had no intention of changing his mind while using their sister as a guilt card.

"I'm eighteen," David emphasized as if it really made any difference. "Of legal age in New York if that helps."

"You've been eighteen for two weeks," Bucky retorted, "It's not like you've been blessed with a surplus of adult wisdom."

"Don't I need experience for that?" David asked, crossing his arms before asking another pointed question. "How can I get experience if you never let me do anything?"

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Agent Carter entered the room. Her presence alone probably would've been enough to stop the chatter, but the scarlet dress she wore certainly helped. David's jaw slacked and Bucky was quick to close his mouth, suddenly eyeing the agent like he planned to ask her out.

However, she only had eyes for Steve, completely ignoring the others as she greeted him. "Captain."

"Agent Carter." His reply was short, but his tone held the utmost respect.

"Ma'am," Bucky greeted as well while David gave a quick nod of his head.

"Howard has some equipment for you to try," she informed before asking for a time of confirmation. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good," Steve agreed with a nod of his head.

Agent Carter glanced back into the room where the rest of the men had resumed their drinking with high spirits. Dugan had pulled Jones and Rambeau on top of the table to sing the final verse of the song. "I see your top squad is prepping for duty."

"You don't like music?" Bucky asked.

"I do, actually," she replied but her attention remained on Steve alone, "might even, when this is all over, go dancing."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bucky asked, offering his own invitation.

"The right partner." Her eyes never left Steve's gaze. "O' eight hundred, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."

She sauntered back from where she came, briefly casting one last glance over her shoulder to where Steve sat. An amused grin spread across David's face while Bucky deflated. Horror spread across his face as he made a disconcerting realization. "I'm invisible. I'm—I'm turning into you. It's like some horrible dream."

"Don't take it so hard," Steve patted him on the back, pausing just long enough to let his following words sink in, "Maybe she's got a friend."

David choked on his drink. The ale burned the back of his throat and his eyes watered as he sputtered and coughed while also trying to laugh. Steve gave him a harsh pat on the back, but it was helpful in clearing the blockage from his throat. Bucky simply rolled his eyes and feigned a yawn, signaling that he was done with the pair and prepared to turn in for the night.

"Lighten up, Buck." Steve laughed. "It was a joke."

Bucky rolled his eyes again but indulged in a light chuckle concealed under his breath. He sighed and shook his head long enough to fill the silence that followed before Steve dragged him away to get another drink. Realizing that he'd either been forgotten or purposefully left alone, David looked down at his reflection in the murky liquid of his pint. He scoffed.

"Little Davie Barnes... stuck on his own at the kids' table again."

"Hey, Skippy!" A voice called from the other room, pulling David's attention away from his drink. He raised an eyebrow in confusion and pointed to himself as Rambeau leaned back in his seat and waved for the lad to join the Commandos. "Yes, you."

David cautiously entered the other room, but was quickly forced into a seat as a pint was slid across the table in front of him. Dugan grinned and raised his glass as if calling for a toast. "The captain's treat."

The boy shrugged and lifted the pint, taking a drink as the Commandos around the table decided that introductions were in order. Dugan took the lead as he gestured to each man as their name was spoken. "You held your own back there with the Nazis, and we thought you earned yourself a drink. This here is James Falsworth, Jacques Dernier, Jim Morita, James Howlett, Gabe Jones, and none other than Gene 'Ramrod' Rambeau."

Rambeau frowned, raising an eyebrow. "How come none of the others were introduced by their ridiculous nicknames?"

Jones jumped at the opportunity to introduce Dugan before the soldier could actually answer the question that had been asked. "Lest we forget about Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader 'Dum Dum' Dugan."

Rambeau chuckled under his breath, determining that they were even as the boy choked on his drink once more. As David coughed to clear his throat, he wrinkled his nose with amused distaste. "Aloysius Cadwallader?"

"It's a very dignified name," Dugan defended himself, "better than 'Skippy' anyhow."

"Why is it that you keep calling me that?" David asked, failing to mask his annoyance at the nickname.

"We're still waiting on your introduction," Morita retorted, reminding the boy that they didn't actually know his name.

"David Barnes."

"Ah, Bucky's baby brother." Dugan nodded his head, recognizing the surname.

The boy glowered, and the creases of his frown deepened as Jones patted him on the back. "Welcome to the gang, Skippy."

His expression relaxed as he finally processed what Jones had said. "You're adding me to the group?"

Rambeau chuckled. "You've got a nickname, haven't you?"

As the other soldiers around the table cheered and laughed and clinked their pints together, David fiddled with his own drink while sitting back in his seat, adjusting to the unfamiliar feeling of finally belonging somewhere. Although these men might have looked up to Captain America and known James Buchanan Barnes, he wasn't stuck under their shadows this time. He could be his own person and that feeling was truly freeing as he lifted his pint in the air and joined in with the drunken singing.

It was a moment he would cling to in the coming years of trauma.