Conundrum - this_wayward_life - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

Bucky starts the day by falling on his ass. This is, unfortunately, not uncommon - in fact, it happens pretty much once a week - and that's if he's lucky. Taking a second to breathe in and not try to launch himself at the source of his suffering - which would not end well - Bucky pushes himself up, glaring at the stupid, smirking face of Brock Rumlow.

Brock - seriously, what kind of a name was Brock? - is basically a walking, talking cliché of high school. If Bucky was to look up 'high school douche' in the dictionary, he's willing to bet there'd be a picture of Rumlow's ugly mug. Ignoring the glitter from the ridiculous poster hanging directly above his head getting into his eyes and his hair, Bucky just puts his hand on his hip and raised his chin defiantly. He definitely shouldn't be provoking Rumlow. To be honest, he couldn't really help it. It was too easy, and too much fun.

The swarm of Rumlow's followers and admirers circle around them - girls with too much mascara and dudes who all seemed to be wearing the exact same outfit, topped off with the two full cans of hair gel they all seem to love. Bucky hears snigg*ring behind him, and he can only roll his eyes from the bullsh*t that is his life.

Sam stands at Bucky's side, looking at him with semi-concern. Semi, because Sam's a smart guy, and he knows that anything more would just lead to additional torment from the universally hated Football Team. Beside him, Clint is glaring down the corridor with his signature kick-ass face firmly in place. For a guy who barely reaches Bucky's chin and weighs less than a Pringles can, he was full of so much anger all the time Bucky has come to just put it down to constant horniness.

"Piss off, Rumlow," Sam mutters, frowning at Clint like he's telepathically trying to stop their friend from being an idiot - something that is, sadly, impossible.

"Oh, sorry," Rumlow says mockingly, giving them an over-the-top pout that Bucky really wants to punch off his face . "I couldn't hear you, queer."

Rumlow doesn't actually know that Sam's gay - objectively, he doesn't know that Bucky is, too. Nobody knows, really, except for their small band of friends and a couple of acquaintances. Because Bucky has no way of responding without outing both Sam and himself and subjecting them both to even more mockery, he stays silent.

Clint on the other hand, decides to be an idiot. Which shouldn't have been surprising. He barrels past Bucky with his tiny fists held up, and it's only a last-survival reflex that makes Bucky reach out and grab Clint by the hood of his jumper.

"Aw, aren't they such a good duo," Rumlow crows, batting his eyelashes and making the crowd laugh. "The cripple and the deaf."

"I'm still whole enough to beat your dumb ass, punk!" Clint roars, and Bucky sighs internally. This is not going to plan. In retrospect, not many things in Bucky's life went to plan. Clint's face is quickly turning an unflattering shade of purple the longer Bucky holds onto him.

"Control your pet, Barnes, or else I might have to put him down," Rumlow laughs, and Clint's struggling kicks up a notch. Bucky doubts that Rumlow has enough knowledge of biochemistry to even know his way around a needle, but he stays silent as the various idiots that floated around the hallways lumber off to their respective classes.

It's only when Rumlow's disappeared from sight that Bucky deems it safe to let go of Clint, who immediately flips off the hallway before rifling around in his backpack.

"You good?" Sam asks. Bucky just nods, already far too tired to deal with Sam's aggressive mother-henning, no matter the sweet intention.

"I could take him," Clint says confidently, angrily chewing on a granola bar he's found from the depths of his backpack.

"And end up in the emergency ward," Sam retorts. "I'm not hauling your ass into an ambulance if I can help it, short stack."

They linger in the hallway for a few seconds as Sam helps Bucky pick up the assorted sh*t that Rumlow had made him drop, Clint angrily muttering into his granola bar beside them. Sam casually runs a hand through Bucky's hair, and a shower of glitter falls down onto the floor. Bucky doesn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful.

------

Bucky isn't a fan of his school. He isn't a fan of Brock Rumlow. He isn't a fan of the new Christian mathematics teacher, and he isn't a fan of life in general. So far in his life he's had a bad run of it, for obvious reasons - but now that he's in senior year, he starting to realise that all of those sh*tty high school movies Clint made them watch back when they were thirteen were utter bullsh*t. It's as if the guardian angel watching his life had fallen into a vat of vodka and is playing a fun game with the other angels to see how bad this poor little Russian amputee's life can get. Bucky doesn't like that game.

Brock Rumlow's asshole-ness had taken on new life this year. He'd already been an asshole, but it's as if he'd fallen into a special co*cktail of asshole supervillain juice over the summer. Or maybe his four functioning brain cells are just extra bored.

And Bucky's easy to pick on. Sure, he's not a small guy - he's almost six feet tall, and he likes to think he left the twinky phase at least a year ago - but he's not exactly the most... normal person, and idiots like Rumlow thrive off people like him. Add his multiethnic background, the missing arm, and the fact that his three friends were an angry deaf twig, a black guy and a Russian immigrant who terrifies anyone who looks at her, Bucky is prime picking for the loser-pummelling fest that Brock Rumlow was all-time champion for.

If the constant bullying and verbal abuse isn't enough, the End of Year Formal committee have turned the entire school into a fortress made of pink glitter and cut-outs of Brock Rumlow and Jessica Smith's faces plastered over pictures of old Hollywood stars, despite the fact that it is September and the Formal isn't until May.

The walls of the high school, once papered with posters warning of STDs and college open days - not a good combination - have been replaced with the monstrosities that the End of Year Formal Committee had created, like Doctor Frankenstein and his monster. The so-called "Roaring 20's", up until the second world war, have become Bucky's most detested time period, solely based on the ridiculous posters and war propaganda that was plastered everywhere. As far as Bucky's concerned, that point of time in history was only beneficial to wealthy white men. If the Formal Committee had stabbed him in the balls with a blunt pencil it would probably be less painful than the selection of such a ridiculous and capitalistic theme. He and Natasha had spent a great deal of time drawing Hitler moustaches on Rumlow's face on the many posters where he was pretending to be Clark Gable.

Now, Bucky isn't a complete cynic; somehow, throughout his father leaving and his arm being lost and his slow decline into depression, he does have plans. Dreams for the future, for leaving the sh*tty little two-bedroom apartment he shares with his mother and sister and going to college, of meeting someone, of falling in love. All he needs to do is get through this year.

Should be easy.

------

Bucky likes English on most days. Unfortunately for today it's far too early, a Monday morning, and Bucky hadn't had time to have a coffee that morning. He sits down in his usual seat - right corner, last row, where spitballs can't reach him - and rests his ankles on the desk, leaning up against the wall behind him. Sam sits down on his left, expressionless and silent. With his dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin and dark clothes, Sam manages to blend into pretty much any crowd - a skill that Bucky envies.

On Bucky's right, Natasha Romanov is sharpening a Hello Kitty pencil on her metal protractor, and she looks over at Bucky to raise one eyebrow in greeting. Not for the first time, Bucky s]wonders how she keeps them so perfect.

Natasha and her family had immigrated from Russia when she was a kid, and joined Bucky's mathematics class in year 8. When she'd first arrived, she and Bucky had spent long hours bonding over Russian tea and food, and apparently she'd found that reason enough to stick around.

Natasha's started scratching something into the table, and the substitute teacher looks a little too scared to tell her to stop. Sam's leaned his head back and is absentmindedly staring at T'Challa in the front row. Peter Quill, on Sam's other side, has his head on the table. He'll be drooling on his Maths textbook in around two minutes.

Bucky pulls his book from his bag, and Natasha tossed him a protractor-sharpened grey lead. Since there's no possible way for Bucky to concentrate at that moment, he starts absently sketching a geometric pattern around the margins of the page, which will hopefully take the rest of the class to complete. Bucky tucks an earbud into his ears and turns on the music, feeling himself immediately relax at the soft sounds of Peach Pit.

There's a knock on the door around ten minutes into the lesson, and Bucky reluctantly looks up from his sketch. The assistant principal enters, some dude in his mid-50's with a constantly runny nose. He wiped said nose on his sleeve, and then wiped his sleeve on his pants. He was followed by a boy.

In books - the romance ones, where the feisty heroine falls in love with the snarky yet sensitive white guy with a tragic past that Bucky has a guilty stash of in his closet - there are certain tropes that let the readers know that something big is going to happen.

If Bucky's life was a corny romance book, there would be a gentle breeze blowing through the room, bringing with it a flurry of leaves. There would be at least one breathy gasp from someone in the room. Bucky would feel like his heart had stopped for a second, he would start to feel flustered, and the boy would have glanced his way and not looked away.

But, thankfully, none of that happens. Instead, the chatter in the classroom dies, and everyone looks towards the boy. Bucky sees Jessica Smith's jaw drop, and he can't help but snicker under his breath.

Bucky doesn't really care about anything that happened at the school - why would he, when he dreads waking up every morning? He is, however, a very observative person, like one of those scientists that spends their day peering at fungus through a microscope. A new guy - especially one with muscles like that (not that Bucky was looking, of course) - means fresh meat, a possible re-shuffling of the social order, and around three lunchtime's worth of gossip that Bucky will inevitably hear about regardless of how uninterested he is. Knowing all of this, Bucky runs a hand through his hair, scratches at the freshly-trimmed back, and leans forward in his seat.

The boy's wearing jeans, boots, and a leather jacket over a white shirt that really leaves nothing to the imagination. His hair's blonde, shorter at the sides and with a square top - a military cut. Bucky prays that he's not one of those Junior Marines or whatever the hell the American version of the Hitler Youth are calling themselves these days. His eyes - a very nice shade of blue - scan the room. He doesn't look scared, or overconfident like Clint did when he did a song for his book report of To Kill A Mockingbird in year seven, also known as ground zero for the downward social spiral of their group.

The assistant principal smiles at the class, seemingly unaware of the mucus on his top lip. "So, it seems we have a new addition to our family here at Brooklyn Secondary. I trust we'll make Steve here welcome. Tell us about yourself, Mr Rogers."

Steve Rogers. A pretty common name, but it suits him.

The boy shrugs, like meeting twenty-eight hostiles in a small stuffy room is a regular Monday endeavour for him. "I just moved here with my dad. We're originally from Brooklyn, but we've been all over. Dad's in the army - pretty high up, too. We were all around the Middle East for a few years, then we went to Mexico. I guess Dad just wanted to come home." Steve shrugs again and smiles. He has a really nice smile.

A guy in the front row pipes up. "Wait, is your dad Colonel Joseph Rogers? The war hero?"

The class is sitting upright, eyes trained on Steve Rogers.

"Yeah, he is," Steve replies easily. "You a fan?"

"He singlehandedly took down that entire battalion in Afghanistan!" the boy in the front says excitedly. "He got a Medal Of Honour! He turned down a Nobel Peace Prize!"

Bucky absentmindedly wonders how killing people could get a person a peace prize, but all he does is raise an eyebrow at Natasha. Steve just laughs softly. It's quite a nice laugh.

"Yeah, back in '08." He smiles. It isn't an embarrassed smile, or one of self-importance. Bucky kind of wants to hit him.

Assistant principal says a few words to the poor substitute behind the desk, and Rogers takes a seat in the second row next to Okoye. Everyone's staring at him, but he's acting as if he's the same as everyone else. He murmurs something to Okoye, and she replies with the suspected sass that comes with everything she says before holding out a hand for him to shake. Brock Rumlow almost falls out of his seat trying to catch Rogers' eye.

Sam removes his gaze from T'Challa - where it's been for the entire sh*tstorm that was the arrival of Steve Rogers - and catches Bucky's eye.

"At least Rumlow will be occupied for a while," he mumbles, and Bucky rolled his eyes in response. Sam wiggles his eyebrows back, and Natasha mutters something about them being idiots before returning to her defamation of school property. Bucky runs a hand through his hair again, picks up his pencil, and resumes his sketch.

------

The final bell of the day rings at three, like it does every day. Bucky gathers up his things from his biology class and makes his way towards the IT department, like he does every day. Despite these two very normal things that happen every day, the day has not been normal in the slightest. Aside from the morning's ass-planting, Bucky has managed to coast under the radar - something he's more than thankful for. The reason for this is because the only thing on everyone's mind is Steve Rogers. Bucky had caught occasional glimpses of him through the hallways throughout the day, and every time he was surrounded by groupies. Jessica Smith was probably the most common.

There had been a lot of googling of his dad in the middle of class. Clint had even looked him up on his sh*tty old flip-phone, and Clint usually only used his phone for angry birds and bubble shooter. The net is full of Joseph Rogers, a blonde guy with a killer smile and muscles that are probably bigger than Bucky's head. There's one story about him and Steve's mother - some journalist from NYC who'd died from a nasty strain of antibiotic-resistant tuberculosis when Steve was twelve. There are also a couple of photos of Steve - one of a scrawny little kid sitting on his dad's shoulder, and another that was obviously a few years later, because Steve looked right at home with his dad's stud buddies - covered in dirt and sweat, muscles bulging under his shirt, and the same smile as his dad's on his face. When Bucky had seen that one he'd quickly closed the tab, deciding to completely lose interest in everything that was Steve Rogers.

Bucky assumes the vague proximity to a celebrity would keep the higher sections of the food chain occupied for at least two months. A potentially incident-free two months, the likes of which Bucky hadn't seen since they had a chemistry teacher in sophom*ore year who looked exactly like Ariana Grande. Bucky knows that the reprieve is temporary, but there are guarantees that come with the sweet lack of bullying; there would be angst, and gossip, and unless Steve Rogers turns out to be a serial killer who murders the whole year level, he will be of no relevance to Bucky.

What is relevant to Bucky is the fact that Sam dropped out of martial arts.

Sam's been obsessed with martial arts since year seven, when he realised that he could incorporate dancing and violence into a single sport. He trains every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, and had tournaments on Sundays. He's never missed a training session.

This Monday afternoon, Sam wanders into the IT office with a six pack of co*ke and says very casually, "I'm not doing martial arts anymore."

Even Kurt, who only knows Sam from a distance, pauses.

Midway through the year before, Bucky had been in the IT department to see a short, Elvis-haired dude who had obviously ingested too much caffeine sitting in the corner. Bucky had said something deprecating, and the dude had responded lightning-fast with an insult of his own in a thick Russian accent. From then on, everyone seemed to accept Kurt as the goblin of the IT office, who allowed them to hang out there if they brought him energy drinks and coffee every once in a while. One time Kurt had noticed Bucky's split lip from another fight with Rumlow, and the next day Rumlow's email had been hacked and he'd been sent to the principal's office for sending his own dick pics to every teacher in the school. Bucky's pretty sure that Kurt's his long-lost brother.

On a normal Monday, Sam and Natasha would show up at 3:15 with co*ke, Mars bars and Red Bull for Kurt. Clint's weird 2000's synth pop would be playing in the background. Natasha would perch on top of a filing cabinet and file her nails into long, sharp talons. Clint and Kurt would argue for about twelve minutes about the latest video game they're both obsessed with. Bucky would be taking down story notes and plot ideas, occasionally mapping out a character or a world as he did so.

On this particular Monday morning, Sam spins slowly in his chair, looking at the ceiling. Natasha has stopped tapping her nails on the filing cabinet. Clint is eating his second Mars bar because Bucky keeps glaring him to make sure he doesn't say anything stupid.

"Any reason why?" Bucky finally asks.

Sam shrugs.

"Is it because of a guy?" Clint asks with his mouth full, and chocolate mixed with saliva spray over Sam's arm. Bucky levels up his glare.

"No," Sam says.

Bucky feels like he should say something. He doesn't know what. What are you supposed to say when your best friend decides to stop doing one of the only things that brings him joy?

Maybe it does have something to do with a guy. Maybe it doesn't. To be completely honest, Sam's never told Bucky about anything other than school stuff, and Bucky's never really thought to ask. He'd assumed that, like himself, Sam's out-of-school life constituted of homework and avoiding family at all costs.

Bucky is pulled out of his train of thought by the look Sam has on his face. It isn't directed at him, though - Sam's looking over his shoulder, his eyes wide. Clint's stopped chewing his Mars bar. Kurt's looked up from his computer. Natasha's raised an eyebrow.

Then a voice speaks up from behind Bucky. An agonisingly familiar voice that makes Bucky silently curse the universe.

"Dude. Nice shirt. Original Queen? Absolute classic."

It turns Bucky's head.

Steve Rogers is leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. His eyes sparkle, and Bucky resolutely ignores the green specks in the blue of his irises.

"I'm looking for Kurt," he says.

Bucky points at Kurt. Sam points at Kurt. Natasha points at Kurt. Clint points at Kurt. Kurt seems to realise that he, not only is the wearer of said Queen shirt, is Kurt.

"That's me," Kurt finally says.

"Hey," Steve says. "I'm Steve."

The room is silent.

"So, the office sent me down here. I can't get onto the network. They told me you were the person to speak to?" Steve addresses Kurt. Bucky notices Steve has a computer tucked under his arm. "If it's a bad time I'll come back later. Only I have some sort of welcome pack in my inbox, apparently. You know, map to the toilets and secret S&M dungeons and all that."

Kurt motions for Steve to come in, and pops open the computer Steve hands him. Clint stands up.

"You want a Mars bar?" he asks, holding one out. Steve takes it with a smile. Natasha kicks a swivel chair in Steve's direction, who sits down with a murmured thanks. Bucky is beginning to realise this dude is ridiculously polite as well as ridiculously attractive.

"I don't think I've met you guys yet," Steve says through a mouthful of chocolate. "It's been a blurry sort of a day."

"Sam, Clint and James," Natasha says, pointing at each person. "I'm Natasha."

Kurt gives finger guns over the computer, and Bucky grimaces. Steve just smiles brightly at him. Bucky silently wishes that Kurt would hurry up, so that Steve could leave and normality would once again sink in.

"So you're James?" Steve asks. He sounds weirdly interested, as if he wants to know things about Bucky. Bucky's surprised he isn't flinching away in disgust, since he'd spent the day with Rumlow and Jessica Smith, and that couldn't have made Bucky look good.

"I prefer Bucky," Bucky says. His voice sounds a bit hoarse. "Only Nat calls me James."

"Bucky's a cute name," Steve says cheerfully. Nobody really knows how to respond to that. Thankfully, Kurt hands Steve his computer back a moment later, and Bucky almost sags with relief.

"I should get outta here," Steve says, looking guilty. "Gotta help Dad unpack."

"We'll see you around," Clint says cheerfully, stuffing another Mars bar into his mouth, and Steve grins.

"I'm counting it." His eyes roam over everyone in the room. "Thanks, Kurt. See you guys around." Then his eyes land on Bucky, and Bucky feels as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "Bucky."

He grins and walks out of the room, and all eyes immediately land on Bucky.

There is only one solution to this problem.

Bucky is going to drop out of school.

He must have said this out loud, because Sam leans over to punch his shoulder.

-----

Monday's routine has been ruined about a thousand times over, and Bucky isn't a fan of change. So he isn't in the best mood on the way home, Sam silent at his shoulder. Not even Hozier's crooning voice is helping Bucky's mood, but he shares an earbud with Sam anyway. And besides, the IT office is Bucky's Neutral Zone, one of the few places he could be free of the many nemeses that existed only to cause him pain. Having that safe space interfered with, even if it seems like something small? It doesn't feel great.

He's explaining all of this to Sam as they walk, but Bucky isn't sure that Sam's listening. He's playing with his hoodie, which is uncommon for Sam. Then Bucky remembers the Situation.

"So what happened with martial arts?" Bucky asks tentatively.

"Yeah," Sam says. He squinted at the road. "Think I've had enough."

They walk another block in silence. Unless he's been replaced by some shapeshifting alien, Sam wouldn't just quit martial arts. His bedroom reeks of sweat and gym socks and Deep Heat. His desk is covered in trophies. He basically lives at his dojo, and Bucky knows - better than most people - that something is very wrong.

"Just had enough?" Bucky repeats, trying to sound casual.

Sam shrugs. "Yeah. Just had enough."

He's lying. Anyone who knows Sam would be able to see it, but as much as he wants to, Bucky doesn't press the issue. When they part ways at Sam's street, Bucky mentally adds the Sam Situation to his ever-growing list of headaches.

When he gets home, Becca's opening the apartment door before Bucky can even touch the handle. She must have been listening for his footsteps.

"Don't mention anything," she warns, and Bucky internally groans - he knows what that means. Ma's been crying again.

Sure enough, when he steps through the door Bucky spots Winifred Barnes sitting in the sh*tty old armchair next to the window with that expensive necklace she only wears when she's upset. There's a pile of DVDs on the couch, and without even looking at them Bucky just knows they're period pieces where the main character would die of some preventable disease while looking pretty and vulnerable. He casts a look at Becca, who has her lips pursed.

"There's my boy!" Winifred crows, pulling Bucky into her arms. She smells of perfume and cigarettes. "How was school?"

"It was good, ma," Bucky mumbles into her shoulder. He doesn't mention Steve Rogers.

"Buck and I were gonna cook dinner," Becca pipes up. "Then we could have a movie marathon - Star Wars or something like that."

Bucky casts her a grateful look - Becca's always been better at dealing with Ma's episodes than he is. Ma smiles and wipes her eyes discreetly.

"That's very sweet of you, Rebecca. James, you go help your sister."

"Yes, ma," Bucky says, kissing her cheek. "I'll bring you some tea."

Winnifred gives him a watery smile and sits back down in the armchair.

"What happened?" he asks lowly as soon as he gets into the kitchen, turning on the kettle as he goes. Becca grimaces in response.

"Dad called."

Bucky stills, his hand on the cabinet door. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing much," Becca mumbles, pulling the tea out of the pantry and tossing him the jar. "He was drunk again."

Bucky sighs, measuring out the tea leaves into the pot. "Is he never not drunk these days?"

"Ma's not doing well, Buck," Becca says softly. There are tears in her eyes. Bucky sighs again, and pulled her into a hug.

"We'll figure it out, Beck. We always do," he says quietly. Becca melts into him, and Bucky rests his head on hers. She's so mature and talented that sometimes he forgets that Becca is still just a kid.

"I'll make pasta," Becca finally mumbles. "Can you get the passata out for me?"

------

As soon as Bucky's alone in his room, he pulls up the website for Sam's martial arts dojo. A newsletter has just been posted; there's a training weekend coming up, someone's selling raffle tickets, and there's a new instructor that moved from Australia. There is absolutely nothing that could help Bucky figure out what's happening with the Sam Situation.

Bucky closes the tab with a sigh, and starts absently flicking through the files he has open. A paper for philosophy, a maths homework sheet, the latest story outline for a sci-fi he's thinking of writing. The empty word document labelled College.

That file is meant to hold the short piece Bucky has to write to be eligible for the Creative Writing scholarship at NYU. So far, all he's got is a mostly blank page with a couple of half-hearted dot point and exactly one paragraph. With the way he's going, he won't be able to get the scholarship, or any other scholarships for creative writing courses, and his entire life plan will be spun out of proportion. The plan is to get into college, then move into a dodgy apartment with Sam and pretend high school never happened. But that's still a year away, and Bucky still needs to actually get accepted into college.

Bucky closes his computer and goes back to the kitchen to help Becca boil the pasta.

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

Bucky feels as if he's recovering from the worst hangover ever, and he hadn't even gotten drunk last night, although part of him is wishing he had. He's checked his dumb timetable about five times over, and hasn't registered anything. He's twitching and fuzzy from lack of sleep, and there's a headache that's slowly making its way from the back of his head to his eyeballs.

The locker next to Bucky's head slams closed and he jumps, instantly regretting the three extra-strong coffees he'd had earlier. Sam just raises an eyebrow at him.

"You look like sh*t."

"Dad called last night," Bucky mumbles in reply, and Sam winces in sympathy before glancing behind him.

"Your day's about to get worse if we don't move."

Bucky turns around and lets out a small groan. Brock Rumlow is walking down the hall towards them, surrounded by assorted football team members and hangers-on. Bucky is about to turn away and get his ass to class before it's planted on the floor two days in a row, but before he can do anything something catches his eye. Right in the centre of the group is Steve Rogers. He's wearing a green Henley and a red bomber jacket. It would make anyone else look like a ridiculous Christmas tree. Not Steve.

Jessica Smith has attached herself to his side, and is twirling her hair and giggling. Steve seems to not realise that she's basically offering him her body, and is instead smiling politely. His gaze meet Bucky's, and Bucky watches in confusion as his face lights up and he gently pries Jessica off his arm.

"Bucky," Steve says as greeting, giving him a mock-salute. It would have made anyone else look like a dork. Not Steve. The conversation around them dims. Bucky sees Rumlow's eyes dart between the two of them, his functioning brain cells working extra hard to figure out what's happening, but he seems to not know how to react. For Bucky, that's a good thing.

So instead of questioning Steve's weird behaviour, instead of giving the assholes that have made his life a living hell the proverbial middle finger, Bucky just nods in reply. "Rogers."

Steve winks at him and continues down the hall. Jessica sends a glare in Bucky's direction before flouncing after Steve. Rumlow is staring at Bucky as if picturing his entrails smeared on the wall. Bucky just raises an eyebrow at him and turned away.

"What was that about?" Sam asked, sounding amused. Bucky had almost completely forgotten he was there.

"Nothing," Bucky said. "So, maths?"

Sam just grins at him.

------

Bucky isn't an idiot. He knows that all the books he loves aren't reflective of the real world. The books that tried were about as depressing as Bucky's own life, which kind of defeats the purpose. Despite this, Bucky knows from both his extensive reading habits and personal experience that there are three basic approaches to dealing with the world.

1. Keep your head down and your face out of anyone's line of fire.
2. Charge headfirst into the enemy's lines and pray that they're too taken aback by your stupidity to do anything but wait until you've skewered them.
3. Cry and hide in the bathroom.

For a long time, Bucky was number two. Then he lost his arm, and immediately realised that the only rational option was the first. Sam is the same. Natasha is number two, but only because she can actually get away with it. Clint would also choose number two, but his metaphorical weaponry consists of a plastic Viking hat and a bow and arrow made from rubber.

Steve Rogers clearly chooses option two. In his first week at Brooklyn Secondary he joins the End of Year Formal Committee and the chess club. Details about his life filter through the school's gossip system, and Bucky tries very hard not to be interested, and mostly succeeds. The things he does find out go something like this:
1. His mother was a high-up journalist who interviewed celebrities
2. She was interviewing Steve's dad and they fell in love and got married
3. She gave birth to Steve
4. She immediately divorced Steve's dad and took Steve with her
5. She was in Africa doing a piece about preventable diseases that affected the population, then caught tuberculosis and died rather horrendously
6. Steve went to live with his dad, who was a certified jughead who Bucky immediately detested
7. They moved back to New York

Every time Steve sees Bucky in the hallway he's friendly, which is slightly disconcerting to Bucky, who is more used to the slam-Bucky-into-the-lockers greeting that Rumlow and his friends are so fond of. At some point Steve had started calling him Buck, which should piss Bucky off but doesn't. Still not entirely sure whether Steve was messing with him or not, Bucky's default response is to nod, maybe say, "Rogers," in greeting, then flee in the opposite direction. Steve is in his English, History and Philosophy classes, but was always up to his unfairly attractive shoulders in people who Bucky would rather throw off a cliff than speak to.

On Tuesday, Clint and Sam come over for movies and pizza. Clint forces them to watch the Hunger Games trilogy again, and as usual, cries the entire way through from a mixture of Katniss's aim, Rue dying, and Peeta's unfortunately spelled name. Sam's on his phone, and Bucky looks over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the contact name Sam's so furiously texting.

"I didn't know you had Okoye's number," Bucky says casually. Sam shrugs.

"We're friends," is all he says,, and Clint's eyes light up.

"Do you like her?" Then he pauses. "Wait no you can't, she's a chick." More deliberation. "Do you like someone she's close to?"

Bucky sighs, not-so-patiently waiting for Clint to come to the obvious conclusion. He can almost see the gears in Clint's thick skull turning. Sam just glares at them.

"Is it T'Challa?!" Clint finally gasps.

Sam's lips tighten, and he turns back to his phone.

That's all the proof Bucky needs.

On Wednesday, Bucky comes home to Ma and her black eye, and Becca has to physically restrain him from storming over to his father's sh*tty one-bedroom apartment and beating his brains out. Which would not have worked, because a) his father was in the army and is therefore shredded, and b) his father has both his arms, which is an unfair advantage. Before bed, Bucky writes the profile of a new character out in one of the many notebooks he has lying around, then rips the page out when he recognises who he's basing this character on.

On Thursday, Kurt corners Bucky after school, begging him to help with some IT thing. Bucky doesn't know anything about computers, but he still sits there as Kurt tinkers with a busted-up Dell laptop, letting him talk about how he's absolutely convinced that the old woman who lives down the hall from him is actually Baba Yaga. When Bucky gets home, Becca's out and his ma's locked herself in her room and even the promise of toasted cheese sandwiches can't coax her out. Bucky makes them anyway, setting a tray with a sandwich and a glass of red wine on it in front of his mother's bedroom door. He leaves some on the table for Becca and whichever friend is coming home with her tonight, and takes his own plate to his room. Before bed, Bucky takes the scrunched-up character profile out of the trash.

By Friday, Bucky is tired. He's tired of school, of home, of his stupid writing, of the Sam Situation, of Clint's boar headedness, of Natasha's apathy, of Steve's stupid face, of Rumlow. He's even tired of watching Sam stare at T'Challa every English class. And the IT office has started to smell like Clint (which wasn't a good thing). Maybe that's why Bucky suggests they eat in the cafeteria.

When he says it, everyone stares at him. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

The last time they'd eaten in the cafeteria was the year before. It had started with Clint daring himself to do something stupid, and had ended with Brock Rumlow dumping four strawberry milkshakes down his back and ruining his hearing aids. Then Natasha had almost put Rumlow in the hospital and ended up with a suspension. They hadn't been back since.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Natasha drawls.

"You sure we wouldn't be tempting fate?" Sam adds.

"It's just lunch," Bucky says, sighing. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Natasha grimaces. "That's the definition of tempting fate."

Clint stands up, throwing the remainder of his sandwich in the bin. "Come on, Nat. We'll be fine!"

"Your optimism astounds me," Sam mutters, but stands up as well. "Fine, I'll come."

Kurt cracked an eye open from where he was clearly taking a nap. "You guys need company?"

Bucky always thought it was funny how people were scared of the lanky Russian tech guy, but he manages to keep a straight face. "We'll be fine."

Kurt shrugs and chucks a Malteser into his mouth. "Your funeral."

The cafeteria is ridiculously bright, and Bucky feels a bit like a vampire waking from hibernation or whatever it was they did. He doesn't have much knowledge on vampires. Clint's engaged the ancient-looking lunch lady on the day's special, which looks like nuclear waste dyed poop green. Natasha grabs an apple and doesn't pay. Sam gets a soggy protein wrap. Bucky chooses not to buy anything, because he values his money and also his health.

"These faeces are my spirit animal," Bucky grumbles when they sat down, poking at the nuclear waste on Clint's plate.

"I think it's a casserole," Clint says helpfully. Natasha digs her fingernails into her apple, making patterns with the crescent-shaped marks. Sam pokes at his protein wrap. Bucky sees Rumlow looking their way, and prays that there won't be another strawberry milkshake incident.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," a voice says from behind Bucky, and it all becomes clear as to why Rumlow's watching them. "I think whoever made it doesn't have tastebuds."

"Hey Steve," Clint says around a mouthful of the casserole. Bucky silently prays that Clint chokes, before turning around in his seat and giving Steve a forced smile.

"Surprised you'd be caught dead talking to us," Bucky says casually. Sam shoots him a glare, as if to say don't you dare scare him off. Bucky ignores him.

Steve doesn't seem to mind, because he sits down next to Bucky with surprising grace. He has a cap pulled low over his head, and Bucky feels slightly disappointed that he can't see all of Steve's face. Then he immediately retracts said feeling.

"Well, I don't really care about that kind of stuff," Steve says. His eyes are very blue up close. Bucky kicks himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Natasha watching them cryptically.

"So was there any reason you came over here, or did you just want a change of crowd?" Sam asks casually. Steve seems to come back to himself, and looks away from Bucky, who finds himself irrationally missing the feeling of those eyes on him.

"Actually, yeah. I signed up for History, but I'm a bit behind." Steve pauses for a second. "Actually, I'm very far behind. Since we're all in the same class, I wondered if I could study with you every now and then...?"

"You want to study with us?" Natasha asks suspiciously. Sam shoots her a look. Clint looks over at Bucky with a gleam in his eyes. Bucky ignores him.

"Why are you taking history if you're no good at it?" Bucky asks. He doesn't mean for it to come out rude, but Sam gives him the same look he'd just given Natasha.

Steve shrugs. "I like history, but I'm not exactly up to date. It wasn't offered as a subject at my last school."

"Sure, we can have a study group," Clint says, still with that gleam in his eyes. "How about Fridays after class? Sam and Bucky both live nearby."

"Not my place," Sam says quickly. "My mom has book club on Fridays."

Bucky sighs internally. He knows the real reason Sam doesn't want anyone at his place - his parents are crazy religious, to the point where it's almost scary walking through the door. But that means that Bucky will have Steve Rogers in his home on Fridays.

"Then at Bucky's," Clint chirps.

"Great," Steve says. He's smiling. "I can't do this Friday night, but I'll be free next week. I'll see you around."

Steve gives Bucky another mock-salute that Bucky half-heartedly returns, before standing up and walking back over to Rumlow's table. Bucky does not watch him leave.

The last class of the day is History, which Bucky usually enjoys. Natasha, Clint and Sam are all in his class, Rumlow isn't there, and it's on a Friday afternoon. But today, Steve Rogers sits next to him. Bucky's in his normal position - feet stretched out under the desk, leaning against the wall and staring resolutely at the ceiling - and resolutely tries to ignore Steve being right there. Bucky tucks an earbud into his ear and takes out his computer, drowning out the conversation Steve's started with Natasha.

They should have just had lunch in the IT office.

------

The 'thing' Steve has on Friday night turns out to make it into the paper. Apparently his dad had organised a huge get-together in the town hall with all his old army buddies, and Clint calls Bucky far too early on Sunday morning, telling him that Steve was in the paper. Sure enough, when Bucky looks it up on his phone, he finds a photo of Steve with his arm around a pretty brunette. He's smiling at her. Her lips are cherry red. Bucky turns off his phone.

Sam is acting strange. Which shouldn't have been surprising, considering the Sam Situation. Ever since they were kids, Bucky's been fluent in Sam - meaning he's understood exactly what Sam meant even if he wasn't talking. Except for the martial arts thing (which had been a surprise), Bucky can usually read Sam like an open book. But he can't figure out what's going on this time, and it's kind of driving Bucky crazy. He doesn't like not knowing things, and knows that it isn't something he can magically fix with best friend magic or whatever.

On Sunday night, Bucky's lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Not exactly uncommon. He's tired, his head hurts, and the picture from the newspaper would not leave his head. So it's kind of a surprise when Bucky gets a text from an unknown number.

Hey, is this Bucky?

Bucky frowns at his phone.

Who's this?

The text back is immediate.

It's Steve. Clint gave me your number.

Bucky makes a mental reminder to slap Clint upside the head the next time he sees him.

Hey. How was your thing?

Kinda boring, Steve replies. Lots of drunk army dudes. Heaps of fun. How was your weekend?

Boring, Bucky types back. Saw a movie with my sister. Made waffles. Same old.

Bucky curses himself silently, wondering why he's telling Steve about his eating habits and his sister, but Steve doesn't seem to mind.

Sounds peaceful.

It is, Bucky finds himself agreeing.

A few seconds pass before Bucky decides to instigate the conversation. A very rare occurrence.

How're you liking Brooklyn Secondary? You seem to be settling in quickly.

It's nice. Steve replies almost immediately. And settling in quickly is kinda a necessity when you move around a lot.

Bucky thinks about that for a second. He wonders what it would be like to start somewhere new. Away from Rumlow and Jessica Smith, away from the rest of that group and everything that brought him misery.

Must be nice, Bucky types. Fresh starts.

Steve doesn't respond for a minute. There's not really such a thing, he finally replies.

Meaning?

You drag yourself along wherever you go. Unless you got a different personality and severe memory loss, you never really get a fresh start, because the old you is always there.

And you always managed to fit in? Bucky asks, and he can almost hear Steve's laugh.

Definitely not. But it isn't all about fitting in. Sometimes you gotta find the right crowd and do what makes you happy.

Bucky catches his reflection in his phone screen. His reflection is grinning like an idiot. Did you manage to get a philosophy degree somewhere along the way there, Rogers?

That could be useful, but no. I am, however, an expert when it comes to settling in. I also know that basically every school, anywhere in the world, is pretty much exactly the same. Maybe there are more barbecues in Australia at their school dances or something, but I have no idea.

Bucky feels himself laugh. Yeah, I'm not really into dancing. Or barbecues. Or glitter.

Yeah, the End of Year Formal Committee went kinda overboard, didn't they? But I'm surprised you're not a little more excited - I've heard you talking with Sam about 20th century culture.

How did he notice that? It never really occurred to Bucky that Steve Rogers would want to willingly learn things about him.

Yeah, well... I'm not exactly a fan when it comes to that particular part of history.

You wanna explain that for me, Mr Cryptic?

Bucky laughs. I mean, it was a pretty sh*tty time in history. It's romanticized and stuff, but really, the only people who benefitted were rich white men. The war vets from WWI were suffering, the poor were dying, Germany was a mess, Russia was even more of a mess, and propaganda was plastered over literally every surface to make eager-eyed teenagers and young adults want to serve their country, when in reality all it did was get them killed or traumatized.

Steve doesn't respond for a few minutes. Bucky wonders if he'd scared him off.

I get it, Steve finally texts. You're even smarter than you look, Barnes.

And how smart do I look, exactly?

Like a hot Einstein.

Bucky doesn't know how to respond to that.

Crap, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later?

Bucky's fingers feel numb as he types his response. Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.

Steve types a smiley face, and Bucky puts his phone down. He stares at the ceiling for another twenty minutes, then pulls up Netflix on his computer. He watches over an hour's worth of Pride and Prejudice. Steve doesn't text again that night.

-----

When Bucky arrives at his locker on Monday morning, it's to see Natasha standing there, not Sam like usual. She's chewing on some gum, occasionally blowing a bubble and letting it pop. A couple of girls hanging up Formal posters keep glancing over at her nervously.

"Something's up with Sam," Natasha says as greeting. Bucky rubs his forehead and opens his locker.

"Did he say something to you?" Bucky asks curiously, but Natasha shook her head.

"No. But the martial arts thing is weird. And he's been quiet lately - like, more quiet than he usually is."

Bucky bites his lip, deliberating his answer. "I think something's definitely going on with him," he finally says. "I have no idea what, though. He's not telling me anything."

"Do you think it's a guy thing?"

Bucky lets himself think about it for a second. Sam isn't exactly in the closet, but he isn't broadcasting himself, either. Meaning that the only people who know about his sexuality are their small group of friends, and maybe Okoye.

"I don't know, Nat. We'll keep an eye on him, okay? If it seems like there's something serious going on, I'll - I dunno. I'll think of something."

Natasha nods thoughtfully, and blows another bubble with her gum.

"Hey, I gotta go do something," Bucky finds himself saying. "I'll meet you in English?"

Natasha looks up at him, as if she's come out of a stupor. "Oh, yeah. Sure." She grins and ruffled his hair, making him scowl. "Ready to watch Sam make eyes at T'Challa for 45 minutes?"

"Not looking forward to it," Bucky mutters, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you there."

Bucky walks down the hallway and turns a corner, and sees him straight away. Steve's leaning against the wall, engaged in conversation with Jessica Smith and some dark-haired girl Bucky doesn't know the name of. He's pretty sure her name is Winnie or Wendy or something.

"Rogers," Bucky says as greeting, and Steve lights up when he sees him. It is decidedly not cute in the slightest.

"Hey Buck," Steve says cheerfully. Bucky wonders how someone could be so happy so early in the morning.

"I just wanted to ask if everything was okay last night," Bucky says, resolutely ignoring the two girls. "You disappeared pretty suddenly."

Jessica looks as if she's about to throw punches. Winnie or whatever her name was has stars in her eyes.

Steve just grimaces. "Yeah. I forgot that I needed to do something for my dad. He gets pissy if I mess with his schedule."

Bucky tries not to think about what "pissy" meant, and manages a small laugh. "Yeah, I get that. Just glad I didn't scare you off or anything."

Steve just grins. "You? Never, Buck." He checks his schedule. "You got English now, right? I'll come."

Jessica glares daggers at Bucky, before turning to Steve with a sugar-sweet smile. "I'll see you at recess, right Stevie?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve says, flashing his smile at Jessica. "I'll see you then." He waves to Winnie/Wendy, who grins at him, then starts walking down the hall.

"Star-struck, queer?" Jessica mocks. Bucky rolls his eyes at her and starts walking after Steve.

"Jealousy's an ugly look on anyone, Smith."

Jessica looks outraged, but Winnie/Wendy snorts.

"Wanda, shut the f*ck up," Jessica snaps and turns on her heel, stalking down the corridor.

"Stevie?" Bucky questions as he catches up to Steve. Steve snorts.

"Bad, isn't it? But apparently I can't choose my nicknames."

"Makes you sound like a schoolboy from the 20's."

"With asthma."

"And stick limbs."

"And a bowl cut," Steve adds, throwing a grin in Bucky's direction. Bucky realises that Steve is a few inches taller than him.

People smile at Steve when he passes, and nod, and wave. He doesn't seem to be embarrassed being seen in Bucky's presence. Bucky wonders if Steve really is as good at reading people as he'd claimed to be. Brock Rumlow is standing at the door of the English classroom, and Bucky silently curses. A full week of not getting his ass kicked is obviously not going to last. Rumlow looks between Bucky and Steve, and his eyes narrow. He opens his mouth, obviously about to say something to humiliate Bucky, before Steve's talking over him.

"Hey, Brock," Steve says cheerfully. "How was your weekend?"

Rumlow looks bewildered, as if he hadn't expected Steve to say anything. "Uh... It was good. You missed the football game, we kicked ass. You?"

"Pretty much normal. Did some stuff with Dad. Skyped with my girlfriend." Steve shrugs. "The next football game is away, right? Near the beach?"

"Yeah. We should organise something, invite the guys and the cheer team. I'll text you about it," Brock says. He looks like he'd been struck with a cattle prod, the way his eyes were flicking from Steve to Bucky to the barely-there space between their shoulders.

"Sounds good," Steve says with a grin.

Bucky looks over Rumlow's shoulder into the classroom. Natasha is balancing on the back legs of her chair, raising an eyebrow in his direction. Sam's sitting with his arms crossed, resolutely ignoring the way T'Challa's trying to catch his eye. Okoye keeps glaring between the two of them like she wants to kill them both. Bucky raises his eyebrows at Natasha, looking towards Sam and T'Challa, then back at her, and she shrugs, looking miffed. Natasha hates not knowing things.

"Come sit with us, man," Brock's saying, effectively breaking Bucky from his nonverbal conversation with Natasha. "I wanna hear about that thing you were at on the weekend."

Steve grimaces. "Sorry man, I promised Quill I'd sit with him. We're doing the project together."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, because he knows for a fact that Peter Quill is doing the project with Gamora, but Brock doesn't seem to know that.

"I'll see you at recess," Steve says, accepting Brock's fist bump. Rumlow glares at Bucky and tries to shove past him, but Bucky moves at the last second and sends Rumlow stumbling into the classroom.

"Thought Quill was partnered with Gamora," Bucky says quietly, and Steve shrugs.

"I wanted an excuse to sit with you," he says casually, and slings an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Come on. You'll have to explain to me what we did last lesson - I wasn't listening."

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "Not very responsible of you, Rogers." Steve just grinned.

------

Natasha corners Bucky again later in the day.

"You saw what was happening with Sam and T'Challa, didn't you?" she demands.

"I don't know why you're talking to me about this, Tash," Bucky grumbles. "It's not like I'm good with this kind of stuff."

"Yeah, but you're his best friend," Natasha says, crossing her arms.

"That doesn't mean he tells me things," Bucky shoots back, and Natasha sighs, pinching her brow.

"Fine. Just keep me in the loop, okay? I'm worried about him."

Bucky sighs, and loops his arm around Natasha. "I know, Nat. We'll figure it out."

---

On Thursday, Bucky's waiting for Sam outside his chemistry class with Natasha and Clint, who are in the middle of an argument about who would win in a fight - Hawkeye or Black Widow from those comics they both seem to love so much.

"It's no contest!" Clint's protesting. "Hawkeye is the best archer in pretty much the whole world!"

"You're fooling yourself, Barton," Natasha scoffs. "If it came to hand-to-hand, Widow would be all over his ass."

“Okay, you know it’s not fair when you're mean to me, because it turns me on and makes my brain go all fuzzy.”

Bucky drowns them out - they have the same argument basically every week. Instead, he watches as Okoye drops a slip of paper onto Sam's desk on her way out, whispering something in his ear. Bucky raises his eyebrow at her when she comes out of the classroom, but Okoye just shakes her head slightly. Sam appears a few moments later.

"What took you so long?" Clint asks, sneakily kicking Natasha in the shin. It's a wonder she doesn't knock him out.

"Someone set themselves on fire," Sam replies. "Only half the class did their homework. The usual."

"We still on for Saturday's movie night?" Bucky askes as they start walking down the corridor, and Sam shrugs.

"Dunno. Maybe."

Bucky and Natasha share a glance. Sam usually loved movie nights - they only happened once a month, and all four of them sat on Natasha's couch and watched a certain genre of movies - most of them being absolutely terrible. And Sam doesn't look so great - his eyes are vacant, and he's gnawing furiously on his bottom lip. Bucky's mind goes back to Okoye, and he wonders if she knows what was going on.

"I think Okoye knows something about Sam," Bucky whispered in Natasha's ear, and she nods, looking troubled.

"We'll talk later," she mumbles back.

Bucky's about to say something back, but Clint's waving at something behind his shoulder, so Bucky turns around. Steve's jogging towards them, and - Jesus Christ, his shirt is really tight when there's no jacket over the top of it.

"Hey guys," Steve says breathlessly. "You bought your tickets yet?"

"For what?" Sam asks curiously. Bucky tries to remember how to breathe.

"The Formal. I don't know why we're selling them so early - I guess we need the money for more glitter." Steve winks at Bucky, and Bucky completely forgets everything he knows about anything, ever. "So they're only 20 dollars each, which is still ridiculously expensive for tickets, but whatever. So, eight?"

"Eight?" Clint echoes, furrowing his eyebrows.

"For the four of you and your dates? I assume you're gonna do the courteous thing and pay for your date?" Steve says. His eyes are twinkling with mirth.

"I'm going with Clint," Natasha says casually, ignoring the way Clint's face light up. "So that'd just be six." She turned to look up at Clint, and rolled her eyes. "I'll pay for yours, dumbass."

Bucky doesn't even realise he's holding 40 bucks in his hand until Steve takes it from him with a smile. Their fingers brush. Sam's muttering something under his breath while fishing through his wallet. Natasha and Clint are talking quietly - Bucky doesn't know what the subject is, but there's a lot of elbowing and shoulder punches. Steve tears six glittery slips off the stack in his hand and puts them in Natasha's outstretched hand.

"Great. It'll be fun - start working on those dates. And we're still on for study group tonight, right? I brought chips." Steve smiles again, and Bucky nods numbly.

"I'll text you my address," he finds himself saying, and Steve salutes him before jogging off back the way he came.

"You have his number?" Natasha asks curiously, a smile playing at her lips. Bucky feels his face heat up, and he scowls to combat the flush.

"Clint gave him my number without my permission," he defends, and Clint snickers.

"So who're you two planning to bring to the dance?" Clint asks, grinning like an idiot. Sam smacks him upside the head and starts walking towards the front doors, muttering mutinously under his breath. Clint scurries after him, still cackling.

Bucky is not going to the Formal.

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

Bucky's known Clint since they were little - not that he remembers or anything, but that's what he's been told. Clint has just always been a constant in Bucky's life, and he's pretty okay with that. When Clint's around, Bucky can pretend that he's the responsible one.

Currently, Bucky's sitting outside the school on Friday afternoon, kicking his heels and fussing with his hair despite knowing that it'll just make it frizzier. Usually he'd be relieved - school's ended for the week, and he can just relax for two whole days. But all Bucky Barnes can think about is, Steve Rogers is going to be in my house.

"Yo," Clint says, jumping on top of the ledge Bucky's sitting on. He's the first to show up - which is surprising. Clint's barely ever the first person to show up to anything. He's the type of guy who shows up fifteen minutes late half-asleep with the drink that had made him late.

"Hey," Bucky says listlessly.

"I was thinking," Clint starts, and Bucky immediately tenses. Nothing ever good comes from Clint thinking. "We should go visit Sam's martial arts school."

"Why?" Bucky asks warily.

"Because Sam wants to skip movie night! Because he quit martial arts! Because Okoye from our English class keeps having secret conversations with him, and they don't even know each other!"

"Obviously they do," Bucky mumbles, only half-listening. Most of his attention is focused on the school entrance.

"Dude, something is seriously wrong. What if Sam's gone all manic-depressive over some dude? What if-"

"Clint, enough," Bucky interrupts wearily. "First Nat, and now you. Maybe Sam's just sick of it. And besides, it isn't our place to meddle in his life."

Even as he says it, Bucky doesn't believe himself. Sam wouldn't just quit without a legitimate reason. Bucky knows that his best friend is hiding something - something pretty big, from the way he's been acting. And he won't tell Bucky about it. Just thinking about it makes Bucky's stomach churn. Before Clint can open his mouth again, Bucky spots Natasha and Sam pushing their way through the crowd towards them.

"Hey," Sam says, frowning. It's as if he knows what they were talking about.

"Where's Steve?" Clint asks curiously.

"I saw him talking to Wanda Maximoff," Natasha says. "It looked pretty intense."

Bucky knows Wanda. She's the nice brunette that hung around Jessica Smith. Bucky vaguely recalls a brother.

"Seems he's done now," Clint says, nodding his head towards the school gates. Steve's looking down at his phone, his forehead creased into a frown. Bucky doesn't think he's ever seen Steve frown - not really, anyway. But when he looks up, Steve wipes his face into a carefully neutral expression.

"Hey guys," he says, shoving his phone into his back pocket. His smile looks a bit forced. "Sorry I'm late, I had to talk to Wanda about our project for Economics."

"That's fine," Sam says vaguely. He's looking off into the distance.

"Alright, let's go," Natasha says, pulling Clint down from the ledge and not letting go of his hand. From his expression, Clint doesn't seem to mind. "I'm ready for some of your ma's Borscht, Bucky."

"I'm sure that if you ask, Ma will make you basically anything you wanted," Bucky snorts. "She's obsessed with you." He turns to Steve. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I guess," Steve says, his eyes crinkling. "I feel like I'll fall asleep forever if I have to hear about Brooklyn in the depression again."

"At least you'll be studying up for the Formal," Bucky says, nudging him. Steve laughs, and Bucky's stomach swoops.

"Yeah, I guess I will."

Natasha falls into step beside Bucky as Clint starts talking about depression-era fashion, and Steve seems to actually be interested in what he's saying. They all walk in relative silence, save for Clint's ramblings, and when they arrive at Bucky's house, Sam walks in without waiting, as he usually does.

"Hey, Winifred," Sam says on the way past. Bucky's ma looks up from the couch and smiles. Bucky winces at the red rims of her eyes.

"Hello, Sam," she says, before turning her attention to Bucky and holding out her arms. "James, how was your day?"

"It was good, ma," Bucky says, letting his mother envelop him in a hug.

"Hey, Mrs Barnes," Clint chirps on his way through to the kitchen. "Is Beck here?"

"She's in her room - Natasha, dear, how are you?"

Natasha accepts the hug that Ma offers, and they start a conversation in Russian about Natasha's father. Bucky looks over to the door to see Steve looking amused, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"You gonna lurk over there, or are you gonna come inside and help us with the food?" Clint calls over, re-emerging from the hallway with Becca in tow. She shoots finger guns at the hallway who rolls his eyes in return. Her eyes widens when she sees Steve, and her face slowly splits into a sly grin.

"Rebecca," Bucky warns, and Becca snickers.

It's then that Winifred looks up from her conversation with Natasha, and her eyes fall on Steve. She looks over at Bucky, then back at Steve, a smile spreading across her face.

"Hi Mrs Barnes," Steve says. He sounds almost shy. "I'm Steve."

"Please, call me Winifred, dear," she says. Her smile is really big. "James hasn't mentioned he made a new friend."

"Ma, please," Bucky groans. Steve casts him an amused look, and Bucky decides he's had enough of the conversation. "I'm going to help Becca and Clint with the food."

Of course, knowing his sister, Bucky isn't exactly out of the woods.

"He's cute," Becca says casually when he joins her in the kitchen.

"You shouldn't try to piss me off when I'm holding a knife," Bucky reminds her. Becca snickers but stays quiet.

After successfully harassing Steve, Winifred leaves for her room, and Becca steals some of the food she'd helped prepare and flounces off to wherever she's going. Bucky doesn't keep track of her.

"I forgot your real name's James," Steve says, sitting down next to Bucky on the couch. "Where'd Bucky come from?"

"My middle name," Bucky replies. "Buchanan. Ma has this weird thing about old presidents."

Steve nods, like this makes sense. "I also didn't know you're Russian."

Bucky snorts. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Rogers."

"Hopefully not for long," Steve replies mildly. Bucky looks over at him in surprise, but Steve's face doesn't carry a trace of mockery.

"We've got snacks!" Clint calls out dramatically, stepping into the room with Natasha and Sam trailing behind him. "Crisps, chocolate, and Becca's caramels!"

Bucky snorts. "You know she probably spat in those, right?"

"I don't give a damn," Clint says through a mouthful of caramel. "They're so damn good I'd eat them if she put rat poison in them."

"You do you, Clint," Sam mumbles.

Studying only lasts around an hour before they all decide to give up the pretence that they're actually doing anything, and they end up spread across Bucky's tiny living room, textbooks abandoned.

"So how'd you end up at Brooklyn Secondary?" Clint asks, throwing some crisps into his mouth.

"Dad couldn't find any good military schools, so he just chucked me into the closest public school," Steve says, stretching his arms above his head. Bucky resolutely does not look at the exposed skin of his midriff.

"So are you sticking around?" Natasha asks, and Steve shrugs.

"I have no idea," he says. "Dad can get antsy if he's in one place for too long. I'm hoping it won't be for a little while."

"It must be hard, leaving your friends behind all the time," Sam says. He's actually listening to the conversation, cradling a glass of co*ke in his hands.

"Sometimes. We haven't really stayed in one place long enough for me to get attached to anyone."

Clint's phone buzzes, and he curses under his breath. "sh*t, I need to get home. Nat, you need a ride?"

"May as well," Natasha says, pushing herself off the couch. "I'm working breakfast tomorrow."

"Where do you work?" Steve asks curiously.

Chapter 4 Chapter Text

Bucky manages to make it through the beach party without being humiliated or drowned, which, he figures, is a miracle. People seem genuinely disappointed when they leave early, although Bucky isn't sure how much of that is because of Steve. Clint's somehow become best friends with Thor. Wanda, Pietro and Natasha keep looking over at Bucky and Steve and whispering in Russian, giant grins on their faces. Sam's come back to shore, and curtly says that he's going to go ahead and wait for them at the train station. He ignores T'Challa's attempts to get his attention, and Bucky notices Okoye grab T'Challa's shoulder when he tries to follow, shaking her head slightly. Steve waves at Jessica and walks away before she can kiss him, and Bucky feels strangely satisfied when she almost falls over, not realising he'd moved away.

It isn't the best day of Bucky's life. But it definitely isn't the worst, either.

Steve's feet are propped up on the train seat next to Bucky. He's humming something under his breath. He has a nice voice, Bucky realises. The sun is slowly dipping down past the horizon, and the sky's turning pink. Bucky feels oddly serene, despite having sand lodged in places that sand definitely doesn't belong. Steve's feet are still covered in sand. Bucky brushes some off absently.

"Anyone wanna come back to mine?" Steve asks, looking up from his phone. Natasha groans.

"Dude, I wish. I have a shift in like, half an hour. Believe me, I would much rather lie on the floor of your house and eat pizza."

Clint groans, too. "Damnit, I promised my mom I'd be home by five. She's gonna kill me."

"I have a legal essay," Sam says resignedly. "I gotta finish it this weekend, or else I won't have time."

Steve nudges Bucky with his foot. "What about you, Barnes? Big plans?"

Bucky's current plan is to get home and have a very long shower before collapsing in bed, but there's something appealing about being at Steve's. "Yeah, I guess I'm free."

Steve grins. "Great."

Bucky can't help but smile back. Steve's hair is wind-tousled and sticking up from the salt, and Bucky has to resist the urge to run his hands through it. His eyes are really blue in the light of the sunset.

Clint loudly clears his throat, and when Bucky looks at him, he's smirking.

Steve and Bucky are the first of the group to get off the train. Steve lives on the edge of Bucky's neighbourhood, where the old suburbs ended and the modern apartments began. His apartment complex is big and has a faux-industrial style, managing to both give off serial killer and movie star vibes. When they enter Steve's apartment Steve tosses his bag onto the floor in the entranceway and smiles ruefully over his shoulder.

"Sorry about the mess. Dad's not really into cleaning."

"I can see that," Bucky replies, looking over the lounge room. The only reason he thinks it's a lounge room is because there's a couch and a TV, but other than that it gives absolutely no indication. There are beer bottles across the floor, and several DVDs of what look like p*rn sitting on the coffee table. It reminds Bucky of when his dad used to live with him.

"Dad's out, but he left pizza money," Steve continues, leaning down to pick up some of the bottles. "He probably won't be back until tomorrow. He must've had some friends over earlier though."

Bucky notices Steve's smile is different to normal. Not by much, but enough that he notices. Bucky doesn't feel like a big fan of Steve's dad.

Steve seems to notice, and he smiles apologetically. "Come on. Let's go to my room - I promise there are less beer bottles."

Bucky forces a smile back, and follows Steve down the corridor to the last door. The room's surprisingly bare, with the only furniture being a double bed, a desk, a closet, and a chest of drawers that seem to serve as a bedside table. There's a picture on top of the drawers, of a blonde woman and a skinny boy that couldn't have been more than seven.

"Is that your mom?" Bucky asks. Steve glances at the picture and smiles.

"Yeah. That was just after ma and dad got divorced. We were in Australia for a holiday. Down in Victoria. Gippsland lakes."

Bucky has no idea where that is but he nods anyway, sitting down on the bed next to Steve. He can see the top of a tree peeking out from under the window. There's another photo, next to the one of Steve and his ma. It's Steve, obviously taken recently, with his arm around the familiar red-lipped Peggy the girlfriend. They seem to be at some kind of fundraiser, because they're both wearing formal dress. Peggy's dress matches her lips. Bucky feels Steve's eyes on him as he studies the picture, and he nods towards it.

"How long have you guys been going out?" Bucky asks, turning around to look at Steve, who grimaces.

"Actually, Buck, I haven't been completely honest with you," he says uneasily. "And I think it'll make me sound like a total idiot."

"What?" Bucky asks curiously. Steve blushes.

"Peggy and I broke up. Before I moved here. We were friends, and then we kinda dated for a bit, but it didn't work out. It's just that..." He trails off. "I'm not really the type of person to date a lot. And being the new guy attracts a lot of attention. When Jess and those girls were hanging around, Peggy just kinda... slipped out. And then I ran with it, because it gave me an excuse to not date anyone."

"So Peggy's like your straight beard?"

Steve laughs. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm not straight."

Bucky blinks. Steve's one of the most heterosexual-looking people he's ever met. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm bi." Steve raises an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not!" Bucky blurts out, his face heating up. "No, I'm gay, so... can't really be hom*ophobic, can I?"

Steve's cheeks turn pink. "Right. Sorry, I just usually don't get a positive reaction when I tell people that."

To try and stop all the blood in his body from rushing to his face, Bucky quickly changes the subject. "So, if it wasn't Peggy, then who kept texting you today? You didn't look that pumped with whoever it was."

Steve looks up in surprise. "You noticed? That would be my dad. He can be... difficult to deal with."

Bucky feels another wave of dislike towards Joseph Rogers, but swallows it down. Steve gives him a little grin and stands up, pulling Bucky with him. "Come on. I wanna show you something."

"I hope it isn't your collection of human skulls," Bucky deadpans, and Steve laughs. He grabs two cans of co*ke from the mini fridge that Bucky hadn't even noticed in the corner of the room and throws one over.

"No, nothing that exciting." He opens the window and, to Bucky's surprise, climbs out onto a tiny balcony. There's a cover over the top (which is good, because it looks like it's about to rain), and a couple of beanbags. Steve falls onto one of them, and Bucky gingerly sits down on the other. Sand grates against his thighs, and Bucky almost doesn't care. The sky has turned darker, with blues and purples rolling over the horizon and turning the clouds black. Manhattan is visible across the river, the lights bright and teeming with life. Bucky stretches out, and his leg bumps against Steve's. Neither of them move.

"You approve?" Steve asks.

"Of your place? It's nice," Bucky says, before pausing. "Could do with a clean up."

Steve snorts. "I know. But it's the nicest place we've had in a while. In Afghanistan we lived in the barracks. When I was with my ma in Africa we lived in a small hut with barely enough room for two people, and we were staying with a family of five. And in London all I could smell was smog and cigarettes."

"What a glamorous life."

Steve grimaces. "I know, right? One party after another."

Bucky pauses. "What's it like? Living with your dad?"

Steve sighs and looks down, absently taking Bucky's hand and tracing circles over his palm. "Like living with an active volcano."

Bucky winces. Steve turns to look at him. "What about you? I haven't heard anything about your dad."

"There isn't much to tell," Bucky admits. "He was in the army. When he got back, he wasn't the same. He drank a lot, started hitting my ma. He started getting violent towards Becca and me, too. Ma only kicked him out when..." Bucky stops himself, biting his lip.

"You don't have to tell me," Steve says gently. Bucky closes his eyes, tightening his grip on Steve's hand. Steve squeezes back.

"It was two years ago. Ma was working a late shift. I needed a lift home from a friend's place. Dad was drunk. He..." Bucky lets out a shuddering breath. "He ran a red light. Crashed us straight into a truck."

Steve squeezes his hand again, and Bucky lays his head on Steve's shoulder. He can hear the pulse in Steve's neck. "Dad was uninjured, save for a few burns. I... I was hit by a chunk of metal. It sawed my arm half off. The doctors couldn't save it - they had to take the whole thing off."

Steve's arm is around his waist - Bucky doesn't remember how it got there. He closes his eyes and breathes in. Steve smells of salt and chocolate ice cream. Bucky must imagine the brush of Steve's lips on the top of his head.

------

"This is a bad idea," Natasha mutters. Bucky has to agree with her.

The Mixed Martial Arts Dojo looks like a cross between a Japanese tea room and a mediaeval torture chamber, stuck inside a warehouse from a horror movie. Bucky loves it. The last time he was there was when Sam was doing his dan black belt grading. The weapons on the walls were pretty cool - watching Sam get yelled at and kicked for six hours straight was not. Natasha spent the entire time glaring at Sam's instructors, and Clint cheered so much that he was kicked out. Still, Sam's photo - exhausted and grinning with his black belt in his hand - hangs alongside the photos of the other black belts in the foyer.

"Come on, Nat," Clint says, bumping her with his shoulder. "If we do this, we might be able to figure out what's wrong with Sam."

"Yeah, I think I've already figured that out," Bucky says slowly. T'Challa's sparring on the other side of the dojo with Maria Hill, each with a staff in their hands. Clint's eyes widen.

"He dropped out because T'Challa joined?"

"No," Natasha says, frowning. "Look at T'Challa's belt - it's brown. He's been here for a few years, at least."

"Then why wouldn't Sam tell us about it?" Bucky murmurs.

"And why did he drop out just now?" Clint adds. T'Challa looks up then, and even from across the warehouse Bucky can see the way his eyes widen. He drops the staff, mutters something to Maria, and jogs across the room to them.

"Is Sam with you?" he asks as soon as he got to them. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

"No. We came here to try and figure out what's wrong with him."

T'Challa fiddles with the ring on his finger. He looks distressed - an expression Bucky's never seen on him before. From what he's gathered in the few years he's been general acquaintances with T'Challa, he's a pretty chill guy, and definitely doesn't get riled up easy.

"What exactly is going on with Sam?" Natasha asks curtly. T'Challa flinches, his shoulders hunching. In any other situation it would be funny, considering that Natasha barely comes up to T'Challa's collar.

"I don't know," he whispers. His eyes are so full of pain it takes Bucky by surprise - whatever's wrong with Sam, T'Challa doesn't know either.

It's later that day, when Bucky's sitting on his bed with his back against the wall and Steve's legs propped up on his own, that he voices his concerns.

"I don't think Sam's okay."

Steve looks up from his computer, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky leans back so his head could rest against the wall, and closes his eyes. "He's been acting weird since the beginning of the year. He quit martial arts, which he's loved since we were twelve. I've tried talking to him about it, but... Sam doesn't like people prying into his stuff."

"Have you ever thought that Sam doesn't realize he needs help?" Steve asks gently.

"That's what Clint thinks. He's the reason we went to Sam's dojo earlier."

"But?"

Bucky takes a deep breath. "But what if it's something I can't do anything about? What if it's something serious? I'm not an expert on this kind of thing." Bucky rubbed his eyes. "I... I've come to depend on Sam. He's solid and consistent and the only reason I haven't had a psychotic break and done something I regret. He's... He's been there for me through everything, and now he's not letting me be there for him."

Steve's quiet, but moves on the bed so that he can press their shoulders together. Bucky feels Steve's hand slip into his own.

"I know you're worried about him, Buck. I can see it," Steve murmurs. Bucky breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, letting his head hit the wall again. "So what's your plan?"

"I don't know," Bucky admits. "What would you do?"

"If I was you?" Bucky can hear the smile in Steve's voice. He just nudges him with his shoulder in response. "I wouldn't straight-out ask, obviously - that's not your style, Barnes."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Bucky says, turning his head to grin at Steve. Their faces are really close.

"Just be there for him. Be his friend, be supportive." Steve pauses, and his tongue flicks against his bottom lip. Bucky can't help but watch the movement. "You're a great friend, Buck. Just do what feels right."

Bucky lets his head fall onto Steve's shoulder, his eyes closing, and Steve squeezes his hand. They don't move for a long time.

-------

The holidays come surprisingly quickly. The beach party day turned out to be basically the last warm, happy day for six months, because immediately after the weather turns to grey skies and chilly winds. Bucky isn't particularly upset about it - he's always preferred cold weather. The holidays also mean that everyone except Bucky is doing something. Sam's going down to DC to see his cousins, Natasha's going to be in Moscow to spend some time with her dad, Clint's going on a road trip down south, and Steve's going to London with his dad to see Joseph Rogers' war buddies; and that means that Steve will have Peggy the not-so girlfriend. That fact doesn't make Bucky's stomach turn as much as it did a few months before.

It's Bucky's first Saturday of freedom when he walks into the lounge room to see his mother smoking a cigarette. When she turns to him, her eyes are red. Becca come out of the kitchen, her hands balled into fists and she's shaking.

That's how Bucky finds out his dad had died.

He'd been found by his brother that morning, his mother says, surrounded by bottles and choking on his own puke. The doctors couldn't save him.

Bucky's ears ring as he turns around and walks right back to his room. He should probably change out of his pyjamas or showered or something, but he doesn't. His vision is blurry. His feet won't move. Reaching for his bedside table, Bucky picks up his phone. He doesn't really know what he's doing until Steve answers.

"Jesus, the airport is freezing!" Bucky can hear wind in the background. "Someone should tell these idiots that they should tell us if the plane is delayed before we step out into the cold."

"I just wanted to say bye," Bucky finds himself saying. His voice sounds empty.

Steve's quiet for a second. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Bucky."

Bucky closes his eyes. "My dad died this morning."

As soon as he says it, Bucky's knees forget how to hold up his body. He sits down on the edge of his bed. His throat feels dry and knotted. The end of the line is silent.

"Damnit," Steve swears. Bucky wills the lump in his throat away. He's not going to cry. Not with Steve on the phone. "This is the worst possible timing... Please tell me you're doing okay. Well, you can't really be doing okay, but in perspective-"

"Steve," Bucky cuts in. "It's alright."

Steve takes a shaky breath in. Bucky can almost see him running his hand through his hair. "Buck, I'm so sorry. I... I wish I could be there - god, Sam and Nat and Clint are gone, too, sh*t..." A boarding announcement sounds in the background, and Steve swears again. "Damnit, I need to get on a plane..."

"It's alright, Steve," Bucky says softly. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Steve says firmly. "I am going to call you as soon as my plane lands, you hear me? And you'd better pick up, otherwise I'm coming straight back."

Bucky breathes in, his breath shuddering. "Okay."

"And watch Footloose. It's my go-to happy movie. You'll love it."

Bucky feels an almost hysterical laugh tear its way out of his throat. "Okay. Thanks, Steve."

"If I could, I'd do everything for you, Bucky Barnes," Steve says seriously. Bucky doesn't know how to respond, but Steve doesn't give him much time before cursing. "Damnit, I really need to go. Seven hours, Buck." He hangs up.

Bucky stared at his phone for what seemed like an hour. Then he put his head in his hand and cried.

----

Bucky doesn't know what he's doing. He lies on his bed in a semi-comatose state, barely moving when his ma comes in. She doesn't stay long. Becca had left the house at some point, and she sends him a text a few hours later to let him know she's not coming home that night. Bucky numbly texts Sam, Clint and Natasha, but ignores the way his phone blows up with calls and messages. At some point he watches Footloose. It isn't as bad as he thought it'd be.

It isn't until five that evening that Steve calls. Bucky's sitting in bed, re-watching Footloose and wallowing in self pity when Steve's Skype comes up in the corner of his screen. Bucky clicks on the picture.

It takes a moment for the connection to solidify, and then Steve's there. Well, not really there, but close enough. He's wearing his typical leather jacket over a white shirt, and his hair is windswept and sticking up like he'd been electrocuted. Bucky regrets not cleaning up beforehand, because he probably looks like a literal zombie compared to Steve's Adonis.

"Don't you dare say you're fine, I can see that you're not," is the first thing out of Steve's mouth. Bucky blinks in surprise. He doesn't really know how to respond to that.

"Am I really that easy to read?" he finally asks.

"Not to most people. Also, you look like death."

"I feel like death, too," Bucky admits. Steve's eyebrows furrow together, his blue eyes wide and worried.

"I really wish I could be there with you," he says quietly. Bucky's stupid, traitorous heart gives a little jump. He has no idea why.

"...I wish you could be here, too," Bucky mumbles. Steve's lips purse. Bucky absently thinks about how nice those lips are.

"I promise you, as soon as I get back I'm gonna camp out on the floor of your room for like, a month."

Bucky has to laugh at that. "Becca probably won't like that. And why would you sleep on the floor? There's plenty of room in the bed."

Steve's eyes crease as he smiled. "I suppose there is. I'm warning you, I snore."

"I doubt you're as bad as Clint," Bucky says, making a face. "I don't know how Nat can stand it."

"Love makes people do strange things," Steve says. There's a look in his eyes that Bucky can't really place. The crummy quality of the video call makes Bucky wish that Steve's there even more. The pixels don't do his blue eyes justice.

A door opens loudly behind Steve, and they both jump. A girl walks into the room, and Bucky realises with a start that it's Peggy, the not-so girlfriend.

"Steven, for Christ's sake, you don't even come and say hello to me," she says in a clipped British accent. She sounds exasperated. "After all I've done for you."

"The only thing you ever really did for me that came in handy was teach me how to kiss," Steve shoots back, and Peggy leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. She notices the laptop, and Bucky's zombie-like face on it, and visibly lights up.

"Are you Bucky?" she asks, almost excitedly. Bucky feels his face heat up. She really is pretty - so much so that it's kinda intimidating.

"Uh, yeah. Hi." Peggy practically beams at him.

"I've been waiting so long to put a face to the name! Steve goes on about you all the time, you know-"

"Okay Carter, you gotta calm down there," Steve interrupts loudly. The bad video quality makes it seem like Steve's cheeks are red. Peggy rolls her eyes.

"Well, I actually did come up here for a reason. Pizza's here - and you'd better come down quick, because Dave's getting handsy again and the only way I can make him stop without physically hurting him is to have you there." She waves at the screen. "Nice meeting you, Bucky."

"You too," Bucky mumbles. Peggy winks at him and saunters back out of the room. Bucky tries not to laugh at Steve's face.

"So, that was Peggy," Steve says awkwardly.

"She seems great," Bucky replies, and Steve smiles.

"She is." The look on his face is almost dreamy, and Bucky feels a twist in his gut. Something must show on his face, because Steve leans forward. "Okay. I have to go downstairs to save Peggy from my pervert cousin. But I am setting you two tasks."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Task one: have a shower."

Bucky snorts. "I think I can manage that."

Steve grins. "I'm sure you can. Task two: I am sending you an address right now. Be there at ten tomorrow."

"It's not gonna be some sleazy place where I'll get knocked out and my organs would be harvested, is it?"

Steve laughs. "No, Buck. I'd never put that pretty face in danger."

Bucky's sure that his heart full on stops for a few seconds there. He wills himself not to faint from all the blood that's suddenly rushed to his face. Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"I probably won't be able to talk much the next few days - Peggy's convinced me to get out of the house and go shopping," Steve goes on. "I'll try to text you as much as I can. But in the meantime - you'd better get those missions done."

"Aye aye, Captain," Bucky says dryly, and Steve's cheeks goes slightly pink. "Is there any chance you're gonna tell me what exactly I'm gonna be doing?"

"Nope," Steve says cheerfully. "That's part of the fun. I promise I won't let your organs get harvested."

Bucky bites his lip to keep from smiling. It doesn't work. "Okay, Stevie."

"I'll talk to you later," Steve promises, and his eyebrows crease. "Take care of yourself, Buck."

Bucky's throat is tight. "Yeah. You too, Stevie."

Steve smiles again, but this time it's sadder. The screen flickers black. It isn't until several minutes later that Bucky realises what he'd said and he groans, covering his face with his hand. If only Natasha could see him now.

-----

Sam picks up on the second ring.

"I can't believe you wouldn't answer me!" he screeches and Bucky winces, holding the phone away from his ear. "You text me literally two words saying 'dad died', and then radio silence for the rest of the day? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," Bucky mumbles. "I've just... I haven't really been in a talking sort of mood."

Sam sighs. "I get that, man. Just... try not to make me think you did something stupid, okay?"

"Impossible," Bucky replies. "Basically everything I do is stupid."

Sam lets out a hysterical laugh. "Yeah, I know."

They slip into silence. "How are you doing?" Sam finally asks.

"I don't know," Bucky sighs. "I spent all day lying in bed. Then Steve forced me to get up and have a shower."

"Was he in the shower too?" Sam asks.

"He's in London," Bucky says, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean was he-" The realisation dawns on him, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat up. "Oh."

Bucky can basically hear Sam's smirk through the phone. "Anyway, he's forcing me out of the house tomorrow to go to some address in Queens."

"Is he going to send you to a sex torture dungeon?" Sam asks curiously, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"I doubt it, although I'm still not completely sure I'm not gonna get my kidneys stolen. Even though Steve told me he wouldn't let that happen."

"How nice of him," Sam replies dryly.

"He called me pretty," Bucky blurts out.

"Come again?"

Bucky winces. He hadn't meant to say that. "Uh, when he was talking about the whole, um, harvesting organs thing. He called me pretty."

There's a longsuffering sigh from the other end. "Bucky. He's into you."

"He isn't," Bucky argues. "Steve's just a nice person. He gives compliments all the time."

"C'mon, man." Sam sounds like he's not far away from laughing. "You can't possible be this dense."

Bucky's cheeks are burning, and he quickly changes the subject. "Anyway, I'll be getting out of the house."

"I'm actually impressed," Sam muses. "As long as I've known you, you've never left the house when you were in one of your angsty moods for anyone. Not even me - and I was convinced that I was your favourite person."

"You wish," Bucky snorts. Sam curses softly.

"Crap, I've gotta go. I promised my cousins I'd watch Disney movies with them."

"You're so caring," Bucky coos.

"You're a dick."

Sam hangs up, and Bucky looks down at his phone, smiling faintly. Sam seems to be acting less strange, which is a bonus. Maybe he'd finally patched things up with T'Challa...

Chapter 5 Chapter Text

In parts of the world, significant events are happening - whether they're good or bad. A baby in a third world country might have miraculously recovered from a serious illness, an earthquake might have levelled a small town, a new law might have been passed that would change people's lives for better or worse. But at Brooklyn Secondary, none of those things mattered at all. Because the new semester is all about the Formal.

Bucky is not happy about this. For one, that meant even more glitter and stupid old movie posters with his peers' faces plastered on to bring shame to Old Hollywood. And apparently, nobody had mentioned to him that it was going to be fancy dress. Which meant that Bucky has to dress up like someone from Old Hollywood or WWII. That is not a fun concept for him.

Clint had dragged them all out costume shopping, and Bucky doesn't know whether to be grateful for that or to punch him in the face. Clint and Natasha obviously choose to be Hawkeye and Black Widow, from those comics that they loved so much that had apparently started production in the thirties. Sam bought a simple black suit that makes him look like a vintage movie star. Bucky's decided to be lazy and just wear a Sergeant's uniform from the war, and, according to Natasha, it looks pretty good (the words she used were "sexy power bottom", but Bucky is choosing to ignore that).

Brock Rumlow hooks up with some girl from a private school, and it's the biggest piece of gossip for about a week - a very annoying week where Bucky tries very hard not to punch anyone. He has absolutely no interest in Rumlow or his love life, and frankly, wouldn't give two sh*ts if he made out with Jennifer Lawrence. Jessica Smith follows Steve around like a lost puppy, constantly hanging off his arm and giggling, which makes Bucky kind of wish he owned a taser. It's almost impossible to have a conversation alone with Steve without Jessica somehow finding them and completely blindsiding Bucky, which is incredibly rude, and that's the only reason Bucky's annoyed about it.

Clint's finally hit his growth spurt, shooting up at least three inches over the holidays and still going. None of his clothes fit anymore, and he complains often.

Natasha gets another haircut. Bucky's pretty sure she'd been saving it for a new semester grand entrance. When she leans against Bucky's locker, it takes him a few seconds to figure out who she is.

"Well?"

She's cut most of the hair off, and it curls around her chin and the top of her neck in ringlets. She's dyed it an even brighter shade of red than it originally was. She looks even more scary than she usually does.

"Looks like you're the lead in a superhero franchise," Bucky replies, and Natasha gives him a feral grin. Yeah, she's terrifying. Bucky almost feels sorry for Clint.

Becca starts college, even though she turned sixteen less than a month ago. She's still the smartest kid in her classes, and moves out to live in a dorm with a friend of hers, closer to campus. The day after she left, Bucky finds another empty bottle of vodka on the counter. He throws it in the trash with disgust and fear curling through his veins, satisfied when he hears the bottle break on impact.

Steve goes to a second-rate pawn shop with Bucky to try and find a cheap keyboard. They end up buying a relatively good-looking one whose keys all worked, and only occasionally blasted crappy 80's music in the middle of the night. Sam finds it hilarious.

Sam and Bucky end up hanging out less and less. Bucky doesn't know how it happened. Sam now goes to a normal gym every day to run and lift weights and kick punching bags, but he hasn't set foot back inside the dojo, or any other dojo. Bucky's on the verge of bringing up the T'Challa thing every time he speaks to Sam, but the prospect of navigating that conversation makes him back out every time. He keeps thinking that it might fix itself - it's Sam, he'd fix it because he's Sam - but Bucky just doesn't know how to undo the weirdness that had made its way into their friendship.

As the cold gives way to longer days and blue skies, Steve's dad starts travelling more often. When he's home, he prowls around the apartment like the walls are closing in on him, and Bucky frequently helps Steve pick up the beer bottles that scatter across the floor. Occasionally Joseph Rogers speaks, but never to Bucky. Joseph Rogers seems to think that Bucky's no better than a piece of dog sh*t that had wedged itself onto his shoe. Bucky hates him right back.

Bucky lets his hair grow out a bit, and by the end of winter it curls around the nape of his neck and falls onto his forehead. He can tuck it behind his ears now, and he's strangely pleased by that.

Steve takes up a job at the local animal shelter, and whenever Bucky visits him at work he has to try and not drop dead on the spot, because Steve cuddling animals with water and dog hair all over him is heart attack-inducing. Steve tells Bucky that it's mostly so he has somewhere to hide out other than Bucky's place, but Bucky suspects he's trying to get his dad to stay, and not run off somewhere again. Steve is worried about Joseph taking him away again. It's not something Bucky's willing to contemplate.

Bucky had read somewhere that significant events tended to happen on Thursdays. He doesn't know the logic behind that, but he's pretty sure that it's some astrology bullsh*t, made up by a 45-year-old vegan with three divorces under her belt and straight grey hair. All Bucky knows is that one sunny Thursday, his life as he knows it is completely nuked.

Bucky's in the computer lab at morning break, sitting in one of the swivel chairs and watching as Kurt f*cks around on the computer in the corner of the room. Steve's sitting on the desk next to Bucky, his legs swinging as he tells a story about the Howling Commandoes and the gang of strippers Morita had hired for Falsworth's bachelor party. He's wearing the present Bucky gave him for Christmas - a silver chain with a little guitar pendant and a music note charm that clatter against each other whenever Steve moves.

"Buck, come on! It's perfect outside and I need some sun," he's whining. It's decidedly not adorable, and Steve definitely doesn't look like a sad Golden Retriever. And Bucky is not going to fall for those pleading eyes.

"God forbid the Golden Boy goes without sun for too long," Bucky replies dryly. "You might just run out of happiness."

"I'd like to see that day," Kurt calls out from behind the computer. Steve throws a pen at him.

"You don't have to wait up for me, you know," Bucky says, and Steve sighs.

"Well, I have a Formal meeting at lunchtime. Dad and I are in Massachusetts from Friday afternoon till Sunday. When else are we going to hang out?"

Bucky leans back in his chair with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. It does suck that Steve's away for the weekend; they're up to Mulan in their Disney marathon, and according to the Internet and Clint's Tumblr page, it's one of the best ones.

Steve slides off the desk and kneels between Bucky's legs, his elbows on Bucky's knees and his face in his hands. He's still doing those puppy eyes. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him and leans closer. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing what?" Steve asks innocently. Bucky almost would've believed him if it wasn't obvious he's trying not to laugh.

"Please do not have sex in my lab," Kurt calls. Steve throws another pen at him, and it hits Kurt on the forehead. Bucky snickers at the indignant squawk.

At that moment, Steve's phone beeps, and he pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at the screen.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks, and Steve looks up at him. Something strange is going on with his expression that Bucky can't place.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," Steve says. There's something off with his voice, too. "I just need to, uh, make a phone call. I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

He (very gracefully) pushes himself off the ground and walkes out of the room quickly before Bucky has a chance to say anything.

"That was weird. He okay?" Kurt asks. He's actually looked up from his computer, which is a miracle in itself.

"I don't know," Bucky says honestly. Kurt frowns, and goes back to his computer.

Bucky waits in the lab until the bell rings, but Steve doesn't reappear. They have English together next, but Bucky walks past Steve's locker on the way anyway. He ducks into the classroom, but Steve's seat is empty. Sam hasn't seen him. Natasha hasn't seen him. Quill, who's a few minutes away from sleeping on top of his textbooks, hasn't seen him.

Steve comes into the classroom twelve minutes late and drops into the closest seat to the door. His eyes are wide and his face is pale, and Bucky knows immediately that something is very wrong. Bucky tries to get his attention throughout the class, but Steve doesn't look at him once. The teacher is droning on about Emily Dickinson, but all Bucky ca hear is buzzing.

By lunchtime, Steve looks really sick. He ducks out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings, but Bucky runs into him again near his locker.

"Steve?"

Steve jumps, and looks down at Bucky. His eyes are slightly unfocused. "Oh. Hey, Buck."

"Is everything alright?"

Steve pulls at his necklace. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine." His gaze is fixed somewhere over Bucky's shoulder. The hand holding the necklace is trembling.

Bucky raises his hand and covers Steve's trembling one. Steve looks back at him, his eyes wide and scared.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks softly. There's a pause, and then Steve has grabbed the sleeve of Bucky's jacket and is pulling him into an empty classroom. He really does look awful. Bucky's palms start to sweat as he runs through all the possible scenarios in his mind that could have turned the confident, happy Steve Rogers into the pale, wobbly thing in front of him. Maybe a family tragedy, or he's moving again-

Oh god, what if he's moving?

Steve takes a deep breath. "Bucky, I think I did something stupid. Well, not stupid, just hasty, a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, you know? And now I'm kinda in a bit of a mess, and I'm not sure what to do, and-"

"Hey, it's okay, Stevie," Bucky says. For some reason, his voice is quivering, too. Steve sits down heavily in a chair, and Bucky sits on the desk in front of him. Steve's holding Bucky's wrist so tightly it's almost painful, but that doesn't matter. Bucky tries to think about what it had been like without Steve there, but all that comes into his mind were images of Rumlow slamming him into the lockers and his father's drunken rages.

Steve swallows. "I'm supposed to do this thing. I signed up for it ages ago, on a stupid high streak, and I was definitely just a little bit drunk, and now they've called me and they want me to come in tonight, but I can't do it, Bucky, I can't-"

"Stevie," Bucky says gently, and Steve shuts his mouth immediately. Bucky raises his hand to cup Steve's cheek. "Slow down."

Steve turns red, and he looks down at his hands. "I sort of... Write. Songs. Music. I'm not that good. I don't even want to perform, at all. Dad thinks I'm just messing around, and so he lets me do it even if he doesn't really approve, but whenever he's gone... I work really hard at it. And I had this burst of... recklessness, I guess, and I sent a demo disc out to this bar that does open-mic things. And they just called me. They had someone drop out tonight, and... and they asked me to fill in. Tonight."

It takes Bucky a couple of seconds to process that. "You write music?"

"No! Well, yes, but I'm not good at it," Steve repeats, running a hand through his hair. "And I've never sung in front of people before, not even just one person! And it's a bar - I mean, people are going to pay real money to listen to me singing my own songs, not someone else's songs but my own songs, and I'm supposed to be there on stage and do it-"

Steve's gotten up from his seat and is pacing the classroom, his voice rising hysterically as he waves his arms around, and he looks as if he's about to pass out. Bucky knows it's only a matter of time before he starts hyperventilating, so he gets up and spins Steve around to face him, grabbing Steve's shoulder to ground him.

"Steve. Calm down," Bucky says firmly. Steve's eyes are wide, his chest heaving, and suddenly he's wrapping his long arms around Bucky's waist and pulling him close. Bucky can feel him trembling, and starts running his hand through Steve's short hair in comfort. Steve shudders under his fingers, and buries his face in Bucky's neck.

"I recorded the stuff on my laptop in my bedroom," Steve mumbles into Bucky's neck. "The music industry is brutal, I know that, and if my dad finds out, he'll go mental. He doesn't want a son that's into music, and I thought that I could do this and now I can't back out and I don't want Dad to find out, because if he did-"

"Enough," Bucky interrupts. "Stevie, sweetheart, you gotta calm down." He pulls away to look at Steve. Steve won't meet his eyes, so Bucky holds his chin in his hand and gently guides Steve's eyes to his face. "Listen. Obviously you've thought about this for a while, right? It's not like you've only written one song in one night, and done nothing else, right?"

"No, I've been writing for ages," Steve admits. "But I've never shown them to anyone. And I've never sung in front of people before, not even Peggy. It makes me wanna vomit and pass out... I can speak in front of people, easy, but I can't sing, I just can't, Buck."

A group of younger kids pass the classroom. They peer curiously into the windows, but scatter quickly when Bucky glares at them.

"Okay. You have stage fright," Bucky says gently, turning his attention back to Steve. "That's okay. Everyone has to be scared of something. For example, I'm terrified of birds."

Steve lets out a short, hysterical laugh. Bucky takes that as encouragement.

"But you like song writing, right? It's something you wanna do?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I mean, I'd like to write songs for other people. I always have music and words floating around in my mind, but I don't have dreams of winning a Grammy or anything. And my dad-"

"Doesn't need to know anything." Bucky brushes some of Steve's hair off his forehead. The skin feels clammy. "Steve, forget about your dad. You're not doing this for him. In fact, he can go and f*ck himself as far as I'm concerned. But if you really don't want to, you don't have to. It's your call. But... you sent the disc in, didn't you?

"I thought I could handle it," Steve says in a small voice.

"And you can," Bucky replies. Steve looks at him again. His eyes are shinier than normal.

"You think so?"

Bucky laughs softly. "Stevie, if you put your mind to it, you could win wars. You could probably solve everything wrong with the world. And if you've been able to put up with my depressed ass for six months then you can bet that you can get up on a stage and sing to a couple of drunk guys."

Steve's cheeks turn pink. "You sound so confident. You've never even heard me sing."

"It doesn't matter, Stevie," Bucky says softly. "It's you."

Steve exhales slowly, his face slowly returning to a healthy colour. "Buck, if I'm really gonna do this... I mean, I know that you have to get home after school, but-"

"I'll come," Bucky says immediately. "Of course I'll be there."

"You and the others?" Steve asks, his face pleading. "I just... I need a few friendly faces."

A few things swim through Bucky's head - one of them being how the hell they were going to get into a bar, for one. But Steve's looking at him with those sad Golden Retriever eyes, and all of a sudden the only picture Bucky has in his head is Steve holding him the day he got back from London, and all logic pretty much flies out the window.

"Just us. I promise."

Steve smiles - not his usual confident grin, but it still makes Bucky's knees feel a little weak - and curls a lock of Bucky's hair around his finger.

"Thanks, Buck."

He's started walking towards the door when Bucky blurts out, "Hey Steve?"

Steve stops and turns to look at him. "Yeah?"

"You're going to be great."

Steve smiles again, and this time it lights up his whole face. "Thanks, Buck."

-----

The taxi drops them off on a dimly lit street corner at the edge of Brooklyn. Sam's cover story is that he's studying at Bucky's place, and since Becca left Bucky's ma hasn't really cared about anything he does. Natasha has no curfew, and Clint had bribed his sister into silence when he'd climbed out the window to go meet them.

Bucky has no idea where they are, but he has the sinking feeling that this place looks like the opening scene of a zombie movie.

Clint frowns at the map on his phone. "This is supposed to be it."

The laneway in front of them ends pretty quickly. There's a guy sitting on a milk crate at the far end, and it takes Bucky's eyes a little while to see the door he's next to.

They walk towards milk-crate guy, Natasha in front. If anyone was to pass as 21, it's her. The dude has long hair and a long beard, and it's hard to see where the hair ends and the beard begins. He looks at them, then at Natasha.

"ID?"

"We're meeting a friend," Natasha says smoothly. She's wearing a tight black dress, and her hair is stylishly swept across her face. She smiles charmingly. "Steve Rogers?"

The guy stands up. "Cool, no prob. Steve Rogers, yeah. He's going on in about ten minutes, you'd better get in there quick."

Natasha flashes another smile, and sashays past him. Clint follows, glaring at the guy when he stares at Natasha's ass. They walk down a long corridor towards a door, and Bucky can't help but flinch slightly as the door closes behind them.

"Looks dodgy," Sam says mildly.

"It's a bar. It's supposed to look dodgy," Natasha replies, then grins. "Don't worry. I've been in places like these loads of times."

"Of course you have, daughter of the mafia," Bucky grumbles, and Natasha snorts.

At the end of the corridor, there's a cloak-room window that Bucky hadn't noticed before. A bored-looking woman with a lip piercing and hair like 2007 Gerard Way stares out at them.

"Five bucks," she says. She sounds as bored as she looks.

Bucky hands over the money for all of them. She raises an eyebrow at his empty left sleeve, and he raises one back.

"We're supposed to stamp your left hand, but..." she trails off. Bucky rolls his eyes and holds out his right, and the woman stamps it with a huff. The print looks like some kind of black horseshoe. After she stamps all their hands, they're allowed to go through the door and into the bar.

It's probably twice the size of a regular classroom. A bar takes up the entire left side, and a woman with muscular arms and a white tank top cleans glasses behind it. The tables are small, with about three seats around each. The stage is lit by red fairy lights, and large speakers are on either side of it. Bucky spots some red, cracked-vinyl booths lining the back wall and walks over, his friends trailing behind.

The place is about half full, with the crowd mostly consisting of college kids with weird hair and vintage shirts. Bucky's wearing his most inconspicuous clothes - black skinny jeans and a leather jacket over a Henley - but he still feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb.

A group of about ten dark-skinned women were on the stage who were, according to the small sign next to the stage, the Dora Milaje. The one strumming on the bass guitar catches Bucky's eye and winks.

"That's Okoye," Bucky says in surprise. Sam stiffens beside him.

Bucky mouths at her, Is T'Challa here?

In the back, she mouths back.

"I'm gonna go into the back," Bucky says, standing up. "Sam, wanna come?"

"Sure."

Natasha stands up as well. "I'm gonna get drinks. Vodka, Buck?"

"Vodka," Bucky replies, and Clint rolls his eyes.

"Russians," he mutters.

"Just for that, I'm getting you the worst beer here," Natasha says, kissing Clint's cheek before walking over to the bar. She turns a lot of heads, Bucky has to admit that.

There's a gap to the side of the stage with a metal sign pointing to the toilets, and since there's nowhere else to go, Bucky pulls Sam along behind him down the corridor. Next to the toilets there's a turn in the corridor, another sign telling Bucky they'd reached the dressing rooms. The first door has Dora Milaje printed on a sign that's hanging from the handle. Just before they pass the door, it opens very suddenly and T'Challa steps out. He freezes when he sees them, and Bucky feels Sam tense up beside him.

"Sam," T'Challa breathes. When Bucky glances at his friend, Sam looks like a deer in headlights.

"T'Challa," Sam says weakly. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Sam turns to leave.

"Oh no you don't," Bucky says, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him back. Sam glares at him.

"Did you know he was going to be back here?"

"Yes," Bucky shoots back. "I can't seem to do anything about your situation, but I can sure as hell make you face the person who can." He shoves Sam into the room, and glares at T'Challa. "Stay there and talk about your feelings, for God's sake." He closes the door in their faces.

Bucky turns away when he's sure that Sam isn't going to burst out and run away, and walks further down the corridor to the door with Steve Rogers printed on the sign hanging from the doorknob. He knocks, and the door is flung open almost immediately and Bucky's pulled inside.

"Oh thank god you're here, I can't do this, I'm gonna throw up."

Steve is talking very quickly, but Bucky doesn't really notice that. His hair is styled in a coif, and the dim lights in the dressing room cast shadows across his face, accentuating all his best features. He's wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans, and both are so tight that Bucky can see the outline of his abs through the fabric

"f*ck, Stevie," Bucky breathes, unable to look away. Steve runs a hand through his hair, somehow not messing up his coif, and he grabs at Bucky's waist to pull him close. His face is chalk white.

"Buck, I don't think I can do this," Steve whispers. He looks terrified. His face is also very close to Bucky's.

Bucky shakes himself out of his minor freak out. "Okay... you need to relax. Calm down."

Steve takes a deep breath, then another. He does not let them out. His hands are suddenly gone from Bucky's waist as he starts to pace the small room, waving his arms around. The imprints of his hands feel burned into Bucky's skin. "I don't know why I did this, I can't do this, oh god-"

Bucky steps forwards when Steve gets close to him and grips the back of his neck as tight as he can. Steve stops walking. His chest is heaving.

"Stevie, look at me," Bucky says firmly. Steve looks down at him, his eyes wide and scared. Bucky bites his lip, slowly letting go of Steve's nape. Slowly, he places his hand over Steve's heart.

"Listen, Steve," he starts, and looks down. "I... I'm not good with speeches. I never have been. So if you're expecting some amazing pep talk, you're gonna be disappointed. But... I know that you always know the right thing to say, and the right thing to do. I can't imagine it'll be any different when you sing."

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks up at Steve. "You're the bravest person I know. And I know that you can do this, because it's you. Just... I don't know. Pretend it's just me out there."

Steve has a weird look in his eyes. It's tender, and it's making Bucky feel like his insides have turned to cotton candy. Steve slowly reaches up and links his fingers with Bucky's, before raising their joined hands to his lips and pressing a small kiss to Bucky's knuckles. His eyes never leave Bucky's.

Bucky feels like he's going to faint. Steve's hand is soft, but his fingertips are rough and calloused. Bucky suddenly realises how much bigger Steve's hands are than his own. This close, he can smell Steve's cologne.

There's a smattering of applause from the stage that could be heard through the door and Bucky blinks, stepping away. Their faces had been much closer than they were just a few seconds before. Steve shakes his head slightly, then looks at Bucky with a trembly smile.

"Wish me luck?"

Bucky looks away with a smile. "You won't need it."

"But I want it anyway." Steve's expression is earnest. Before he realises what he's doing, Bucky's closed the distance between the two of them and pressed a soft kiss to Steve's cheek.

"Good luck," he whispers. He can hear Steve's heartbeat. Bucky moves away and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him with trembling fingers.

Clint glances up at him when he slides back into the booth. "He okay?"

Bucky doesn't answer him. Natasha pushes a shot of vodka towards him, and he downs it in one. Sam still isn't back from the dressing rooms.

The woman from behind the bar walks up to the stage, grabbing the mic. Her hair is blonde, and styled into a pixie cut.

"And that was the Dora Milaje," she says, and there's another round of applause. The women on the stage file off, and Okoye sends Bucky a wink. "Our next musical guest is Steve Rogers."

Clint is a little too enthusiastic in his applause, and Bucky can't help but laugh. Natasha slides him a beer, and he takes a grateful sip.

Steve walks out on stage, sitting on a bar stool right in the middle of the stage that Bucky hadn't noticed before, in front of the microphone. He has a guitar in his hands.

Bucky can see Steve's teeth working at his lip as he puts the guitar in his lap and adjusts the microphone. He pauses for a moment, his eyes focused on the strings. Then he takes a deep breath, and strums.

Steve's voice is rich and deep, but still soft. It isn't pitch perfect, but that doesn't matter at all. It's exactly what Bucky imagined Steve would sound like. His eyes are closed, but his voice doesn't tremble. His feet tap to the beat. His hands don't miss a note.

Natasha nudges Bucky with her foot. She's smiling at him - not her usual smirk, but a genuine smile. Bucky turns back to the stage, and is immediately transfixed all over again. The way Steve's fingers move across the strings is like a dance, more graceful and beautiful than Bucky could ever have imagined. The corners of Steve's mouth start to curl up into a smile.

The strumming gains intensity. Steve's voice grows louder, and soars over the bar and the rooftops and the entire city. The crowd is silent.

The song finishes with one more swipe of Steve's fingers, and the bar erupts in applause. Bucky's hand tightens around the beer bottle as he smiles, and Clint's whooping beside him. Steve looks out at the crowd, shading his eyes from the stage lights. Bucky knows Steve can't see him, what with the brightness of the lights, but it feels like they caught each other's eye for a second. Then Steve turns back to the guitar. He still looks shaky, but his eyes are open.

The first three songs go by quickly, each one burrowing deep into Bucky's chest and making a home in his heart. Steve's voice is the only sound in the bar, it deep timbre radiating through the audience and shaking Bucky to his core. After the final chords of the third song are strummed, the applause is almost deafening. Steve smiles out at the crowd.

"Thanks, everyone," he says, almost shyly. "Uh, this next one is gonna be my last song. I just wanted to say thanks to my friends for coming here tonight, especially Bucky. I would've probably passed out on my way to the stage if it wasn't for you." He smiles again, and Bucky's sure that it was meant just for him. Natasha grins at him, and Bucky feels his face heat up as he lifts the beer bottle back to his lips.

Steve looks back down at his guitar, and takes a deep breath. He looks nervous.

Steve really is an amazing composer. The lyrics aren't exactly obvious, not like the other three songs, but it's full of sadness and longing and ecstasy and about a million other emotions. By the time Steve lifts his shaking fingers off the guitar's strings, the crowd is so loud Bucky can't hear his own thoughts. Bucky shakily lifts his hand to find that his cheeks were wet, and he wipes them dry quickly. Clint tries to climb onto the table, but Natasha grabs him and pulls him back into his seat. Steve stands and bows, then disappears from the stage.

Natasha takes a sip of her beer. "That was pretty good."

"Pretty good?" Clint echoes, looking incredulous. "Are you kidding? He was amazing! Don't you think so, Bucky? I mean, it's not the kind of music I'd normally listen to, but it was just so cool, and his guitar skills are like, envious."

"He was incredible," Bucky murmurs, and Clint grins.

It's then that Steve appears at their table, looking exhausted. Bucky feels his chest seize up, and has to look away. Natasha climbs out of the booth and wraps her arms around Steve, a hand carting through his hair. "You were great," she says quietly.

Steve basically collapses against her. "God, I thought I was gonna die up there." His voice is muffled. "My knees are still shaking."

Clint gets out of the booth too, and wraps Steve and Natasha up in a huge bear hug. "Holy sh*t, dude! You were like, so amazing, I can't even begin to describe it."

Steve laughs as he hugs them both back. "Thanks, guys. Jesus, I need a drink."

He collapses into the booth beside Bucky as Natasha goes to grab more vodka. Steve's arm is pressed up against Bucky's, and warmth radiates from him. When Steve looks at him, his eyes are uncertain and self-conscious and completely unlike him.

"What did you think?" he asks quietly.

Bucky doesn't really know what to say. Somehow, you were incredible doesn't seem like enough. He tries to think of other synonyms, of descriptive words, but maybe Steve just wants an objective answer. A songwriter's answer. Bucky doesn't know how to give that, because he isn't a song writer. He's a writer, sure, but not the same kind as Steve.

"You were incredible," Bucky murmurs. Steve smiles.

"Thanks, Buck. You have no idea." He runs a hand through his hair with a shaky laugh. "I thought I was gonna cry up there, but I feel great now. I'm really glad you didn't let me leave." He looks around. "Where's Sam?"

"We ran into T'Challa on our way to your dressing room," Bucky replies. "He was here to watch Okoye and the Dora Milaje. I haven't seen him since."

"So they talked?"

"As far as I know."

Steve nods, a satisfied look on his face. "That's good."

Bucky can't take his eyes off Steve's face. "Yeah. It's good."

Steve glances at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why are you so quiet?"

"It's just... I've never heard you sing before. And... And you were absolutely incredible. Like, I don't really know what to say. I can't believe you never told me about it before. It's like there's this whole thing about you that I didn't know about."

Steve looks slightly guilty. "I didn't mean to hide it. It's just... it's so personal, y'know? And I have no, well, objective measures for anything I write. I mean, how many sad emos out there call themselves songwriters, when all they have as a qualification is bad hair and the ability to rhyme. I listen to myself sometimes and occasionally think that bits of my stuff is okay, but-"

"Steve," Bucky interrupts. Steve looks over at him, a vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're too hard on yourself. You are amazing - screw what anyone else says. Although, I doubt anyone would diss your music. Did you hear the crowd?"

Steve laughs softly. "I know. It's just... Everyone is hard on themselves. What about you and your writing?"

"Good point," Bucky admits. "It's a bit like stripping naked and asking people to comment."

"It's much more personal," Steve agrees. "A different kind of judgement."

"Yeah," Bucky says softly. Steve's eyes are like ink and water in the dim lights of the bar.

The woman behind the bar had moved the tables off to the side of the room. The music becomes louder and has a harder beat, like a club. A few people get up and start dancing. Bucky notices Sam walk out of the dressing rooms. T'Challa isn't with him.

Sam gets closer, and Bucky notices the red circles under his eyes, the purple mark on the base of his neck. Bucky bites his lip, worry flaring up for his friend. Sam doesn't look okay. But before he can ask what's wrong, Natasha's come back to the table with several shots of vodka, a grin on her face.

"I'm gonna dance," she announces. Clint gets up immediately and lets her drag him onto the dance floor, and Bucky has to admit that they look cute together. Sam takes Clint's seat and downs two shots in a row.

"I'm gonna go, too," Steve says, then turns to Bucky with a twinkle in his eyes. "You wanna dance?"

"I don't dance," Bucky says, at the same time that Sam says, "Bucky doesn't dance."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Fine. Sam, you wanna come?"

"I'll just stay here," Sam says miserably, and tips back another shot.

Steve looks back over at Bucky, a smile on his face. "You sure? It'll be fun."

Bucky weighs the possibilities in his head. He has one arm. He has two left feet. He's never danced before in his life. But when Steve is looking at him like that...

"Alright," he concedes. Sam's eyebrows raise, but Steve beams, holding out a hand. Bucky allows Steve to take his hand and pull him onto the dance floor. "I have to warn you, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I'll teach you," Steve replies, just as the song changes to something slower. Bucky wonders if he's in some kind of low-budget movie; the slow song change is a classic romance cliché. He wonders who the main characters of the movie are.

Steve's arms around his waist make Bucky's mind stop working. Bucky licks his lips as he looked up at Steve, who's smiling as Bucky's arm slowly moves upwards to rest on Steve's shoulder.

Bucky doesn't know what he's doing, but Steve seems to know exactly what's happening. He twirls them slowly around the dancefloor, and Bucky feels himself actually having fun. He laughs softly, and Steve grins back at him. Bucky's hand migrates from Steve's shoulder to the curve of his neck, and he buries his fingers in the short bristles at the base of Steve's skull. Steve smiles at him again, but this time it's more tender, more soft. Bucky feels himself get lost in Steve's eyes again - how one person could be so perfect, Bucky has no idea. As they dance, Steve rests their foreheads together.

After another song, Bucky sits back down. Steve stays, and finds a partner in a beautiful blonde girl wearing a yellow dress. Steve dances the way he does everything else. His arms and legs don't seem to be moving in a specific pattern, but it looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. He isn't watching other people, or noticing other people watching him. He isn't moving like anyone else. He's just dancing. The blonde girl punches his arm, laughing, and he laughs along with her. He looks like he's actually having fun. He looks... amazing.

At some point, Bucky glances at the clock on his phone.

Sam is still sitting and drinking away his sorrows.

Clint and Natasha have disappeared somewhere, presumably to make out.

Bucky realises he had no idea what has been happening around him.

He realises that he has been watching Steve dance for 39 minutes.

Oh no.

Chapter 6 Chapter Text

Bucky doesn't know what's happening with his life.

All he can see is Steve. He can't stop thinking about him.

He closes his eyes. Steve's face floats in front of them.

He closes his eyes. He feels strong arms wrap around his waist.

He thinks about Steve desperately hiding his passion for music, of having to face his father's disapproval at every strum of his guitar, and Bucky's stomach wants to crawl out of his mouth.

Bucky wants to run his fingers through Steve's hair. He wants to map out Steve's skin and his body using his hands and his mouth. He wonders if Steve tastes as good as he smells, as he looks, as he sounds.

Bucky does not know what's happening to his life.

So he does the only thing he can:
1. He turns off his computer.
2. He turns off his phone and throws it into his closet.
3. He digs out his DVDs of the entire five seasons of Hawkeye and the Black Widow.
4. He does not go to school for three days.

Also:
1. Steve Rogers kisses Jessica Smith.
2. Rebecca Barnes overdoses on heroin.
3. Sam Wilson falls apart in Bucky's bedroom.

There had probably been a logical sequence of events that led to the above. Bucky's still trying to figure out what it was.

-----

Bucky wakes up on Friday morning not really sure that he'd slept at all. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the alarm on his phone wakes him up at seven-thirty. But he doesn't remember sleeping. What Bucky does remember is lying on his bed, awake and staring at the ceiling and thinking about Steve. Actually, he spent most of the time awake and staring at the ceiling and thinking about how many other nights he'd been thinking about Steve, only clearly Bucky had been too dumb-assed and terrified to acknowledge what it meant. Bucky wants to punch himself in the face.

How could he have been so stupid?

More importantly, how had he not recognised it sooner?

Bucky tries to rationally pinpoint the moments that may have led to the situation he now finds himself in.

1. He met Steve.
2. ...

That's the last rational moment Bucky's able to pinpoint.

Everything that followed is just a confused, insane tangle, like a jumble of videos and photos and drawings with no particular order or logic, a montage of Steve's face, his smile, his laugh and eyes and voice and body and lips and hands and-

Bucky closes his eyes to stop the onslaught and pulls the covers over his head.

At some point before dawn, Bucky realises the answer is simple. He isn't going to do anything. He's going to recognise this for what it is - a simple schoolboy crush, like he's heard normal human beings occasionally get on other human beings. That's all. Bucky's been spending almost all his time with Steve, it's a miracle it's taken him so long to realise what's going on. If Bucky reverses the situation, it would go away.

There is no other option. Bucky has to get it under control.

Then his alarm screeches, and Bucky wakes up thinking about seeing Steve at school. Bucky's stomach leaps into his throat at the thought. He also wants to run out of the house in his pyjamas, just so he can see Steve sooner.

He does not have it under control.

Bucky rolls over and buries his face in his pillow.

Steve. Bucky can't possibly be feeling what he's feeling for Steve. For one, it's Steve. For two, he's Bucky's friend - one of his best friends. For three, it's Steve. Steve knows exactly what he's doing. He'd been in a relationship before. If Steve thinks of Bucky as anything more than a friend, he would've done something months ago. There is no way, in this universe or any other, that Steve Rogers could have romantic feelings for Bucky Barnes. The thought makes Bucky feel like a creature is shredding its way through his intestines.

There is a logical solution to this problem. It's Friday. If Bucky skips school, that gives him three days to get his head back into a reasonable state. He could avoid Steve for three days, easy. Three days of not seeing him, or speaking to him, or saying his name. Like a detox. Like putting himself into quarantine until this horrible alien virus is flushed out of his system.

Hell, Luke Skywalker had a crush on his sister. If he managed to get over that, Bucky can get over his crush, too.

Bucky sends Sam a text that says, Sick. Staying home. Then he turns his phone off. He hauls himself out of bed and turns off his laptop. He climbs back in bed. And then he climbs out again, and buries his phone and his laptop underneath the old clothes on the top shelf of his wardrobe. He closes the wardrobe door. He props a chair in front of the door.

Since Bucky's is hardly ever sick, his ma doesn't protest when he tells her he isn't going to school. She just touches his forehead for a few seconds, and tells him that he looks pale and that he's having soup for lunch. That's fine by Bucky.

Bucky buries himself under his covers, prepared to wait it out. He hears the click of the front door as his ma leaves for work. The apartment is silent. The building is silent. Bucky's heartbeat booms in the blanket cocoon.

Bucky thinks about the argument Steve and he had on the phone the week before: whether Ren McCormack was an absolute douche or not (he definitely was). He thinks about the look on Steve's face whenever he listens to music. He thinks about the stupid peaco*ck-feather hat that's hanging in his wardrobe because Steve had asked him to buy it. He thinks about Dum Dum Dugan and his moustache and bowler hat. He thinks about when Steve went away, about Bucky's stupid, asshole brain refusing to accept that he was miserable without Steve. Bucky thinks about Steve's arms around his waist, his forehead against Bucky's, the skin of Steve's cheek soft and warm under Bucky's lips-

This. Is. Not. Helping.

Bucky also realises that being alone with his thoughts probably isn't the best way to block out the thoughts of Steve and his blue and green eyes and his soft, gentle hands with callouses on the fingertips and the way his face lights up when he smiles and-

Bucky leaps out of bed.

A distraction. He needs a distraction.

Bucky almost runs into the living room. And then he realises, with a growing sense of horror, that his go-to movies are effectively useless. He can't watch Disney or Footloose because Steve introduced him to those, and before Steve, he'd never really watched a lot of movies anyway.

Bucky bolts back into his room and searches through his closet. Right at the back, stuffed behind a blue woollen jumper that had been a gift from his grandmother, is a DVD set of the Hawkeye and the Black Widow animated series that had been a birthday present from Clint the year before. There are five seasons - at least a week's worth. And it has zero connection to Steve Rogers.

Bucky grabs a blanket from his bed and walks back to the living room. He makes a giant pot of bitter black coffee, because Steve always has his coffee with cream and sugar. He locks all the doors and closes all the blinds. And then Bucky huddles under the blanket on his couch, on the opposite side from where Steve and Bucky had sat that night when Steve had gotten back from London, and prepares to sweat Steve Rogers out of his system.

Three days.

I will get over this.

Three days.

-----

Bucky almost makes it, too.

Actually, he doesn't even get close. He makes it to 1 in the afternoon before grabbing his phone. He can't help it.

Bucky turns on his phone and waits for the Wi-Fi to connect. The phone beeps. There are four missed calls and a message from Steve. Bucky's heart lurches when he sees Steve's name and picture appear on his screen.

Are you okay? Answer your phone or I'm gonna think you're dead.

Bucky also has two missed calls and a message from Sam.

Call me. Clint told everyone you have cholera.

Of course he did. Bucky turns off his phone again and goes back to bed. Time seems to stop.

But his brain will not shut up. It's chanting at him, like some kind of demonic creature hell-bent on driving Bucky insane.

Steve. Steve. Steve. Steve.

Why did it have to be Steve?

Of all the stupid people in the goddamned universe who Bucky's stupid goddamned hormones or libido or whatever could have chosen to have a chemical reaction to, why Steve?

Bucky refuses to admit to himself that he already knows the answer. Because it's Steve.

Bucky tugs the blankets back over his head and gives up trying to push Steve's face from his brain, and he falls asleep with the sound of Steve's voice echoing in his head, and a feeling in his chest like someone's trying to scoop his heart out with a spoon.

----

Bucky spends Saturday curled in the foetal position on his bedroom floor with his face pressed up against the blank page of a journal. He'd heard a theory that trauma is a good fuel for artistic expression, but the only ideas swirling in Bucky's head are of Steve's face and hands and eyes and smile and-

Damnit, Barnes.

Bucky's incapable of speaking to anyone until midday, when he texts Sam one sentence:

Come over. Now.

Twenty minutes later, Sam's let himself in with the spare key under the doormat and is sitting on Bucky's bed, listening to Bucky pour his stupid little heart out. When he finally stops, Sam's silent for what feels like hours.

"You're in love with him," Sam finally says.

"No!" Bucky replies quickly. "No, no, definitely not. This is just a stupid crush, and it's gonna go away soon, and-"

"You can't fool me, Barnes," Sam cuts in, raising an eyebrow. "I know everything about you. You're my best friend."

Bucky sighs and flops down on the bed, resting his head on Sam's thigh. "Then why do you keep pushing me away?" Sam's quiet. Bucky cranes his head to look over at him. "Hey. It's okay. I get that you're going through a tough time at the moment."

Sam looks down at him, a pained expression on his face. "You only want to help. It isn't fair if I keep this from you."

"You can tell me if you want," Bucky says gently. "I want to help, but I don't want to force you into anything."

Sam takes a deep breath. "Okay. T'Challa and I were dating."

Bucky's definitely not expecting that.

"We'd seen each other around school a bit, but I really got to know him when he started going to my dojo about a year after I started. We got partnered up a lot, because we were about the same size and skill level. At the start of last year, just after I got my dan black belt, we were beating the sh*t out of each other at his place - practising. We ended up on the floor and, uh..." Sam trails off and clears his throat.

"Yeah," Bucky says, hiding his smile. "You don't need to go into detail."

Sam shoves him, but there's no heat behind it. "Anyway, we started dating after that." His eyes turn wistful. "I really loved him, Bucky."

"What happened?" Bucky asks softly. Sam lets out a short bark of laughter, but there's no humour behind it.

"We were up in my bedroom one day, about a week before school started this year. Just kissing, nothing too bad. But... my dad saw. I didn't know he was hom*ophobic. He waited until T'Challa had left to tell me that either I turn straight, or I'm on the streets." Sam stops, and brings a hand up to his mouth. Bucky sits up against the wall next to Sam, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders. Sam leans into him, silently shaking.

"So you broke up with him," Bucky says quietly. "And quit martial arts, too."

Sam nods, his body shuddering. Bucky places a small kiss on the top of Sam's head, rubbing circles into his shoulder.

"I still love him, Bucky," Sam whispers.

"I know, Sammy," Bucky says softly, leaning his head on top of Sam's. "I know."

----

Bucky spends Sunday in a daze. He texts back and forth with Sam a bit, and it turns out the one thing going right for once is that he and Sam are back on track. He stays in bed, and his ma comes in a few times, mostly with potato soup and homemade bread because apparently Bucky isn't eating. He hasn't noticed.

On Monday, everything seems disturbingly out of touch and yet completely the same. Clint and Natasha are their usual selves. Sam's come out of his shell and is talking to Bucky again, which is the biggest relief Bucky's felt in what feels like decades. Bucky tries to avoid Steve, and Sam helps, even if he isn't happy about it and tells Bucky to just act like an adult in the sh*tty circ*mstances.

But still, with all his attempts at avoiding Steve, Bucky runs into him on his way back to his locker at the end of the day. Obviously, Steve isn't alone. He's never alone. The shocking thing is that he's pinned to the lockers - Bucky's locker - and his lips are locked furiously with Jessica Smith's.

Bucky stops dead in his tracks. The thing inside his intestines has made a reappearance, and it's trying to crawl up his oesophagus. He tries to move, but his legs are frozen in place. This could not be happening.

Steve's hands are on Jessica's hips, and her fingers are raking through his hair. There are already several hickeys blooming on Steve's jaw and neck.

"I feel like I'm interrupting something," Bucky says loudly, and Steve practically throws Jessica off him. Bucky holds his books closer to his chest and raises his eyebrow, willing his voice not to crack or his eyes to start watering.

"Bucky, I've been waiting for you-"

"You looked pretty occupied to me," Bucky replies, brushing past Steve to open his locker and throw his textbooks in, probably with too much force. "I'll get out of your way." He turns around to throw a forced smile in Steve's direction, unable to meet his eyes. "Next time, don't do it against my locker."

Then Bucky walks down the hall, away from Steve, his backpack clutched firmly in his hand. When he glances back, Jessica's pinned Steve back up against the lockers and is sucking another hickey onto his neck. Steve's eyes meet Bucky's, and Bucky quickly turns away. As he rounds the corner, Bucky feels a tear slowly make its way down his cheek.

----

Tuesday is worse. Bucky avoids Steve like the plague, which is pretty hard, considering Steve seems to be everywhere. In biology, Wanda takes one look at him and launches into another one of Pietro's ridiculous adventures. It brings a smile to Bucky's face. On the way to the dining hall, Bucky sees Steve and Jessica having a hushed conversation in the hallway. Neither look happy. Bucky turns the other way and hides in the toilets for the rest of lunchtime.

At the end of the day, Bucky's supposed to meet with Sam. Instead, he finds T'Challa pressed against the brick wall at the bike racks at the back of the school, with Sam kissing him softly and sweetly. Bucky can't help but think of the day before, when he'd found Steve and Sharon in the same position. He leaves them alone, and shoots off a text to Sam about a minute later.

I'm happy for you, man.

An hour later, Bucky gets a text back.

Thanks.

By Wednesday, Bucky's misery has morphed into a physical manifestation - his legs feel shattered and his chest hurts constantly. Kurt takes one look at his face in the morning and puts in a special request with the office to obtain Bucky's services for the entire day. Bucky didn't know that Kurt could actually do that, but damn is he grateful. Kurt sits Bucky in front of the computer and puts on some foreign Russian film. It's terrible, but Kurt's constant commentary and hoard of chocolate and caffeinated drinks is nice.

Kurt doesn't ask any questions, which Bucky's grateful for; it's such a nice f*cking change from Natasha's concerned glances and Clint's weird heart-to-hearts that seem to be getting more and more common. All Kurt does is ask, "Rogers?" and when Bucky nods, he just sits Bucky down and treats him with all the Russian stoicism he has.

Thursday, Bucky decides that he can't face school. When his ma comes into his room and he's still in bed, Bucky doesn't even have the energy to make something up. He just tugs the blankets up to his chin and tells her that he needs a day off. Ma sits on the edge of Bucky's bed and looks at him for about fifteen seconds.

"So... I haven't seen Steve around this week," she says carefully.

Bucky closes his eyes and wills the lump in his throat to go away. "I guess not," he whispers.

"Oh, James," his ma says softly, and holds him as he cries.

On Friday, pretty much the same thing happens, but with less crying. Then Bucky realises, as soon as his ma had left for work, that he can't stay alone in the house. He grabs jeans and a T-shirt from the floor, and he's halfway down the street when he realises that he hasn't showered in two days, hasn't brushed his teeth, and his hair is all over the place. He probably looks like a drug addict.

His feet somehow find their way to the Black Dahlia. Morita opens the door, squinting like he hasn't seen the sun in days. There's a large stain on the front of his shirt, and the shadow of stubble across his chin. "Bucky, what the hell, man? It's like, 9 in the morning."

"Did I wake you?" Bucky asks distractedly. Morita yawns.

"Yeah. Gig last night. Maybe it was this morning. Or two days ago. I dunno." He peers at Bucky. "You look awful. What's up?"

Bucky stands frozen in the doorway, not sure what exactly he's doing there. He can't breathe, and the smell of coffee, cigarettes and beer is just reminding him of Steve, because Steve had introduced him to this place, and he should never have come here-

"There's a boy," Bucky chokes.

Morita nods, and hustles Bucky inside. Gabe and Dernier are sharing a couch, both fast asleep. Falsworth is nursing a cup of coffee at the bar counter, clutching his head and moaning occasionally. Dum Dum's nowhere in sight; Bucky guesses he's upstairs. As Morita closes the door with a little more force than necessary, Gabe and Dernier both jump awake. Dum Dum almost skips down the stairs, and Bucky can't help but scowl - of course Dum Dum Dugan is the type of person to never get hangovers. Dum Dum's expression quickly turns solemn when he sees Bucky, though.

"Someone had better be on fire," Gabe groans out.

"There's a boy situation," Morita replies, and points at Bucky.

"That boy is a situation, or he has a situation with another boy?" Dernier asks.

"Another boy."

"Romantic?"

"Yep."

Falsworth groans again. "I know that feeling."

"Bad?" Dum Dum asks softly. Bucky can't trust himself to speak, so he just nods. There's a smattering of sympathetic murmurs.

Apparently, there are protocols for this type of situation. Gabe sticks a cassette tape on - seriously, a cassette tape? - and some wailing stuff comes through the speakers that sounds so depressing that Bucky wouldn't have been surprised if the entire band killed themselves after recording. Bucky considers adopting his foetal position on the floor. He decides that a fungal infection from the carpet would not be going on his list of problems, so he curls into a ball on a dusty armchair.

"You want to talk about it, son?" Dum Dum asks gently. Bucky feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and squeezes them shut.

"Steve."

That was not what he'd meant to say, but Dum Dum leans back, as if satisfied. From his spot on the couch, Gabe winces.

It's at that point that Falsworth tells the story of his traumatic love life, where his fiancée ran off with a French guitarist. Dernier winces and admits that he might have been the French guitarist. Gabe gives Bucky a rundown of his boyfriend history - something that Bucky would have much rather not have known. The only thing he gets from the stories is to never go out with someone who steals your drumkit on the first date. Bucky doesn't own a drumkit, and he's pretty sure he could have drawn the same conclusion all on his own.

Morita gives him a beer. It tastes like feet and bellybutton lint. Bucky chokes down a few sips to be polite. Eventually the conversation shifts to non-relationship territory, and Bucky loses himself in the music and voices and cigarette fog. When it becomes too much, Bucky leaves.

Before he walks out the door, Dum Dum clasps him on the shoulder. "Pain passes. Remember that. And Steve may be an idiot, but he's also a swell kid. Just like you." Dum Dum pauses. "Good luck, James."

The sun's high in a perfect, clear sky. Bucky realises that he hasn't eaten anything since the few bites of chicken soup the night before. He doesn't want to be back at home, so his feet decide to take him to the Mexican place with nachos under ten dollars. The owner with the ridiculous moustache is there, and greets him like an old friend. Bucky sits at the bar and orders the nachos. The music is that upbeat Latin stuff with people shouting random phrases in Spanish at given intervals. It's probably as helpful for Bucky's mood as the wailing stuff at the Black Dahlia.

The owner leans over the bar with a dirty dishcloth over his shoulder, and asks if everything's okay. Bucky ends up spilling his entire life story to the guy, slipping into Russian at random intervals. The guy seems to understand though, and pours Bucky a tequila shot.

It's almost the end of the school day when Bucky leaves the Mexican place. He still has no clue what he's doing, or where he's going.

He considers hiding out in the comic book store Clint and Natasha spend their weekends at.

He considers drowning himself in overly-strong tea at the old Russian teahouse.

He considers sitting in the darkness of a movie theatre and losing himself in a movie.

Bucky jumps on a train. He doesn't really know where he's going, but his subconscious must be leading him somewhere because Bucky finds himself at the front door of a sorority house, and a pretty girl with dark braids opening the door for him.

"Does Rebecca Barnes live here?" he asks politely. The girl takes in his dishevelled appearance, and glares at him suspiciously.

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm her brother. Bucky."

The girl still doesn't look convinced, but another who's passing by lets out a sound of surprise. "Oh, of course! Come in. Becca hasn't left her room today - I think she's sick."

"Which room is hers?"

"Number seven. Second floor. Her roomie's out today, and nobody wanted to wake her up." The girl frowns. "She's been having a hard time lately."

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. Becca hadn't said anything about having a hard time when she'd called for her weekly check-in on Monday. He takes the stairs two at a time, and knocks on the door with the gold-plated 7.

"Becks, you in there? It's me."

No answer. Bucky frowns, and pounds a bit harder.

"Becca, open up. I need to talk to you."

There's silence on the other side. Bucky feels a lump of dread curling in his gut, and opens the door.

His little sister is lying in a pool of vomit in the middle of the floor. Her eyes are rolled up into her head, her skin is blue, and her body is completely still. A belt is wrapped around her bicep, and an empty syringe lies a few feet away.

Bucky hears an ear-splitting scream as he runs across the room to her. It doesn't even occur to him that the sound comes from him. There are more screams from behind him as he brushes the hair off Becca's face and pushes against her chest, trying to do CPR with his one arm. The girl who'd opened the door for him removes his hand and starts doing it herself, and the other girl is frantically screaming into Bucky's phone. Bucky cradles Becca to his chest, his vision blurry and his head spinning. The belt. The syringe. The belt. The syringe.

Paramedics flood the room, followed quickly by Natasha, Clint and Sam. Clint's face turns pale when he sees Becca, and Bucky collapses into Natasha's arms. Sam helps the traumatized girls out of the room per the paramedic's instructions. Bucky's legs can't hold his weight. Natasha's supporting his whole body. Clint comes over and helps her guide Bucky to the floor. The syringe is picked up by a paramedic.

Police come in not long after. The syringe is bagged. Little tags with numbers on them are placed all around the room. Bucky's ushered out of the room. The puddle of vomit is still wet. Natasha gets into a screaming match with a policeman twice her size when he tries not-so-gently to question Bucky. They're removed from the premises. Sam helps Clint and Natasha half-carry Bucky to a cab, and then they all go to the hospital. Bucky's ears are buzzing. All he can see is Becca's broken frame on her bedroom floor.

The hospital is too bright, too white. Becca's taken immediately to the operating room, and nurses and doctors rush past Bucky as if he's invisible. As soon as Natasha lets go of him, Bucky feels his knees buckle, and he would have hit the floor if Sam hadn't caught him. A nurse takes him to a treatment room to be treated for shock. His ma comes rushing in later, his aunt in tow. Bucky lets her sob into his shoulder.

Becca comes out of surgery late. Sam and Clint had to go home, and Natasha has a shift at the teahouse.

"I can skip it," she says ferociously. "You're here alone, and I know you need someone here with you."

"Your boss will fire you," Bucky says numbly.

"I don't care."

"Go, Nat."

The silence is stifling. Then Natasha's kissing his cheek and whispering a Russian prayer into his ear. She leaves silently.

Ma's knocked out on the other side of the waiting room, curled up in a small, uncomfortable hospital chair. Bucky's aunt had to go home - she has a five year old, and the babysitter left at nine. Bucky sits with his knees curled up to his chest, his face buried in his hand. He's run out of tears, he's run out of anger. He's just numb.

"Buck?"

Bucky looks up. Steve Rogers is standing in front of him.

Completely forgetting that he's meant to be avoiding Steve, that Steve had kissed Jessica, that Bucky is completely in love with this idiot, Bucky flings himself into Steve's arms. Steve is warm and solid and smells like a campfire, and Bucky realises that he's freezing and still covered in puke and so tired, but Steve doesn't care, and his hand is in Bucky's hair and his lips are on Bucky's forehead and his arms are wrapped tightly around Bucky's waist and Bucky wants to kiss him so bad-

Bucky's full-on ugly sobbing at this point, and Steve doesn't care because he only cares about things that matter, and he's murmuring apologies into Bucky's hair and no, you shouldn't be the one who's sorry, I was the one who avoided you all week -

They migrate to a chair that's far too small to fit just one of them, but it doesn't matter because Steve's arms are wrapped around Bucky, and his fingers are in his hair, and his lips are on his forehead, and all Bucky can do is hang on for dear life as he's swept up by his ocean of fear and pain and regret and grief. Steve just holds him tighter.

"It's alright, Buck," Steve murmurs. "It's okay. I've got you, sweetheart."

Bucky just sobs harder. It's ridiculous, the way he's been avoiding Steve. Yes, it's more than a simple crush. No, Steve isn't interested in him. Yes, Steve apparently has a girlfriend now. That doesn't matter, because Steve is still his friend, and Bucky would rather have him as a friend than as nothing, and he'd been stupid for ever thinking otherwise because it had hurt Steve too.

"Stay with me," Bucky chokes out. Steve kisses the top of his head.

"Always, Buck."

------

Life tip: never sleep on a hospital chair. Bucky wakes up with a crick in his neck, a sore back, and pins and needles keep running up and down his thighs. But none of that matters.

Because Becca is alive.

The night had been spent in a horrible half-asleep state, where Bucky drifted in and out of consciousness and kept seeing the scene of Becca's tiny body on the floor, unmoving. More than once he'd woken up crying, and Steve was always there to bring him back from the brink.

God, Steve. He stays through the night, into the morning. He catches Bucky when his knees buckle after the doctors tell him that Becca had survived the night. He holds Bucky tightly when Becca's heart stops suddenly, and the doctors have to use a defibrillator to get it to start again.

"You don't have to stay, y'know," Bucky mumbles at about nine in the morning. "You're probably exhausted, and your dad might be wondering where you are."

"My dad's in LA for the next week," Steve says. "And if I should be going home, then so should you."

Bucky glares at him. "I'm not leaving until I know that Becca's okay."

"And I'm not leaving until I know that you'll be okay," Steve shoots back. His chin juts up in that endearing way that it does whenever Steve's feeling particularly stubborn, and Bucky sighs, knowing he won't be able to win the argument.

At ten thirty, the doctor comes out. Bucky's ma had woken up by then and is flitting around the waiting room, and not even Steve can calm her down.

"She's stable," the doctor says, and Bucky collapses again. Steve catches him again. Steve always catches him.

"Sweetie, you should go home," Ma says, stroking Bucky's cheek. "You're dead on your feet."

"But Becca-"

"Will be fine," his ma says sternly, then turned to Steve. "Steven, could you stay with him? I need to stay here, and I don't want him to be alone."

"Of course, ma'am," Steve says, and smiles at her. Bucky suddenly feels incredibly tired, and leans back into Steve's chest. Steve's lips brush the top of Bucky's head. "Come on, Buck."

Bucky lets Steve half-carry him out of the hospital and put him in the taxi that's waiting outside, then leans into Steve's side as soon as the car starts moving. Steve's arm slides around his shoulders, and Bucky closes his eyes.

He must fall asleep, because when he opens his eyes again the taxi's pulled up in front of Steve's apartment block. Steve has apparently decided that Bucky is incapable of walking, and picks him up with ease. Bucky would have complained about it, but all he can do is lean back into Steve's chest and breathe in his scent. Steve sets him on the bed, and takes out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

"Change into these," he says gently. Bucky doesn't have the strength to argue.

The pants are soft and a bit too big, so the ends slip under Bucky's heels. The shirt is grey and cotton, and is also too big. It smells like Steve.

Bucky curls up in a ball on the bed, and barely notices when Steve comes back in and sits down next to him. Neither of them say anything. Steve's hand slips into Bucky's. Bucky leans his head on Steve's shoulder. They stay there for a very long time. Bucky doesn't even know what time it is when Steve finally moves away.

"Do you like pasta? I'm gonna make pasta."

Bucky manages a watery smile. "I love pasta."

Steve smiles at him and stands up, holding out a hand and not letting go when Bucky takes it. Steve sits him down on the couch and walks into the adjacent kitchen, humming softly as he goes. Bucky closes his eyes and draws his knees up to his chest, focusing on the sound of Steve's voice and the notes that make up the song. He doesn't recognise it, but that isn't really surprising - Bucky isn't that good when it comes to music. Bucky doesn't even realise he's started crying until the tears soak through the knees of his sweatpants. He wipes at his face, frustration gnawing on his insides. If he could just stop crying...

"Hey."

Steve's voice is too gentle. It's always too gentle. He needs something else, something more rough. Bucky wants to tell Steve to yell at him, hit him the way his father used to, hold him by the neck like Rumlow and claw at the stump of his shoulder that is still so sensitive to touch, even after the rehab and surgeries and beatings.

Instead, Bucky feels Steve's arms wrap around him softly and firmly, and Bucky is selfish because he clings to that gentleness and safety, even though he doesn't deserve it.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, Buck," Steve murmurs, and Bucky realises he's been speaking out loud, alternating between English and Russian like he always does when he's as upset as he is. Steve is so kind and so beautiful and Bucky doesn't deserve him, and Steve should be with someone beautiful and whole, who smiled and laughed and told jokes and could make Steve happy. And even though he knows this, Bucky can't help but bury his face further into Steve's neck and breathe in his scent, because Bucky is a selfish man and he wants nothing more than to lean up and press his lips to Steve's.

"You didn't burn the pasta, did you?" Bucky croaks. Steve muffles his laugh in Bucky's hair.

"I can actually cook things, you know."

"Like how you cooked that popcorn?"

"I still think that was your fault."

Bucky lets out a pretty pathetic sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying his face in Steve's neck. "Of course you'd say that."

Then Steve is picking him up again, but Bucky's legs are around his waist and their hips are pressed flush together and god, Bucky is so f*cked-

Bucky lets out a very embarrassing squeak and tightens his grip on Steve's shirt, silently praying that his body would behave itself and not do anything embarrassing.

"What are you doing?" he manages to get out. Steve frowns at him. His face is really close to Bucky's.

"You haven't eaten for about a day, have you?"

"I'm fine," Bucky insists, and Steve's frown deepens.

"You are going to eat at least one bowl of pasta if I have to spoon feed it to you," Steve threatens. Bucky's already warm face feels impossibly hot, and he leans his forehead on Steve's shoulder.

"Just don't give me food poisoning, Rogers," Bucky mumbles out. Steve's laugh reverberates through Bucky's whole body.

They end up eating out of the same bowl, because Steve hadn't washed the dishes and neither of them could be bothered waiting. They sit on the counter, Steve holding the bowl and Bucky occasionally leaning over to spear a mouthful. Steve's thigh is warm against Bucky's. They finish off the whole pot.

After, they sit on the couch and watch a movie. It's ridiculous, really - Bucky's little sister is in the hospital, and he's sitting on Steve's lap and watching Star Wars. And because Bucky's brain hates him, it makes him remember exactly why he hasn't talked to Steve for the whole week.

"Listen, Steve," Bucky begin, "I haven't said it yet, but I'm happy for you. Jessica is - well, I wouldn't say she's great, because she hates me - but... it looks like she makes you happy, and that's pretty great."

Because Bucky loves torturing himself. God, he wishes he could keep his mouth shut.

Bucky feels Steve's head turn from the TV to look at him, but he keeps his gaze resolutely on the screen. Han Solo is coming out of cryo freeze - it's one of his favourite parts.

"Bucky, what are you talking about?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Dude. You. Jessica Smith. Your make out session against my locker. The fact that you two are joined at the hip. I'm not an idiot."

"No, no, Buck, you've got it all wrong," Steve says quickly. Bucky finally looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. Steve's face is red, and he looks almost horrified. "Jessica and I aren't dating."

Bucky raises his eyebrow higher. "You don't need to keep it from me, Steve. I'm not gonna make fun of you or anything." God, why is he digging himself into this hole? Bucky knows that the conversation won't end well for him, but he forges ahead anyway because he is an idiot.

"Okay," Steve sighs, and pinched his brow. Bucky braces himself for the inevitable heartbreak that will come with the conversation. "You weren't at school on Friday, and then I had to go to Massachusetts over the weekend and I don't think I slept at all, and then you were acting weird on Monday, and Jessica kinda pinned me against the lockers while I was waiting for you and I was definitely delirious and far too confused and sleep deprived to do anything but just stand there, and-"

Steve pauses for a breath, then looks sheepish. "I don't like Jessica. Not like that."

Bucky blinks. "You were literally-"

"Yeah, I know."

Steve's face is red again. Bucky blinks again.

"And I know that you were a little upset-"

"What?" Is Bucky seriously that obvious?

"Because you and Jess, uh... dislike each other - so even if I was interested in... dating her, I wouldn't want to mess up our friendship by going out with someone you don't approve of."

"You wouldn't go out with her because you want my approval on the person you date," Bucky says numbly. Well, wasn't this a catch-22.

"I don't want anything to change between us," Steve says. His eyes are wide and pleading, his Golden Retriever stare firmly in place. Bucky hates how that look takes his breath away like some dumb Nancy Myers movie.

"...You don't?" Bucky knows he sounds like a child, but he can't help it. Steve's thumb is rubbing circles into his neck, and he's warm and tired and overly emotional and he deserves to let his guard down just a little bit.

Steve leans his head back against the couch. "You know, I've never been anywhere that's felt so... solid. I don't think I realised how much I wanted that until I moved here. Out of all the places I've lived with my father, this is the one that's felt the most like home." Steve turns his head to look at Bucky. There's a look in his eyes that Bucky can't quite place. "Buck... you and the others are... the best friends I've ever had. I don't want anything to change that either. I'm just... I'm just tired. Of everything around me changing all the time." He holds Bucky's gaze. "I just want to stay with you."

Bucky's pretty sure he stops breathing for a moment. Steve's eyes are boring into his, stripping his conscious layer by layer until he feels completely bare, and Bucky revels in the feeling. It takes all of his self control to not kiss Steve senseless.

"Me too," Bucky whispers. Steve's hands are back on Bucky's waist, and Bucky hooks his leg over Steve to settle in his lap. It would have been so easy to press his lips to Steve's, but then Steve is pulling him in so Bucky is pressed against his chest, his face in the crook of Steve's neck. Bucky closes his eyes and curls his fingers into the fabric of Steve's shirt, and god, he'll never get over how intoxicating Steve smells. Steve's hands roam over Bucky's back, tracing patterns and working out the knots in the muscles. Bucky practically melts against him, and he'd be embarrassed if he wasn't so tired, and if it didn't feel so good.

Bucky's phone starts ringing from where it was on the counter and Bucky sighs softly, moving off Steve to answer it. He can almost imagine that Steve's grip tightens before he lets go. When Bucky picks up the phone, he realises with a start that it's already five in the evening.

"How's Becca?" Bucky asks immediately.

"She's awake." His ma sounds like she's about to drop. "She's so lucky, James. I'm so glad you got there when you did. You saved her life, baby."

Bucky's throat feels thick with tears. "Okay. I'm on my way."

"No, you're not," his ma says firmly - or as firmly as she can, given that she hasn't properly slept in about two days. "You're going to stay with Steve and get a good night's sleep. You can come to the hospital in the morning."

"Mama, please," Bucky pleads. "I need to see her."

"James." His ma's voice is gentle. "Please."

Bucky lets his head fall, and his hair falls onto his forehead and sticks to his lashes because huzzah, more tears.

"Okay. But as soon as I wake up tomorrow, I'm going to the hospital."

"Alright. I love you, James."

Bucky hears the line disconnect, and slowly puts the phone down.

"Buck?"

Bucky turns around to see Steve standing there, forehead creased with worry, and Bucky crosses the few feet between them to bury his face in Steve's neck, his fingers curling through Steve's short hair.

"You okay?" Steve murmurs. He starts to stroke Bucky's back again and Bucky shudders, leaning further into the embrace.

"Becca's awake," he mumbles. "Ma doesn't want me to come in until the morning, though. Says I should get some sleep first."

"I think I agree with her on that."

Bucky lifts his head to glare at Steve.

"Buck, you fell asleep on me in the cab, and that was over six hours ago and you still haven't slept." Steve brushes a stray lock of hair out of Bucky's eyes, and Bucky finds himself unashamedly leaning into the touch. "Please stay."

Bucky searches Steve's face. "And you're sure you're okay with me crashing here for the night?"

Steve laughs. "Honestly, if I had to choose anyone to crash here, it'd be you."

Bucky feels his face heat up, and ducks his head. "I just don't wanna overstay my welcome, or anything. I can always go back to my place."

Steve's fingers are suddenly under Bucky's chin, tilting his head up gently. Bucky reluctantly meets Steve's gaze, and is almost blown away by the sincerity he sees. "You will never overstay your welcome, Buck. I promise."

Bucky reaches up to cup Steve's face. His palm barely touches Steve's cheek, but every nerve under his skin is on fire. "You're sure."

Steve's hand leaves Bucky's chin to wrap around his wrist. "I'm sure."

-----

Bucky ends up having a shower before he goes to bed. The water is scalding, and turns his skin pink and mottled, but Bucky can't bring himself to care. He stands under the hot water with his head bowed, wishing that Steve was holding him, that Steve was the one rubbing shampoo into his hair, that Steve's warm body was pressed flush against his own. Bucky runs the water cold.

When he steps out, Bucky notices that Steve's left fresh clothes hanging on the towel rack, and gratefully slips into them. It's another pair of too-large sweatpants and a tank top, and the brush of Bucky's overly-sensitive skin against the fabric makes all of his hair stand on end.

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, he sees Steve sitting on the bed, reading a book. He looks up as Bucky approaches, but all Bucky does is pull back the covers beside him, lie down, and rest his head on Steve's thigh.

"Stay," Bucky mumbles. Steve's hand starts carting through Bucky's hair.

"Always, Buck."

Bucky falls asleep to the feeling of Steve's hand in his hair and Steve's soft humming filling the room.

At some point Steve must have gone to bed, because the next time Bucky wakes up is to have Steve's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and his back against Steve's chest. Steve's breathing softly and quietly, his breath ghosting over the bare skin of Bucky's neck. Bucky leans his head back to rest against Steve's, and Steve mumbles something in his sleep and presses his lips to Bucky's neck. Bucky falls asleep again with Steve's lips still brushing against his skin.

-----

As soon as Becca sees him, she bursts into tears. Bucky sits on the edge of her bed and holds her. She looks painfully thin, her elbows bonier than normal and her cheeks gaunt and pale. Bucky bites back his own tears, and just tightens his grip on her. Becca's obviously been struggling with an addiction, and Bucky had been too caught up in his own self-pity to realise she was slowly killing herself. He's amazed that she doesn't scream at him and throw him out of the hospital room.

"I'm so sorry, Becks," Bucky murmurs, pressing a kiss to his sister's head. "I should've been there for you."

"It's not your fault," Becca chokes out. "It was my stupid boyfriend, and our stupid dad, and my stupid self."

"Tell me about it," Bucky says gently. "Please, Becca. I want to help."

Becca takes a deep breath. "I... I wasn't doing well after dad's death. I mean, none of us were, but when I got that scholarship, I just kinda threw myself into school. I didn't really sleep much or eat much, and I was basically living off coffee and ramen. I started dating this guy - I don't know how old he is, maybe twenty-four? But when I told him about it, he gave me a shot of heroin, said it would help. And... I couldn't stop."

Bucky blinks back tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Becca rubs at her face. "I didn't want you to worry. You're under so much stress, and I didn't want to add to it with my sh*t. I thought I could get over it by myself."

"I'll never be under too much stress to help you, Becca," Bucky stresses, tightening his grip on her bony shoulders. "You're my little sister. I'd probably jump in front of a bus if you asked me to."

Becca chokes out a laugh. "Always so dramatic, James."

They sit in comfortable silence for a while until Becca starts to drift off. Bucky helps her settle down, and tucks the blankets under her chin like he used to do when they were kids. Just as he's getting up to leave, Becca grabbed his hand.

"Bucky," she murmurs.

"Yeah Becks, I'm here."

"You're in love with Steve, aren't you?"

Bucky fights down the lump in his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Becca gives him a sleepy smile. "Good." She paused. "Take care of yourself, big brother."

Her eyes slide shut. Bucky presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, and leaves the room.

-----

She's dead by morning.

Chapter 7: Interlude

Chapter Text

Grief is a strange thing. It's like the worst acid trip ever, like getting a limb sawed off without anaesthesia. It's like watching as some crazy doctor in an underground bunker cuts open your chest and pulls out your still-beating heart. It's eating a particular meal and breaking down because of the taste. It's turning a photograph face-down and changing the lock screen on your phone, because it's unbearable to look at the pictures. It's laughing about a particular memory or event, and somewhere along the way the tears had started coming, and you're laughing and crying at the same time and you look f*cking possessed and it's wanting to die and to live all at once because Becca would be damned if Bucky killed himself and she'd probably come back from the grave to slap him upside the head and tell him to get a grip on himself.

So, yeah. Bucky's a f*cking mess.

He's in his last year at school, halfway through the third term, and drowning in the fact that his baby sister is dead.

"It's not your fault, you know."

Bucky scoffs, and throws back another shot of vodka. Natasha's voice is gentle, which isn't a normal occurrence, and her expression is pinched and tired. Her hair falls into her eyes, her apron is dirty, and her shoulders are tense and scrunched up. The other patrons of the teahouse don't pay them much attention, and none of them really seem to care that a seventeen-year-old is drinking like an old Soviet sailor in the corner.

"If I'd gotten there earlier, then maybe she would have survived," he says emotionlessly, fingers tapping on the empty shot glass.

"But you got there all the same," Natasha says softly. "If it wasn't for you, she would've died on the floor of her dorm. Because you found her, she got to say goodbye. I don't think you realise how big of a difference that makes."

"What does it matter? She's still dead."

"But you made her happy," Natasha says gently. "She's at peace."

Bucky glares at her through bloodshot eyes. "She was sixteen years old, Nat. Full scholarship ride to a great college when she was only in tenth grade. She had her whole life ahead of her, and it was taken away, just like that." He snaps his fingers. Natasha slides into the booth beside him, and cups Bucky's face in her hand.

"She would want you to keep fighting," Natasha says seriously. Her thumb brushes below Bucky's eye. "If you can't find any other reason to keep living, to live your life, then think of her."

Bucky's aunt and her kid move into Becca's room. Aunt Edith had always been Bucky's favourite growing up - she's smart as a whip and with a temper that rivals Bucky's own, and had always been the one to help after Bucky's dad had a particularly rough patch and they needed a safe place to stay. Bucky's cousin Alice is sweet and innocent, and the resemblance to Becca makes Bucky's heart stutter. On nights she can't sleep, Alice slips into Bucky's bed and presses her tiny, cold feet against his thigh, and he tells her stories about dragons and princesses and heroes who save the day and live happily ever after.

Aunt Edith is now the one to throw away the empty vodka bottles, to make toasted sandwiches and leave them against Ma's door when she wouldn't come out. Aunt Edith always forces a smile when Bucky asks her about it, and she tells him, "She just needs some time, honey. Give her time."

So Bucky does. He helps Aunt Edith with dinner and housework, and pretends not to notice the frequent trips to the liquor store and the smell of cigarettes that's started permeating their home. He watches as Winifred Barnes loses weight, as her rosy complexion turns waxy and pale, as her hair starts to turn grey and thin and greasy. He watches as the woman who had made him, raised him and cared for him, falls into a pit of despair and self-loathing that he' powerless to pull her out of. She'd almost lost her son, then she'd lost her husband, and her daughter. Winifred Barnes may be a strong woman, but she's not that strong.

That's when Bucky comes to a realisation. His father is dead. His sister is dead. His mother is slowly dying inside from grief. His aunt is terrified. His poor little cousin knows there's something wrong, and she's scared, too. Bucky's grieving, and he's scared, and most days he wants to curl up and cry his little heart out. But he can do something. He can give himself a kick in the ass and stop moping around and help his family, because even though he's a seventeen-year-old amputee with severe mental issues and five bucks to his name, he isn't nothing.

So Bucky decides to keep living.

Chapter 8 Chapter Text

Bucky isn't sure if deciding to live his life counts as some weird rite of passage. Like some not-very-well known religion has gods watching over him and thinking, yep, he's passed. Whatever it is, Bucky isn't exactly complaining.

He throws himself headfirst into school. It hadn't really hit him that he's going to be graduating at the end of the school year, and he's kinda behind. Bucky sends out his application and short story to ten schools, and gets accepted into three - including NYU. He catches up on trigonometry and biology and psychology and health and English. He writes five essays in two days.

It suddenly feels like every spare moment of Bucky's life is filled with commitments - going to Howling Commandoes gigs, dropping Alice off at school, making dinner when Aunt Edith has a late shift.

Bucky hangs out at Steve's place most weekends when neither of them had anything pressing to do. Steve's dad is usually out, and they mostly sit around, watch TV, and have stupid arguments about conspiracy theories and sports teams, even though Bucky doesn't know a thing about sport.

After some prodding, Steve finally plays some music for Bucky, to help with his stage fright. Bucky learns that Steve's enrolled for the musical composition major at NYU. It makes him giddy.

"So you're staying?" Bucky asks. Steve turns to look at him, a smile playing on his lips.

"I'm eighteen years old. I don't have to follow Dad around anymore. So even if he moves, hell yeah I'm staying."

Bucky isn't able to stop himself from leaning in and kissing Steve's cheek, and the smile that breaks across Steve's face makes Bucky not regret the decision in the slightest.

Bucky has no idea what's going on between him and Steve. Clint says that Steve likes him back. Natasha tells him to do what makes him happy. Sam is adamant about not getting into Bucky's love life, which is both a relief and a hindrance, because Sam refuses to help him in any situation where Steve is romantically concerned.

"I've had enough people messing around in my love life, dude," he says, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to do that to you."

Sam has, finally, talked to T'Challa. Bucky knows this because Sam calls him at one in the morning sounding giddy, and confesses the whole thing. After that, Bucky frequently sees Sam and T'Challa talking quietly to each other, huge grins on their faces and hands intertwined. More than once, Okoye rolls her eyes at him, as if to say, Can you believe these idiots? She has no idea.

Bucky isn't the only one getting swamped with commitments, school and otherwise. Steve's become busier than ever - the Formal committee's making him work his ass off, the shelter is low on employees and needs Steve to take more shifts, and pair those with the ridiculous amount of schoolwork that's getting piled onto everyone's asses, Steve doesn't exactly have a lot of spare time.

March arrives quickly, and with it, Bucky's birthday. Natasha and Steve organise a surprise after-hours party at the old Russian teahouse, but since Clint's involved, it's a terrible surprise. Still, Bucky pretends to be shocked when he walks through the doors to find the teahouse covered in balloons and streamers, and a large cake topped with whipped cream sitting on the table.

Bucky is very surprised by the amount of people who show up, though. Dum Dum and the Howling Commandoes are there, sitting at the counter and drinking the beer they'd brought with them. Wanda and Pietro show up and get into a long conversation with an old Russian dude who hasn't seemed to realise that the place is closed for a private event. Okoye and Shuri tag along to laugh at the ridiculous adoration on T'Challa and Sam's faces every time they look at each other.

Since T'Challa became a sort-of official member of the group, Bucky's been trying to define the weird feeling he gets whenever he sees T'Challa and Sam together. T'Challa is nice, polite and a total gentleman, as well as interesting, which is a hard line to walk in Bucky's opinion. He has a goofy smile reserved for Sam only. He spends hours talking to Clint about trajectory and archery as a sport, and manages to keep up with Natasha's quick thinking and even quicker mouth. Bucky isn't sure if he could ever get used to his best friend having a boyfriend, although he's also slightly annoyed with himself that he hadn't noticed their relationship beforehand - it's so blatantly obvious. It's at the party that Bucky realises what the weird feeling is. He's kind of envious. T'Challa and Sam are obviously besotted with each other. Bucky craved for that.

Clint and Natasha give Bucky a copy of the original Hawkeye and the Black Widow comic, signed by Stan Lee. Bucky has no idea who that is, but he appreciates the sentiment. Sam and T'Challa's present is a little obsidian block carved into the shape of a panther, matched with a new leather-bound journal.

Steve spends the night running around frantically, filling people's drinks, choosing songs, breaking up fights, and making sure everyone knows everyone. A few times Bucky catches himself watching Steve as he talks to a guest, or mutters to himself every time a song he doesn't like comes on. Every time Bucky tears his eyes away, Dum Dum gives him a sympathetic look.

Eventually, Steve grabs Bucky to give him his present. "Okay, so I scoured the earth for the perfect thing, but since I couldn't find a young, sexy man to be your kept boyfriend, this was my next best option."

He hands Bucky a flat box. Inside is a necklace, with two little charms on it - a pencil, and a book. It's almost a complete match to the one Bucky had given Steve. Bucky runs his hand over the journal, noticing a little inscription on the back.

To the end of the line.

"Thoughts?" Steve asks. He looks nervous.

Bucky looks up at him, and throws his arm around Steve's neck. "You're a sentimental dork, Rogers."

Steve laughs softly, his hands curling around Bucky's waist. "So you like it?"

"Stevie, it's amazing. I love it," Bucky says truthfully, and Steve's face breaks into a smile. It's like staring into the sun.

"Buck, you coming? It's cake time!" Clint calls out from across the room and Bucky blinks, stepping up of Steve's embrace.

"I should go," Bucky mumbles. Steve nods, and drops his hands from Bucky's waist.

"Yeah. I should probably break that up," Steve says, nodding over to where Shuri and Morita are arguing about something or other.

"But Steve?" Bucky blurts out. He feels his face go red. "Thanks. For the present. And the party. And... everything else."

Steve smiles, then leans in to kiss the top of Bucky's head. "Yeah. Anything, Buck."

-----

Bucky's post-birthday universe is filled with exam preparation, babysitting Alice, and the obligatory end-of-year chaos. Despite being surprisingly put together, Bucky is still not completely ready for the conversations about after graduation. Wanda and Pietro are taking a gap year to go back to Sokovia and see their family. T'Challa and Shuri are going to Africa over the holidays to see their family. Sam had gotten into the psychology course he wanted, and he and Bucky have already rented the dorm they're going to be sharing. Natasha and Clint have both been accepted into a program called SHIELD's Next Generation, which is apparently a training course for baby spies for one of the top intelligence organisations in the country.

Far too quickly, April rolls into May. School and exams almost immediately become irrelevant, because with May comes the End of Year Formal.

The teachers collectively recognise the futility of attempting a full day of classes, so the seniors are dismissed at lunch. Natasha disappears to the hairdresser with Clint, Wanda and Pietro, and Bucky finds himself at T'Challa's house with Sam, Okoye and Shuri a to get ready. He doesn't know exactly how it happened, but Shuri has his costume tucked under her arm and a bright smile on her face.

"Come on now, white boy! We don't have all day!" she scolds him, and Sam watches with amusem*nt as she pokes and prods at Bucky in the stupid costume, then decides that his hair is a disaster and sits him down at her vanity table.

"Shuri, I don't think this is really necessary," Bucky tries to complain, but she pinches his ear.

"Do you see anybody else around here with nice hair?" she askes, gesturing towards Sam and Okoye. "These idiots cut all their hair off, and my brother is useless. I am going to style your hair, and you are going to sit there and take it like a man."

Okoye snorts milk through her nose. T'Challa glares at his sister, but Shuri ignores him.

By the time she was done, Bucky barely recognises himself. His costume consists of a blue jacket that hugs his frame in a way that's tight, but not uncomfortably so, black pants, and shin-high combat boots. There's a utility belt slung around his waist, and his left sleeve is pinned up with a small badge in the shape of a wing. Shuri had managed to wrestle one half of his head into small braids, and she'd used some kind of product to get all the loose strands that couldn't fit in the braids to sit flat. The other side hangs free, curling around Bucky's ear and tickling his jawline.

"I am a genius." Shuri announces, hands on her hips. "One of these days, when I'm rich and famous, you'll be able to say I did your hair."

"I'm honoured," Bucky deadpans.

By six thirty, the five of them stand outside the gymnasium, decked out in their costumes and waiting for Natasha, Clint, Wanda and Pietro. T'Challa has a suit to match Sam's, Okoye is dressed as Rosie the Riveter, and Shuri's gone all out in a flapper dress that rustles as she walks.

"Where are the others?" Sam asks, checking his watch.

"You know Natasha likes to be fashionably late," Bucky replies.

"Yeah, but it's already half an hour late."

"You won't have to wait any longer," T'Challa murmurs to Sam, nodding his head to his right. Natasha's in a skin tight catsuit, and has her arm around Clint, who's wearing a black stealth suit and purple tinted glasses, with a bow and quiver slung across his back. Wanda is making some obscene hand gesture to Pietro, which looks strange in her perfectly styled Soviet army uniform. Pietro is laughing, dressed to the nines in a very revealing flapper costume

When they get close enough, Wanda looks Bucky over and grins. "Nice look, Barnes."

"You too, Maximoff." Bucky offers his arm. "Shall we?"

Wanda grins again, and they all go into the gym together.

Music pounds through the building as they walk through the familiar corridors, past the science labs and the abandoned toilets that stoners use to wrap bongs. There's even more glitter than before - it looks as if someone has run through the halls with a huge box of the stuff and thrown it everywhere for people to slip in or choke on.

The hallway to the gym is hidden beneath a thick red carpet. Movie posters on art-room easels line the sides behind the red ropes that are normally used to keep the middle schoolers in the right spot when they had vaccinations. At the end of the red carpet, the gym doors are flanked by two life-sized golden Oscars, where a few committee members stand with cameras. It's ridiculous and tacky and Bucky is secretly loving every second of it.

Bucky doesn't have much of a chance to process the setup, because a shrieking blur grabs his shoulders and slams him into a wall about five seconds after they step into the room. Bucky sighs internally as his mind flashes back to the past five years of his life.

"Jimmy! Man, I knew it was you!"

Brock Rumlow is drunk. Absolutely, ridiculously hammered. And his breath stinks. And he will not move his face away from Bucky's. Bucky's almost worried that he'd try to kiss him.

"Maybe that's because I'm the only person you know with one arm."

Rumlow giggles hysterically. "Dude, you're so smart. Like, soooo smart. I can totally see why Jess is jealous of you - she's just a slag."

Bucky winces at the choice of words. "I wouldn't say that."

Rumlow ignores him to turn his eyes onto Shuri. "Hey gorgeous," he purr, before looking over at Natasha. "Hey to you too, beautiful."

"Walk away, Rumlow, before I cut off your tongue," Natasha snaps, crossing her arms, and Okoye laughs as Rumlow trips over his own feet to get away from them. Then he seems to completely forget he'd been in the middle of being threatened by a terrifying redhead, and runs down the red carpet to body slam a Harry Houdini.

"It's so satisfying to know he's gonna spend the night puking on his shoes before passing out in a topiary," Wanda sighs.

They get their pictures taken by a beaming Thor and a glowering Loki. Rumlow is tripped up by a gangster. So far it's chaos, and Bucky doubts that it'll get any better. The inside of the gym is surprisingly nice - there's an old-fashioned snack bar in the corner, posters of war propaganda and old movies line the walls, and gold stars hang from the ceiling beams. The gym screen is broadcasting a movie - it takes Bucky about four seconds to realise that it's the original Wizard of Oz.

The centre of the gym is covered by cardboard gold stars, stuck down in no particular pattern. Bucky walks over to the closest one to see Peter Parker's name written in fancy cursive.

"Everyone has one. We triple-checked," Gamora says. Bucky hadn't noticed her.

"You did a really good job with the decorating," Bucky says, and she grins.

"It was pretty much all Steve. That guy's got talent." She looks over towards the dance floor, and curses. "sh*t. I need to go save my boyfriend. He's about to be beaten up for the fifth time tonight."

Sure enough, Peter Quill is in the middle of an argument with Drax Destroyer (awesome name, pretty stupid guy) and it's about half a second from turning into a full-blown fist fight. Which would have been hilarious, considering that Drax is absolutely massive and Peter Quill barely comes up to his armpit. Gamora storms off, yelling "Peter! No!" as she goes.

Natasha grins at the scene and grabs Clint's hand, dragging him onto the dance floor. Sam and T'Challa are in their own world, and with a scoff and an eye roll in their direction, Okoye walks towards the snack bar, Shuri following.

"You wanna dance?" Wanda asks, and Bucky snorted.

"Maybe later. When aliens take over my brain and I lose my sense of free will."

"Wanda, come on, let's dance!" Pietro says excitedly. "They're playing Taylor Swift!"

"Why would you want to dance to Taylor Swift?" Bucky asks in confusion, and Wanda laughs.

"He's got a bit of an obsession with her. I'll see you later?"

"Absolutely."

Wanda kisses his cheek, then skips off arm-in-arm with Pietro like the Tin Man and Dorothy on the big screen.

"Well? Does it gain your stamp of approval?"

Bucky turns around. In the dim light, he isn't entirely sure if he knows what he's seeing. Steve Rogers is standing in front of him, his arms crossed and a sh*t-eating grin on his face, wearing a skin-tight, bright blue, star-spangled jumpsuit. There's what looks like a large dinner plate slung across his back. It takes Bucky a few seconds to realise who he is, and then he bursts out laughing.

"Dude. You came as Captain f*cking America?" Bucky wheezes. Steve's grin widens.

"I was trying to find the most ridiculous costume I could. I wanted to be a piece of war propaganda but then I saw this on Amazon and I couldn't resist."

"You look like freedom personified," Bucky deadpans. "The only other thing you need is a huge American flag and a bald eagle on your shoulder."

Steve laughs. "And dude, you look amazing. Who did your hair?"

Bucky grimaces. "Shuri. I think she's secretly an evil genius, or a witch, or something like that. I think I just sold my soul to her."

"I should probably thank her," Steve says, his eyes gleaming. "Even if you did sell your soul, you look good enough to stroll into Hell and take it right back." Bucky feels his face flush, and silently thanks the dim lights.

"I feel like I underestimated your superpowers. The place looks awesome," Bucky says, changing the subject. "I'm not wishing even a little bit for the place to be invaded by soul-sucking superhumans."

"Despite the glitter?" Steve teases. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Stevie. Despite the glitter."

Valkyrie runs up to them, shoots finger guns at Bucky, then whispers in Steve's ear. He grimaces. "Ugh. I've gotta go, Buck. Apparently some members of the music committee missed the nothing-past-the-2000's memo. I've already heard far too much Taylor Swift."

"Better go before there actually is a dance-scene homicide."

Steve grins at him. "I'll talk to you later, Buck."

He runs off towards the DJ stand. If Bucky watches him go for a little longer than necessary, that's nobody's business.

The Formal is an endless, chaotic night, and Bucky finds himself loving every second of it. Steve is rushed off several times with organisational dramas, but periodically finds time to take ridiculous photos with the lot of them. Sam and T'Challa forget they're in the middle of a photoshoot and start making out rather aggressively. More than once, Natasha jumps on Bucky's shoulders. Clint never seems to run out of ridiculous poses, and at some point Bucky finds himself in Steve's arms like some kind of damsel in distress. Loki is delighted by Pietro's more than a little revealing costume, and makes him pretend to faint into a very confused Steve's arms. Bucky isn't entirely sure why he needs to be frozen in so many people's memories, but when the big screen changes to show pictures taken outside and their group comes up, he's a little bit too happy about it. He guesses he understands the purpose of keeping small fragments of time preserved in a photograph.

Bucky floats around with Shuri and Okoye as speeches are made and awards are handed out. The vice principal drags the religious maths teacher onto the dance floor, and Bucky decides that looking at a hom*ophobe's varicose veins was on his top 5 list of things not to do ever again.

Sam and T'Challa have snuck off to be sappy and romantic together, and Okoye is roped into handing out Hollywood-themed party bags. Bucky makes a hasty excuse and bolts before he can be sucked in, too.

Clint and Natasha are back on the dance floor. Clint seems to have lost half the arrows in his quiver, but he winks at Bucky as he swings Natasha into a very brave backwards dip. Bucky knows that if he messes it up, Natasha would purposely step on his feet, and the high heeled boots she's wearing look like torture devices.

Rumlow is attempting some kind of Latin dance with one of the cheerleaders. He has her in a headlock, and she looks thoroughly unimpressed. Bucky laughs as she knees him in the testicl*s and flounces off. Despite everything, Rumlow is still a total dick. But somehow, it isn't Bucky's problem anymore.

Bucky finds an empty table in the corner and sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him as he watches the scene in front of him. The spinning lights are epilepsy-inducing, and the stars on the floor are slowly getting dirtier and dirtier as over a hundred pairs of feet step on them. The playlist has changed to something a little slower and romantic, and Bucky catches sight of several couples with their arms around each other. He feels an uncomfortable tug in his gut at the sight, and looks away.

"Have you been hiding in the corner this whole time? I've been looking for you, y'know."

Bucky looks up. "And why have you been looking for me?"

"Buck, I know your status on dancing, and how you'd rather die than have fun, yadda yadda. But it's the end of the year, and I'm not leaving until you dance with me at least once."

Steve has his arms crossed over his ridiculous costume, eyes twinkling mischievously. His hair is mussed and full of glitter, and there's another smudge of glitter on his cheek. He gives Bucky that look, the pleading Golden Retriever eyes that Bucky swears is some kind of Jedi mind-trick. Steve holds out his hand.

Bucky does not dance. Ever. He feels like that's been made very clear.

But... Steve's always been an exception.

Bucky reaches up and takes Steve's hand. His fingers curl around Bucky's. Bucky feels himself be pulled up and pressed against Steve's chest. The material of the Captain America suit is rough under Bucky's fingertips.

"You know you gotta move when you dance, right?" Steve says amusedly. The music is so loud. Bucky isn't sure he can talk his legs into functioning.

"Stevie..." The music is so loud. Bucky's voice gets lost.

Steve leans in, grinning. "Bucky, you know what I'll have to do if you don't start moving with me, don't you?"

"What?"

"You. Here. In a corner, refusing to move. I can and I will pull you into a very embarrassing and ridiculously uncoordinated tango, and I'll have you know I have no idea how to tango."

"Steve..."

Bucky's hand is on Steve's chest. Steve's hands are on Bucky's hips. There's basically no space between them. Steve's fingers are burning holes through Bucky's clothes and skin.

"I'll give you the count of five."

"Steve, I'm sort of... a little bit..."

Steve's eyes are full of mirth. "Are you really gonna let me get down to one?"

"A little bit, completely in love with you."

The stupid romance novels hidden in Bucky's closet are completely wrong. The world doesn't stop. Nobody spares them a second glance. The music keeps booming. People don't freeze in place. There's absolutely nothing to mark that everything has changed.

Except Bucky glances at Steve's face. Steve's face is white.

"What did you say?" he whispers.

Bucky curls his hand into a fist on that stupid star in the middle of Steve's chest and steps away. Steve's hands fall from his hips to hang limply. Bucky can't look at him - he can't bring himself to process whatever he might see on Steve's face. The romantic candlelight behind them is burning Bucky's eyes.

"I said I'm in love with you. And I've tried not to be, I really have, but it's completely useless. And I know that you don't feel the same way about me, god knows I know, but I had to tell you because... Jesus, you're all I think about. And I know that sounds kinda weird and creepy, but it's the truth, and I wish to god it wasn't, and I miss you whenever I'm not with you, but, Steve... you're one of the best friends I've ever had. You're smart and amazing and weird and talented and probably the most beautiful person I've ever met." Bucky knows he's babbling now, but all of the emotions that he's been holding in for months are just spilling out of him and he can't do anything to stop them. "Before I met you, I just kinda wanted to fast-forward through my life and run away and never look back at this stupid school and the stupid people in it, but you made me actually wanna get out of bed every morning. And I know that's pathetic, and I know that you probably don't wanna hear this, that you don't want things to change between us. And... And no matter where you go, or however you feel about me... I feel like you've made my whole life move. And I...I'll love you forever for that."

Bucky breaks off and takes a deep breath. He still doesn't look at Steve's face. "That's all I wanted to say. I'm... I'm gonna go now."

He turns around and walks away.

Steve doesn't follow him.

Steve doesn't call out his name and chase after Bucky in the rain. It isn't even raining. The stupid late spring weather and lack of clouds don't even have the decency to provide Bucky with a good romance cliché.

Bucky walks home and lets himself in quietly. His ma isn't home. Alice is at her first sleepover. Aunt Edith is at work. Bucky goes to his room and changes into sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt that he's pretty sure belongs to Steve. He crawls into bed, and holds onto the charms on the chain around his neck. Bucky decides that he's fairly safe there until aliens take over, or the earth is sucked into a wormhole, or global warming finally kills everyone. He pulls the blankets over his head and curls into a ball.

Time stops.

Bucky feels like he's dying. Objectively, he knows that he isn't - he's been on the brink of death before, and although it felt the same, it's definitely not - and that he's probably overreacting, but he can't care less. He's just ruined one of the most important things in his life. The feeling is almost physical - it carves at his chest and burns up his insides, and a far-away voice in his head tells him that he's heard about the feeling before.

Bucky's heart is broken.

And hell if that doesn't make him feel like the most clichéd damsel in distress in the whole damn country.

Time stops.

There's a pounding in his head. After a few seconds, he realises it isn't in his head, but at his door. Bucky sticks a hand out of the blanket and grabbed at his silent phone.

It's been exactly an hour and a half. There are, in total, fourteen missed calls.

Bucky doesn't want to speak to anyone who's called him. He doesn't want to speak to anyone, ever again, unless they could wind back time.

Bucky pulls the blankets over his head again. The pounding doesn't go away. If anything, it gets worse. After a few minutes Bucky can't take it anymore, and drags himself out of bed. It must be Sam. Or Natasha. Bucky isn't sure if he could stop himself from punching either of them in the face if it's them standing in front of his apartment door.

Of course it isn't.

Steve has changed out of his costume. He's wearing his jeans, leather jacket and a Henley that has the top two buttons undone. There's a motorbike helmet held in his hand. He looks perfect.

Actually, he looks angry. Like, really angry.

"Hi," Bucky says dumbly.

"That's all you have to say to me?" Steve asks incredulously. His voice is almost shaking.

"You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset, you idiot!"

Bucky just nods. He feels so tired. His body, if not for the hand he had supporting himself on the doorframe, would have fallen to the ground. His mouth doesn't work. He feels so empty, and exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to beg Steve to stay and get wrapped up in his arms again.

"I'm sorry," Bucky manages to croak.

"You're not even gonna ask why I'm pissed?"

"Because some idiot thought you might want to know his feelings for you?"

Steve storms past him into the apartment, throwing his motorbike helmet to the side. His hands run through his hair. His eyes are wild. "No! It's because you said those things to me, and then you disappeared! You told me that you were in love with me, and then left me standing in the middle of a dirty, high school gym wearing a spangled, patriotic jumpsuit surrounded by spiked punch and drunk teenagers!" Steve crosses his arms over his chest and glares.

Bucky sighs, and closes the front door. It shuts with a soft click. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Yeah, well, that's just the story of your life, isn't it?"

Like it usually does, Bucky's temper flares up at the worst possible time. He spins around to face Steve. "No, you know what? I'm surprised I managed to not say anything as long as I did. Do you have any idea how long I've felt like this? I've had one of the worst f*cking years of my life and you've been there for me the whole time, so it's a f*cking miracle I didn't open my mouth until now! You were there for me when my dad died, when Becca died, when my ma was so deep in alcohol she could barely think! You read my stories and said that I was amazing, you managed to get me onto a beach, for f*ck's sake! And yeah, I get it. I f*cking deserve this, because I have done absolutely nothing for you compared to what you've done for me. So sure, don't let me stop you from yelling your heart out at something I can't control!"

Bucky knows there are tears running down his face, and he knows that he's ripping out his own heart and mashing it all over the damned apartment for being an idiot, and a loser, and not nearly smart enough to realise that Steve will never, ever want him.

"Well how about you shut up and let me say what I came here to say?" Steve snaps. Bucky takes a deep breath, and turns away.

"You know what? I'm not gonna listen to this." He looks over his shoulder to glare at Steve. "I know everything you're about to say, and I've already put myself through it about a billion times over. So I get it." Bucky lets out a humourless laugh and runs a hand through his hair, turning away again. The braids are still in, somehow, and Bucky wants to rip them out.

"No, you know what? You're gonna listen to this, because if anyone is gonna help you pull your head out of your ridiculously attractive ass, it's gonna be me!" Steve grabs Bucky's shoulder and roughly turns him back around. Bucky raises his chin and glares at Steve defiantly, shoving the hand off his shoulder.

"Then do enlighten me, Rogers. Tell me exactly what's so important that it has you running over to my apartment now, instead of stopping me when I tried to leave two hours ago."

Steve takes in a harsh breath, and runs a hand through his hair again. "Would you just shut up for ten seconds for me to tell you that I love you back?! Because it seems that I have to literally spell it out for you to understand - it's either that or me showing up at 3am with my guitar and a huge bouquet of roses, and I gotta say I don't really want your neighbours to hear my singing. I made you invite me to your house for a study group, even though - you know what? I'm pretty f*cking good at studying on my own! When I went away, you were the only person I wanted to talk to! You were the first person I came to see after I came back! I sang in front of you, Barnes - do you have any idea how much that took? I have never let anyone see that part of me before I met you, and - oh hell - I feel like I've been running across the entire world to find you!"

Steve laughs shakily and runs a hand down his face. "You... You're funny and smart and you have a giant heart that you don't even pretend to hide. And you love your friends and your family, and you let me hold you and you kissed my cheek and made me sing even though I was so scared I thought I was gonna die. And I knew that you understood pain and grief because you've been through them a thousand times over, and you're the strongest person I've ever met because you keep going, even when you lose a part of yourself."

Bucky takes a step towards Steve. Steve doesn't step away. He pokes Bucky in the chest, and his voice wobbles. "And you took your shirt off when we were at the beach, and you weren't ashamed of your body and you didn't care what people thought about you. And your face lights up when you talk about writing or reading or any of the things that you love."

Bucky feels more tears trace down his face, but they're brushed away almost immediately because Steve's left hand is on his face and his right hand has curled around Bucky's hip and is holding him close.

"And... And you protect your friends." Steve's voice is a lot more wobbly now. "And you weren't afraid to speak up and say that you thought my dad was a dickhe*d. And you let Brock Rumlow slam you into lockers for years because if he wasn't beating you up, he'd do something to Sam or Clint or Nat. And there's a little dimple on your chin when you smile that's so cute I almost died when I first saw it. And you don't give a damn what other people think about you, and you let Shuri do your hair and you let Natasha take you shopping and you listen to Clint's terrible slam poetry. And when you saw me and Jessica together, all I wanted to do was lie on my bedroom floor listening to Air Supply and cursing myself, because I'd just shown you that I was the exact same as the rest of those guys that pushed you around your whole life because they're too scared that you're gonna be a better man than them, but they don't know that you're already better than they would ever be, and-"

Bucky is aware that Steve has stopped talking.

He can't really concentrate on anything else.

Because Steve is kissing him. And he's kissing Steve back.

Bucky's never really understood kissing - not really. It's just pressing your mouths together and maybe jamming your tongue in there as well. But Bucky's never really been kissed before. And he's not expecting it to be so incredible. It's just lips on lips, but Bucky can feel it in his stomach and lungs and fingers and feet and those things inside his DNA that he could never remember the name of. Bucky can't feel the ground underneath him. He can't feel anything other than Steve - his lips, his jaw under Bucky's fingers, his hands that lift up Bucky's shirt and the fingers that press against his bare skin, the callouses sending shiver after shiver through Bucky's body. There's pretty much no space between the two of them - Bucky is pressed as close to Steve as he can possibly be, and he barely notices when his back hits the wall and Steve just presses even closer and Bucky can feel Steve's heartbeat thudding against his chest and it's too much and not enough and-

Steve leans back slightly. His lips brush against Bucky's again - softer, more of a breath than anything. Bucky finds himself chasing Steve's lips, still gasping for breath. His head is swimming. He's pretty sure that he'd ascended to heaven. Steve's arms are still tightly wrapped around him. And unless zombie hordes invade the apartment complex, Bucky isn't going to let go of Steve either.

"Stevie," Bucky breathes out. Steve's eyes are so beautiful, with their blues and greens and golds. Bucky's almost sure he sees a bit of purple in there.

"Have I dislodged your head from your ass yet?" Steve murmurs. His thumb brushes against Bucky's still-wet cheek.

"Are you still mad at me?" Bucky counters.

Steve seems to consider the question for several seconds. "Yes," he finally says decisively.

"Why?"

Steve grins at him. "Well, we could've been doing this a long time ago, if you were quicker on your feet."

"It's a two way street, you know," Bucky murmurs. His hand drifts down to stroke Steve's pulse point, flicking the shirt out of the way and tracing across the top of Steve's pec. Steve shivers and leans fully onto Bucky, his lips brushing against Bucky's forehead, then his nose, and just under his jaw. Bucky groans softly, his head hitting the wall behind him as Steve presses his lips onto the sensitive point just behind Bucky's ear. Bucky's head is filled with fog and his skin is practically on fire, but his hand seems to know exactly what it was doing as he unbuttons Steve's shirt, exposing his chest. Steve's hand rakes through his hair, gentle but still enough to make Bucky almost fall to his knees. Steve's chest is hard underneath Bucky's fingers, and Bucky splays his fingers flat when Steve kisses him again.

"I didn't know you were interested," Steve mumbles against Bucky's lips. "I do have dignity, y'know. And I was so sure you'd freak out if you knew how I felt. And... I guess I just wasn't brave enough." Steve's hands rub over the jut of Bucky's hips again, and Bucky shivers.

"I thought I was being pretty obvious," Bucky says breathlessly. "You know, with the lovestruck staring and calling you Stevie and the fact that I basically never let anyone touch me, but I loved it when you did."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the most perceptive person," Steve admits, and Bucky lets out a breathy laugh. "I just can't believe you didn't know..."

Bucky pulls away slightly, just so he can look into Steve's eyes. His fingers trace the perfect bow of Steve's lips. Steve's face is flushed, and his lips are swollen, and Bucky wants to kiss him again and again.

"What?"

Steve smiles, almost embarrassedly. "I can't believe you couldn't see that I was crazy in love with you."

Yeah. Bucky has definitely ascended to heaven. He leans forward to rest his head in the crook of Steve's neck, feeling a dumb grin spread across his face. "Say that again," he says.

Steve laughs softly, his arms tightening around Bucky's waist. "I'm crazy in love with you."

Bucky looks up, not even bothering to hide his smile. "Well, I think I'm crazy in love with you, too."

Steve beams, and Bucky's heart soars. He'd do absolutely anything to have Steve look at him like that for the rest of his life. Steve rests his forehead against Bucky's. Their noses touch. Bucky can't resist leaning in and kissing him again.

Bucky thinks what the best thing about kissing Steve is. There isn't even one - he'll have to make a whole list.

And Bucky thinks about the journals in his room, under his bed, in his chest of drawers. He thinks about the feeling of Steve's skin underneath his fingertips. He thinks about the romance novels in his closet, and about Steve's smile, and he knows that he'll never be able to write anything that truly captures Steve's beauty. But he's going to try again and again.

Because Bucky has no idea how he ever tried to find peace without Steve Rogers.

Conundrum - this_wayward_life - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Interlude

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Chapter 8

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References