Open Your Eyes
Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cause they don't get your soul or fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time
Every minute from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere
I want so much to open your eyes
Cause I need you to look into mine.
'Open Your Eyes'- Snow Patrol
Ash sprinkled into the slightly damp grass when he gave the Lucky Strike a hard tap against his other hand. His lungs burned and the smell of smoke would be stuck onto his jacket until it's washed, but he didn't mind. He had slipped the box into his pocket when his boss wasn't looking and that was the end of that. He didn't like to smoke very often. With every puff he took, he could feel the thousands of chemical fillers. He hated them but loved them all the same.
Playing in the rain was not such a good idea. When Bucky went to the Rogers' apartment after not hearing from Steve for a while, he was greeted with a pale, sniffling Steve and a worried Sarah. He had stayed until Steve had fallen asleep while he ran his worked, calloused fingers through the hair that was starting to curl around the base of his neck. The soft blond curls made him look tender and sensitive in a way that was so different than usual. It looked as if his body was saying, "If you don't grab me now, I'll be gone with the next gust of wind."
The house next to their apartment was vacant, so that was his designated smoking area for the day. The sunset was slightly visible through the small cracks in the wooden fence that has quite obviously seen better days. The dying out hum of the city was the background noise to his cigarette smoke and shaking hands. The more time he spent with Steve, the more his hands would shake and collect sweat on the palms. There was no longer any point in hiding his feelings. He loved him and he knew what this all meant - that relentless beatings and teasing would get far worse for the both of them. He wasn't worried about himself, just Steve because, even though he's seen more action than most Marines, he still can't throw a punch or block a kick to the gut.
Steve wasn't fragile by any means. Despite his skin and bone frame, he would get right back up even after a blow that would make most men weep. He was just so naive and innocent. It, unfortunately, made him an easy target to those kids with messed up lives and daddy issues. He sees the good in all things where most people don't and it hurts because someone so good gets treated like dirt but he can't do more. He can punch, kick, claw, and fight them with all he has, but those harsh words will still always hit Steve harder than any punch ever could. Steve tries to pretend he didn't hear them, but Bucky knows he hears every word and bottles it up.
The crying has been happening more and more after fights. He'll be tucked under Bucky's arm and he'll feel a wet spot forming where his face is pressed against his own belly. He'll stall their walk, pull Steve's face up to look him in the eyes, and wrap his arms around him. He'll always tuck the other boy's face in the crook of his neck and rub Steve's back and promise him that he will be okay - he's with him 'til the end of the line and Steve will cry even harder.
He knows there is nothing that will ruin their friendship. Something as simple as being completely helplessly, painfully in love with his best friend will not ruin what they have. He's not scared of being rejected but terrified about how much he cares. There's a slim chance that Steve will feel the same way and that's enough to try for.
"Stevie, what the hell are you doing?" He asked with a grin as Steve laid on his belly in the damp grass while peering into the green blades. He had on the thick-rimmed glasses that he had painted with gentle acrylic paints.
"I found a bug, so I put him on my hand and he fell off. Just makin' sure he's okay," He dug his beat up sneakers into the wet dirt and put more weight onto his arms to get a better look. Bucky could feel his heart jump in his chest. Only would he worry about a bug he dropped in the grass.
"I'm sure he's fine. Don't give yourself a stomach ulcer, plea-"
"Oh! I found him!" Steve flipped on his back, bug cupped between his hands and a blinding smile on his soft lips. He opened a crack between his thumbs to peek inside the makeshift bug habitat. He awkwardly contorted his body so Bucky could look inside his hands. He found himself looking at the sharp lines of Steve's hands and wrists instead of the black dot that had wormed itself through the crack of his thumbs.
"That's real nice," Steve put the bug back into the grass and met gray eyes, "Let's grab something to drink, ya?" Bucky reached down and grabbed Steve's hand to pull him up.
"It's so warm out today. I love it," The blond tightened his hands around the straps of his worn, but well-loved rucksack. There was dirt stuck to the knees of his teal jeans. Bucky's old, worn, soft gray shirt was adorned over top his willowy frame while the cartoonish honey bees sat ever-faithfully on his wrist.
They talked mindlessly about nothing while they walked to a soda shack down the road. They talked about how well they slept the night before and the new seating chart for Mr. Andrews class. Steve talked about his new ideas for poetry and ideas for things to get Mama for her birthday. Bucky talked about how Becca was doing in her first year of middle school but didn't talk about the note that was burning a hole in his back pocket. He didn't tell of how he poured everything onto that notebook paper just the night before. Never mentioned that he was horrified of the things that would transpire in the next eight hours of being together. Just smiled and wrapped his arm around narrow shoulders.
"Buck?" Steve asked with the straw of his own soda resting on his bottom lip. They were lounging underneath a blooming sycamore tree with a bag of sweet cherries rested between their legs.
"Yeah?" Steve's lips were tinted dark from the sickeningly sweet fruit. Six and a half more hours to go.
"What are they doing here?"
"Oh, fuck. Wait here, okay?"
Brock and Howard were walking with brittle grins and something hidden behind their backs. It didn't take a genius to know they held some kind of bat in both their hands. They were insane, he knew this, but they have never brought weapons out before. Bucky took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and bared his teeth.
"What the fuck are you doing here?! Leave." His loud voice brought attention from the nearby families picnicking in the warm Spring weather.
"Nah. You ain't scary, Barnes." Howard brought the bat to rest on his own shoulder and picked up his walking pace and Brock followed.
"You aren't either. So if you could kindly back the fuck up, please."
He looked over his shoulder to see Steve's face becoming a light red color and his sketchbook abandoned next to his drink. He picked himself up and brought himself the same distance away as Bucky.
"Stevie, please sit down. I can handle them. Just let me scare 'em away." He just grinned and planted himself like a tree.
Now was not the time to be staring, he knew that, but it was certainly a sight to see. Steve, no taller than 5'4 with his chest puffed and a bee bracelet around his arm getting ready to fight these assholes that were much bigger than him. He was so gone on this kid.
He didn't have any time to react before a wooden bat slammed into his left leg. He swung his fist hard against Brock's chest and felt the contact in his own right hand. That was gonna hurt tomorrow. Brock was stunned enough that Bucky managed to pin him to the ground and just let go. All the anger and horror he felt put more power in his hands then was strictly necessary. A pained screamed brought him out of whatever just happened.
He threw himself off Brock and darted to where Steve was laying on the ground with Howard cowering away. Blood was pouring out of his nose with vigor while he gripped his ribs with his left hand.
"Oh, God. Steve, oh my God. Can you breath?" He tried to gently sneak his arms under Steve's legs and behind his neck when he noticed the blood dripping from his own hand. The surrounding families were now pushing their way towards Howard who was kneeled next to Brock.
He picked Steve up and laid him onto the blanket they were relaxing on just minutes ago. Quickly packing the sketchbook and cherries into the rucksack, he wrapped the cotton around Steve's crying body. He picked him back up and ran to the Rogers' apartment.
"Sarah! It's bad! His ribs I think." He kicked the door closed with his thick boots and placed him down on the thrifted couch. Blood was running down his lips and onto the ruined gray shirt.
Sarah ran from the kitchen into the living room and settled her eyes on her son, her cheeks visibly paler than before. She knelt, lifted her sons' shirt, and placed her hands on his ribs.
"Steven, I need you to take a deep breath for me." Bucky saw her hands slightly rise as did Steve's chest. It was already starting to blossom with blues and purples.
"Nothing moved. I don't think they're broken. What happened?" Her hands moved up to his face and lightly touched at his nose. The fingers came away covered in a mixture of salty tears and drying blood.
"Brock and Howard. We were at the park and they just showed up with bats. I tried, Mama. He just wouldn't sit down."
The two of them spent the next couple of hours delicately wiping away blood and dirt from his face and hands. He took ibuprofen without any fight and fell asleep not long after. Sarah trusted Bucky enough to stay with Steve. He was more than happy to do so.
The rush of adrenaline had long since faded and he could feel it. It was around 10 o'clock now, three hours past when he wanted to give him the letter. Sarah had brought Steve's lavender candle out of his room before she left. It always makes Bucky tired, the smell was familiar by the way it always stuck to Steve's belongings. The warm light casts a light orange shadow across the entire living room.
Peas weren't great ice packs because they melted faster than they could really do any good. He could see they were melting and releasing water onto Steve's bare chest. Blood spread underneath his skin and settled there. It would be there for weeks and he wouldn't be able to comfortably take a deep breath for half that time. He felt horrible. He should've told him just to sit down. If he just would've stayed down.
His own knuckles were bruised but there was still movement in them, so they weren't broken. He could tell by the burn in them that Brock got the worse end of that deal and that brought a small smile and endless satisfaction.
"Bucky?"
Steve's eyes were now open and staring at Bucky's wrapped knuckles.
"Yeah, Steve?"
"I'm sorry. I should'a listened to ya. I'm just so tired of being weak," The way his voice shakes hurts so much to hear. He could hear the tears in his voice.
"Stop. It's okay. You're okay. We're okay," His chair made an awful screech as it was dragged across the floor.
"No, it's not. I didn't listen and now you're hurt and-"
Bucky walked over to the couch, got down on his knees, tangled his fingers in soft blond hair, and kissed rough but oh-so-perfect lips.
"I'm so hopelessly, deeply, tragically in love with you."