I Am The Antichrist To You
“Why are you painting the grass red?” Natasha asked, leaning over to look at Steve’s artwork.
“Awh shit, not again.” Steve muttered, taking a paper towel, dabbing at the freshly laid gouache, hoping to lift the colour before it stained the paper completely, “See, this is why I prefer graphite.”
Steve loved art, despite his red-green colourblindness. It was his favourite class and he’d pour everything he had into making his work the best it could be. His teacher had loved his summer assignments–especially his portrait work. Steve would have to remember to thank his mum and Bruce for sitting for hours as Steve sketched from life over the summer, and the countless lighting changes as he tried to incorporate chiaroscuro into his work. But it was a couple weeks into term now, and they had already moved on to creating their breadth work.
Steve was sat next to Natasha, both of them working on the prompt: recreate an exterior space focusing on time and mark-making. As soon as Steve had been given the prompt the day before, he couldn’t wait to get home and take as many pictures as he could of the wildlife trails that spanned out a mile or so behind the housing-estate he lived on.
“What you are painting?” Steve asked, restarting his work. Himself and Natasha were always in the same art class, but it was only last year that they started talking. Steve liked Nat. He liked how he never felt pressure to talk about anything personal with her, which was sometimes a relief when he struggled to clear his mind of Bucky.
“It’s going to be this garden that Clint took me too the other week,” she was explaining, her fern-coated paint brush gliding across the paper in short quick strokes, capturing the lowlights of the grass.
“How long have you guys been together for now?”
“About two years, I think.” Nat replied, looking upwards as if she was counting in her head. “He’s my best friend too, which is pretty handy.”
Just as Steve opened his mouth to speak, both himself and Nat watched the teacher walk out the room, a mobile phone pressed to his ear. Something as little as that made Steve think. It made him think of long nights on the phone to Bucky, making each other laugh and…
He stopped himself before he could carry on. You’re being stupid, Rogers, he thought, frowning as he carried on with his painting. He hated it when he was in this frame of mind, when he couldn't concentrate on anything. He knew it was pointless, knew that Bucky probably hadn't given Steve a single thought in years.
“That must be nice,” Steve replied, “dating your best friend.”
“Yeah, it is.” Nat smiled, switching brushes, “He keeps me grounded, y’know?”
And they carried on like that, talking about small things which came easily to the both of them.
Steve met Bruce where they always met when school ended for the day–at the tree near the entrance to school. They were going back to Steve’s house to work on homework and revise a bit as to steady Bruce’s nerves. Steve didn’t see the point in Bruce worrying so much. Bruce always aced his tests. Even when he didn’t study he would still be top percentile of the class.
The walk home was like it normally was, Steve with his drawing board under his arm and his backpack engulfing his small frame; Bruce with his bag slung over one shoulder, insisting on holding Steve’s supply box.
“I can't believe Selvig would set us homework on a Friday.” Steve moaned, pushing open the gate of his house that led to the garden. They both placed their things on the table and Bruce immediately started on the physics homework.
“That generally what teachers do, Steve.” Bruce said, he neck bent over as he scribbled on his worksheet. “They’re evil like that.”
“Alright, alright,” Steve nudged Bruce playfully, taking the the seat next to him, “but you’ve got to promise to help me on the last question, okay? It looks actually disgusting.”
The sound of a door slamming hushed the two boys and they snapped their heads up to listen. When they heard the loud, obnoxious tone of Tony Stark, they quickly resumed their work before rolling their eyes.
“Barnes, have I ever told you what a lovely woman your mother is? She’s so sweet and kind and–Ow! Barton, will you stop shooting me?” Tony exclaimed as he, Bucky, Thor, Natasha and Clint walked out into Bucky’s garden, the door slamming shut behind them.
Bucky opened the door, calling out, “Sorry, mum!” before shutting it gently and turning back to Tony, “Yeah, only like a few thousand times. You say it even more since she made your birthday cake last year.”
“It was a delicious cake though.” Tony implored, “Clint! Seriously!”
“It’s not me!” Clint replied, taking his slingshot off of Nat.
Natasha smirked, “It’s just payback for the rope-swing incident.”
“That was, like, six weeks ago, Romanov!” Tony whined.
“And Clint still has bruises, Stark!”
Bucky rolled his eyes at the spat his friends were in, pretty sure the ‘bruises’ Natasha was talking about were just hickeys.
Bucky had always wanted to have a group of friends. Before them, it was just him and Steve. He can remember when he first started talking to Tony and Thor during P.E. The three of them seemed to click instantly, Bucky comfortably easing into their conversations.
He met Natasha and Clint separately, which he found ironic since they’re always with each other. When he talked to Clint, it was all about video games and not to mention being filled in on all of Natasha’s embarrassing stories. Similarly though, most of Bucky and Nat’s conversations consisted of exchanging embarrassing things Clint has done.
Bucky didn’t really mind Tony’s arrogance as much as most people did, but that was probably because he knew there was more sides to him. He wanted to call Tony his best friend when he thought about how he spent the most time with him, but for some reason he was still unable to do it.
“I have a proposition!” Tony declared, climbing on top of the table. Bucky felt himself smile as both Clint and Natasha quickly scooched over so they didn’t have a full-frontal view of Tony’s rear. “I challenge you, Clinton–”
“That’s still not my name!” Clint objected.
“–to a prank war!” Tony finished, throwing his hands up in the air like an excited child.
Thor, Nat and Bucky all groaned as Clint jumped onto the table with Tony, shouting, “You’re going down, Stark!”
“Buffoons.” Bruce said, nodding his head towards the fence that separated Steve and Bucky’s gardens.
“Imbeciles,” Steve replied.
“Seriously, though. A prank war? What are they, twelve?”
Steve laughed quietly, “Apparently so.” He stood up, opening the back door to the kitchen, telling bruce he was going to get some paint water.
Steve’s mum was stood by the counter, making juice, still in her scrubs from the hospital, her blonde hair scraped into a ponytail, “Hi, sweetie.” She greeted, as Steve climbed up onto the work surface to grab a cup, “Is Bruce staying for dinner?”
“I’ll ask him when I get back out.” Steve answered, jumping down from the counter and filling his cup with water.
“It’s okay, I’ll ask. I made you two some refreshments.” She winked, lifting up the tray, “Grab the door for me?”
Steve held the door for his mother, grabbing some tissues and his glass before walking back outside.
“...That’d be lovely, Sarah.” Bruce was saying, “Thank you.”
“What on earth is going on here?” Mrs. Barnes asked from the doorway, her hands resting on her hips.
“I believe Stark and Barton have initiated a prank war.” Natasha said, watching the two boys jump down from the table, Clint snaking his arm around her shoulder.
“Alright, but I don’t want any of you coming back with cuts and bruises okay?” Bucky’s mother said, loving ruffling her son’s hair.
“I think the only one getting bruises tonight is our lucky friend Clint here!” Thor bellowed, before yelling, “Ow!” when he felt a kick from under the table.
“Winnie, is that you?” Bucky’s ears burnt as he immediately recognised the sound of Sarah Rogers’ voice.
“Sarah! How have you been?” Winifred asked, peering over the fence. Sarah walked over to where Winnie was, the mother’s sharing an awkward hug over the fence.
“Okay, but it seems like I’ve had this dreaded cough for ages!” Sarah complained, covering her mouth with her hand to cough.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Winnie said, “we should meet up for coffee again some time.” She paused for a moment, Bucky’s entire body filling up with dread when he saw the sudden excitement on his mother’s face. “How about I invite you, Steve and Bruce over? Then we could all catch up!”
When Winifred turned around, she saw four of the five teenagers grimacing, and Tony miming a gun to his head. Before Sarah could reply, Bruce quickly jumped in, noticing the pale colour of Steve’s face.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Barnes!” He reassured. “Steve and I were going out now anyway.” He looked over at Steve who flashed him a grateful look.
Clint leant over to Natasha, muttering, “No homo, though.” as Bruce and Steve went inside.
Natasha waited until the mothers ventured back into their houses before responding, “Babe,” She said, twisting her hair between her fingers, “I, like, don’t get it…?”
“Steve’s gay, Nat. You know that.” Clint replied.
“Yeah, but… Why is that funny?” Nat dragged out the vowels, acting dumb.
Clint answered slowly, realising he had been insensitive, “It’s...not?”
Natasha flicked her hair back over her shoulder and stood, “Exactly.” She deadpanned.
Bruce and Steve sat at a small table in the local cafe. Steve gently sipping his coffee, grateful to be away from the catastrophe that had just occurred.
Bruce pushed up his glasses, saying, “The guy who served us winked at you, did you notice?”
“He did not wink at me.” Steve said, placing his mug on the table, “Stop trying to make me feel better.”
“Sorry.” Bruce muttered, cupping his tea.
“Thanks for saving me back there though,” Steve said, feeling bad for snapping at Bruce. “I just couldn’t face him, not yet anyway.” He looked down into his coffee, his hands trying to gather the fading warmth from the drink.
“It’s okay Steve.” Bruce said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll talk to him in your own time.”
“It just really sucks, you know? Knowing that the person who was by your side for pretty much most of your life left you, and for a fucking stupid reason. I mean, yeah, so we never really talked about my sexuality before that, but I didn’t even know what I identified as until I told him anyway. It’s like I can’t get those words and that stupid puppy face he pulled out of my head. I want to talk to him, God, I really do, but what the hell would I say? I feel weird saying it, but it’s like he’s not even approachable anymore.”