To Build A Home
By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
Held on as tightly as you held on to me
Held on as tightly as you held on to me.
'To Build A Home'- The Cinematic Orchestra
As they grew, hands tangled in the backs of sensitive cotton sweaters and soft shirts. The comforting gesture was used when scraped elbows and harsh words got the best of their honey-like hearts.
That's where they are at right now. A bloody nose and skinned chin were being gently cleaned as Steve's long fingers tangled themselves in Bucky's cotton band shirt. A mixture of tears and blood stained the sky blue fabric of Steve's favorite sweater. Whether the blood was his or Howard's, he didn't know. But to see something stain the fabric that wasn't acrylic paint or sweet-scented flower oils made Bucky's blood boil. He didn't understand why people thought it was okay to attack Steve for being different. Just because he likes to collect flowers and feed ants the remains of his peach jam and peanut butter sandwich doesn't make it okay to throw him to the ground.
"I'm sorry, Buck. You shouldn't have to clean me up 'cause I'm too soft." His hand gripped the shirt tighter as a salty tear fell down his freckled face. The tear fell on Bucky's large hand and absorbed into his pale skin. An open window allowed a soft fall breeze that smelled of leaves and mud. Fall brought memories of past Halloweens and the collections of brightly colored leaves that lived in glass picture frames. Even though Fall meant that Bucky had to carry an inhaler in case Steve was separated from his own, Steve loved it.
"You ain't too soft, pal. You're Steve. Nothing wrong with being you." He looked up to meet the familiar soft eyes that held innocence, and an overwhelming will to do the right thing. Those eyes had seen so many fights but they still held their distinct gleam.
"That's not true. You know it better than anyone. I'm no good." And God did it hurt to hear him say that. The day the sun fell out of the sky, would be the day Bucky would agree with that.
The scar on the prominent bone of Steve's wrist would forever be a reminder of the hatred the world seemed to have for him. Bucky ran his finger up and down the scar that adorned the skin after a particular fight that involved a large rock and an angry Brock Rumlow. No matter how much vitamin E Mama slathered on the rough skin, it never seemed to work. The day that happened was full of sobs and reassuring whispers that it would heal with time ('It ain't that bad, Stevie. Look, Mama wrapped it. It will go away. I promise you.'). A slit in Brock's eyebrow was missing along with three of his teeth thanks to the fractured knuckles on Bucky's left hand. He saved his allowance up for weeks to buy a fabric bracelet that was covered in cartoonish honey bees. It was slightly too large but did it's job at covering the bubbled red skin.
His face outshined the sun that day. Bucky helped roll up his sweater sleeve and tied the ribbon on with a gentle hand. He looked slightly strange. A pale boy with sharp but delicate features and a ribbon tied around his wrist with a bubbling red blister that demanded attention peeking out from under it.
"You know I'm not going to respond to that, Steve. Don't even go there. Ma bought your favorite ice cream yesterday. How about we go to my house and watch Jurassic Park? Becca's gone. She can't bother us. Mama works double shifts on Fridays, right?" He whispered as he tightened the bracelet. Tears pooled in his grey eyes. It was never going to be easy, seeing him in pain. He never deserved this. Steve's hand was still pulling and twisting the fabric. It would be stretched beyond repair, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If it brought peace to his racing mind, well that's all that mattered.
A small nod was all he was going to get as confirmation. He tugged the bottom of the sweater, and Steve raised his arms. The fabric held memories of poorly made films, guiltily picked peonies, and candied stained tongues. He pulled it over the blondes thin frame while messing up his lavender scented hair and setting a small smile on the soft bow lips. An old sweatshirt of Bucky's was pulled over his sharp shoulders. Bucky would never understand the obsession with the thick cotton. Perhaps it was the everpresent sandalwood scent, or the fact Steve was basically swimming in it. Whatever it was, Bucky couldn't help but melt at the way the younger boy looked.
Feelings were confusing, Bucky realized. He knew why his heart jumped whenever he thought of that angel-kissed face. He vowed to himself with a thick voice and teary eyes that Steve would never need to know.
Steve never needed to know the way Bucky's eyes glazed in awe when he showed him the beautiful poems that were written in a worn journal. Or the way his palms got sweaty whenever a feather light touch was shared with the passing of an ice cold Coke. Or the way he tried to count the freckles on the delicate face when he fell asleep during English class one day. He never got to finish, the bell brought Steve out of his deep sleep with a grimace when he saw the drool that covered his homework.
He never needed to know the pain he caused when he cried in pain after a hard blow to the gut. Or the way he made Bucky cry into his Ma's arms when he realized what this all meant, that maybe a wife wasn't in his future anymore.
He never needed to know any of it.