Way Down We Go
Steve made Varsity his first year at Episcopal High. Bucky couldn’t even find it in his heart to be pissed, or irritated by it, because true to his word, Steve still managed to spend every spare moment with him. He had set up a strict schedule which he promptly printed out and gave to Bucky on the morning that classes first started. Honestly, Bucky should have at least attempted to give him some grief over how ridiculously obsessive compulsive and over the top the thing was but there was this little doodle on the bottom right corner of Steve holding a shield in front of Bucky who appeared to be aiming a gun at some presumable enemy and it was labeled in Steve’s sloppy cursive: ‘Rinse and Repeat ‘till the end of the Line!’ and it was just too damn adorable:
Bucky had folded up the piece of paper and stuck it in his notebook pocket where it peeked out, always reminding him that Steve was still around and occasionally shooting out invisible tendrils of hope, or joy, or fear, or exhilaration to creep down his chest looking for purchase
It was getting harder and harder for him to keep pretending that he wasn’t in love with his best friend.
They rarely saw each other during actual class time—Steve was two years his junior after all so their classes were, for the most part, on completely separate ends of the campus. But on nice days Bucky would sporadically stop by the football fields and lean back against one of the many maple trees that dotted the landscape and open up his textbooks to study, every so often glancing up over his notes to watch the practice going on, to watch for flashes of blonde hair, to watch Steve Rogers.
Steve, for his part, seemed to notice nothing strange, never commented on the way that Bucky would suddenly and awkwardly withdraw from conversations in a moment’s notice, or would sink deeply into an arm casually thrown round his shoulder with a sigh, or would just as quickly brush off that hand, or would occasionally blush in horrific shades of crimson at an offhanded remark and make up an excuse—any excuse!—to leave the room. Steve was the epitome of American Golden Boy perfection, and Bucky had no intention of ever fucking that up for him. But he still found himself against those damn maple trees, trying to stop grinning, trying to stop sliding out that folded up piece of paper from the pocket of his notebook and rubbing his fingers across the little figures in the angle of the page, ‘till the end of the line.
He was well and truly fucked.
It was on one such glorious afternoon that football practice ended while he was deeply enmeshed in ‘The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire’. From the corner of his vision he could see that giant dickwad Brandon and his ragtag band of cronies making their way towards his maple. He quickly glanced back toward the field to see that Steve and a few other players were still embroiled in various discussions of possible plays, and decided that this particular instant might not be the best moment to get involved in another verbal sparring match with the asshole jocks from his year. He shoved his texts back into his bag and grabbed his notebook, then turned to leave figuring he would just catch up with Steve later—
“Hey, Barnes!”
He kept walking.
“I’m talking to you, asswipe!”
And still walking. He was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not going to stoop down,
“Hey! Faggot!”
He stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled around, fury burning in his eyes.
“What the fuck is your problem Brody?”
“Just curious, Barnes—do you like sitting on the sidelines because you like watching all the guys without their shirts? Or are you really just there for one in particular?”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he stepped up to Brody DuPont while the other guys just snickered in the background. “What the hell is that supposed to mean,” he hissed.
Brody just smiled lightheartedly. “I mean, come on man. The dude is two years younger than you and you still just follow him around like a little lost puppy dog…”
Bucky could feel his fists clenching and he was trying so desperately to get his anger under control he did not want to start a fight within view of that field, Steve really hated it when he fought, he was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not,
Brody spat to the side then looked directly into Bucky’s eyes, suddenly serious.
“All I’m saying is, his dick must taste amazing to warrant all the attention.”
Bucky lost it and threw himself at Brody, landing a satisfying punch to the side of his face before the other three guys jumped in and tackled him to the ground. He was outmanned, outweighed, and outmaneuvered, but Bucky Barnes was a fighter and his fists were still swinging and he kicked out and heard some guy curse in agony and he swiped out and got someone else right in the gut and he could care less if he got the shit kicked out of him there was no way in hell they were going to talk about Steve like that right in front of him—
“Stop it! Bucky! Stop it, Brody! Matt! Scott—guys STOP IT!”
Bucky could feel strong hands pulling him out of the fray and he was still swinging wildly and he could feel stickiness dripping down from his eye but his blood was still boiling hot and he was going to kick their goddamn asses,
“Bucky STOP!”
It was Steve holding him back, shit, he was punching out at Steve and he tried to settle but he was still so angry and his vision was starting to clear out of his good eye—he could see the three assholes being shoved back by some other players and Brody was calling out,
“Goddamn punk came after us!”
And Bucky was straining against Steve trying to get back at them,
“BUCKY! Quit it! What the HELL is wrong with you?”
And Bucky suddenly looked up at Steve in shock because he didn’t think he had ever heard the guy swear in his entire life, and suddenly the whole thing just seemed so ridiculous and God he didn’t want Steve involved in any part of this.
“They’re just fucking assholes man,” he murmured and brought his hand up to try and stem some of the blood that was flowing from his nose, Jesus his eye was already completely swollen shut and it hurt like Hell and Steve was talking again—
“Then don’t hang around the damn football fields if you don’t want to deal with them. Jeez Buck—it’s not rocket science.”
His tone was full of irritation and annoyance and Bucky couldn’t stop the sudden waves of shame and humiliation that were cascading over him and threatening to pull him under, but he reined it in and went for nonchalance and disinterest in his retort,
“Yeah man, I got that loud and clear,” and his mouth filled with blood from the talking so he spit it out to the side and managed to walk back to the dorms in silence while trying desperately not to cry as Steve brooded and marched along beside him.
He stopped going to football practices after that.
Bucky and Steve were meandering slightly aimlessly down the city street when he finally decided to speak up again.
“Hey so, I really wouldn’t mind changing out of my suit and what not before heading out again, and there’s a great little hole in the wall place out by my apartment if you don’t mind a small commute?”
Steve looked over and laughed. “Yeah—sounds great. Leave me in the suit while you get to chill all comfy cozy.”
“Shit, no I didn’t mean that. I’m sure I have something you could wear if you wanted? Or…” Bucky was berating himself internally now; he just turned this into a massively awkward conversation without intending to at all, “I mean, we can totally stay around here, I don’t mind…”
“No! That sounds great. And you can show me your new place and everything!”
“Wow, you sound way too excited about that. It’s a shit-hole. Don’t get your hopes up or anything.”
“Hey, anything to get me out of the dead center of the city for a bit,” and just like that he swung his arm back around Bucky’ shoulders like they were attracted by some invisible enormous magnetic force, and maybe they really were because Bucky could feel the thrumming of his heartbeat sending happy little jolts of electricity down his arms and legs, so he leaned in just a little—
—before remembering where the hell he was. He ducked out of the hold gracefully and motioned with his head,
“Metro station is right over there.”
“Oh, right.” Steve had shoved his hands back in his pockets and Bucky sighed. They quickly made their way down the stairs and caught the first train.
“Hey, Buck?”
“Yup.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Bucky felt himself start to sweat again, and Jesus did the guy seriously want to start out the night this way, now that they were already on the damn metro, and there was no escaping?
“Uh…”
“Are you in treatment for your alcohol problem?”
Bucky turned and looked Steve right in the eyes before bursting out laughing, and then laughed harder as he watched Steve literally morph in to ‘hurt puppy dog face’ before his eyes and oh God this was hilarious, he tried to stop laughing
“It’s a serious question Buck! No one in your family knows for sure and your Dad already hates me enough right now with the whole Rebecca situation, and I don’t need to be the one dragging you out for a night of fun only to set you off down some crazy bender, and I just want to know the situation and maybe we should just stay in tonight—”
Bucky sobered up at the mention of his family. “Jesus Christ,” he interrupted, “Oh my God it has been one day and I cannot take one more second of my goddamn family! Steve,”
Steve was looking down at the mucked up floor of the subway car, so Bucky threw his hands down on top of his knees and Steve looked up again in surprise,
“Steve. Come on, man. I’m not an alcoholic.”
Confusion and relief were playing out in Steve’s eyes and Bucky maintained the contact, hands gripping knees.
“But, your whole family said…I mean your Dad tonight…you were drinking water!”
“Yeah man. Because if I have one drink with the family around I’ll probably lose all self control and’ll end up finishing off a bottle and spending the night puking in my mother’s prized guest bathroom with all of them looking on, judging, and having one more reason to think I am worthless crap.” He fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he really did. “Yeah, I had my problems in high school. But I’m certainly not an alcoholic, I’m certainly not in treatment, and Christ, I don’t need you watching out for me!”
His mouth was dry, and he was actually finding it hard keep staring Steve right in the eyes as he practically lied right to his face, but he didn’t have an alcohol problem and hell if he was going to admit any differently to a guy who he hadn’t seen for five years, a guy who had given up on him and written him off, and hadn’t even tried to contact him even after everything they had gone through together, shit why did he have to bring all this up now—
“I’m really sorry Buck. I didn’t know. I’m really sorry for bringing it up.” And for Christ’s sake the guy was just so damn sincere and what did it really matter anyways, how could he possibly be even remotely upset when he had those watery pools of blue to stare into, to watch himself reflect back endlessly in blue, blue, blue
“Oh hell, I need a beer.”
Steve grinned.
“First rounds’ on me,” and he playfully punched him in the shoulder and Bucky couldn’t help but just forgive him of all wrong doings in one fell swoop.
Nothing stayed the same after that. Steve still went to football practice every day like the good little soldier he was, and he was sociable, and popular, and palled around constantly with the goddamn assholes who were making Bucky’s life a living hell day in and day out,
“Hey queer.” *vicious shove into the side of the wall*
“Hey it’s the cocksucker!”
“Hey Barnes! You smell like shit, been letting Rogers fuck you again?”
And he tried to hold it together, he really did because Steve had no idea what was going on—Steve WILL NOT know what is going one—but God Damn It All every time they brought his name back into it he found himself back in the middle of a fight.
His fists were constantly bruised and bloodied and he was starting to draw in upon himself, walking around with a surly ‘get the fuck out of my way’ strut and trying desperately just to get from class to class without running in to any of the douche bag football team, and to be quite honest—half of his class could care less about what the assholes were saying about him, it was 2010, so friggin’ what if he was gay but here’s the thing—
He was starting to think he really might be. He didn’t look at guys though. He wasn’t like…drawn to dicks. But he was also starting to lose interest in girls entirely. Of course, breasts were still awesome. They would always be awesome. But he had no desire to be anywhere near any of the girls at school in any sort of sexual way. Really, the only thing he could think about anymore at all was Steve. And that was a problem. It was a huge problem.
Steve was most definitely 100% absolutely positively not gay.
And here was the next massive horrible terrible worst thing ever problem:
If his family EVER even got the remote assumption that he might not be a perfect, right down the center line, ace in the hole, straight dude with intentions of marrying some gorgeous chick and having a perfect, right down the center line, ace in the hole family completely with gorgeous, carry-on-the-Barnes-name children, then he would probably be disowned, cut out of the family, and never spoken to again.
His father was George Barnes. There wouldn’t be any other way.
So really, there it was. He could think about it all he wanted. He could remember Steve’s head fitting perfectly on his shoulder, and imagine an embrace that might never end, and picture exactly what the inside of his mouth might taste like…
But he couldn’t be gay so he wasn’t.
So instead he started hiding out in the library during all of his breaks, and avoiding Steve whenever he could manage, and drinking large quantities of liquor at nights to numb the feeling of desperation and self hatred and wrongness that was permeating his being.
For Steve’s part, he was mostly just pissed off. He tried, he really did, to get Bucky to ‘come hang out,’ and ‘make some new friends,’ and ‘Jeez, just try a little!’ but Bucky just ignored him.
And then one night Steve found him up in his dorm room completely wasted lying half naked in a pile of puke and completely lost it with him.
Bucky was already far gone and his vision kept tunneling down, but he could see a figure standing in his doorway holding hand over mouth.
“Steve?” He groaned, oh God his mouth tasted disgusting,
“Oh Buck.”
And there it was. That horrible, awful, ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ tone of voice that coming from the parentals’ was barely tolerable in it of itself, but coming from Steve just made him want to roll over and die.
“Buck, your hand is bleeding, were you fighting again?”
“Shhhhh,” Bucky held his hand up to his lips but his arm felt like a dead weight, he giggled, “you should see the other guys…”
“Buck, please! You have to stop this! You have to at least try!”
Why was Steve so upset all of a sudden, it really wasn’t the end of the world, he did it all for Steve, why couldn’t he just see that it was always all for him?
“I know those guys can be jerks, but if you would at least try not to be a dick once in a while you would see that they just aren’t that bad—”
and Bucky jerked forward hand clawing for the now empty vodka bottle,
Steve plucked it up and threw it hard in to the trash,
“Can’t you see what you are doing to yourself?” He was getting worked up now—he was running his hands through his gorgeous blonde hair in complete exasperation, “Jesus Buck this is completely pathetic! You have everything! What the hell is the matter with you?”
Steve didn’t swear. Steve never swore. Bucky wanted to start crying. Bucky wanted Steve to hold him. Steve kicked some fallen notebooks out of the way and knelt down.
“Buck. Come on. Look at me.”
His eyes were so blue. “…so blue…” oh shit he was mumbling things aloud now,
“Pull yourself together, man. I’ve got to get to the game. I was hoping you’d show up for once but…huh.” Steve barked a laugh but it sounded mournful. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
He left. He walked out of the room. He closed the door. Bucky needed another drink. He needed something more to counteract the black viscous material that was slowly devouring his soul…
The pub was actually pretty sweet, in a run down, smelly, some biker could show up any minute and fuck you up sort of way. Steve grinned as he watched Bucky walk up to the bar and order two beers, joking with the bartender like they were old pals. The guy sure hadn’t changed much—at least, from Steve’s good memories of him. He was outgoing, friendly, just had this way of immediately putting people around him at ease.
He looked around and noticed an empty pool table in the corner so headed that direction. By the time he had finished cueing up the balls, Buck had come up behind him and slammed two beers down on the table.
“You want the break?”
Steve grinned up at him “Of course I want the break. I’ll take any advantage I can get against you.”
Bucky wandered over and grabbed one of the cues from the rack. “Oh right, because I can stomp your ass in to the ground with my eyes closed. How could I forget?” He watched the two striped balls fly towards the pockets after the break.
“Hey. I’ve had some practice in the last five years. I’m just saying, you have kind of an unfair advantage with your advanced cybernetic metal arm there.”
Bucky grinned and flexed both of his arms. “Jeez. It’s just a metal rod insert. Pretty sure most people with bad fractures in their lives still have some sort of metal holding their bones together. But while we’re on the subject, I did forget to tell you that for the last few years I have actually been in hiding in a secret government lab where they did all sorts of experiments on the arm and outfitted it with all sorts of super awesome weaponry. I’m now a top level assassin for a covert operations group. Also, I’m a pool champion.”
Steve looked up. “Right. That all makes perfect sense. And obviously you’ve infiltrated the George Barnes campaign for some clandestine purpose?”
Bucky cracked a grin. “Obviously. To retrieve my Captain.” Then he barked a laugh and sunk three colored balls in a row.
Steve groaned. “Like I said…metal arm.”
They continued through a game, stopping at one point for a beer refill and chatted the hours away. Steve couldn’t believe how easy it all felt, how in sync they still were after all these years. The last time he had seen Bucky he was a wreck of a human being, and he still felt a gnawing pit in his stomach when he thought about how they had left things. But it seemed that Bucky was trying just as hard as he was to put the past behind him and they fell into their old schoolboy friendship like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Another game passed, and another round of drinks, and Steve was feeling delightfully warm and fuzzy when his phone started ringing. He looked down to see a picture of Rebecca and groaned. He did not want to deal with this right now, not at all—
he noticed Bucky looking over at him.
“I just, why does she have to be so difficult all the time? I can’t figure out what she even wants from me.”
Bucky nodded.
“Yeah. I get it. But just cut her some slack, you know? She may act like she’s got her shit together more than the rest of us, but at the core of it all she’s still a Barnes. She still has the same fucked up need to please Mom and Dad that Andrew and I do.”
Steve looked slightly mollified. “I know. I love her man, I really do right? I just…sometimes I just feel like she is using me for something.”
Bucky looked like he was going to say something more, but then just picked up the chalk.
“Ehh, it’s just women. She’ll get over it in a few days. Just buy her some flowers or something.”
Steve laughed. “And there he is ladies and gentlemen. The amazing Bucky Barnes, who clearly is incapable of having any sort of emotional attachment to a relationship ever!”
Bucky rolled his eyes and sunk the last ball, ending the game. “You got it Cap! But seriously, she’s my sister. What more d’you want me to say? I could probably dig up some naked bath time photos that you could circulate to the media if you wanted to play the total abject mortification card…”
“Ha! Yeah, that would be a fantastic way to worm back into her good graces …”
“Well you’re the one who asked for my opinion!”
They racked up the balls again and Steve snuck a look over at Buck—watched his long hair fall over his eyes, watched his arms grip the sides of the table, watched him study the angles. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the warm sensation that was spreading through his chest, but it was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, something he only felt with Bucky, like two perfect halves completing each other.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Steve shook his head as if to clear it. “Just studying up on your little tricks, metal boy. This time I’m taking you down.”
He had left his damn History text book inside his gym locker. It wasn’t that big of a deal, really, but he had an hour to get the stupid homework done before he had a meeting with his English professor and he kind of needed the stupid thing to manage. The bigger problem was, he left the book inside his gym locker, which was in the locker room in the gymnasium building, and it was after hours and there was no one around and football practice was due out any minute and more than likely Steve Rogers would be marching his ass down to get changed and showered and who the hell knew what else in the same locker room and hell if Bucky planned on getting in long conversation with him during the process about the virtues of abstaining from alcohol until the mature age of twenty-one.
But he had left the damn book there, and he really needed to get that work done, and so he booked it down the steps and tried to ignore the theatrical voices in his head that were doing their best to convince him of the striking similarities of the locker-room to a dark and dismal dungeon.
He made it over to his locker and quickly did the combination, grabbing out the text and shoving it in his backpack, when he heard voices.
“Well look here. It’s the Barnes family faggot.”
He slammed his locker closed then turned around to face Brody.
“Do you ever get tired of following me around? Seems like you’re the one obsessed with dick there, Brody.”
He watched Brody’s eyes narrow and then looked behind him and counted five other guys standing menacingly behind him. Well shit. This wasn’t going to end well. Normally he only had to face down a couple of them at a time, and that was in the well lit halls of the high school where teachers did occasionally show their faces to execute some form of authority. Right now, he was stuck in a dark locker room with one exit that was blocked by six angry looking football players who each outranked him rather largely in the muscle mass department. Shit.
He glanced to the side of him quickly just to reorient himself and try to find the ‘higher ground’ so to speak. This was going to end in a fight one way or another and he could use any advantage he could get.
“You know Barnes? We’re all getting REAL tired of your foul mouth. Even Roger’s is fed up with you at this point.”
Bucky felt his chest constrict and suddenly found it hard to breathe.
Brody smiled and continued. “What, you think he hasn’t complained about your little…issues to us? You think he isn’t fed up with always having to babysit you, constantly making sure you don’t accidentally off yourself?”
Bucky could feel heat spreading from his neck down his torso. Steve talked about him. Steve seriously was talking about him to these assholes like he was nothing—like he was some irritating clingy bitch—
“If you would just leave the guy alone he’d be so much happier. You’re dragging him down. It’s kind of pathetic you know?” Brody stepped forward, the other guys following. “We figured we’d at least do you the courtesy of letting you know.”
Bucky was sweating now. He was actually feeling kind of scared, a sentiment that he tried to push down. He was a good fighter but he couldn’t take six guys at once. He was really starting to wish Steve would make an appearance—he sure as fuck didn’t want him involved in this at all, but there was no way these guys would actually keep this up if he was around, was there?
He watched the guys slowly advance on him and made a split second decision.
“Fuck. You.”
And he bolted straight towards them, trying desperately to make a break for the stairs. He wasn’t going to fight them, he was going to run and feel like shit about it later, but he’d be alive and maybe—
He ran smack in to one of the guys who let out an exclamation in sudden surprise and he tried to push his way through, oh this was a really really bad idea why the hell would he think that he was going to make it through a wall of linebackers who train daily for this sort of thing, he was almost through, one guy grabbed his shoulder and he twisted back and landed a punch straight on his nose, he could feel the thing break under his fist and he could hear a yelp of pain and surprise—the guy let go and was swearing, and he was seriously about to make it up the stairs—
—and someone got a hold of the damn backpack and yanked him backwards and suddenly they were all on top of him and there was no air to even breathe and he was still fighting and kicking and yelling at the top of his lungs hoping that someone, anyone would hear him and come to help.
The guys were all landing punches and kicking at his ribs and it hurt like hell but he sure as shit wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. They started dragging him towards the shower stalls and fuck that, he wasn’t going to get pinned down back there surrounded by walls on all sides with nowhere to run and he snapped his head back and it amazingly connected with someone who cursed and he actually managed to wriggle free just enough to break his hands free and get up to his knees before someone’s fist caught him right in the temple and he was down again, this time dizzy and fighting to keep his eyes open—they felt so heavy all of a sudden—he knew he needed to get out of here and keep fighting but shit his head was pounding,
“Jesus, get him down already!”
He thought that was Brody talking, he couldn’t tell anymore, they were all cussing and swearing and he was splayed out on his stomach and tried to move but suddenly realized that there was at least one guy sitting on top of him and it actually hurt like hell because he was pretty sure that he had a few cracked ribs by now.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe and he felt another couple of guys grab his legs and hold on tightly and then the guy sitting on his torso reached over and fisted his hand through his hair and yanked his head up. He was gasping for air, and his head hurt, and there was blood sheeting down the side of his face, his arms were scrabbling for purchase underneath him—to try and relieve some of the pressure from his head and neck, and then someone grabbed the left one and stretched it out.
“Shit, for a queer you sure can put up a fight,” the guy perched on his back pulling at his hair drawled, “what are we going to have to do to make you realize you lose?”
Bucky was still trying to breathe—every inhalation was complete agony right now, his throat was stretched up and he couldn’t move, and everything hurt, and there were three guys pinning him down and it was humiliating and fuck he was really terrified now. They were not going to let this drop; they were out to prove a point,
the guy holding on to his hair yanked up even further and Bucky could see Brody standing over him.
“Huh. What do you think Barnes? What’s it going to take?”
Bucky tried to swallow around his tongue which felt too big for his mouth and tasted like blood and spit the words out between clenched jaws,
“Eat shit Brody.”
Brody just laughed and Bucky kept trying to get in enough air and suddenly someone piped up from the corner,
“Dude fucking broke my nose—we’re sure as hell going to make sure he isn’t swinging those fists anytime soon,”
and Bucky could just barely see past Brody where the guy stood, blood gushing down his face, and he was holding a baseball bat, and shit this bad, this was really bad,
“Pull his arm out tight guys,”
and Bucky was struggling as hard as he could, oh Christ, they were going to use that thing on him, and he bucked hard and the one on his back suddenly slammed his head down on to the concrete floor and now there was blood filling his mouth, he was going to gag on it, then he felt them turn his head to the side and he could suddenly see the guy holding on to his left wrist and he could feel him pulling his arm tight,
"Fuck…fuck you…don’t…fuck you… please don’t!” Oh shit he was begging now,
“Well looks like finally we taught the cocksucker some manners,”
and he watched the bat come down, almost in slow motion, and he felt the bones in his arm shatter and suddenly he could hear screaming and yelling and shit that was himself screaming, and then the bat came down again and he started crying and that was the kicker because Bucky Barnes wasn’t a pussy and Bucky Barnes didn’t cry and everything felt so foggy all of a sudden—he was so dizzy and nauseous and he could hear yelling in the background and then there was no more weight on top of him holding him down so he curled up and just focused on breathing and tried not to think about the jagged lines of fiery pain that were blazing down his arm, just breathing in blue.
"Oh my God, Bucky!! Oh my god, oh god, oh god, what did you guys do?”
That sounded like Steve, it had to be Steve, Cap came for him finally, he could feel hands on him,
“Buck, buck, can you hear me? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”
Steve couldn’t see him like this, Steve couldn’t be here, he pulled himself upright and pushed backwards against the wall and a wave of nausea hit him like a brick wall and he couldn’t feel his left arm so he looked down and he could see blood everywhere and little shards of bone sticking out and he leaned over to the side and hurled up everything in his stomach, his vision was coming and going and he thought he might be blacking out,
“Yes, yes the gymnasium at Episcopal High School, yeah 1200 N Quaker Lane, please hurry!”
Steve was on his phone oh everything hurt so much, he tried to take a breath in and it turned in to a gasp and then he couldn’t stop himself, he just kept crying and clawing at his eyes and his arm was burning and sobs of humiliation and shame and utter pain were wracking his body and he was starting to shake and Steve was suddenly right next to him murmuring,
“It’s ok Buck, it’s ok, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, it’s going to be ok.”
************
By the time they got him to the hospital they had him so dosed up on painkillers he had no idea where he was. They rushed him straight in to surgery for his arm where they had to open it up and replace parts of the bone with metal plates, pins and rods. That was the worst of it. Everything else would heal in time—a few cracked ribs, hairline fracture to the cheek bone, and deep bruising.
What didn’t heal was the complete and total shame he now carried with him. Shame of being unable to defend himself. Shame of Steve finding him like that. Shame of who he was. That stayed with him like a putrid open lesion—one that he continuously poked and prodded. He absolutely despised himself.
Steve stayed with him in the hospital—sat by his bed the whole time. He was visibly shaken and upset. He apologized about a thousand times for being so naïve, for not knowing what those guys were doing, for not being a better friend. Every time he opened his mouth to talk Bucky would roll to the other side and ignore him. Being near Steve now was like rubbing salt into the wound. He couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t deal with any of it, he just wanted Steve to go away, to leave him in his own misery.
Luckily the painkillers they prescribed him for his arm were more than an ample substitute for liquor he was sorely missing.
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