Glass House
The September after Bucky turned fourteen he was enrolled at Episcopal High School; a highly acclaimed college preparatory program. It was a family tradition—every Barnes for the last hundred and fifty years had been attending the boarding school, and Bucky was to be no exception to the rule. He regarded the sudden life change with dismay, but also an air of inevitability. His brother was already there, finishing out his senior year, and his father was by now in the habit of reliving his glory years at the dinner table with his renditions of teenage shenanigans.
Bucky had always been friendly. He had an outgoing, gregarious, and sometimes simply outrageous personality that had attracted the entire middle school class to him. He was also a loner. He was well versed in acting the part of the perfect jovial gentleman, having attended his fair share of press conferences, media junkets, and political meetings with his father, and he viewed attending school and ‘making friends’ as much in the same. There were pages upon pages of ‘Mrs. Bucky Barnes’ squirreled away in pre-teen notebooks, groups of girls would suddenly find themselves self-consciously smoothing back their hair and giggling with their cohorts whenever he walked by. His charisma and charm won him the respect from the students in the halls, but he never truly went out of his way to join their groups. He really was a genuinely nice kid, the kind of guy everyone just felt good being around, but when it came right down to it he just wasn’t a people kind of person. So he would smile, chat, laugh, nod his head in constant agreement, then slip quietly out the doors to find Steve, the only person he really ever wanted to be around in the first place. All of this worked for him in middle school. He came off as alluring, interesting, ‘fascinating’ to everyone around him.
All of it went to hell when he set foot in the preparatory school.
Being friendly to everyone without the proper clique to back you up had a way of backfiring horribly. The constant smiles and friendly banter with every child that had garnered him respect in his pre-adolescent years suddenly touted him as being ‘not one of the pack.’ No one really bothered him all that much, besides the standard shunning, but no one actually went out of their way to stand up for him either. The ‘Barnes' name—which his brother had ridden to glory, captaining the football team, becoming prom king, graduating with perfect grades—only served to bring him down even more. The kids in his year considered him rich and pretentious, and never gave him the chance to prove otherwise. He started the year with his hand up at every question—ready to learn, ready to be inspired, ready to prove himself. Within a month, he had withdrawn, sat towards the back of the classroom, watched the clock throughout the day counting down the seconds until he could get back to his dormitory room, read a book, fall asleep, then do it all again.
His only relief came when the school went on vacation. Then he would pack his bags, jump the metro, and ride in contentment back to family. Back to Steve.
When it came to Steve Rogers, Bucky could almost forget about all of the crap he was putting up with at Episcopal and just live. The kid was weird; there was no doubt about it. His obsession with comic books continued well throughout middle school. He constantly referred back to the heroes the books represented—eyes glistening with excitement as he would recount the latest battle between Spiderman and Venom, or the exploits of the mutant children studying under Charles Xavier. Bucky would just play along—he hadn’t grown up on the thing. His upbringing had included Chomsky and Machiavelli and de Tocqueville, but it was hard not to find himself smiling when the kid had so much glorious passion for heroes.
This particular summer had been a blast—it was Buck and Steve against the world. They would hop the metro and ride way out into Ellicott City, Maryland—a suburb of DC that seemed to forget the rest of the world had moved far into the 21st century. They would walk the old streets for hours, then climb over the brick wall back into the woods a ways to an old abandoned rail yard. There were a couple of decrepit train cars standing stationary on the rusting tracks and they commandeered one to be their base for operation— Fort America: The Captain and Bucky: ‘Till the End of the Line. Steve had a professional name and tagline for everywhere they went that season. Jesus, the kid was so damn weird.
That June, Steve started taking art classes at the University. He had always been extremely involved in his drawing—the comic obsession manifesting itself physically through his deft strokes—but he had finally started taking it seriously. His mom enrolled him in the painting and drawing program at the local University, and he would head out there a couple afternoons a week to listen to lectures and practice, then would come back all smiles and bubbly personality, insisting that Bucky help him set up some random still life of random objects for him to practice drawing. He was talented. Even Bucky who had no eye for art could see that. He would help Steve cart all his supplies out to the fort, then lay on the old wood planks of the car, letting the stray sunbeams squeeze their way through the slots and settle, shimmering on his closed eyelids. He could smell the warm dusty air around him, the sweet scent of wood rot lingering just underneath the periphery. He could smell the strong smell of the turpentine Steve added to thin out his oil paints, a delicious bitter aroma that now clung to Steve's fingertips wherever he went. If he really concentrated, he could hear a faint tinkle of the slightly sour notes that Steve was humming just under his breath. These were the afternoons where Bucky could almost taste the bloom of perfection upon his lips, could almost find himself believing in God.
It was also the summer that the two boys discovered vice. Bucky had found his older brother’s hidden cigar box: a magical container of immorality and iniquity. He would secret out cigarettes, and ripped out pages of Playboy magazines, and even once a small rolled joint and he would unload the treasures on to the dusty floor of the old train car. They would smoke, and Steve would cough like an old asthmatic, and Bucky would embrace the coursing nicotine like an ancient friend, and they would look at wrinkled pictures of round breasts and perky nipples and their pupils would dilate and their breathing would quicken in a state of insatiable youthful lust and Steve would blush brilliant shades of crimson and Bucky would laugh until his ribs ached and they would lay just far enough apart on the rickety wooden floor that their shoulders were not touching but that if Steve turned his head just-so the warmth of his breath would leave condensation on the nape of Bucky’s neck.
The Coffee House, or “CoHo” as it was affectionately referred as by its patrons, sat on the corner of Massachusetts Ave. and 10th—only a block from the Barnes Estate. Rebecca expertly threaded her way through the throngs of customers and called over her shoulder,
“You two—try and find us a seat yeah? I’ll grab the coffee.” Then she disappeared behind the tall apparition separating the bar from the rest of the house.
Bucky awkwardly looked at Steve, who nodded his head to the left.
“This way. We’ll try towards the back room.” His voice was still smooth, with an almost boyish pleading quality to it. He was looking straight at Bucky with those piercing blue eyes and it felt like he could strip away all of the outer layers right there, peel away the last five years and carve out the boy from the rail yard. Bucky quickly looked down, then stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“Sure thing man. Lead the way.”
He followed Steve back through three separate lounging rooms where they found a corner table surrounded by a small couch and an arm chair. Steve sat down on the couch and sunk in suddenly, his knees reaching to the level of his chin and a layer of dust wafting up towards the ceiling. He let out a big barking laugh and readjusted himself, perching all the way towards the armrest.
“I swear, I do that every single time I come here!”
Bucky found himself laughing along as he sat carefully in the armchair. “Seriously, you had to have grown another five inches since I saw you last. What the hell have you been eating at school?”
Steve kept smiling. “I think you might be over exaggerating just slightly. But yeah, I’ve gotten really into boxing lately—and I also still play football with an intramural league there. So I’ve bulked up a bit more.”
“You’re seriously still playing football? Even after you dislocated shoulder back in high school? That totally could have put an end to all of your painting you know…”
Steve shrugged ruefully. “I think you’re focusing in on the wrong parts of the story there Buck. Remember Natalie Grayson?”
Bucky couldn’t help the grin that was spreading. “Oh my God…Natalie Grayson…how could I forget!" His voice took on a high-pitched quality as he spoke, "Stevie, Stevie!! Oh, poor baby!!!" He stuck his finger down his throat and mimed gagging.
“Hey man—don’t knock it. I got to second base with her that night. Even with the shoulder sling!”
“Oh wow. Second base—totally worth it for the Stevie baby nickname…” He was grinning now. “She called you that for the entire year! You know, she was telling everyone that you were her one true love, her soul mate. You really broke her heart there. Poor Natalie baby…”
“Eh, what can I say, you taught me well.” Steve chuckled, then ran his hand through his short blonde hair. “I mean, are you seriously berating me for breaking one girl’s heart? If I remember right, you were the one who showed me my first picture of a naked chick. You had to have gone through the entire prep school’s worth of girls before I even showed up there!”
Bucky was still grinning, but the smiled was starting to feel plastered on his face. He nodded quickly.
“You know it. Bucky Barnes: lady killer, women savant, and general master of the feminine wiles…”
“Oh my God, that took friggin’ forever!” Rebecca interrupted and placed three black coffees on the table then threw herself dramatically onto the old couch. “So sorry to interrupt bro talk, but Bucky, God you look great! And I've missed you so much, and seriously—never shave again because the scruff is super hot, and don’t you EVER leave town again you giant asshole of a big brother!” She annunciated the last part and glared angrily across the table.
Bucky self-consciously raised his hand to rub at the stubble across his jaw, well aware that he hadn’t shaved for two days. “Well great to see you too Bex.”
“No, seriously. I want to hear every single thing that’s happened in your life for the last five years! I’ve missed you so much, you have absolutely NO idea what living at home has been like. Mom and Dad are complete insane people,” Steve suddenly shifted uncomfortably next to her and she looked over, “Honest to God Steve. I know you, like, worship the ground my Dad walks on, but obviously you’ll be coming to all the family gatherings now and what not, and you’re about to see some seriously crazy shit go down.”
Bucky looked up at Rebecca during the exchange and felt his forehead wrinkle up in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, and Rebecca cut right in again.
“But I can, like, barely even get to classes on time because Mom is so totally obsessed with how her youngest daughter is presenting herself because god forbid I give off the whorish impression that she apparently thinks I’m going for, and she literally dresses me, James! Like, lays out whole outfits for me to wear to my 300 student lecture class, because clearly everyone will be staring directly at me and not just nursing their previous night’s hangovers, and I can barely have any sort of life at all outside of school and the campaign and—”
“Bex, slow down just a bit.” Bucky finally cut in. His sister had always had a slightly overbearing personality, but the addition of caffeine to her system was absolutely not helping her case for normalcy. “Last time I saw you, you were fifteen. What are you even doing nowadays?”
Rebecca took a deep breath and then settled her hands on her lap. “Hmmm, ok, where to start? Well, I finished out the last couple of years at Episcopal, and applied to colleges and what not, and I ended up deciding to go to Georgetown, which of course meant that Mom and Dad just insisted I live with them, a complete disaster! Did I mention that they tried to institute a curfew for me for a few years there? I mean, seriously, I'm a college student…”
“Bex,” Bucky reminded gently.
“Right. So anyways, I’m getting my degree in Theater. I have one year left to go. I am taking this next year off to help work on the campaign, and then I plan on finishing out my course work and either moving to NYC to join some troupe of struggling actors or joining the Peace Corps. Mom is just so thrilled.” She rolled her eyes. “But yeah, long story short, Steve ended up at Georgetown as well—oh! Did he tell you that he got a full ride there to go to art school? Oh my God, they loved him the moment they laid eyes on him. They came out to some art show he was doing and he showed them one painting, what was it called?” She looked over at Steve briefly who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Oh right, ‘End of the Line’ or something?” Steve looked down and nodded and James felt a sudden urge to vomit. “It was super dark…but they seriously loved it! They offered him a full ride right on the spot. And yeah, so he ended up there also, and I guess the rest is history!” She suddenly leaned over and kissed him and James felt his grip tighten painfully around his coffee mug while his brain started doing that thing again ‘get it together Buck’ but now it was Steve’s voice, no, it was always Steve’s voice, Rebecca was still talking and he was fighting the urge to puke and desperately pushing through the sudden white noise that was ringing in his ears “…four years now right hon?” And Steve was still looking intensely at the coffee table. Rebecca continued. “Right, four years together now. So I got him in on this internship as well because he’s super into Dad’s work anyways, and yeah I guess that is my life story at this point? So fill me in on your side now!” She was holding Steve’s hand and running her thumb slowly over his palm.
His teeth were grinding together. Bucky stood up suddenly, “Sorry Bex, I just gotta piss real quick,” and he stood up with as much grace as he could manage and shoved his way past their table.
“Hey, Buck?”
“Mmm?”Bucky didn’t look up from the book he was reading.
“Can I draw you really quick?”
“Mmm…hang on...one sec…and done!” He triumphantly closed the pages around an old receipt that was currently serving as a place marker. “What did you say?”
Steve rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure that if tomorrow morning the entire world up and forgot Bucky Barnes had ever existed, the guy would just pack up a suitcase full of books and live happily ever after in some hermit shack. “I asked if I could draw you really quick?”
“Oh. Ummm…” Bucky’s forehead creased as he thought about it. “I guess? Isn’t that kind of weird?”
“Not really. We’ve been working with figure drawing in class for a couple of weeks now and I’m still just trying to get the hang of it. You don’t have to. I’m just asking.”
“No, no. It’s fine. What do I have to do?” Bucky sat up suddenly and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Want me to take my shirt off?” He winked lasciviously at Steve and then cracked up, peals of laughter bouncing off the dark walls.
Steve groaned. “Ok, now you’re trying to make it weird. I just wanted to draw you reading ok? The sun was hitting the bridge of your left cheekbone and splashing back onto the page and it was just this perfect moment and now you went and ruined the whole thing. I should have just drawn it and not even asked you ‘cept we just had this whole lecture about model consent.
Bucky threw up his hands in mock protest. “Ok, ok—sorry for being a dick. Sure, you can draw me anytime. Want me to lay back down and read or whatever?”
Steve thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. I mean, the sun will be all wrong now, but it’s still good practice. What on earth are you reading anyway?”
Bucky held up the large tome and Steve read slowly aloud: “ Hammer of the Gods: The Thule Society and the Birth of Nazism. Jesus Buck—first of all, how is that even remotely interesting? And secondly, what on earth is wrong with you?”
Bucky just laughed. “Come on, Cap—“he looked up at the ceiling as he quoted, “Those who do not know history’s mistakes are doomed to repeat them. Or something like that. And besides. You would be amazed at how many secret societies there were during World War II. It’s seriously fascinating stuff.”
Steve just grimaced. “Huh. Hey, move to your left just a bit…perfect! So perfect…wow Buck, your eyes look gold in this light. I always thought they were just plain brown…”
Bucky just smiled and opened his book back up.
Bucky was holding on to the sink with a death grip. The whole thing sucked. He absolutely expected that, of course, nothing was going to stay exactly the same—he was the one who fucking left town in the first place and stayed gone this long. But it still just sucked to see everyone here still happy and living their perfect little lives without him. Christ, the last time he saw Rebecca she was barely even fifteen and still looked like a little kid! Now she was gorgeous, turning the heads of every man she walked by, and clearly happily joined together at the hip to Steve. His Steve. Steve Rogers, aka nerdy comic book kid, aka the Captain, aka Cap, aka the missing piece to his craptastic puzzle of a life. Jesus Christ, could he be any more melodramatic about the whole thing? It wasn’t like he was going to move back to town and the dude would just show up at his apartment door,
“Oh, hey Buck, so I didn’t do anything for five years cause I figured you’d come back sooner or later…wanna go chill at the train yard?”
"Oh sure, Steve, sounds great, also I am in love with you and have been for eleven years.”
“Ok cool- we can work that out, I’m down for anything.”
Yeah. That would go over well.
He sighed and turned the water on, then looked up as he heard the door open.
“Hey Bucky.” Steve stood there, wringing his hands together awkwardly and looking all the world like a little lost puppy dog.
“Steve.”
“Uh, so…sorry about all that. I didn’t really mean for you to find out that way and all…”
“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky cut him off. “I know you guys were in the same class here and all, it makes sense.”
Steve looked up at him cautiously. “Well, yeah. I mean, we were in the same class at Episcopal you know, and then after you left, we just started hanging out together more? And then it turned out that we both got accepted to Georgetown, so things just ended up working out. She’s in the theater school which is on the same campus as the art school, so we saw each other a lot there.”
“Yeah Steve. It’s fine. Really. I’m glad you’re both happy.” He looked down at the floor quickly, then forced himself to look back into Steve’s eyes. “I’m just still getting my bearings on everyone’s major life changes around here. It’s really no big deal.”
Steve took a step forward. “I just, um…shoot this is pretty awkward,” he shrugged sheepishly, “just the way we left things…”
Bucky took a deep breath, shoved his hands back in his pockets and held Steve’s gaze. “Dude. I was wasted. Sorry to bruise your ego and everything, but you are really not my type.” He winked, then walked past Steve and held the door. “You coming back out? It’s my turn to catch you guys up on all the happenings in my life, and trust me, you do not want to miss some of these stories. Wild college nights, loose women and all that jazz. ”
Steve stared at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze. “Oh…uh…yeah, I’ll be right out.”
Bucky turned and walked out of the restroom feeling sick and angry and didn't turn around again to see Steve staring silently after him.
It was an entire landscape of blue. They were certainly still in the rail yard, but each train car was winking in and out of existence with each breath he took and if he closed his eyes he could convince them to stay but if he opened his eyes they disappeared leaving an afterimage superimposed in blue. He closed his eyes and reached out to touch each car, to use his rough fingertips as a guide, and he found what he was looking for, the crude scratch marks,
“ ‘Till the End of the Line—S+B”
And he knew he was at the right car, so he opened his eyes again and as the car winked back into place he pushed open the door and the smell of turpentine encased him, so he swallowed it all—it had a sweet taste of summer and innocence and laughter and he realized that he had closed his eyes and he was on his back in the car and there was no turpentine, it was Steve's fingers he could smell, it was fingers he thought he could swallow, it was fingers he was pushing down and there was a knot in his stomach that was pressing harder and it felt like pleasure and it felt like pain and it felt like blue and all he could think of were rough fingertips and he couldn't tell where his own ended and where Steve's began…
He shot up in bed sweating and breathing hard. As his hand clutched the blankets around him, he suddenly realized that his sheets were clinging between his legs, wet and sticky.