Creative Mind

Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes have been best friends since they were young. While they may have met during unfortunate circumstances, both boys knew that their friendship would last a lifetime.

Barnes moved into a run-down neighborhood that dangerously teetered the poverty line when he was 13 years old, shortly after his father passed away. Being the oldest of him and his sister, he felt that it was his responsibility to hold their tiny family together, now that they’d be moving in with a colleague of their father’s. Their mother had died due to complications during the birth of his sister, Rebecca, leaving them with their father, until now. 

Bucky first met Steve while he was being bullied at school. He’d later come to find out that Steve was a year younger than him, but in the same grade due to being much more intellectually advanced. 

“What’s your problem, Rogers? Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to fight back?” An older kid teased.

Steve was smaller in stature compared to most kids their age, and this didn’t go unnoticed by his bullies. The bigger kid shoved him, laughing as the boy tripped over his feet, falling onto the asphalt.

“Come on, wimp! Throw a punch, I bet it’ll hurt me way more than it’ll hurt you,” the bully sneered.

Bucky was rounding the corner as he heard the boy laughing. He was new at the school, and kind of quiet for the most part. Still, he wasn’t a fan of this kind of behavior. He changed direction and coolly made his way over to the cackling kid. Upon noticing that he had an audience, the bully looked toward him.

“What do you want?” He demanded.

The young boy stared down the assailant with a cold look. Bucky took this opportunity to size him up. He was slightly taller than the other boy, and he bet that he was a bit more built.

“Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

At his words, the bully turned to face Bucky. A smirk grew on his lips as he stared down his new target. After a silent moment, the bully swung at him, hoping to have the element of surprise. Bucky dodged the punch, and roughly grabbed the attacker’s arm, twisting it into a painful position. The slightly-shorter boy cried out in pain, and reached towards the injury with his free hand. 

Bucky let go of him, muttering something about ‘leaving him alone, or he would regret it.’ He roughly pushed past the bully, and walked over to the smaller blond boy. The boy was still sitting on the pavement, in shock at how quickly the new kid had handled the situation. Bucky offered him a hand, easily pulling him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking him over for any sign of serious injury.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, uh…,” he trailed off.

“Bucky,” he offered.

The blonde boy smiled.

“Bucky. I’m Steven, er, Steve. My friends call me Steve.”

The taller boy shot him a playful look.

“What makes you think that I’m gonna believe that you have friends?” He joked. 

Bucky had a shit-eating grin on his face, which Steve soon mirrored. The two boys began walking to class, ready to spend the rest of the school year learning more about each other.

“What the hell kind of a name is Bucky, anyways?”

—

Bucky had always been like an older brother figure to Steve; he was always looking out for him and keeping him out of trouble. (Not that he would get into much on his own.) 

When the younger boy was 18, his homelife changed drastically. The economy had been rough recently, and his father had been laid off from his previous job. Joseph Rogers worked physically demanding jobs, and suddenly, he felt that they were more and more difficult to come by. He’d been unemployed for months now, and finally snapped. 

One night, he’d come home far too late and reeked of alcohol. Sarah Rogers, Steve’s mother, had been staying up late in the living room, worried about her husband. Their only child couldn’t sleep and knew something was wrong, so he stayed up alongside his mother. Or at least, he tried to. As the clock approached midnight, the young man found himself dozing off on the couch. When Joseph came stumbling in through the front door, his wife could immediately tell that he was drunk.

She stood up from her spot on the couch and gently awakened her son. He grumbled a few times, wanting to stay asleep.

“Stevie. Honey, go on up to bed, please. Go on,” she urged. 

There was a tone of worry in her voice that lurched Steve from his drowsy state. He was alert now, and fully aware of his surroundings. He watched as his father tried to prop himself up against the wall, unable to keep his balance in his inebriated state. He looked to his mother one more time, who offered him a nod.

Steve followed his mother’s words and slowly got up from the couch, making his way upstairs. He shut the door behind him, and almost as soon as the latch clicked, he heard yelling.

He couldn’t sleep that night.

He’d never seen his father like this, not that he could recall. And he’d certainly never seen his mother appear so shaken. The people in his life often gave him shit for having “the perfect homelife” and “the perfect family.” Steve was a smart boy, so naturally, his grades were above average. His mom worked a part-time job, and his father had previously been the bread-winner of their household. If you looked up a textbook definition of ‘stereotypical American family’, you’d find a photo of the Rogers’ that was probably used on a previous Christmas card. 

Steve had just recently graduated high school, and was waiting to hear back from a handful of community colleges. His father wanted him to take up engineering, but his heart was set on another field of study: art history. 

Joseph hadn’t historically been vocal about his disappointment in his son’s education choices, but he certainly didn’t approve of them. Unfortunately, it was like something changed in him on that night. Steve tried to brush it off over the next couple of days, but his best friend knew better.

“Alright, spill. You look like you’ve seen a ghost and you’ve been acting jumpy all day. What’s going on?” Bucky interrogated.

Steve continued with his act of pretending that everything was okay. He looked down at his scuffed sneakers as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buck. I’m fine,” he defended.

The two young men had met up to go wander around the city and kill time. They’d spent plenty of time walking through the Lower East Side and knew the neighborhood by heart. Bucky stopped in his tracks in response to his friend’s faux nonchalant attitude.

“Fine, you want to play the ‘stubborn’ game? We can do that.”

He shifted his direction and glided over to the nearest building wall, leaning up against it. Steve looked at him in confusion. Bucky glanced at his friend and gave him an innocent look.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” He teased, feigning confusion.

“Buck, what are you doing?”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But this has to be the most interesting wall I’ve ever seen,” he said, pretending to admire the brick that was holding his weight. “I could just hang out here all day.”

Steve huffed at his friend’s childish behavior, and crossed his arms.

“It’s not that big of a deal, can we just go-,” he started, before being cut off by a dramatic sigh from Bucky.

“Oh, I just don’t know, Stevie. I don’t know if I can go on. Maybe I’ll just stay right here.”

Bucky had a goofy grin on his face. One of his favorite hobbies was doing stupid shit to get under Steve’s skin, especially when it worked in his favor. The blonde man grabbed his friend by the arm, tugging him off the wall. Granted, he couldn’t really move him much, but Bucky allowed the force of gravity to help. 

“Okay, okay, fine. Just- come on,” Steve started, continuing their trek without a destination.

The taller boy was silent, watching the blonde boy intently. He didn’t want to rush him, whatever was going on in his head. His friend let out a small sigh.

“So, my dad came home last night… drunk. Like, absolutely plastered.” 

Bucky looked to his friend to gauge his facial expressions. He looked… pained.

“Steve, did something happen?” He asked softly.

Steve was looking anywhere except at his friend. He glanced up at the sky, and quickly sniffed. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to get emotional in public. 

“When Dad came home, he…,”he tried, pausing for a moment. “There was so much yelling. My mom told me to go upstairs, and I don’t know how she knew, but I’ve never seen him like that. God, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

Bucky’s heart broke for his friend. He didn’t want to say the quiet part out loud, but it was likely that if his mother knew what to look for, this wasn’t the first time it had happened. He kept this thought to himself, knowing that Steve likely couldn’t handle anything else right now.

“God, Steve. I, uh- I don’t even know where to start. Are you okay? Can I do anything to help?” He asked.

The shorter boy scoffed. He acted rather cynical when he was upset.

“Yeah, if you could put my family back together, that’d be great,” he joked.

The brunette frowned. He hated seeing Steve like this, who was almost always such a positive presence to be around. He threw an arm around his friend’s shoulder and mumbled something about going to get ice cream, his treat. 

—

A few weeks later, Steve phoned his best friend just before 8 o’clock in the morning. Bucky groaned and rolled over, flailing his arm behind him as blindly searched for the ringing device that was hidden somewhere in his sheets. Finally, he found the culprit that had woken him up.

“...Hello?” He answered, sighing into the phone.

“Buck, I-I… I didn’t know what else t-to do,” the boy nearly whispered.

Bucky shot up in his bed. His senses were fully heightened and he listened intently to the other side of the call.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” He questioned.

His voice was firm, but not angry. No, not angry at his best friend, but whatever was causing him such anguish.

“H-he just came home, and he was screaming so loudly. He got so close to M-mom, I didn’t know what else to do, I j-just-,” he stammered.

The older boy was already out of his bed, throwing on whatever clothes he could find. It didn’t matter if they’d been laying on the floor for 2 hours or 2 years, that wasn’t his priority right now.

“Who did, Stevie? Was it your dad?” He asked, trying to be as gentle as he could. 

The line was quiet for a moment, but Bucky could still hear heavy breathing, so he assumed Steve had been nodding. It must’ve taken his friend a moment to realize this as well, because the taller boy could hear him take a deep breath to calm himself before speaking.

“Y-yeah…,” he whispered.

Bucky nodded to himself and finished lacing up his shoes, grabbing the keys to his new car as he ran out the door of his tiny apartment. Well. It was new to him. In truth, it was a beat up 90’s sedan that was nearly unrecognizable to anyone except a mechanic, but it had four tires and a steering wheel and got him from Point A to Point B. 

Right now, Point B was Steve’s house.

He had moved out on his own shortly after turning 18, promising Steve that he’d stay close by in case he ever needed him. Bucky would later be thankful that he only moved ten minutes away from his old street. A mixture of adrenaline and anxiety coursed through his veins as he sped down the familiar roads to his friend’s childhood home. The drive took him only five minutes, six if he was really counting the seconds.

Bucky parked crookedly along the curb, barely putting the car in park before jumping out of the driver’s seat and barreling through the front door. The sight in front of him was one he’d never forget.

Joseph was towering over Steve, yelling out barely-comprehensible words as he attempted to hold himself up against a wall. His son was practically trapped, forced into a corner as his father stood over him. Sarah Rogers stood on the other side of the room, frozen with fear. At the sound of the front door being forced open, Steve looked up and briefly made eye contact with his friend. His eyes were filled with fear, but a brief feeling of relief washed over him.

Bucky stormed over to his best friend’s father and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him off of Steve. The drunk man stumbled, struggling to catch his balance. This gave the young man a moment to tend to his friend and assess him for any injuries. Then, he spotted something he hadn’t seen when he charged in.

“Steve, are you okay? There’s blood on your shirt,” he said, grabbing his friend’s face and examining him further.

The blonde boy let out a sigh and looked up, meeting his friend’s eyes.

“It’s not mine,” he said, glancing over at his drunken father.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making note of the dried blood around Mr. Roger’s nose. The older boy would later tell Steve how proud he was of him, for standing up for himself and defending his mother as best as he could. But right now, his main focus was protecting those two. 

“Go upstairs and get your stuff.”

Steve gave him a questioning look. They didn’t have any plans for today. Bucky shook his head at the unspoken questions circulating in his friend’s mind.

“You’re not staying here, go pack a bag,” Bucky informed him.

As per usual, Steve did as he was told. He huffed out a sigh and scurried up the stairs, looking over his shoulder at his father. Bucky followed his gaze and straightened his posture as he watched Mr. Rogers make his way over to him. The older man got in his face, pointing a finger at him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing in my house, boy?”

Bucky’s hand shot out and grabbed the accusatory appendage that was too close to him for his liking. Joseph let out a pained groan at the grip on his arm.

“You’ve got approximately five seconds to get your hand out of my face,” Bucky warned.

The middle-aged man smirked. His inebriated state drastically altered his thought process. Sure, Bucky was only 19 years old, but he’d spent most of his free time working out. Joseph Rogers wasn’t what some would call a built man, especially as of recently. He’d been spending more nights at the bar than he had at home and developed an impressive beer-gut to prove it.

“Oh yeah? Are you gonna make me?” The man slurred.

Bucky said nothing, but arched his eyebrow in response, silently daring him to make another move. The older man dropped his arm for a second before rearing back and swinging towards his head. His reaction time was slower, giving the brunette more than enough of a head start. He dodged the man’s attack and returned one of his own, landing a solid punch to his stomach.

Joseph doubled over, letting out a groan. However, he was back up within a few seconds, attempting to throw more punches at the young man in front of him. Bucky was able to dodge most of them, but he did catch an elbow to the face. He retaliated by swinging at Joseph’s face. He pictured the look of fear that he saw on Steve’s face. Before he knew it, his anger was boiling over.

Bucky swung at him again. And again. And again. 

“You’re supposed to protect them… and do right by your son,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Soon enough, the older man was on the ground. Mr. Roger’s face had blood trickling down it, now staining his shirt. Bucky was sure that the man’s mouth was bleeding, but it very well could have been a continuation of what he hoped was a broken nose. By the time he’d started to get tired, Steve came rushing down the stairs with a backpack over his shoulder and a small duffel bag. 

His eyes widened at the scene in front of him. He rushed over to Bucky, grabbing his arm with his free hand.

“Buck, that’s enough, c’mon.”

The brunette stopped, looked at his friend, and then at his hands. They were red and swollen, and had specks of blood on them. He was breathing heavily.

“We have to get out of here,” Steve said.

Bucky distanced himself from the drunken man, who was now covering his face and moaning in pain. Steve tugged on his sleeve once more, similarly to a child. They shared a look, and Bucky nodded, agreeing that it was time to go. Steve then looked to his mother, who had barely moved a muscle since Bucky had gotten there.

“Mom?” He pleaded.

“I-I… Stevie…,” she muttered.

She was terrified. Bucky looked up at Sarah, hoping that the look on his face and her son’s fears were enough to get her to come with them. The older boy reached out to the woman, offering her his hand. She’d been like a mother figure to him, putting band-aids on his injuries when he and her son had been rough-housing a little too hard and jokingly scolding him for making inappropriate jokes when he thought she couldn’t hear.

“Mrs. Rogers, please.”

She shook her head and forced a pained smile.

“Go on, boys. I’ll be fine. Someone has to get your father cleaned up,” she sputtered, adding on a breathy laugh.

The two boys didn’t buy her act for a second, but unfortunately, they didn’t have much time to continue to persuade her. Joseph had been attempting to pull himself up off the floor and finally found decent footing. He tried focusing his sight on the pair, but failed as his head was still spinning. Still, he swung at the air, missing any kind of target.

Steve glanced at his mother one more time, who mouthed for him to go. She quickly nodded, and urged the boys to leave. The two boys made their way out of the house as Bucky fished his car keys out of his pocket, clicking the key fob a few times to unlock the doors. When they got in the car, Steve was finally able to let out a breath.

He looked back at his house one last time, seeing his father holding himself up against the frame of the front door. Even in his intoxicated state, the man was glaring at the boys. Steve would have this image stamped into his memory for years to come.