Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Steve raised his fists, Gilmore Hodge’s taunts ringing in his ears. “You wanna say that again?” Steve demanded. He looked around the alley for anything that could help him, but he wasn’t hopeful. He’d been beaten up here before, mostly out of convenience’s sake, as it was two blocks away from Public Magical Academy 20 and on his route home. Once, he’d found a trashcan lid that had come loose from its thin metal chain and bashed it against Gilmore’s head with enough force to knock him down for a minute. Steve had stayed elated over that victory for a full 24 hours before Gilmore cornered him at the end of recess the next day and bloodied his nose.

Gilmore glanced at Pete behind him and jerked his head forward. “You shouldn’t butt into other people’s business.”

“It’s everyone’s business if you’re being a bully,” Steve bit back, his anger rising. “You had no right to say those things to Arnie. Boys can wear whatever the they want.”

“You thought you were gonna stop me?” Gilmore sneered. “Is anyone even sure you can do magic? Everyone knows your practically human.”

Steve could only get the beginning of, “Shut up-” before Gilmore lunged. Steve skipped nimbly to the side, directly in Pete’s line of fire. Pete got a lucky shot in. Doubled over with the wind knocked out of him, Steve wheezed.

“Looks like somebody gotta shut that big mouth for you, Rogers, since you can’t do it yourself,” Gilmore taunted as he punched Steve in the face.

Cheek stinging, Steve looked up at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Hey!” a new voice called. “What’s going on?”

Gilmore drew back, eyes widening as he took stock of a new kid that in the mouth of the alley. “Look at that,” he said, nudging Pete with his elbow. “Little Stevie needs a familiar to fight his battles for him!”

Steve glared at the newcomer, face flushing in anger. His magic sensing wasn’t great, but he didn’t doubt the new kid was a familiar. Gilmore wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to get in a dig like that. The new kid was half a head taller than Steve, and built of sturdier stock like Gilmore and Pete, with arms about the same width as Steve’s thighs. A normal thirteen-year-old, really, unlike Steve, who still looked about ten on a good day.

Pete let out a loud guffaw.

“Hey, I’m not looking for trouble,” the familiar said, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Then mind your own damn business,” Gilmore interrupted.

But the familiar wasn’t done. “I’m just saying, two against one doesn’t seem very fair.” His tone was deceptively breezy as he squared his shoulders and dropped his hands so they hung calmly at his sides.

“You wanna even it out?” Pete asked, as he took a step closer.

Quick as a flash, the familiar decked Pete across the face.

Pete staggered back, and Gilmore sprung forward. Steve was faster. He caught him around the middle and sent them both tumbling into the dumpster. The metal side rattled with the impact. Steve straightened back up, jumping backwards in case Gilmore got up swinging.

The familiar strode forward, yanked Gilmore up by his shirt, and shoved him in the direction of the street. Gilmore stumbled into Pete, and they both half-tumbled their way out of the alley.

Steve wiped a hand across his mouth, grimacing as his finger came away tacky with blood. He wiped it quickly on his jeans, glaring up at his supposed rescuer. 

“I didn’t need your help,” Steve told him shortly.

“Didn’t look that way to me, pal,” he said, his face a little red from the exertion. His eyes raked up and down Steve’s slim frame, lingering on his split lip and dirty knees.

Steve resisted the urge to fidget and straightened to his full height. He only came up to the familiar’s eyebrows. “I had them on the ropes.”

The familiar shot him a disbelieving look. “Looks like a strong breeze could knock you over. Pretty sure if they got a good punch in, you’d be flyin’ halfway across the Hudson.”

Steve bristled. “I said, I didn’t need your help.”

“Fine,” the familiar said shortly, taking a step backwards. “My fault for assumin’. Next time you get your butt kicked that bad, don’t be so loud about it. You were disrupting regular people going about their business.”

Steve watched him go, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as the familiar strode off without another word.

Steve didn’t tell his mother about the incident when she got home. Instead, he doled out dinner, told her all about his upcoming math test, and resisted the urge to mess with the healing scab just below his hairline. Luckily his bangs covered the worst of it.

Sarah probably noticed anyway; she had eyes like a hawk and could diagnose an injury from halfway across the ward. But she was a healer without a familiar, so she had to be satisfied with her position as a staff manager, instead of something higher up in the hospital administration with a better salary. As she told Steve plenty of times, she was more than happy with her position. If she got too caught up in hospital bureaucracy, then she wouldn’t have any time for the patients. And that just wasn’t how she worked.

“And then Mary Ann had the gall to tell me that she was going to take over Lorriane’s case, that I was mismanaging her care when we both knew that you don’t need any magical intervention to treat nausea, vomiting, and a 102-degree fever. It’s not a hex; it’s the flu.” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s like she forgets I’m a witch at all.” She glanced up from her half-finished plate to smile wryly at Steve. “But you don’t need to hear about hospital politics.”

Steve let out a dark laugh. “It’s fine, Ma. And you should tell someone she’s treating you like that. Don’t let bullies get away with it.”

Sarah reached over to pat his hand resting by his plate. “I suppose she is,” she blinked. “Being picked on by a bully, at my age,” she said with a sigh. “Who would have thought.”

“Bullies can come at any age.”

“Oh, I believe that,” Sarah said, eyes flicking to his slightly-swollen lip and bangs shoved straight down his forehead. “Speaking of, are kids at school still giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Steve said mulishly as he sliced at bits of potato skin until the knife screeched against the plate.

Sarah carefully laid one of her hands over of his. “You know, you don’t have to stay at that school, honey,” she said, looking him square in the eye. “We have other options.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not running away.”

“It’s not running away,” she said patiently. Her lips pursed as she thought it over. “It’s making a tactical retreat,” she finished delicately.

“No, I can handle it.”

Sarah’s eyes skirted over the firm set to his jaw and the flinty look in his eyes. Her mouth thinned into a displeased line. “Well, on your own head be it,” she said as he got up to the clear the table. “But, if things ever get serious – if your grades slip because they don’t let you pay attention in class, or if your life is ever in danger, I will pull you out of that school immediately, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Good boy.”

* * *

Steve tried not to stare at the familiars trickling into the auditorium hall. He’d attended their sister Familiar Public School dozens of times before. Once a month, they trooped from Steve’s local Public Magical Academy 20 to FPS 20, or the familiar visited instead. It was the familiars’ turn to host this time, and Steve stood among his fellow sixth graders and prepared himself for a day full of forced socialization and boring lectures on the Bond between a witch and a familiar.

Really, Steve should have called in sick.

He listened with one ear as the lesson glossed over an explanation of Familiars’ evolutionary traits that let them sense which witches had enough power to survive the Bonding process.

The Bond was a symbiotic relationship, but everyone knew the familiar had the final say on their witch partner. They only chose the strongest, most magical witches. Familiars were for students at the private Magical Academies, who all graduated high school with a diploma in one arm and a familiar in the other, or so Steve heard.

Roughly one fourth of witches never bonded with a Familiar, either because a Familiar never chose them, or they weren’t deemed magical enough by the government to survive the Bonding… or both.

No familiar was ever going to choose Steve, so he had no use for days like this.

After a quick lunch, the teachers herded the sixth graders, witches and familiars alike, into the roof gymnasium for recess.

Steve slunk in at the tail end of the group, clutching the paperback he had stowed away next to his lunchbox in his backpack. With a sigh of relief, he spotted a small crawl space underneath the jungle gym. It was right below the skylight, and the natural spotlight drew Steve in like a sign from the heavens. If he angled his book right, he could catch a ray of sun on the pages and keep the rest of himself in the dark and out of sight.

He had goten through two whole chapters before trouble started.

“Check out the weirdo underneath the slide!”

Steve’s hand shook as he turned the page.

The same voice continued, “What’re you doing under there? What, you’re too good to play with us, Witch?”

Steve’s forehead furrowed in concentration as he mouthed along to the words he was reading.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Steve’s heart sunk in his chest as Gilmore answered, “What? No, I think that’s Steve. He’s barely magic enough to do anything. He’s probably hiding under there so one of you guys don’t beat him up too bad.” He snorted. “You’ve probably got more magic in your left pinkie than little Stevie does at all.”

Steve slammed his book closed and scrambled out from beneath the jungle gym. “Say that to my face,” he snarled as he marched right up to Gilmore.

“What? You probably belong in one of the human schools. That's just the truth.” Gilmore glanced around, and Pete started making his way over to their section of the gym as well as Vince and AJ. The girls playing jump rope near the sidelines stopped to look on. Gilmore smiled at a nearby boy, clapping him on the back before gesturing at Steve with a casual wave of his hand. “Told you he’s nothing special.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh yeah?” Gilmore raised an impervious eyebrow. “Big talk for a little guy like you.”

Steve raised his hands threateningly, fingers splayed as he gathered his power. He had no real experience with offensive magic; none of his classmates did yet. He’d action movies though, had read about it in novels before. But the rage was bubbling underneath his skin, drowning all logical thought.

Gilmore stared, not moving at all to defend himself.

Wind started ruffled the hair at the back of his neck as the air almost crackled with suspended tension. Steve pushed forward, shoving out all his anger and frustration.

A light breeze ruffled Gilmore's bangs.

The nearby boy, the familiar who had called Steve out, burst out laughing. Steve threw himslef at him, landing one punch to his gut before someone pulled him off.

Someone got a bruising grip on his shoulder and twisting their fist in the back of his shirt, and Steve barely made a noise of protest before he was being hauled in the opposite direction. “Cool it,” Steve’s restrainer hissed. “Unless you want a charging ram on your tail, don’t get on Taylor’s bad side.”

Steve blinked at the boy, eyes widening as he took in the familiar’s face. It was the same kid who saved Steve’s ass from that alleyway beating a week ago. “But you’re not allowed to transform.”

“Yeah? Like that ever stopped one of us,” the familiar snorted as he parked Steve near a net of climbing ropes at the other end of the gymnasium. “Don’t suppose I’m gonna get a thank you?”

“I –” Steve bit his lip. Steve looked over to where Gilmore and the ram familiar were laughing together, casting glances where Steve and the familiar were standing.  “I didn’t ask for your help,” Steve said sullenly.

The familiar laughed. “But you got it anyway. Funny how that works?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that.” The familiar’s blue eyes narrowed as he leaned against the gymnasium wall. “I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky?”

The familiar rolled his eyes. “That’s my name.”

Steve blinked at him, a little taken aback that Bucky had bothered to introduce himself at all. “Steve.”

“So what’s your deal?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked suspiciously.

Bucky let out a dry laugh. “You go on the attack whenever anyone looks at you funny but you don’t know how to hex a stray pigeon. I don’t get it. Do you enjoy getting your face punched?”

Steve said stiffly, “It’s what’s right. Bullies shouldn’t always get their way. Nobody should just roll over and let stuff like this happen.”

“So you go make a spectacle of yourself? You’re never gonna get one of us that way. We don’t go for stupid witches.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not about you. If someone said those things back at my school, I would’ve done the same thing." He waved a hand to the familiars and witches mingling by the jungle gym. “I don’t know what I expected. This isn’t for witches like me.”

“Right,” Bucky said, eyebrows drawing together as he thought something through. “You think you’re too good for this?”

“It’s a waste of time.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ve met witches like you before.”

“Great,” Steve said sarcastically. “Go Bond with one of them then.”

Bucky pushed off the wall, marching right up into Steve’s face.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest. He’d never asked for any of this, a familiar with some bizarre hero-complex. Steve only wanted to read his books, get through middle school in once piece, and transfer to some hybrid high school for humans and other lower-level witches destined to be familiar-less.

“I think you’ve got to learn to pick your battles, punk,” Bucky said calmly. “’Cause right now you’re picking all of them. Be smart about it.”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “I wasn’t asking for advice.”

“What can I say. I’m feeling a little generous,” Bucky said with a little grin as he walked off.

“You’re a jerk!” Steve called to his retreating back.

Bucky ignored him, but Steve could see his shoulders shake with what he hoped was laughter.

* * *

Impressively, today was shaping up to be the worst day of sixth grade so far, beating the time Gilmore took a pair of scissors to the sleeve of Steve’s jacket in December; the day Pete swapped out Steve’s juice for newt oil when he was looking the other way; and when he slipped into a desk after Gilmore tripped him, fracturing a finger.

Today, Gilmore had stolen Steve’s shoes during PE and hid them somewhere in the school.

Steve hadn’t tattled all day because his teachers would probably call Ma. Turned out, holding out on his own was all for nothing because Steve had to call her anyway to bring him a spare pair of shoes so he could walk home.

So here Steve was, sitting on the front steps in the fading light and waiting for his mother to pick him up from school like he was still in kindergarten. He squinted at the book pages open in front of him, not reading a word.

Steve had spent all his anger looking for his shoes, now he was stewing in a big pile of exhaustion and misery. As Steve closed his book, a set of footsteps slowed and came to a stop in front of him.

“Hey.” It was Bucky, the familiar who had gotten him out of two fights already.

“Hey,” Steve said back warily.

Bucky frowned, tilting his head as he regarded Steve. “A little late for school, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

“What’re you doing?”

“What are you?” Steve shot back.

Bucky pulled a face at Steve’s tone. “My little sister gets out of swim practice at the Y in a couple of minutes. It’s around the corner. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I think you’re lying,” Bucky said shrewdly. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.”

Steve's jaw clenched. “What’s it to you?”

“I hate picking her up from swim practice,” Bucky said as his face scrunched up in displeasure. “All of her friends stare at me and giggle, and she never leaves on time.”

Steve didn't know how to respond to that. “Someone stole my shoes,” he said eventually. “I’m waiting for my ma to come by and get me with a new pair.”

“These the same jerks that joined in with Taylor last time?”

“Was that the guy I fought?”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “Fought might be pushin’ it, but yeah. That one.”

“Then yeah, it was the same witch.”

“What’d they do to your shoes?” Bucky asked.

“Hid them.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s it? I bet I can find them.”

“You can?” Steve asked as he got to his feet, the barest trickle of hope lightening his tone.

“I can – if you want my help.” His expression dimmed. “I know how you feel about being helped by a familiar,” he said bitterly.

“I’m not against being helped by a familiar,” Steve argued quickly.

“Really?” Bucky asked dubiously.

“Really,” Steve said. “I don’t like accepting much help from anyone. Familiar or witch or human.” His gaze fixated on the concrete steps slightly to the right of the familiar’s shoe. “But, if you wanna help me now, I won’t stop you.”

Bucky snorted, still clearly disbelieving. “Fine.” He sighed deeply. “Don’t tell anyone I did this, okay?”

But before Steve asked him what the hell he was going to do, Bucky transformed. He fell to all fours, clothing and skin quickly turning to fur as his fingers curled into paws. His ears elongated as his face pushed forward into a recognizable snout.

The German shepherd’s tail wagged once before shoved his nose into Steve’s hand.

Dumbfounded, Steve let Bucky sniff his fingers. “Do you want pets?” he asked slowly, still completely confused.

Steve had never seen a dog glare before.

After smelling around Steve’s socked feet, Bucky took off into the school, Steve trotting at his heels. He wound down the main halls, nose almost pressed to the ground and tail straight out behind him. They passed a janitor on their way down to the sixth-grade classrooms who was bouncing along to music pumping out of his gigantic headphones and completely ignored them.

Bucky nosed his way into the Earth Science room, sniffing interestedly at the teacher’s desk for a moment before heading to the back of the classroom. He jumped up to stand on his hind legs, front paws scrabbling at the back wall near a poster displaying biomes. Nonplussed, Steve stood next to him, eyes skirting over shelves showing a diorama of tectonic plates and layers of the Earth’s crust. He tapped the cabinets at knee level and told Bucky, “I already looked here. It’s full of extra books.”

Bucky spared him one look of exasperation before transformed back. “They’re in the air vent,” he said as he tugged his shirt back into place. He pointed about three feet above their heads. “I could smell it from down the hall.”

“You could?” 

Bucky shrugged. “You should change your socks more.”

Steve laughed, relief coursing through his veins. “Jerk,” he said before punching Bucky lightly in the shoulder. He froze, but Bucky didn’t snap back. If anything, he started to smile instead. “It was nothin’.”

“It was not,” Steve argued as he clambered on top of the cabinets. His fingers were just long enough to wedge under the air vent’s metal frame. Gilmore must’ve left it half-screwed in to get Steve’s shoes in there in the first place. Steve grabbed a bit of shoelace nearest the opening, grimacing as his shoes fell out along with a layer of dust. Coughing, he made his way down. He held the shoes aloft triumphantly as Bucky’s grin grew wider. “Thank you,” he said.

Bucky raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Familiars have to be good for something, right?”

“Familiars are good for plenty,” Steve argued. “They make spells last longer, add to their power, widen their range, and a bunch of other stuff. Isn’t that what you’re learning in school?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Sure – I just didn’t know you knew that. Is that what they’re teaching in yours?”

“Kind of.” Steve began untangling his shoelaces. “Since some of us don’t take a familiar at all, we don’t learn much more than the basics. There are a couple of elective classes in high school, I think.” He bent down to slide his first shoe on.

“You gonna take them?”

Steve huffed a short laugh. “No.”

“No?” Bucky echoed. He drew back, eyes darting around the empty room. “Right, well, I’d better be going.”

Steve stared at Bucky, certain he misspoke somewhere in the past two seconds. But as he went back over the conversation, he had no idea what had set Bucky off. Finally, someone had come along and done something nice for him, but Steve had messed it all up. Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d just waited for his mother. At least then he wouldn’t have wasted Bucky’s time. “I’m sorry I kept you,” Steve muttered as he stood up.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said tonelessly.

They walked in silence down the hall, Bucky staring straight ahead.

“I don’t know why you’d ask me that,” Steve said slowly as they rounded the final corner. “I’m not even going to be at this school for high school.”

“You’re not?”

Steve threw him an incredulous look. “They don’t let you stay if you’re not magical enough. Don’t you know that about Public Magical Academies?”

Bucky stopped short, staring at Steve with wide eyes. “Sure I do.”

“Well then,” Steve said tersely as they stood outside of the school.

Bucky let out a loud exhale of frustration. “But what’s that got to do with you?”

“Seriously?”

Bucky threw up his hands. “I’m just trying to figure out why you of all witches claim to not be biased against familiars, but won’t bother to learn the first thing about them.”

“First of all,” Steve said hotly, “I know enough about familiars. Second of all, I’ve got much better things to learn about in school than a useless Bond I’m never going to have.”

“What? Of course you’re going to have one." Bucky said it like it was a cold, hard fact.

For the first time in a long while, Steve was momentarily struck dumb.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’ll have familiars knocking down your door to Bond with you. You gotta be blind not to see how powerful you are, Steve.” He gestured up and down Steve’s skinny frame. “Isn’t that why they’re pickin’ on you the whole time? They’re threatened?”

The first prickles of shame started at the base of Steve's spine. Flushing, he turned on his heel and hurried down the steps without saying goodbye.

“Hey, wait – no!” Bucky called, easily matching Steve’s strides. “I’m not gonna just let you walk off without hearing me out. Witches like you are the reason –”

“Witches like me?” Steve spat, a slight hysterical edge to his voice. “Everyone knows I’m barely a witch. You heard them all last time – itty bitty Stevie couldn’t charm his way out of a wet paper bag.” He swallowed. “And you had the nerve to call me a liar.”

Bucky shook his head violently. “I’m not lying,” he said, grabbing Steve by the elbow.

Steve tried to shake off his grip.

“You’re not much now,” Bucky said, plowing right over the hurt expression that Steve couldn’t help, “but I can smell it on you. You’re gonna outstrip everyone in a couple of years.”

“Shut the hell up,” Steve snarled.

Bucky held on even tighter. “You really didn’t know?” His eyes raked over Steve’s face. “If you could Bond, would you? Would you take a familiar? Would you take all those classes? Treat your familiar right?”

Steve gave one last futile tug on his arm. “Yes,” he said, scowling fiercely. “I’d be insane not to Bond and be grateful for it every damn day of my life. Happy now?”

Bucky let him go, grinning broadly. “Great. I’d like to put my name first on your list of familiars for consideration.”

Steve laughed, raw and brittle. “That’s a short list.”

* * *

Bucky had to babysit his three sisters two days of the week, and Fridays were family day, when Bucky’s father made it a point to come home early. Otherwise, Bucky would head to Steve’s apartment to do homework and play video games. Every once in a while, they’d trek to Vinegar Hill and spend some quality time at the dog park.

Steve had laughed when, red-faced, Bucky had asked they go, but he shut up real quick when he saw the hangdog look on Bucky’s face.

Really, the dog park was not a terrible place to spend a couple of hours on a nice day. None of Steve’s bullies ever turned up, and Steve always had the best study break throwing Frisbees around. Bucky felt more relaxed here than anywhere else; he told Steve that he needed to spend times around dogs, anyway. They were pack animals, and he needed to observe them to know his limits and abilities in his familiar form.

Steve would bet good money that Bucky just liked dogs, but if Bucky needed to hide behind his excuses, Steve wasn’t going to call him out. He was by far the oddest familiar that Steve had ever met.

A month later, for the first time, Steve had someone to sit with when the Familiar School students came to Steve’s Magic Academy. Although they were seated at opposite sides of the auditorium during the day-long lectures, Steve spotted Bucky’s head of brown hair in a minute of sitting down. One time, when Steve was almost about to fall asleep, head jerking up as he threatened to keel right over in his seat, he happened to glance in Bucky’s direction, who started mouthing, “This is important,” incessantly across the benches separating them.

Bucky was obviously jerking Steve’s chain, as the lecture was examining how the familiar’s animal form was determined in the first few years of the familiar’s life by a combination of cultural and personal attributes.

No matter what nonsense Bucky talked about Steve’s future Bond, the day was just as pointless as their last school day together. At least it was a hundred times more enjoyable with Bucky. They ate lunch together, and stayed far away from the jungle gym during recess. Despite Bucky’s predictions, none of the familiars seemed any more taken with Steve’s than before. Everyone ignored them, and Steve escaped the day almost completely unscathed.

“Want to come over to my apartment today?” Steve asked as the whistle sounded to get back to class.  “And I was thinking you could stay for dinner?” he added. “If your parents don’t mind. I – my ma will be there.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Yeah, sounds good.” He cleared his throat. “I – you’ve told your ma about me, right?”

“Of course!”

“She knows that I’m a familiar?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you get these ideas in your head that she’d care, but yes, she’s fine with it.”

Bucky didn’t voice any more questions after that. When school let out three hours later, Bucky trailed Steve back to his apartment where they did a bit of homework before abandoning it and watching a sitcom until Steve had to get dinner ready. During dinner prep, Steve instructed Bucky to check the water or fetch him another spice from the pantry whenever Bucky started to look particularly aimless.

They froze as they heard the key scrape in the lock.

“Ma, this is Bucky,” Steve said, shoulders thrown back and spine straight as Sarah entered the apartment. “Is it okay if he stays for dinner? I made enough spaghetti for the three of us.”

Sarah’s eyes flickered from Steve hovering over the Stove, to Bucky a few feet behind him, sitting at the kitchen table. “I suppose that’s alright,” she said slowly. “When will it be ready, Steve?”

“In about twenty minutes,” Steve said as he scurried to stir the sauce. “Bucky helped,” he added as Bucky shot him a look of terror, left alone with Sarah.

“You made a guest help?” Sarah tutted disapprovingly as she hung up her coat and took off her shoes. “What kind of manners have I been teaching you?”

“He offered!” Steve protested over his shoulder.

“Barely,” Bucky muttered, eyes going wide as Sarah turned to face him. She hid a small cough that might have been a laugh behind her hand.

“So, Bucky, tell me about yourself,” she said as she settled down at the kitchen table across from Bucky. “From what I understand, you met Steve during Familiar Day at school?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to where Steve was leaning against the counter, one eye on the simmering tomato sauce and one eye on the kitchen table. His arms were crossed across his chest, a wooden spoon clutched tightly in his grip. Bucky turned back to Sarah. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Steve tells me that you pulled him out of a fight.”

“Uh, that’s right too,” Bucky said, twisting the hem of his shirt underneath the table. “Steve was yelling at one of the guys in my class. It would’ve ended bad if I didn't step in.”

“I’d say so,” Sarah said mildly. “Thank you.”

“They started it!” Steve cut in before he turned back around and checked on the boiling water.

Sarah leaned in across the table conspiratorially. “Did they really?”

Bucky laughed, a little more nervous than he’d like. “This time they did. But I think he likes being punched in the face.”

Sarah sighed dramatically. “It’s like he was raised in a barn.”

“Nope, just a Brooklyn apartment,” Steve said cheerfully. “How was work, Ma?”

Sarah shook out her graying hair before she answered, “Much of the same. Tompkins, the man who had the dragon curse, was transferred to the MICU. My potions just weren’t cutting it, and they have much better healers over there.”

“Sorry,” Steve said as he threw in a pound of spaghetti. “I know you liked him.”

“He’d always compliment my hair,” Sarah said wistfully. She shrugged. “But they can help him better than I can, so it’s for the best.”

“A dragon curse?” Bucky asked, eyes wide. “That’s bad, right? Can he breathe fire or something? Fly?”

“Better.” Sarah got up and fetched glasses to fill them up with water. “He started growing scales.”

“Lame.” Bucky pulled a face. “I thought it would be way cooler.”

“The doctor who named the curse thought so too,” Sarah said with a smile as she performed a freezing charm on the top of the water. The glasses frosted over, spider webs of white fractures spreading over the surface. She set one in front Bucky. “On his first patient, he saw the scales and some claw-like fingernails, so he called it the dragon curse.” She snorted. “Turns out scales are actually the only visible symptom. The nails were because the patient needed long ones to snort fairy dust. Completely unrelated. He died from an overdose two days after discharge.”

“But you’re sure it’s a dragon curse?” Steve asked as he peeked in the pasta pot. “With Tompkins?”

“I’m certain,” Sarah said grimly. “The heart murmur just started two weeks ago, and this morning he started losing feeling in his right foot.”

“Is it fatal?” Bucky asked quietly.

Sarah shook her head. “Not usually. The worst is catching it late, then we might have to amputate if the circulation has been cut off for too long.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Usually it’s just a finger or two,” Sarah said as she got up to fetch cloth napkins and utensils from a drawer next to the sink. “But I remember years ago a witch came in and we had to take off her whole arm. Worst case I’d ever seen.”

“How’d she let it get so bad?” Steve asked.

Sarah sighed. “She was from a small town. You know how they feel about magical folk out there. Even if she wanted to go to a proper magical hospital, it would have been hours away and expensive. Luckily, she was visiting someone in New York, and they convinced her to get treated in a hospital.”

“But wouldn’t she recognize the signs?” Bucky asked.

“Of a dragon curse?” Sarah asked, eyebrows raised. “Not necessarily.”

“Why not?”

Sarah pursed her lips. “There’s a reason most witches settle along the costs and in major cities. The people out there… they’re not the friendliest towards us.” Her fingers deftly folded each napkin into a neat square and pushed them to their proper place at the table. “Not violent or anything, just a little afraid. And a little fear can go a long way,” she said. “And if there isn’t a large population of witches, there won’t be enough funding for magical education or magical health care.”

“Really?” Bucky tilted his head as he studied Sarah. “My father’s family lives in Indiana. We’ve never visited them, though.”

Sarah blinked at him. “I don’t think I’ve heard of any familiars that far Midwest. They must be a novelty in their town.”

Bucky didn’t respond as Steve shut off the stove and drained the pasta. Only as he was pouring the sauce over the hot spaghetti did Bucky say quietly, “They’re not familiars. They’re all witches.”

Steve nearly dropped the pot he had just picked up to transfer to the kitchen table.

Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. “There you go,” she said after a beat. “You know in some places there’s still a curfew for magical folk? It’s outrageous – old superstitions.”

“My dad doesn’t talk much about Indiana,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Probably for good reason,” Sarah said with a shake of her head.

“Is your father a witch?” Sarah asked as Steve poured spaghetti out onto Bucky’s plate.

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he took his full plate. Instead of placing it in front of himself, he passed it on to Sarah, who smiled in approval.

“So your mother is a familiar?” she asked interestedly as Steve passed another full plate to Bucky, who kept it this time.

“I – no, she’s a witch too,” Bucky said before shoving a forkful of pasta in his mouth.

Steve started on serving his own plate, eyes trained on his hands so he couldn’t see the uncomfortable tightness in Bucky’s eyes.

Sarah clucked her tongue sympathetically. “The only familiar in the family?” she asked, eyes trained on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah.” Bucky glanced once at Steve before focusing on the food in front of him. “Recessive genes.”

Steve frantically wracked his brain for something else to talk about, anything else. 

He glared at his mother for bringing up this topic and questioning Bucky past the point of a friendly introduction. All her patients always praised her bedside manner, so she couldn’t be oblivious to Bucky’s reluctance to answer her questions.

“It’s good that you and Steve found each other then,” Sarah said calmly. “It’s hard being different from everyone else.”

Bucky smiled weakly at her from across the table and shared a slightly panicked look with Steve. “I guess.”

“Ma, did I tell you about the book we’re reading for English?”

When Bucky left for his own home an hour later, Steve breathed a sigh of relief. They never really found their groove again, but conversation continued, overly bright and loud to make up for any tension still lying under the surface. He’d declined Steve’s offer to walk him home, saying that he had to hurry back and finish up the rest of his homework, even though Steve had watched him finish his last math problem before dinner.

“So,” Sarah said slowly from where she was sitting on the living room couch, half-watching the evening news. The blue light of the screen illuminated the premature lines around her eyes and mouth, throwing everything in shaper relief. Steve clicked off the light in the kitchen and went to sit next to her in the dark.

“So,” he repeated as she ran a hand through his hair affectionately.

“He seems nice.”

“I think so,” Steve said wryly. “Why did you give him third degree?”

“He’s the first friend you’ve brought home,” Sarah said quietly. “I wanted to make sure he was the right kind.”

“What do you mean ‘right kind’?” Steve asked, turning to face her incredulously. He did his best to tamp down his rising annoyance. “You’d think that I brought home a crazy person or something?”

Sarah sighed. “I meant that I wanted to know what made him special.”

Incensed, Steve demanded, “Special like touched in the head?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, hard. “You’re putting words in my mouth, Steve. I was going to say that I wanted to understand what drew him to you. You’ve never made friends easily,” she said, and Steve heard the unspoken ever. “Can you blame a mother for being curious?”

Steve scowled. “Your big plan was to scare off the only friend I’ve brought to meet you?”

Sarah cracked a smile. “You kind of sprung him on me. Don’t expect the precision of the Normandy invasion.”

Steve’s stony expression didn’t crack.

“I like him,” she said as she leaned back, settling her shoulders over the couch cushions with a loud exhale. “He’s lonely too. It’s good for lonely people to stick together.”

“Lonely?”

Sarah spared him a side-eyed glance. “He’s the only familiar in his whole family. Do you know the likelihood of two witch parents having a familiar offspring? It’s about 12.5 percent.” She smiled sadly. “You know, familiars don’t have the easiest time out there, fighting against witches that see them as assistants instead of equal partners. Witches think that they’re superior because familiars can’t use magic until they Bond, like familiars will be too far behind by the time they come into their powers. In reality, familiars have magic that they can use from a young age. It’s just different than ours.” She glanced over to look at Steve, who was drinking in her words with a rapt expression on his face. “If you’re interested in magical social dynamics, you should learn more.”

“I – I never bothered because I never thought I’d Bond with a familiar,” Steve said, face burning with embarrassment.

Sarah frowned. “That’s no reason to live in ignorance about one sixth of the population. I never Bonded, but I still work with familiars nearly every day.”

Sarah smiled at him. “Keep talking to Bucky. I’m sure he has lots of thoughts on the subject. He probably knows more than I do.”

Steve picked at a spot of sauce that had splattered onto his jeans. “If you didn’t drive him away forever, I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”

* * *

The last months of middle school slogged by with a sense of larger-than-life dread. School was the same as ever, bullies lurking in nearly every class and magic that never worked right. But now Steve had Bucky, and he couldn’t stand the thought that Bucky would slip through his fingers because Steve had no experience with friends before. Wanting something with every fiber of his being hardly guaranteed anything; he wasn’t about to take Bucky for granted. Steve had done some research into hybrid schools for people like him, and they were all located in Manhattan. Between the longer commute and hours eaten up by Bucky’s cross-country running in the fall/winter and track and field in the spring, Steve wouldn’t probably see Bucky at all when the time came for them to start high school.

They were in Steve’s apartment afterschool, and Steve was ready to tear his hair out.

“Stop, stop!” Bucky swatted Steve’s hands away, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow to knock Steve out of his concentration. “You’re going to pull something if you keep that up.”

Steve stubbornly shook his head and wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “I’m going to get this,” he ground out, jaw set as he glared at the cup full of water in front of him.

“You’ve tried a hundred times already,” Bucky groaned, and before Steve could react, he swiped the cup from between Steve’s stiff hands and downed the water in one gulp. “Come on, you need a break. It’ll clear your head a little.”

“I don’t need my head cleared,” Steve argued as he snatched the cup back from Bucky. “I need to this water to evaporate. Don’t you have work to do?”

“No,” Bucky said shortly. “I finished it while you were giving yourself an aneurism over this spell.”

“I can do it.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, and for a split-second Steve could have slapped that pitying expression off his face.

“We were supposed to master the basic state changes last month,” Steve said, tamping down on his burgeoning panic. “Everyone else can freeze, melt, and evaporate – this is supposed to be easy!”

“It’s supposed to be nothin’,” Bucky said firmly as he got up to put the cup in the sink. “What the hell are those witches teaching you, anyway? Magic the most personal thing there is. It works differently for everyone.”

“I know, I’m a late bloomer,” Steve said scornfully, grimacing as he the words his mother used far too often in her pep talks, which were becoming more and more frequent.

“No.” He hesitated. “Well, maybe.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Bucky threw his hands in the air. “I’m trying to help, you punk.” 

“Not this again,” Steve muttered. He sensed another pep talk coming on.

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asked, glaring. “I’ve told you for years that you can do anything you set your mind to. I know you talk big to everyone else and hit anyone stupid enough to tell you somethin’ different, but you gotta believe it for real, Steve, or your magic’s going to cop out on you every time.”

Steve bit his lip as he stared down at his hands. “How’d you know?” he asked quietly. “When we first met, when we really met, you said that I’d be the most powerful witch out there.”

Bucky pulled a face. “I did say that. Still would, if you wouldn’t shot me down every time I brought it up.”

“You still believe it, Buck?” As he said it, Steve cringed. His words sounded too whiny, too pathetic to his own ears.

Bucky groaned aloud. “What the hell?”

Steve shook his head. “Shut up. Forget it. I – I’ll try one more time.”

Bucky’s hand clamped down on Steve’s forearm, keeping him in his seat. “You’re staying right here, and you’re not trying that spell until tomorrow morning, or at least until you have a good meal in you.” He sighed, looking away as he ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “And yeah, I still can still sense that you got a whole lotta power in you that you’re not reaching. It’s like nothing I’ve sensed before. Nobody in my family’s got anything on you, Steve. And the teachers I run into at your school don’t compare either.”

“That’s impossible,” Steve said faintly.

“It’s the truth. It’s everyone else’s problem if they can’t see it.”

“I think you gotta get your eyes checked, Buck,” Steve said with a strained smile.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky said firmly. “You gotta start opening your eyes, punk.”

Steve dropped his barely-there smile as his expression turned dour. “I am seeing – failure after failure!”

“I’m talking about your metaphorical – you know what, never mind,” Bucky muttered.

“Try me,” Steve said, voice steely.

Bucky exhaled loudly. “It’s something we sense, alright? We know how powerful a witch is just by lookin’ at ‘em.”

Steve resisted rolling his eyes, just barely. “I know that. It’s an evolutionary trait that lets familiars pick out the best witches to Bond with.”

“Look at you, actually paying attention to those damn lectures,” Bucky smiled, “here I thought you were sleeping with your eyes open. We also sense their potential. Everyone’s powers get a boost after the Bond. We can start casting spells of our own, and witches get to this whole other level. It’s insane.” He met Steve’s questioning gaze squarely. “But sometimes it’s hard to tell the potential apart from the actual.”

“Right,” Steve said, plucking at a stray thread at the sleeve of his shirt. “Potential.”

Bucky twirled his pencil around in his fingers for a moment. “Our witch sense is kind of like that feeling you get at the back of your neck when you know someone is watching you. That kind of full-body awareness. It’s not something that you can get wrong. I got wind of your power blocks away, did you know?” He smiled. “The first time we really met, thought that some witch was cursing some poor sap into an oblivion.”

“But you found me,” Steve said sourly.

“Yeah I did,” Bucky said with a grin. “No magic going on at all, just an old-fashioned fist fight.”

“But you knew I was there?”

“Sure I did,” Bucky said. “I felt you like the sun.”

“Like the sun?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed, a pink tinge coloring his cheeks. “I – it’s like every other witch is warm, or a spark. But you burn.”

Steve snorted, ducking his head to hide a blush of his own. “You’re a poet, Buck. If no witch’ll take you, you can always make a livin’ with such pretty words.”

Bucky got up to retrieve his pencil, chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “Yeah, yuk it up, Steve. I’m giving you the mother of all pep talks, and you poke fun at me. Just - you’ve got potential spilling out of your ass like nobody’s business. It’s just a shame you can’t see it yourself.”

“I wish I could too,” he muttered.

Bucky shook his head and reached over to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard. Come on, let’s watch a movie or something.”

“Wait – I’m gonna try one more time,” Steve said as he got up and snatched the cup from the sink and turned on the faucet to refill it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bucky muttered, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve plunked the cup down on the table and glared. “Weren’t you just saying I should be able to do it? What, annoyed with my failures already? I would’ve thought you’d be used to ‘em by now.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “You really think that’s what I get annoyed at?” At Steve’s stony glare, Bucky pushed the cup an inch towards him. “I’m annoyed because you’re annoyed, Steve. You think I like watching you get angrier and angrier at yourself? Because, lemme tell you, you’re no walk in the park when you’re cranky.”

“I do not get cranky,” Steve said, the very picture of affront.

Bucky laughed. “Like an old geezer yelling at kids to get off his lawn. Look,” he said as he pat Steve reassuringly on the shoulder, “Give it a hundred more goes if you want. I don’t care. Just as long as you aren’t too hard on yourself.”

“Fine,” Steve said as he concentrated on the cup of water as he performed the incantation.

Water began to overflow from over the rim of the cup.

“What the hell,” Steve murmured as Bucky began laughing his head off.

“Christ, Steve,” he said as he dashed for a dishtowel. “That isn’t supposed to happen, right?”

“I didn’t – no?” Steve squeaked as he tried to mop up the excess water. “We’re not supposed vanish or multiply objects until next year.”

“Well, then you’ll finally be ahead of the curve, won’t you?” Bucky said with a grin. “Damn, it’s still going,” he said as he inspected the sopping dishtowel in Steve’s hands. He picked the cup up, and Steve carefully followed him to the sink with the towel held under his hands.

They watched the water pour into the sink.

“It’s not slowing down, is it?” Steve asked faintly.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bucky said cheerfully. “The charm’ll wear off eventually, but we don’t need to stand around like chumps watching a cup of water. How about that movie?”

* * *

Steve’s bullies weren’t the only ones affected by hormones and puberty around the end of eighth grade. Bucky got his first date in May with an owl familiar named Dot. He wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. Steve tried to be a good friend, giving him advice about what Bucky should do, how he should treat her. Should he hold her hand? Should he try to kiss her?

Steve had no clue. He’d never had a girlfriend; he’d never even had a friend until Bucky came along.

But there was no way on God’s green Earth that Steve wouldn’t do all he could for Bucky, so now he had his eyes peeled for boy-girl interactions in every movie he watched, every book he read.

But two days before their date at Coney Island on Friday night, Bucky told him that Dot had broken her arm flying.

Steve had planned on spending a quiet night in doing homework and researching hybrid high schools online, but that night he texted Ma to not wait up, picked up Bucky from the hospital, and took him to Coney Island instead.

“I – we can scope out the best rides and stuff,” Steve said at the unsure look on Bucky’s face as they boarded the Coney Island-bound F train, stand clear of the closing doors please. “You’ll take her in a week or two, right? There’s plenty you can do with a broken arm – no swimming, though.”

Bucky nodded, smiling a little. “Thanks, Steve.”

“What’re best friends for?”

After the nearly hour-long train ride, they pushed through the gates of Lunar Park. It was a bit chilly out for mid-April, and they certainly felt it as they walked along the boulevard, eyeing the dark waters of the Atlantic and the carnival booths.

Bucky tried one of the shooting games, plastic rifle held up to his shoulder and one eye squinted shut as he aimed for the bullseye. After sending ten dollars down the drain, Bucky pronounced the game rigged, and stalked off with a righteous glare.

They stuck to the rides after that, knocking each other off course on the bumper cars, jumping around on the Coney Island Sound, and slipping and sliding on the Electro Spin. On the last ride, Bucky used Steve’s momentarily scrambled brain to hustle him in line for the Cyclone. Before he knew what was happening, Steve found himself strapped into an ancient rollercoaster built on hundred-year-old wooden slats that creaked ominously on their way up to the first drop.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Bucky muttered as he wiggled underneath the simple metal lap bar that would keep them from flying to their deaths eighty feet below.

“You're having second thoughts now?” Steve turned to him incredulously.

“I – no!” Bucky protested. “I’m just saying, do you know when this was last inspected? Did you hear that?”

“I can’t believe you!” Steve said, laughing a little too loudly. “I told you we shouldn’t go on this ride!”

“It’s a classic!” Bucky said defensively, as he leaned over the side of the car and swiftly turned back to Steve, looking a bit white.

“If you throw up, don’t do it on me,” Steve warned.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

The car stopped several feet from the top, their slow ascent halting with a screech like the squeal of subway breaks.

Steve craned around in his seat, trying to see the hold up. The ride was probably too old to have speakers to let stranded riders know what was going on. Or maybe the operators just liked messing with people.

He settled back down once it was apparent they weren’t going to take the plunge just yet. Next to him, Bucky drummed his fingers on the safety bar. He stopped once he caught Steve staring at him, and instead nudged him with his elbow already jammed into Steve’s side. The cars on the Cyclone were not very wide. “Thanks,” he said.

“For saying I told you so?” Steve asked bemusedly. “Because I definitely said that we shouldn’t do this. I get motion sick, and you’re scared of heights. There is literally no reason why we should be here.”

Bucky shook his head, looking resolutely ahead at the top of the first drop. “No – thanks for coming here. With me.” The car shuddered back into motion. “Steve-”

But whatever Bucky was going to say was cut off in a primal scream from the entire rollercoaster as they hurtled towards the ground. Steve didn’t make a sound, too busy making sure that the hotdogs he ate from Nathan’s two hours ago weren’t going to come back up. By the time they rose over the second hump, wooden struts groaning with their weight and momentum, Steve had his stomach mostly under control.

He lasted until the end of the ride, at least.

Back on the ground, Bucky rubbed his back, snickering in his ear as Steve bent double over the nearest trash can and threw up their dinner in several short, acidic bursts. The overwhelming smell of oil from half-eaten carnival food and empty wrappers nearly made Steve dry heave once he got his breath back. Once he was steady on his feet, though, Bucky led him to the nearest bench.

“I’m going to get you back for this, I swear,” Steve muttered as he rubbed at his watering eyes. His mouth tasted like ass.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

Steve shook his head. “There’s a water fountain over there. Don’t waste your money.”

“Some kid probably peed in it.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Have you met kids? They’re little shits.”

“I’m going to the water fountain, Bucky.”

“No dice,” Bucky said firmly as he squeezed on Steve’s shoulder, keeping him on the bench. “I’m going to get you some water whether you drink it or not.”

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and glared up at Bucky. “Fine.”

When Bucky returned, Steve had found no fewer than three vomit stains on his shirt, and was seriously contemplating strangling the toddler making a scene about being too short for the Cyclone. He took the proffered water bottle without a word and drained a third, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Bucky said as he helped Steve up from the bench. “Whaddya want to do next?”

Steve blinked at him. “The Wonder Wheel?” he asked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Come on,” Steve said as he pointed towards the end of the pier where the gigantic Ferris wheel stood out as one of the tallest attractions. “We’ll get a great view of the lights from up there,” he said wickedly.

Bucky groaned but started walking anyway. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

Steve merely grinned at him.

The line wasn’t long. By now, most of the families had already gone home for dinner. Instead, Steve saw mainly couples as he glanced around waiting their turn, holding hands and whispering to one another. He shoved his hands in his pockets self-consciously. He and Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb on what was clearly a date night for everyone else. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, though. He regarded everyone with passing interest, gazing lingering on older teenage couples that were making out like he was hoping to pick up some tips.

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, exhaling sharply and staring straight up at the tallest carriage at the top of the Wheel. He couldn’t begrudge Bucky for wishing he was here with Dot. It was just bad luck that he was saddled with Steve in her place.

They made it to the front, and Bucky cast one apprehensive look at the red neon lights blinking slowly on and off along the Ferris wheel spokes before he thrust his wristband in the operator’s face and clambered into the striped carriage without waiting for her okay. After Steve got in, the operator leaned in and flipped the latch closed, saying in a bored voice, “Welcome to the Wonder Wheel. Please keep your hands and feet in the carriage at all times. There is an emergency button to my left, but please use it only in a real emergency. Enjoy the ride.”

The carriage shuddered upwards, and Bucky’s hands flew to the metal railings below the windows. “You’ve got to be joking,” he groaned.

Steve snorted. “Come on, aren’t you supposed to face your fears?”

“I already did,” Bucky hissed. “What do you think the Cyclone was for?”

“To see how much your best pal Steve could hate you? You really should’ve seen this coming.”

“You don’t play fair, do you?”

Steve lightly kicked Bucky with his foot. “This is fair, Buck. Get used to it.”

“Can’t,” Bucky said faintly as the carriage stuttered to a halt. They were only about twenty feet above the ground, but based on Bucky’s face it wouldn’t make a difference if it were fifty.

Steve looked around, teasing smile slipping as Bucky’s face continued to whiten with every foot they gained in height. “Hey, I’m sorry,” Steve said in a low voice. “I didn’t realize you hated heights this much. I’d’ve picked something different.”

Bucky tossed him a weary look. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Come on, talk to me,” Steve said in an even voice. “Take your mind off it.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, anything,” Steve said with a casual wave of his hand. “When’s your next track race?”

“I’m running the 400 meter in a couple of weeks. Semifinals.”

“That’s great!” Steve said with a little more enthusiasm than he really felt. “Let me know who’s hosting, and I’ll go and cheer you on.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, licking his lips as his eyes darted around the carriage again. It had stalled again, probably to let the next round of passengers on. They were around sixty feet up in the air now.

“So after this one, only one more race left?” Steve prompted.

Bucky nodded. “We have about two months until the end of the season.”

“You going to run again next year?”

“Thinking about it,” Bucky said through clenched teeth.

“If you like it, you should,” Steve said. “We, uh, we can see each other on weekends and stuff.”

Bucky’s mouth opened to respond, but he cut it off as the carriage lurched to a halt and swayed slightly in the wind. He gulped and turned to face Steve, blue eyes boring into his own as he resisted the urge to look out the window and gauge their height.

“You’ll get more homework anyway, once you’re in high school with witches,” Steve continued, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to quit babbling. “But I bet you’ll learn some really fascinating stuff. You’ll learn our magic, which’ll be cool, right? Maybe you can teach me how to do some of it.”

“Shut up.”

“I – do you want me to press the emergency button?” Steve’s eyes roamed over Bucky’s face, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and the clammy look of the rest of his face. “We’re practically at the top. Halfway done. It’s, uh, only downhill from here.”

Bucky shook his head firmly back and forth. “You’re talking about next year like – like –”

But his words cut off as Bucky gave a full-body shudder, and before Steve knew what was happening, he had half a lapful of German shepherd. Tail tucked between his legs, Bucky skittered around the small carriage, hackles raised and tongue lolling out of his open mouth. For a second, only his frantic pants filled the silence.

“Oh god.” Steve reached out a hand almost involuntarily to run down Bucky’s furry neck. He stopped himself. Bucky wasn’t a real dog. He didn’t need to be reassured like a wild animal, no matter what Steve’s instincts were telling him.

The carriage swayed even more violently with the abrupt change in mass, and Bucky let out a plaintive whine.

Steve shushed him, glancing at the metal ceiling where they were connected to the rest of the Wonder Wheel. He cast a stabilizing charm without a second thought.

The swaying stopped.

But of course, because he was Steve Rogers, magic never worked in his favor. Far-away shouts from below made Steve look down, and once glance out the window told him that he had stabilized the whole damn Wonder Wheel. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he gaped at Bucky, at a loss to explain what had happened. “I think we might be stuck,” Steve said faintly once he had gotten his voice back.

Bucky pawed at the metal floor of the carriage, shivering as he lowered to wedge himself on the floor space between the two seats.

“No, Buck, I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered as he slid down next to him, taking the side closest to the latched door. “I didn’t mean to – I just wanted for the shaking to stop.” He bit his lip and peered over the edge of the door. “I think we’re going to be moving soon,” he said, but he sounded doubtful to his own ears.

He waited a minute in the silence, listening to the muffled noises from the boardwalk below them and the raucous carnival goers. “I can’t believe I fucked up this badly,” Steve muttered to himself as he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands like a child. He swallowed, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I shouldn’t have tried anything. We were on our way down.”

Bucky raised his head, his huge brown eyes catching the reflecting lights of park below. He pushed forward until his head rested on Steve’s knees.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said, not meeting his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know you hate this.” He swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. “I do too.”

Bucky nosed his way further into Steve’s space, paws inching forward on Steve’s thighs so he could rest his furry head in the juncture of Steve’s neck.

Steve shuddered as Bucky’s cold nose rubbed against his ear. “I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking, trying that spell,” he muttered as he closed his eyes and leaned back so his head rested against the seat of the bench above them. “But you were freaking out, and I couldn’t just keep talking at you like it would help anything.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Stupid. And here I am, babbling at you all over again.” He sighed. “You know, I should’ve just left it alone. Stayed back and did more research on high schools, or something. There are a couple hybrid ones still on my list. I should’ve let you spend your date with Dot in that hospital room. Girls like that, I think. You should’ve been there for her – it’s romantic, right? Now she’s alone in a hospital room. Nobody likes that.” He swallowed and wouldn’t look at Bucky. “And she probably wouldn’t have dragged you on here. I mean, she can fly. She doesn’t need all of this. You would’ve had a good time.”

Bucky barked, the sound impossibly loud in Steve’s ear.

“Christ!” Steve started at the sound. He looked around, and for the first time saw that they were about level with the tallest rides. “Hey, I think we’re moving?”

He felt Bucky’s fur sliding against his face as he pulled back, ears pricked as he sat up to sniff out the window.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve said excitedly as he got up to twist around and get a better look. He squinted, far below them it looked like a group of Luna Park workers were gathered around the entrance to the Wheel, bent over the electronic switchboard that controlled it.

“I think so too, pal,” Bucky said, voice raspy and coming from somewhere over Steve’s right shoulder.

Steve smiled as he surveyed Bucky’s human form. “Nice to have you back.”

“Nice to be back on two legs,” Bucky said, grimacing as he crouched lower in the carriage so his head didn’t bump up against the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said dismissively. “What happened?”

“Lost control,” Bucky muttered as he gingerly lowered himself into one of the seats. “First time in years.”

Steve settled back down in his seat, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. “You okay?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been better.”

“You lost control? I didn’t think that could happen,” Steve said carefully.

Bucky shrugged. “Part of our fight response. We’re most powerful in animal form. Sometimes we change without wanting to.”

Steve nodded slowly as he stared at a spot of brown gum stuck to the floor of the carriage. “I’m sorry for pushing you onto the ride. It was stupid.”

Bucky waved off his apology. “I should’ve said something.” He smiled, a little strained, at Steve. “My fault, really.”

They didn’t speak for the next couple minutes, until their carriage touched down at the base of the wheel.

Bucky braced himself on the door and railing as he clambered out of the carriage.

“Sorry,” the ride attendant apologized as she took in Bucky’s harried expression. “It just stopped working fifteen minutes ago. Had to hand-crank everyone down.”

“It’s fine,” Steve waved off as he steered Bucky in the direction of the exit.

On the subway, they settled into free seats by the head of the train. They were the only occupants except a homeless man, sleeping at the other end of the car and not causing any trouble. The train was one of the old ones, with the carefully measured red and orange seats that only really fit people Steve’s size, and windows filled with etched graffiti the because the authorities could wipe off sharpie or paint too easily for it to last.

“Were you really going to research hybrid schools tonight?” Bucky asked almost out of nowhere, brow furrowed and gaze trained straight out the scratched-up window.

“I – yeah,” Steve said with a shrug. “The entrance exams are next week, so I gotta know which ones to rank.” He gave a small laugh that he didn’t feel at all. “I don’t want to get stuck in Harlem or Staten Island. The nearest one’s in Battery Park. That wouldn’t be too bad, I guess. I heard they have good college prep.”

Bucky let out a frustrated huff. “You don’t need to do any of that. You’re going to try, right? To stay at PMA 20?”

“Course I am.”

Bucky eyed him warily. “Really?”

Steve’s shoulder slumped as he threw Bucky a helpless look. “It’s not up to me!”

Bucky turned in his seat, eyes blazing. “Yes it is, you goddamn punk!” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s completely up to you. You’re so set for failure, so that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “You don’t get it.”

“Because I’m not a witch, right?” Bucky sneered.

Steve bit back the urge to snap back, and said in as even a tone as he could muster, “Yes, it’s because you’re not a witch.”

Bucky blinked at him, hurt spreading all over his face like he hadn’t expected Steve to actually agree with him to his face.

Feeling lower than the piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, Steve plowed on, “This isn’t something you can change. It’s what I am.” He gestured up and down his torso. “I’m not magical enough. I’ve known for years, and I know you think you can convince me that I’m miraculously going to come into my powers, but life doesn’t happen like that.”

Bucky said in a low voice, “You’re wrong.”

Steve took another drink of the water bottle he was still clutching. “How can you keep saying that? My spells have started working, I’ll give you that, but they never turn out right.”

Bucky’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “That doesn’t matter. They measure raw power, not what the hell you end up doing with it.”

“Bucky-”

“Don’t you trust me?” he interrupted.

Steve blinked. “Of course I trust you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky shot back. “If you did, you’d realize that I’ve been speaking the truth the whole time and your spells would work right.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a second, his anger building, mostly at himself, but also at Bucky. “All I’ve ever done is mess everything up. Hell, I nearly stranded us a hundred feet in the air half an hour ago!”

“I just don’t get it,” Bucky said, throwing his hands in the air. “You’ll stand up to all of the bullies. You have to know you can’t win, but you do it any way. Why’s your magic so different? Both times you go in knowing you’ll end up worse off. So why do you drag your feet casting spells, but jump at the chance to have a go at guys ten times your size with fists flying?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed at Steve as he said slowly, like he was thinking aloud, “Maybe you need a cause. You’re all about the principle of the thing, right?”

More than a little taken aback at Bucky’s fierce defense, Steve nodded mutely.

“I’ll give you a principle to fight for,” Bucky said grimly. “If you fail this exam, don’t continue at PMA 20, this-” he gestured between himself and Steve, “-is going to change.”

Steve jerked back, stung. “You’re going to-”

Bucky rolled his eyes and interrupted, “It’s what you’ve been thinking, right? That we won’t have time to be friends any more. So believe in yourself or not – I’m not going to be your personal Hallmark card for the next month. But if you want a reason to try your fucking hardest to pass, there it is.”

“I – thanks, I think,” Steve said after a beat.

Bucky tossed him a hard look as he dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a tangle of headphones. “And don’t you ever play the witch card with me. There are some things that are different between us, between witches and familiars, but not this, so don’t tell me I don’t know how this shit works. I live with a bunch of stuck-up witches; don’t you go become one too.”

He held an earbud out to Steve, who took it with a strained smile.

* * *

Steve just squeaked by his exam, if the surprised expression on his teacher’s face was any indication. He told Bucky first, that Steve would be able to stay at PMA 20 in the fall, now that Bucky was finally going to be transferring to the same school. That weekend, Sarah took a rare Saturday off and took Bucky and Steve to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They spent half the day admiring impressionist paintings and Greek marble sculptures, only leaving when their feet started to hurt and their stomachs demanded a late lunch. Sarah was prepared to shell out for an over-priced restaurant by the museum, but Bucky and Steve assured her they would be happy with hotdogs and sodas. The weather was nice, having days before switched from spring jacket to light sweatshirt weather.

“What’d you like best?” Sarah asked as they strolled into Central Park.

“The exit sign,” Bucky said promptly, through a mouthful of hotdog.

“Jerk,” Steve muttered as he elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “I liked the Seurats. I don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Bucky thought for a moment, a bit of mustard dripping onto his shirt. “That’s the pointillism?”

“Mm hm,” Sarah hummed as she thrust a couple of paper napkins in his direction. “I think we might’ve seen them before, Steve,” she said. “But you were around seven when we last went to the Met, so I can understand how you wouldn’t remember.” She smiled fondly. “I bought you your first sketchbook after that trip. You were so excited.”

“I was?” Steve asked, a little bewildered. “I just remember carrying it everywhere when I was a kid.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re still a kid,” Sarah said with a laugh.

“I’m almost fifteen!” Steve said.

“Still shrimpy like a kid though,” Bucky snickered before Steve kicked him in the knee. Bucky stumbled, but managed to stay on his own two feet and keep a hold of his hotdog.

“Boys,” Sarah chastised, and they both tossed her apologetic glances. “We’re in public. Haven’t I taught you anything, Steve?”

“Keep it to where they can’t see you?” Steve tried.

Sarah let out a very put-upon sigh. “I guess that is the lesson you would take away.”

They kept walking until the hotdogs were gone, and took the downtown train back to Brooklyn. The journey home took a little longer than normal, as the weekend meant that half of the train lines were under construction, and the other half were running local until Fulton Street.

Back in Brooklyn, Sarah asked Bucky on the elevator ride to street level, “Are you going to be staying for dinner? I was thinking of getting pizza – really make a lazy day of it.”

“The Met? Central Park? Pizza?” Bucky asked. He gave an exaggerated shudder of horror. “It’s like we’re tourists or something.” 

“So that’s a yes?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s joking expression dimmed. “I actually have a date with Dot tonight. I didn’t know we had plans, pal.”

“We didn’t,” Steve said quickly. “It was just a thought, rightm Ma?”

Sarah nodded firmly. “I hope you have a good time, Bucky. When are you meeting her?”

“Uh, not for two hours. We’re getting dinner at that new brick oven pizza place.” He squinted in the bright sunlight as they emerged from the train station.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to stop by there,” Sarah said with a smile as they turned down their street. “I’ve heard good things. You have to report back, you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Bucky said with a little salute.

“How long have you been seeing this girl?” Sarah asked as she fished around in her purse for their apartment keys.

“About a month,” Bucky said with a little smile that made Steve’s insides twist with discomfort.

“Do you love her?” Sarah asked with a broad smile as they started the trek up to the third-floor landing.

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s face clearly from his position behind him on the stairs, but there was no mistaking the bright flush creeping up his neck and staining his ears.

“Probably not?” Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know – don’t you have to be older for that?”

Sarah shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Romeo and Juliet were thirteen.”

“And they’re clearly the experts on love,” Steve interjected with a severe frown.

“Yeah, I’m not ready to die for Dot,” Bucky said with a nervous laugh. “I’ve got to buy her a lot more pizza.”

“A fair assessment at this point in your relationship,” Sarah said gravely as she let them into their apartment.

* * *

Steve woke up his first day of high school to his ma shaking him awake and kissing him on the forehead as she took off for her early shift. Steve, who had been out late with Bucky as they celebrated and mourned their last day of freedom with too much soda and junk food, waited until he heard the front door close behind Sarah to sluggishly get out of bed and start pulling on the essentials. Bucky had left at around midnight, bemoaning another text he’d received from Dot wanting to get back together.

By the time he stopped by the kitchen for a quick breakfast, completely dressed and ready for the day as he was ever going to get, he was thoroughly awake and thrumming with a nervous energy. He hesitated as he read Sarah’s post-it on the freezer, wishing him a good first day with a little doodle of what might be a desk, or maybe a blackboard. Thank god Steve hadn’t inherited his mother’s artistic talent, or lack thereof.

He walked to school with a smile on his face, which only widened once he caught sight of Bucky loitering by the door.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Bucky said as he yawned hugely.

“I’m not even late.” Steve grinned as he followed Bucky into the building. They had compared their schedules last night; they had roughly half of their classes together, and Steve was already counting his lucky stars.

“You gonna show me around?” Bucky asked expectantly as Steve paused in the entrance halls.

“The middle school is in a separate building,” Steve said as he directed them to the left and peered at the nearest classroom, with Room C02 displayed near the door. “I have no idea where we’re supposed to go.”

Bucky snorted. “There goes my brilliant plan to use you for your connections.”

“What connections?” Steve asked with a laugh. “I don’t have any. Everyone says I don’t play nice with others.”

“Naw, I’m your friend. It’s everyone that won’t play nice with you.”

“It’s not my fault they’re all jerks,” Steve muttered.

“That’s the spirit,” Bucky said bracingly as he clapped Steve on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his knees. “I hear you’ll make more friends with vinegar than honey, anyway. Everyone else is lying to you.”

Steve’s gaze was shrewd. “It’s that kind of enabling behavior that makes me think that you don’t have my best intentions at heart.”

“Of course I don’t,” Bucky said, looking positively affronted at the idea. “It’s been my agenda the whole time. Get you alone so you have no choice but to Bond with me at the end of all this. We’ll rule the world, Steve. Just you wait.”

“You’ll want to wait until your balls drop first,” Steve snickered.

“Steven!” Bucky put a hand over his heart. “Such language. Why I never.” He swatted Steve on the arm. “And screw you. That happened years ago. I found a chest hair yesterday.”

Steve peered at the nearest door and pushed it open, saying, “And you’re sure that wasn’t left over fur? You were running around on all fours at some point.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky said, laughing.

A severe voice cut in: “I don’t know about your previously underpaid and underqualified educators, but I do not allow that type of language in my classroom.” Their teacher straightened, looking pointedly at the pair of them. “Now, get the hell inside and pray that you make more lasting impressions over the next year than the ones you just left.”

“I – yes sir,” Bucky said, casting a worried glance at Steve.

Steve shook his head minutely and turned back to their teacher, named Mr. Philips according to the whiteboard behind his desk, “Of course.”

“See that you do,” Mr. Philips said gruffly. “I won’t tolerate any type of bullshit; you hear me?”

Steve puffed up at the anvil-sized hypocrisy, but Bucky’s hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing just on the right side of painful, to stop him from opening his big mouth too soon. “Save it,” Bucky hissed. “Or you’ll just prove his point.” Steve settled for a nasty glare over his shoulder as he and Bucky made their way to the back of the classroom, beside two new kids that Steve didn’t recognize from middle school.

“Hold on, names?” Mr. Philips called to them as he took a bored glance at the attendance sheet on his desk.

Bucky didn’t look behind him as he said loudly, “Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.”

Mr. Philips let out a noisy sigh. “I don’t have a Bucky on here,” he said after a moment. “And which one of you is Rogers?”

Steve hiked his backpack further up his shoulder. “I’m Steve Rogers,” he said, hand raised slightly in the air.

Mr. Philips marked him off on his sheet and turned his sharp gaze to Bucky. “And you’re the James Barnes I have on here, I take it?”

“I go by Bucky,” Bucky said, voice hard.

“I’m sure you do,” Mr. Philips muttered. “Take a seat, then. We’re starting in two minutes, and asses better be in seats by then.”

At the back of the classroom, two new kids that Steve didn’t recognize from middle school smiled at them. Familiars, his instincts told him, and Bucky’s lax stance and easy smile just proved his hunch. “Nice,” one of them said. He nodded up to where Philips was ganging up on a couple of girls by the door. “He’s been a hardass since we got here. Gabe Jones.”

“You should’ve told him off,” the other boy said. “It would have been epic.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “I’d like to think Steve doesn’t have a death wish.” He glanced worriedly at Steve, who rolled his eyes.

“He gets one free pass,” Steve said firmly. “I don’t respect hypocrites.”

Bucky sighed. “Of course not.”

“I should’ve known not to trust that kid,” Gabe said, jerking his head over to where Gilmore Hodges and his friends were huddled in a circle.

“What’d he say?” asked Bucky, glaring darkly over at them.

The other kid nodded at Steve. “He was surprised that you were here.”

“Come on, Jim, you know it was more than that,” Gabe argued. “He was saying that you must’ve gotten in by mistake.”

“Typical,” Bucky muttered. “Glad to see he hasn’t changed over the summer.”

“You know him?” Jim asked, glancing between Bucky and Steve.

Bucky grimaced. “A little. Steve’s been at this school for four years, though. Knows him pretty well.”

“He’s a jackass,” Gabe said flatly.

Steve grinned.

“You’ve only known him for a half hour,” Jim said fairly.

“That’s all you need,” Bucky muttered.

The bell rang, interrupting anything that Gabe had to say back. Conversation died as Mr. Philips glared around the room. He didn’t move from where he was leaning against the teacher’s desk; just started speaking in a very overworked tone of voice. “Welcome to PMA 20. Now, I know you’re all distracted by hormones and angst, so I’ll keep this short for your ADHD-riddled attention spans. I am Mr. Philips, and this is homeroom. This is not a free period; this is not nap time. I expect you all to listen when I am speaking, be respectful to me and each other when I am not, and for god’s sake show up on time.” He nodded once. “I do not believe in forced socialization, and I don’t expect all of you to be friends and sing kumbaya by Yom Kippur. Introduce yourselves on your own time. Carry on.”

Bucky turned to Steve and whispered, “You know, he’s an asshole but I kind of like him.”

Throughout the day, Steve could hardly believe that Bucky was sitting in class next to him. He’d catch his eye and grin, and reveled in Bucky’s smile in return. Bucky didn’t have Practical Magic I like Steve, but they did share Magical Theory I as well as English and History. Bucky was a year ahead of him in math, so he trudged off to Algebra II/Trig while Steve made his way to Geometry, fully prepared to spend the period like his Bucky-less middle school classes. But Gabe Jones surprised him by taking the empty seat next to him in the front of the classroom with less than a minute to spare until class started.

When bell rang for lunch, he wordlessly packed up his bag and followed Steve down to the cafeteria, which was just beginning to fill with hungry students. Gabe sheepishly pulled out a bagged lunch and told Steve that he would save him a table as Steve motioned to get in line for food.

Full tray in hand, Steve scanned the cafeteria for Gabe, and thankfully found him at a table with Bucky and a redheaded boy Steve was positive he hadn’t seen before. His bowler hat was distinctive.

Steve arrived at the same time as Jim, the other new kid from homeroom. Jim took the free seat next to Bucky, so Steve slid in next to the kid with the bowler hat, who only introduced himself as Dum Dum. Bucky and Gabe already had a rousing conversation going on about Gabe’s newest video game. Steve had played it with Bucky a handful of times before on the rare nights that they stayed over at Bucky’s house instead of Steve’s apartment. While the accommodations at Steve’s were smaller and his consoles were older, Bucky’s apartment was constantly overrun with any number of his three sisters, his live-in grandmother, or his parents.

“You talking about the Howling Commandos II: First Blood?” Jim asked as he began squirting ketchup all over his fries. “I love that game.”

“I can’t wait until I get a plasma gun. Those things are so kickass, but I’m only level five,” Dum Dum said sullenly.

“You know you can beat the game with just the SSR shield?” Bucky cut in.

“No way,” Dum Dum shook his head. “I used it once by mistake. Never again. I threw it and it ricocheted off into the void! I spent ten damn minutes looking for that thing.”

“You have to be at least level eleven tactical,” Steve said.

Dum Dum frowned. “Who has time for that?”

“It’s worth it,” Steve argued. “If you can keep the shield with you, it’s the best weapon the game has. You don’t have to worry about running out of bullets, or taking nearly as much damage. If you upgrade to vibranium after Azzano, it’s also damn near indestructible. Plus, you get closer to the inventor, and he’ll help you get more stuff before your fight with the boss.”

“I’ve watched him do a play through with the shield. It’s pretty impressive.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “If you want to sit around SSR building and do lame quests to up your tactical, go for it, bro. I’d rather kick some Nazi ass.” He turned to Steve. “Have you played the first Howling Commandos? It’s pretty awesome.”

Steve shook his head. “Bucky just got the second one for his birthday this year. I think the first one came out a while ago, right?”

“They really souped up the effects and the visuals for the second, but the first’s not bad,” Jim said eagerly. “The story’s just as good.”

“I think I played it at my cousin’s house once?” Dum Dum said slowly. “It has their origin story, right?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jim said excitedly. “Dude, we should play it sometime.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jim’s enthusiasm ricocheted up. “You free this weekend? I think I still have it.”

“I – yeah I’m free,” Steve said with a laugh after a questioning look at Bucky. “Where do you live?”

“Carroll Gardens,” Jim said as he looked around. “Not far. You guys want to come too?”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a grin.

“If it’s before six,” Dum Dum said with a shrug. “I have to babysit my brothers on Saturday.”

“I’m in,” Gabe said. “I’d have to leave early too – Crown Heights is a bit far too stay late.”

“That’s okay, Jim,” Bucky said with a grin. “Steve and I will go clubbing with you at 2am.”

Jim laughed. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that. I wasn’t planning on getting fake IDs for a little bit longer.”

Dum Dum titled his head thoughtfully as he studied the group. “I can get us some. I think my bother knows people.”

“Not the one you have to babysit, right?” Gabe deadpanned.

“No, Jonny’s twenty. I’ll be babysitting the eight-year-old and ten-year-old,” Dum Dum explained. “Technically Marty too, but Marty two years older than me. He just watches TV and doesn’t make trouble, so he’s cool.”

Gabe whistled.

Bucky groaned sympathetically. “Large family’s rough.”

Dum Dum shrugged. “It’s like a circus sometimes. Never boring, though.”

Their group dubbed themselves the Commandos that first weekend they spent at Jim’s house as they ate thawed jiaozhi Jim’s mother had made in bulk for a cocktail party and played Howling Commandos I. It was the first time Steve and Bucky had ever had homemade dumplings, and Bucky vowed never to eat anything else ever again.

Jim then signed them all up for an exploration of Chinatown, and they spent a thoroughly enjoyable month going from dim sum place to dim sum place every weekend trying to find their favorite. When Gabe complained of the distance, they’d go to his neck of the woods and get bagels and lox.

* * *

Fall was bleeding into winter as the brown and crimson leaves fell from skeletal branches that lined the sidewalks. After school, Bucky and Steve headed over to the dog run, jackets zipped up and gloves on.

“I hate biology,” Bucky was saying as they settled down to watch a dog walker with no fewer than seven dogs undo the latch and struggle to get the pack inside. “The double period last thing on Mondays is going to kill me, I swear. At least we’re split up by genus, so I don’t have to learn anything else about fish. Useless familiars, unless you love houseboats.”

“Are there fish familiars?” Steve asked. “That… can’t be very common.”

“No they’re not,” Bucky agreed with a laugh. “Like, 80% of familiars have a mammal or bird form. The rest are reptiles, and then you get the odd fish or insect. I feel bad: there’s a girl, a dolphin if you can believe it. Still a mammal, so bad luck of the draw. She’s really friendly, though.”

“Did she go to your school before?”

“Yeah, I’d seen her around. Katherine O’Neil, you know her?”

Steve shook his head. “Must not have any classes together.” He leaned back, angling his face so that he could catch a little more sun. “There are a lot more people now.”

“I like it,” Bucky said firmly. “All of those witches you used to go to school with were jackasses.”

“They’re still there, Buck.” Steve paused and amended, “Most of them, at least.”

“Yeah, but they’re easier to ignore now.”

“That’s true.”

Bucky studied him thoughtfully. “I bet you know a lot more familiars now.”

“What, like Jim and Gabe?” Steve asked. “They’re great.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sat up and whistled. A retriever mix came scampering over, and Bucky reached down to pet his head. “Makes you think.”

Steve shook off Bucky’s words and offered him a reassuring smile. “You’re being stupid again,” he sighed a whole troop of dogs over took their legs, eager for Bucky’s attention. Steve reached down halfheartedly, smiling despite himself as the dogs didn’t even react to his attention. They only had eyes for Bucky. He could relate.

“Is that so?” Bucky asked, wrenching a ball out of a corgi’s mouth and throwing it halfway across the park.

“Yeah,” Steve said firmly, watching as the dogs took off.

Bucky brushed his hair out of his face, squinting in the bright sunlight to make out which dog got the tennis ball at the bottom of the hill. He let out a laugh as a sheepdog soared over the smaller terriers to catch it before it could hit the ground. “Yeah! Working dogs kick ass,” Bucky whooped as they got swarmed again a second later.

Steve bent down obligingly, a faint smile on his lips as he watched Bucky try to pet all the dogs at once. He saved the sheepdog for last, crouching down to get as close as possible to the dog’s coat and give him a thorough array of scratches in congratulations. The sheepdog dropped the ball at Bucky’s feet, but it was quickly snatched up by a dachshund, who danced just out of reach. Bucky, not one to be defeated by such a tiny dog, dashed after her and grabbed the ball from her mouth before she could get very far.

He held the ball up triumphantly, breathing a little heavier than normal, and let it fly, tossing a delighted grin over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve’s heart gave a lurch, stuttering in his chest.

Bucky turned away from the hoard of dogs trampling down the hill and stared at Steve, head tilting curiously. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said, blinking as he tried to clear his thoughts. “Uh, good throw.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Steve.”

On the next round, Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the strong line of Bucky’s arm or the curve of his blinding smile as he watched the dogs yip and bark for his attention. Steve wanted nothing more than to wrap this moment up forever and keep it tight to his chest.

Thinking back on the memory later that night, and the nearly overwhelming rush of affection that surged up to choke the words in his throat every time Bucky looked back at him, Steve should’ve seen that he’d been falling for his best friend for years.

* * *

Two months after the Commandos formed, Jim took them to a party one of his friends from his old school was throwing. Jim was new to New York, and had attended the Magical United Nations International School for a year after they had moved from Fresno. The party was primarily made up of MUNIS kids, and so the Commandos had kept to themselves until Jim actively tried to integrate them.

They started breaking up when who MUNIS kids, Montgomery Falsworth and Jacques Dernier, challenged Dum Dum and Gabe at beer pong, and the four of them drunkenly bonded over rematch after rematch.

Bucky was sprawled on the couch, eating up attention from two MUNIS witches with his paws in the air and tail thumping against the cushions as they cooed over his soft ears and sleek fur.

A heavy weight settled in Steve’s stomach as he saw one of the witches gently caress Buck’s back, and he turned away, scanning the crowd for a face he recognized. Steve wasn’t ashamed of his feelings, but there was no way he would bring himself to unburden all of this on Bucky. Steve honestly had no idea if Bucky’s rejection would kill them dead, or if they’d spring up like weeds, growing in scraps of sunlight and affection that Bucky had to show his best pal.

Apparently drinking made him maudlin.

More animals appeared out of the woodwork when familiars lowered their self-restraint and loosened up. Drunk witches showing off sent off a couple of misfired spells, but in the end only the tip of Bucky’s tail got singed when one of the MUNIS witches tried to light a fire in the fake fireplace when Dum Dum mentioned that he was cold.

Steve managed to rouse himself from his wallflower mope to talk Gabe down from where he had flown onto a high shelf, hooting incessantly, when everyone just wanted to go home.

Steve vowed no more parties. It was one thing if he had an especially good time, if drinking made him happier, funnier, or more likeable. Instead, he watched from the sidelines as Bucky hung off the arm of another girl. So, not very different than any other Friday night.

* * *

Bucky still had to remind Steve to pay attention when classes brought up the limited information on the Bond that the government allowed teachers reveal to students. They argued sometimes, Bucky convincing Steve that he was going to need this information once he could apply to Bond at eighteen, and Steve disagreeing that there was no guarantee he’d pass the last exam that would mark him eligible for a Bond in the first place.

“Don’t you even want to know about it?” Bucky asked one night as they sat hunched over his kitchen table, doing their best to ignore Becca’s shrieking argument with George upstairs, and the sounds of Winifred’s primetime drama she was watching with her mother in the living room. At least Bucky’s other two sisters were out at violin practice and extra Spanish tutoring.

“I guess so?” Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. “I just don’t think it’s very important right now.”

“Right,” Bucky scoffed as he flicked a page of his play and scrawled something in the margins. “Not important, the most binding relationship in your life, apart from marriage.”

“Buck,” Steve said in a would-be patient voice, “I don’t want to count on something that might never happen.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky snapped. “This is just like those magical aptitude tests you took for high school. You told me for years that you didn’t need to worry about those, you’d just fail them, and go on your merry way. And now look!” He gestured sharply in Steve’s direction, almost hitting him in the nose with the spine of his book. “A whole lot of angst, all for nothing.”

Steve’s hand stilled in its drawing of an acute angle. “The government oversees this one. They have a registry and everything. It’s a big deal.”

“Exactly. That’s why you should be prepping for it now.”

“Their standards are higher.”

“You’ll still pass them. I –” Bucky’s confidence stuttered for the first time as he glanced around at the empty kitchen. “Have you changed your mind? Do you not want to Bond at all?”

“What?” Steve gaped at him. “Of course I want to Bond.”

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment. “Because I’d get it if you changed your mind. The last time I asked, we were just kids. It’s different. You saw what’s going on in Missouri.”

“What? Those anti-magic protests and petitions for humans-only cities?” Steve said incredulously. He’d disinterestedly followed the stories on the news for the past couple of weeks, mostly as background noise for when he was reading or doing homework. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky hedged. “They found and beat up those witches ‘cause of their familiars, you know?”

“Yes,” Steve said slowly, totally at a loss as to what Bucky was getting at.

“They went through a magical neighborhood and rounded up all the animals they could find. They knew that’s how to get at their witches.” He swallowed. “They were the weak link, Steve. We all transform at the first sign of danger, and they knew that. They used it to target everyone.”

“You’re not the weak link,” Steve said firmly. “You make us stronger. That’s why we Bond in the first place. Witches and familiars, they’re supposed to complement each other. These humans, they’re the weak ones, letting their fear tell them what to do. They can’t see beyond their prejudices and recognize that having a magical community makes society stronger, like any minority group does.”

Bucky ducked his head. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Gabe,” Steve said with a smile. “He has lots of opinions on what’s going on in Missouri. We were talking about it a couple of days ago – I think you were at cross country practice and he had time to kill.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Bucky’s wan face. “Where’d you hear those opinions of yours? The weak link crap? That’s not how the news has been putting it.”

“You know, around,” Bucky said with a lazy wave of his hand.

“No, really,” Steve pressed. “Because if Gilmore or anyone has been spewing that ‘familiars are witches’ assistants’ crap, then they should be set straight.”

“Wasn’t anyone at school,” Bucky mumbled, gaze deliberately trained down on the book in his hands. His eyes were on a fixed point, not reading a word, and Steve could tell that his ears were straining to hear if George and Becca were still talking upstairs, and if Winifred’s soap opera had ended yet.

“Oh,” Steve said, glancing around once more to make sure the kitchen was empty. “Do – do you want to get out of here?” he asked. “I’m thinking we head up to your room for a study break.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, relieved.

* * *

Somehow, using a combination of bribery and guilt tripping, Bucky convinced Steve to go to another party to kick off summer break after freshman year of high school. Steve found himself once again at a party made up of PMA 20 and MUNIS students, Jim, Monty, and Jacques in the center as the glue that held everything together. The house was nice, a large brownstone in Windsor Terrace close by Prospect Park. By the time they arrived, the party was in full swing. The beat of a powerful bass pumped up from the basement, and clusters of teenagers lounging around all available surfaces.

Bucky wasted no time in taking a couple of shots and heading downstairs.

Steve, who couldn’t dance for his life, stayed on the first floor. He didn’t need to embarrass himself, or watch Bucky dance with scores of people who match him move for move. 

Instead, he found himself squashed in between Jacques, Gabe, and several people he didn’t recognize. He stared down at his second half-empty beer, starting as something nudged his foot. He looked down at a white cat curiously. “Uh hello,” he said after a beat as the cat continued to stare.

“Damn, I’m sorry!”

Steve looked up to find himself face-to-face with a pretty brown-eyed girl.

“This’s Lorraine,” she said as she scooped the cat up into her arms. “And she’s not supposed to be down here,” she said. Her English accent made the scolding sound more charming than threatening.

Steve blinked at her. He didn’t know anyone who would just pick up a familiar like that. She didn’t look old enough to Bond, definitely around his age.

“Hi Lorraine,” Steve said politely, trying to school his bafflement into a friendlier expression.

“I’m Peggy,” she stuck out her hand, shifting the cat around as she did so. The cat did not find this to her liking, and leapt out of Peggy’s arms as soon as her hold was loose enough. “Shite,” Peggy muttered as she watched Lorraine’s tail whip around a corner and out of sight.

“I’m Steve. I – are you Bonded?” Steve blurted.

“No?” Peggy’s eye went wide. “Why? Are you interested? Because that’s awfully forward for someone you just met.”

“I’m not – no, your familiar?” Steve stumbled, gesturing a bit helplessly with a large sweep of his beer-less hand in the direction the cat disappeared off to.

Peggy stood stock still before she burst into full-throated laughter. “That’s my cat, Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes as he exhaled a slow breath. “Just a cat?”

“Just a cat,” Peggy said, still giggling. “She doesn’t like people or crowds, so I was keeping her upstairs. She escaped, obviously.”

“Oh.”

Peggy cocked her head to the side as she studied him. “I’m a familiar,” she said casually. “Couldn’t you tell?”

Steve shook his head shamefacedly. “Not really,” he said. “I’ve gotten better – a couple of years ago I couldn’t tell even if you were standing five feet from me. Now I figure it out, uh, eventually.” He stared at his beer. “I’d blame the alcohol, but this is only my second one.”

“Second one?” Peggy repeated, eyes wide. “Well that has to be remedied. Come with me.”

She seized him by the arm and all but dragged him over to the kitchen where all the drinks were assembled on a sticky marble countertop that gleamed slickly in the bright lights. She poured him a cup full of several types of hard liquor and a splash of ginger ale. “Here,” she all but shoved it at Steve’s chest. “I – my beer?” he said weakly.

Peggy took it from him and drained it. “There,” she said grandly as she turned to use Steve’s old cup to mix her own drink. “No more beer.”

“Cheers.” Steve raised his cup and only choked at the first taste. “That’s strong,” he said, licking his lips.

Peggy’s eyes followed the movement. “I should hope so,” she said over the rim of her cup. “If you aren’t pissed by the end of the night, then I’d be a poor hostess, wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “This is only my second party.”

“I hope it has exceeded the first,” Peggy said with a wink as she settled them both down on a couch opposite Bucky.

To Steve’s surprise, Peggy spent the rest of the night talking with him. Bucky even made it upstairs long enough to pair up with Jim against them for a round of beer pong, which Peggy and Steve won handedly. Despite being four drinks in, Steve’s aim wasn’t shot by the alcohol, and Peggy’s look of admiration was something that he’d only ever seen on Bucky’s face before. It was intoxicating. She kept laughing, but not at him, and he kept feeling like a fool with hands, so he kept drinking for something to do with them.

She didn’t even laugh when he threw up in the sink as the party was winding down, just patted his back and offered him the last cup of ginger ale to settle his stomach.

The Commandos drunkenly rode the subway home shortly after, grimacing as Dum Dum spent the entire time waiting for the godforsaken G train singing I’m Gonna Be (500) Miles in a terrible Scottish accent. At the end of the last verse, Gabe made one crack about “what happens when white people get turnt,” and Jim took that as some sort of challenge to join in to prove him wrong.

After clomping up the stairs to Steve’s apartment, shushing each other every other step, they all collapsed more or less on every available surface in the living room. Steve and Bucky slept on the couch cushions on the floor, Gabe and Jim took the cushion-less couch, and Dum Dum dragged Steve’s blankets from his bed onto the rug and slept underneath the coffee table.

They all woke up nauseous, head achy, and hung over as shit, and agreed that it had been the best party ever.

* * *

When Peggy texted Steve the next weekend, Steve nearly dropped his phone in the toilet in surprise. He walked back out to sit next to Bucky on the couch where they had been watching some action movie from a couple decades ago. He silently handed over his phone for Bucky for his opinion.

“’I hope it’s okay that I got your number from Jim. I was wondering if you were free sometime for coffee?’” Bucky read aloud, eyes wide.

Steve snatched his phone back. “I don’t know what to do,” he said miserably.

“Who is this?” Bucky asked, tapping the unknown phone number at the top of Steve’s screen with his index finger.

“I think it’s Peggy.”

Bucky his face went from confused to miffed in a split second. “And Peggy is…?”

“You know,” Steve said, waving a hand in the air. “We went to her party last weekend. Jim invited us.”

“The British girl?” Bucky asked, looking reluctantly impressed.

Steve scowled and turned back to his phone. “Hold on, I’ll ask.”

“Give me that,” Bucky took Steve’s phone back over his protests and wrote out a message. He didn’t tap send, waiting for Steve to push the button itself. “There,” he said as he tossed it back in Steve’s lap.

“What?” Steve asked as he read over Bucky’s reply. He made a face. “Come on, I’m not going to say that to her. I can just who it is, and if it is Peggy, then I think I’ll go to coffee with her.”

“Smooth,” Bucky muttered as Steve deleted Bucky’s message of ‘how you doin’ and replaced it with his own. “Figures you’d be all lame and straightforward.”

“I don’t like beating around the bush,” Steve sniffed.

“Oh I know that,” Bucky said in a long-suffering voice, eyebrows raised. “Why beat around the bush when you can just run headlong into it? That’s your philosophy, right?”

Steve spluttered, “I just want to make sure I know who I’m talking to, and where we stand. Is it so wrong to want all my bases covered?”

“Planning a home run already?” Bucky snickered. “Dude, you haven’t even gotten to first base. The rest can wait.”

Steve punched Bucky in the arm. “You jerk, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“Sure it isn’t,” Bucky cackled as Steve’s phone pinged with a new message. “Is she a witch?”

“No, a familiar,” Steve said distractedly as he replied. “It is Peggy, if you were wondering. She just said.”

“Oh, I thought so,” Bucky said in a funny voice.

Steve glanced up at him, but Bucky was already looking away, fiddling with something on his own phone. “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m surprised you remember her at all,” Steve said wryly. “Those MUNIS witches were all up on you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Can’t help it if ladies love puppies.”

“You’re not a puppy, Buck. You’re more fit for the K9 unit with the NYPD, if you ask me.”

“All dogs are puppies. Ask any girl.”

“That’s sexist.”

“It’s true.”

Steve looked up from his phone. “I just made plans to meet Peggy on Friday after school.”

Bucky froze for a second, then seemed to give himself a little shake. “That’s great.” He swallowed and a hesitant smile broke across his face. “That’s something you want to do, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, staring at his phone screen.

That night, after Bucky had gone home, Steve was laying on his bed and staring at his texts with Peggy, which had petered out in the early evening when she had left for a movie with her friends. He’d shared some of his thoughts with Bucky as he read her replies, and Bucky had assured him that everything was going well, and they were headed in the direction Steve wanted them to. Steve couldn’t bring himself to correct him.

Before the Commandos, Steve felt like half of himself was missing when Bucky wasn’t around. Bullies made Steve dread recess and group projects. The rest of his classmates were wary and unwilling to talk to him when not strictly required. The teachers didn’t seem to care, and turned a blind eye as long as they weren’t attempting to do magic outside of the classroom. The only time Steve could relax and let his guard down was with Bucky, whether they were safely tucked away watching movies at Steve’s apartment or enjoying fresh air at the dog run.

Now, Steve had other friends.

Jim, the most sociable, invited the Commandos at his house practically every weekend. His stay-at-home mother was happy for the company and the opportunity to dote on someone other than her only son, as his father worked long hours at the Japanese embassy.

Gabe was the most widely-read after Steve, but ironically was the Commando Steve disagreed with the most. They never came to blows or even raised voices, but only because of Gabe’s thoughtful arguments and non-judgmental attitude. He came from a long family of familiars, and Steve could always ask for his honest opinion and more information on sensitive familiar topics, even the ones that sometimes rubbed Bucky the wrong way.

Dum Dum was the heart of the group; there was no other way to explain it. His near-constant good mood could settle any argument, and often did. His large family meant many years as an arbiter and deal-breaker, so he naturally fell into the same role in the Commandos.

Monty and Jacques were the newest, but they quickly made themselves indispensable with their quick banter that had the rest of them in stitches. Like Bucky and Steve, they seemed to come in a pair. On their way home from one of their video game marathons, Bucky told Steve that if Monty and Jacques didn’t Bond when they turned eighteen, he’d eat his left shoe.

And now Peggy.

The sudden explosion in the number of people Steve could count as friends made his head spin.

Even after a year of friendship with the Commandos, Steve’s need for Bucky never went away. At first, Steve could blame it on not knowing any of them well enough, but as the weeks wore on, the group grew tighter; they developed inside jokes; they did everything together.

Even after all of that, Steve still couldn’t help that he clung onto Bucky just a little tighter, valued his opinion just a little more, and sought him out that much faster than anyone else. His crush on Bucky hadn’t abated over the course of the year, no matter how much he ignored it.

Steve groaned as he shut his phone off, laying it face down on his bedside table so Peggy’s texts would stop mocking him. He stared off into his dark bedroom, only lit by faint orange light from the streetlamp outside his curtained-off window. Bucky was probably asleep by now.

He picked his phone back up to ask Peggy how the movie went. Peggy was lovely by all standards, whip smart, gorgeous, and knew how to show him a good time. If it was a choice between someone who didn’t want him and someone who did, Steve only had one logical path ahead.

He could put Bucky aside for the first time in his life. He had to, for his own sanity.

* * *

“He can’t make it,” Steve said hollowly as he pocketed his phone. He turned to Peggy, her face a mask of polite disappointment. It was probably for Steve, as she didn’t care for Bucky all that much. Not for lack of trying on Steve’s part, as he could hardly get the three of them alone in a room together for more than twenty minutes. More Commandoes would inevitably interrupt, or Bucky would bail with excuses up to his eyeballs. If Steve could convince his best girl and his best friend to be more than civil, then high school would truly be the best years of his life, like all the TV shows and books kept telling him.

Bucky would never say it outright to Steve’s face, but something about Peggy always set him off, and he alternated between ungodly quiet and the wrong side of snide when they were forced together. Steve tried several times to pry specific reasons why couldn’t get on with Peggy out of him, but without fail Bucky would clam up and sprout denials until he was blue in the face.

Now after a full year, Steve was tired of it all. Frustrated with the false explanations, last-minute cancellations, and choosing between the two most important people in his life.

Peggy only realized how close Steve had been with Bucky several weeks after they had started dating. They were on their way to a restaurant in Steve’s neighborhood, and passed by the Vinegar Hill dog park. Steve automatically reached for the gate and was halfway in before Peggy asked him what the hell he was doing. Steve paused, and nearly broke down right there when it struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there with Bucky. Over dinner, Peggy told him blandly that the only reason she didn’t like Bucky was because he seemed so obviously uncomfortable around her. And because he made Steve feel like crap, far more so than a best friend had the right to.

“Come on then,” Peggy said determinedly, jerking her head towards the entrance of the movie theater. “It’s not like we need Barnes to have a good time at the cinema, do we?”

A year ago, the concept of disagreeing with that would have had Steve in hysterics. Now, he could only let Peggy march them both into the movie theater and buy him popcorn to make up for missing his best friend.

“What came up?” Peggy asked as they sat down, watching as the pre-previews flickered across the screen.

Steve stared straight ahead, barely taking in the commercial actors smiling too widely and talking too loudly about a blockbuster that wasn’t due in theaters for another year. “Said that Connie had a stomach ache, and he was staying with her to make sure she gets better,” he said dully.

Peggy snagged a piece of popcorn. “She couldn’t buy her own ginger ale?” She popped it in her mouth, frowning slightly.

“He’s being a good boyfriend,” Steve argued, but he privately agreed with Peggy.

She hummed noncommittally as she sat back in her seat. “I didn’t even know Connie was coming.”

“Yeah, well, Bucky hasn’t been too communicative lately,” Steve said, trying and probably failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Peggy smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said brusquely. “It’s not like I thought he would make it. He couldn’t last time, or the time before that, anyway.”

He could tell by the way her eyes narrowed that she didn’t believe a word he was saying, so he squeezed her hand, grateful that she didn’t call him out.

The theater dimmed, the screen in front of them fading to black as the orchestral score of the first movie trailer began thrumming through the speakers on the walls. The conversations around them petered off whispered one-liners instead.

“You miss him?” Peggy murmured, eyes soft as they roved over his face illuminated by dancing popcorn and plastic cup lids on the screen in front of them.

Steve forced himself to keep looking at her, focusing on her wide brown eyes and downturned ruby mouth. “I guess,” he breathed. “We don’t hang out as much, but I see him in school all the time.”

She leaned over to kiss him softly but firmly on the cheek. “At least I get you all to myself, and I’m not sorry about that.”

He didn’t wipe her lipstick away from her cheek, and wore it like a brand for the whole movie.

Peggy and Steve saw the movie on Friday night, and Bucky dodged the rest of Steve’s texts to meet up and hang out on Saturday, claiming that Connie was still getting over her food poisoning. If Bucky wanted to stick around while his girlfriend threw up or sat on the toilet for ten hours, Steve wasn’t going to be the one to drag him away. He texted Bucky that he was happy for him; it seemed like he really cared about Connie. God knows he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths for his past girlfriends. He’d had four alone since Steve had started dating Peggy a year ago.

On Sunday, Steve had texted him once in the morning to let him know that he and Peggy would be making pizza together for dinner, and that they could easily accommodate more if Connie was feeling better. He got as far as typing out that his ma would love to see Bucky sometime, but deleted it before pressing send. He didn’t need to guilt Bucky into spending time with him. They were best friends, after all.

Bucky didn’t respond.

* * *

Steve’s magic didn’t improve as the years marched determinedly towards high school graduation. After three years of high school, his spells had only become more erratic, partially complying with whatever his teacher was trying to teach him, and mostly misfiring. Steve wouldn’t have survived two years of Practical Magic I or II without Dum Dum, always in his corner when spells went awry.

Which was why he was looking at the shattered remnants at a plain hourglass on his desk.

Stunned and totally at a loss to explain what the hell went wrong, Steve looked around, catching Dum Dum’s bewildered stare.

Steve raised a hand to brush the sand that had exploded on him out of his bangs, apologies dying on his lips as he looked up to see Ms. Nova staring down at him. Her white hair was pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, and she was thankfully sand-free, which was more than could be said for the front of Steve’s shirt and his face. “Not quite what I had in mind when I asked you to slow the sand in the hourglass,” she said delicately, gesturing to Steve’s desk.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, ignoring the snickering from the back of the room.

“Mind telling me what happened?” she asked as she waved her hand over the mess. The sand coalesced into a neat spiral that flew into the newly restored hourglass.

“I don’t know,” Steve said honestly.

“You were distracted and frustrated. You need to concentrate,” Ms. Nova tutted before she raised her voice to address the rest of the glass. “As we move forward in your magical education, we ask you to perform more complicated, powerful spells, which result in more dangerous outcomes if done improperly. I will remind you all yet again that the consequences an incorrect Bonding spell, most likely the most powerful spell you will ever perform, are permanent disability or even death, in severe cases.” The corner of her mouth ticked up in what could be generously called a smile. “So, it is better to mess up now, and not on a spell that really matters.”

She flipped the hourglass on Steve’s desk, and Steve’s palms began to tingle as the sand started to trickle down. “Try again.”

Steve bit his lip as his hands mimicked the movement Ms. Nova demonstrated at the beginning of class. The sand did not slow in its descent. It turned to water and froze, the glass cracking and falling away.

“Well, that’s not exactly what I was expecting,” Ms. Nova said as she peered at the miniature ice sculpture on Steve’s desk in the shape of falling sand. “But good work,” she said, to Steve’s infinite surprise. “You stopped the sand from falling, which was the goal of this lesson all along.” She ran a finger down the edge of the statue. “Look, it is perfectly frozen, not even melting.”

“Lookit you,” Dum Dum said with a sly grin as he reached over to punch Steve in the arm. “Nice going.”

“Your intent was correct,” Ms. Nova said, “And even more practical, given that it is much easier for your magic to hold a solid block of ice than several hundred grains of sand in place.”

Steve didn’t say anything, still staring at the failed hourglass in front of him.

“And that’s where I’ll leave you,” Ms. Nova said as she marched back to the head of the classroom. “Magic is highly subjective and comes from within. Most of what we’ve been telling you, the movements and words, are to guide your intent. Means to an end. Accomplished spell casters do not need even those, but can wield their magic through willpower alone.” And without even a twitch of her pinky finger, all of the hourglasses flew to stand proudly on her desk in a neat line. “We will discuss more in depth next class. Dismissed.”

“Holy shit,” Dum Dum muttered.

After their last class of the day, they met by the section of lockers claimed by the eleventh graders. Jim and Gabe joined them before long, griping about their recent history assignment on Familiar rights advances in the twentieth century, and Bucky rounded out the group when he came running from Calculus that had let out late.

After school, they piled onto the G train to Windsor Terrace. Peggy’s house was their chosen locale this Friday, as both of her parents were away on a business trip to London. Jacques opened the door, grinning as Jim held up two six packs they had picked up on the way there, thanks to Dum Dum’s fake ID.

Steve spotted Peggy as they descended into the family room in the basement, her brown curls spread over the cushions. Her red lips split into a wide smile as she caught sight of him. She complained, as she always did, about his bony elbows jabbing into her side as they squished together. He leaned in for a kiss, which she allowed enthusiastically.

Dum Dum took the lone armchair, sprawling out Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he fell asleep in twenty minutes. His eyes were already half-way shut.

Jacques and Monty sat on the couch, a couple of inches apart.

Bucky was sitting on the floor between the couch and the armchair, a stolen throw blanket bunched under his ass so he didn’t go numb.

“Yo, you won’t believe what happened in fourth period,” Jim said as he settled back down on the raised ledge by the fireplace. “Peter asked Gamora to Bond with him.”

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Steve asked, looking around at Peggy and Bucky. He stopped, heart sinking in his chest, as soon as he realized Bucky wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“He said he’s only six months away from eighteen,” Gabe said with a shrug. “And she’s bound to have other familiars panting at her heels, with power like that. Smart of Peter to ask soon. Then he can have time to ask someone else if she doesn’t want him.”

“Did she say no?” Bucky asked as he set his beer down, out of the way of Dum Dum’s foot that was hanging off the footrest of the armchair.

Jim pulled a face. “All she did was yell at him for doing in the middle of Pre-Calc.”

Bucky snorted. “Idiot shouldn’t have done it in public.”

“I don’t know about that. Gamora has more than a flair for the dramatic,” Jim said. “She’ll draw it out, make him squirm. Seems like she’d be into that.”

“Peter’s still nuts,” Bucky declared. “Someone in that relationship is going to be set on fire sooner or later. I don’t know which one.”

“Does she even like him?” Peggy asked, eyebrows raised.

“Sure,” Steve said. “She’d have eviscerated him instead of just yelling. That’s how she shows affection.”

“That’s troubling.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve muttered.

“I’m surprised that more people haven’t paired off to Bond,” Gabe said. “My parents said everyone had pretty much settled on their pair by high school, in their day.”

“Yeah, they also got married at twenty-one,” Jim muttered. “And had two-point-five kids by thirty. Man, I’m not going to ask anyone when I turn eighteen.”

Bucky stared. “Really?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s like marriage, right? But you can’t get divorced or ditch them for someone else if you make a mistake and choose the wrong witch. Your magic is kind of ruined after breaking a bad Bond.”

“You’re not worried about… being witch-less?” Jacques asked.

Jim grimaced. “You just gotta be careful. Our magic goes a bit screwy, but not as bad as Steve on his worst day. No offense, dude.”

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly as Peggy patted his hand consolingly.

“I’m going to Bond as soon as I can,” Jacques declared. “Comme ca,” he said, snapping his fingers.

All eyes swiveled to Monty, who shrugged. “We’ve already talked about it.”

“Congratulations,” Dum Dum said with a smile as he raised his beer, everyone else falling suit.

“You sure you’re ready?” Jim asked, glancing from Jacques to Monty and back again.

“Of course,” Monty scoffed. “Frenchie knows he’s it for me. No sense in putting it off.”

“And Marie-Thèrese?” Bucky asked knowingly.

Jacques shrugged. “She’s probably going to ask one of her friends. I don’t get that sense from her, you know? She’s wonderful, but not my witch. At least, not like that.”

Bucky nodded to himself as he pensively took another sip of his beer.

Steve felt more than saw Peggy stiffen next to him, but her expression remained open and relaxed. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, not quite sure what needed to be reassured. Whatever it was, she seemed to accept it as she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“You two are gross,” Dum Dum announced. “Old married couple already, that’s what you are.”

Steve began to declare, “Just because we’re not dramatic-”

Bucky and Peggy coughed loudly, looked around, and exchanged strained smiles. Steve scowled.

“It’s not your fault, dear,” Peggy said, patting his hand as she grinned wickedly. “It’s what I love about you. Dramatics, and all.”

Both Bucky and Dum Dum pretended to gag.

“Knock it off,” Steve muttered as he blushed.

Peggy kissed the top of his head again with a loud smack. “We’re just not terribly open with our dramatics,” she corrected. “It’s the English in me, I’m afraid. Show emotion in public, and I’ll combust.”

“Very proper of you, Miss Carter,” Monty said, raising his beer in a cheer.

“I do try,” Peggy said as she tangled her fingers with Steve’s.

* * *

“How’d you know Peggy was it for you?” Bucky asked.

Peter and Gamora had Bonded last week, and Peter had showed off his Bonding scar to everyone who would look.

They were sitting on the couch in Steve’s living room. Sarah was behind them, bustling around the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Every once in a while, they’d hear a pot clang or a rustling of cookbook pages over the sounds of the mostly-muted sitcom on television in front of them. The smell of sizzling butter and garlic in the pan filled the apartment, making Steve’s mouth water. The rest of the Commandos were busy this Sunday night and Peggy had Debate, so it was just them, like old times. Steve was half-heartedly reading through the last chapter of his English assignment while Bucky had his mostly-finished problem set for Calculus on his lap.

“I – what?” Steve turned around to stare at him.

“You and Peggy,” Bucky said impatiently. “The old married couple who’s a hop, skip, and a jump from the white picket fence and gingham curtains.”

Steve’s expression turned nonplussed. “Where the hell would you find a white picket fence in Brooklyn.” It wasn’t phrased like a question.

Something in Bucky’s eyes shuttered, but when he spoke, his tone was light, joking. “Don’t ruin my fantasy, Steven.”

“What brought this on? I thought you weren’t serious about Caroline?” He did a double take. “Right? That’s her name?”

Bucky let out a short laugh. “Punk, you met her three times.”

“She was pretty much stuck to your face two of those times,” Steve said evenly. All he remembered was that she had blonde hair, and a raspy voice, not that he heard it much in between all the kissing.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, going a bit red. “Sorry about that.”

Steve waved off his apology. “You were having a good time. It’s not like Peggy and I never kiss or anything around you.”

Bucky shrugged. “No, we split a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said, blinking as he absorbed the information.

“I met someone. I think she’s different.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but he didn’t look up from annotating his novel for English. “You sure? You’re not going to blame this on a love potion tomorrow morning?”

“That was one time,” Bucky snapped. “And I got Dum Dum to admit it was him.”

Steve laughed. “That confession was taken under duress. I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Shows what you know,” Bucky retorted. “He did it to Monty too, but he accidentally made him fall in love with Jacques, so nobody noticed.”

“Are they in love?” Steve asked, glancing up in surprise.

“Who knows?” Bucky said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not my business. They’re happy not putting a label on it right now. But if Jacques dumps Marie-Thèrese tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised. She hasn’t been around too much after Monty and Jacques Bonded.”

“Huh,” Steve said, almost to himself.

“Why?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowed. “You gotta problem if they did like each other like that?”

“God no,” Steve said. “As long as they’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Damn right.”

And because Steve was such a good friend, and Bucky was just going to bring it up later if he lost his train of thought now, he prompted, “So you’ve met someone?”

Bucky swallowed and scratched out something on his graph paper notebook. “Her name’s Bonnie.”

“Do I know her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Uh, at a witch-familiar meet n’ greet,” he muttered, not looking at Steve.

Steve froze. He’d heard of those before. They usually attracted an older crowd, witches that weren’t chosen by a familiar in school and familiars who were getting anxious about their magic fading – even though both Bucky and Gabe had assured everyone that didn’t actually happen. He’d see them in some romantic comedies his ma loved to watch, about some witch who needed to seek out a familiar, and she’d meet a series of crazies before finding the one.

“I didn’t know you were going to those,” Steve said once he unstuck the lump in his throat and swallowed an irrational spike of fear that his future with Bucky, as hazily constructed as it was, was crumbling before his eyes.

Bucky shrugged. “My parents thought it would be a good idea.”

Steve bit back the point that Bucky’s parents always liked him, and said instead, “And was it?”

“I think so,” Bucky said as he flipped his paper over and began more calculations. “We’re, uh, going to Indiana for a month this summer. Maybe I’ll meet more witches out there.”

“Ah good,” Steve said, looking down as he turned a page of his novel and began underlining random sentences.

Steve didn’t have any other response that didn’t paint him as terribly insecure or irrationally angry, so he kept his mouth shut. Bucky was turning eighteen early next year, almost four whole months before Steve. A dozen familiars in PMA 20 had already publicly proposed a Bonding, and there were two or three pairs that had already Bonded. Steve could see the appeal; they wanted to lock in their witch before anyone else, or they just couldn’t wait a second longer of being without their other half.

His face burned with self-loathing and embarrassment. Trust Steve to blindly follow a stupid promise Bucky made when they were thirteen.

“Has Peggy asked you yet?” Bucky asked tentatively.

“No.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise before his expression turned sympathetic, and Steve’s temper flared at the pity that was sure to follow. “I’m sure she’s just planning something big for you,” Bucky said. “Your birthday isn’t for a couple months.”

Steve bit his tongue instead of telling Bucky that he’d already let Peggy know that Bucky had unofficially asked him to Bond practically the first time they had met. Bucky would clap his hand on Steve’s shoulder reassuringly, as he let Steve down easy, tell Steve that he shouldn’t take him so seriously all the time, joke that he’d be there with him until the end of the line, but as best pals.

Steve gave himself a mental shake of the head to clear it. Bucky had been there every step of the way for Steve, seen all of his fucked up spells. It was about time that Bucky had found a normal witch that could complement his magic in all the ways he deserved to be complemented.

* * *

The night after their high school graduation a week later, Bucky once again convinced him to go to a party. In an unforeseen sequence of events, he had roped Peggy into double-teaming Steve to come out and have a good time. Between two pairs of pleading brown eyes, Steve was a goner. Not that they cornered him both at once in their little plan. Instead, they employed a one-two-punch strategy, ambushing him one after another in homeroom, after school, and in homeroom again the next day, until he agreed to go.

Some rich kid from MUNIS had rented out a warehouse in Green Point, and had people keeping the booze flowing and the music pumping. Despite his handful of parties, Steve had never picked up how to move his body in any sort of appealing motions on the dancefloor, so he contented himself standing by the drinks table as drunken school acquaintances made small talk. Eventually, he found a spot on the roof where a couple of lawn chairs had been left.

It was two in the morning, and Bucky and Steve were both drunk. Peggy had gone home an hour or two earlier, not that Bucky or Steve could tell time with any accuracy at this point, complaining that she had an early flight to see her extended family back across the pond in the morning. Dum Dum and Jim were inside, dancing, while Jacques, Monty, and Gabe were sharing a joint at the other end of the roof.

“I can’t believe high school’s over. Your birthday’s in a month,” Bucky said out of nowhere as they stared out over dark rooftops.

Steve looked up at the sky, colored a faded orange from streetlamps. “That’s true.”

“You’re still going to apply to Bond, right?”

He swiveled around to glare at Bucky. “Buck-”

“Don’t ‘Buck’ me,” Bucky snapped, pointing his hand not holding the neck of a beer bottle at Steve’s chest. “I’m serious.”

Steve shook his head as he ran his hands down the ridges of his red solo cup. “I’m sure you are.”

“You gonna?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Bucky asked in a strangled voice.

“It’s not like I have a reason to!”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” Bucky said flatly. He tipped the bottle back, swallowing a large gulp as his eyes widened in realization. “Carter hasn’t asked you yet?” At Steve’s shake of his head, Bucky exclaimed, “You gotta tell her she’s got to get a move on!”

Steve snorted. “I’ll let her know,” he said, not planning on breathing a word to Peggy. He wasn’t about to force her hand, beg her to Bond with him because he had no one else. Just because he put all his dreams in one basket when he was too young and stupid to know better, that didn’t mean that Peggy would do the same.

“Seriously,” Bucky said, eyes not quite focusing on Steve’s face. “You’ve been together for like half your lives.”

“Three years, Buck.”

“That’s like fifty in high school years,” Bucky argued.

Steve smiled despite himself. “So says the serial dater.”

“Hey!” Bucky protested. “Then that means I’m an expert.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he glared down into his cup. “So how’s Bonnie?”

“Who?”

“That witch you met,” Steve said impatiently, “at the magical mixer.”

“Oh,” Bucky sighed. “She’s good. We’re going to the Stark Expo in week or two.” He grinned lasciviously over the rim of his beer bottle. “She knows Connie, remember Connie? I had that thing with her in the beginning of eleventh grade. If Carter doesn’t get her act together, maybe I can get Bonnie to bring her.”

“Firstly, I’d never do that to Peggy.” Steve grimaced. “And secondly, even if I was single, I don’t want your seconds, Barnes.”

“Hey! I never said you had to sleep with her,” Bucky said, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Steve ignored him, staring over at the doorway where more people were coming up to the roof. The bass from the music inside had switched to something slower, the reverberations traveling up from his sneakers to vibrate the liquid in his cup. The summer night air was a little stifling with the mingling marijuana and cigarette smoke. Lingering perfume and cologne weren’t enough to cover the smell of sweat from cooling bodies that had left the dancefloor for a brief reprieve.

“You okay?” Bucky asked after a minute of silence.

“Yeah.” Steve tipped his cup back, nearly choking as he overestimated the amount of drink left. Spluttering, Steve glared up at Bucky as he whapped him a couple of times on the back.

“Woah,” Bucky said, grinning. “Slow down there, pal.”

“What for?” Steve said morosely as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Uh, you don’t want to hurl?” Bucky guessed. “Your tolerance isn’t great on a good night, Steve.”

“Fuck off.” At Bucky’s affronted look, Steve added belligerently, “You heard me.”

He inhaled sharply, staring at Steve. “If you’ve got a problem with me, then out with it. You’re not one to let things bottle up. Don’t start now. Not with me.”

“How would you know?” Steve asked bitterly.

Bucky’s eyes widened as his expression hardened. “What the hell crawled up your ass and died?”

“Don’t put this on me,” Steve said sharply. “You keep doing this – pretending everything’s fine. I hate it.”

“It isn’t?” Bucky asked faintly.

“Do you really think that?” Steve raked his fingers up and down the ridged sides of his cup, turning slightly so he could see more of the skyline and less of the crowd of people behind them. “You know, we haven’t had a real conversation in months.”

Bucky shook his head. “We hang out all the time.”

“Do we?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised. “Really? Like we used to?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve sighed and swallowed the rest of his drink. “I didn’t even know that you were looking for a witch. We’re supposed to be best friends, but I didn’t know that you had found someone who might Bond with. Your magical life partner. How the hell do you forget to tell me?”

Bucky lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug as he studied the rim of his bottle hanging limply in his hand halfway to his mouth. “No, I get it. I should’ve said, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“And if you think that’s what I’m really mad about, then fuck you, Bucky,” Steve said harshly as he forcefully set his cup down on the edge of the roof. The plastic crumpled on impact.

“Jesus,” Bucky said, a wary smirk creeping up his mouth as he set his bottle down to shove his hands in his pockets. “You sound like a girl.”

Steve swore under his breath and glared up at Bucky. “And you sound like a jackass,” he snapped back. “And I get that people grow apart, alright? I have Peggy, and you had all those girls. And I thought: that’s great, he’ll have someone like I have someone. That must be why he avoids me when I ask him over, that must be why we never hang out outside of school.” He threw his arm out, gesturing at Bucky’s guarded expression. “But then you say shit like that, and I know you must’ve not cared about them like I care about Peggy because you wouldn’t talk like that in front of any girl, never mind a girlfriend.” He licked his lips, his mouth a little numb from the lime in his drink, the cheap vodka, and letting his mouth run on. “So that just tells me that you wanted to be my friend even less than that. Why else would you ditch me for them all the time?”

Bucky just stared.

“And fuck you, if you tell me it was just for sex,” Steve added quietly, almost as an afterthought. He glanced at his cup, half-heartedly reaching out. His hand dropped. “I’m getting another drink,” he muttered as he shoved past Bucky.

The music hit him like a wave crashing over as he ducked inside the empty warehouse. He walked to the beat, timing his steps with the shifting masses around him. He got jabbed in the ribs twice by wayward elbows. At the bar, he ordered a rum and coke, nearly shouting himself hoarse as he tried to get his order to the bartender. When the guy didn’t get it after half a dozen tries, Steve just pointed to the coke and shrugged.

Another drink in hand, Steve hesitated before moving back in the direction of stairs to the roof. Bucky was probably still up there. He looked around and saw that Gabe had come inside too, and was currently looking straight at him. With a quick jerk of his head, he gestured to the front door, and Steve followed him out.

“It’s hot in there,” Gabe said good naturedly, forehead slicked with sweat and only lightly smelling of pot.

“Yeah,” Steve muttered in agreement as he took a sip of his drink. The cheap alcohol trailed fire down his throat.

“You okay?” Gabe asked, staring at him for a disconcertingly long moment.

“Fine.”

Gabe laughed. “Sure you are. We’ll just chat about the weather until we’ve both cooled down enough to go back, okay?”

Steve snorted and tipped his cup back again.

“We heard it all, you know,” Gabe said once he caught Steve’s eye.

“I should’ve known. You’re a bunch of gossips.”

“It’s how we roll,” Gabe said good naturedly.

“Well then?” Steve asked after a beat. “What’s the verdict?”

“What verdict?” Gabe asked, hand across his heart as he grinned widely. “I’m not a judge. If you want to put Bucky in his place, we weren’t going to stop you.”

“You agree with me?”

“I see your point,” Gabe said slowly. “And Bucky probably shouldn’t have said whatever he said that set you off. But he’s been having a rough year.”

“He has?” Steve repeated flatly, only half as curious as he would’ve been in other circumstances.

“Sure,” Gabe said. “Parents have been telling him to get his life started, kicking him out the door every weekend to find the lucky witch and get him off their plate. Poor bastard.” He met Steve’s gaze squarely. “He held them off until you got serious with Peggy. She asked you yet?”

Steve shook his head.

“Could be worse, though,” Gabe continued thoughtfully. “At least they’re not going for an arranged Bonding. I don’t think he’d be down for that.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t think anyone did that. I mean – here.”

Gabe threw him a funny look. “Arranged Bonds are a key foundation of many magical cultures,” he said slowly. “My parents and their Bond Maker have been looking for the best witch for me since I was thirteen.”

Steve could not go any redder. He took a large gulp of his drink as he frantically tried to dig his way out of this conversation. “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Gabe cut in with a forgiving smile. “It’s just what my family’s always done. We’re old school. But I get what Bucky is going through, you know? I’m kind of nervous to meet whoever they decide on – like, what if we’re magically compatible but don’t like each other?” He shrugged, and continued before Steve could say anything in response, not that he had anything to say. “And Bucky’s going through the same thing. But it’s different for him since he’s the only familiar in his family.”

“But why didn’t he tell me? About his parents, about looking for a witch, any of it?”

Gabe didn’t hesitate in his response: “He didn’t need another witch judging him for not having his shit together.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You’re a great friend,” Gabe interrupted as he pat Steve’s shoulder. “But you’re not exactly slow to pass judgement.”

Steve stayed silent, stewing in his memories of the past several months where Bucky had begged off meeting him and Peggy for coffee, movies, or whatever Steve had planned for the evening – all weekend activities, of course. Not everything was falling together into a full picture of what was going on with Bucky behind the scenes, but enough.

“I know,” Steve said, feeling slightly sick. He took another pull from his drink, which didn’t help at all. His arms felt too light, and his head was spinning slightly. He murmured his excuses to Gabe, who let him go with a concerned look. Breathing steadily in and out, Steve walked slightly down the block to lean on a street lamppost. The bright light hurt his eyes, so he shut them as he rested his head against the cool metal. The music was at a more manageable level now, but his head still thumped steadily with phantom echoes of the beat of whatever top-40 tracks they were playing.

“Christ, when you wander off you really wander off,” Bucky voice reached Steve at the same time as his halting footsteps.

Steve closed his eyes tighter.

“I, uh, ran into Gabe on the way out. He told me you were out here. Not going to lie, I checked the bathrooms first. Would have bet good money I’d find you puking your guts out.” Bucky shook his head, raising a hand to his temple with a pained grimace. “Christ, I’ve been drinking too much. Else I would’ve found you sooner.”

“I’m fine.” Steve straightened and turned around. They were the only ones standing in their little circle of orange light. The ground was littered with half-empty or broken beer bottles, but at least the cement wasn’t sticky like the floor inside or the roof. The air was just as humid as it had had been on the roof, but now there wasn’t even a breeze to prevent the sweat from pickling down Steve’s back. His light tee shirt was just beginning to stick around his sharp shoulder blades and the small of his back.

“If you’re going to hurl, at least let me know so I can get out of the splash zone,” Bucky said with a small smile as he pushed his hair out of his face.

Steve sighed. “What’re you doing here, Buck?”

Bucky’s smile dropped like it had never existed. “I wanted to see how you were. I – we didn’t leave things too great up there,” he said, jerking his thumb back behind them.

“No, I guess not,” Steve said.

“I told Gabe – I’m going to head home.” He hesitated. “You good to leave?”

 “You want me to come with you?” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms across his chest, staring Bucky down.

“I guess I deserve that,” Bucky muttered. “Yeah, I figure we can sober up and I can tell you what’s going on ‘cause I don’t think we’ve been on the same page for months now.”

They walked to the subway station in silence, skirting past drunk teenagers smoking on the street and others making out in shadowy corners out of sight from the warehouse.

According to the digital clock by the turnstiles at the subway station, it was close to three in the morning. Thankfully the MTA ran all night long, but that was where their luck ran out. The next train was set to come in twenty minutes. Bucky and Steve walked down the platform to stand where the head of the train would be and collapsed into the nearest wooden box seats, too buzzed to care about the cleanliness of everything. The smell of urine wasn’t too strong, and that was good enough at this hour at a deserted train station.

“Gabe said that he told you some stuff,” Bucky started. “About me,” he clarified. “He doesn’t have the full story, but – I guess he told you enough.”

Steve nodded. “I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me yourself,” he said as he stared down at his hands in his lap. “I would’ve understood. Why didn’t you think I would?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky stalled. “You didn’t need to deal with my shit.”

Steve let out a laugh, harsh and hollow, that echoed around the tiled end of the subway platform. “Never stopped you before.”

“Before it made sense,” Bucky said swiftly. “You were going through shit, with the bullies, and the magic, and stuff. Life wasn’t all sugar and rainbows for either of us. Now, though, your honeymoon period with Peggy has lasted three fucking years, and your magic is starting to sort itself out.” He sighed. “You finally got dealt a less shitty hand in life. Why would I ruin that?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’d rather have you and your problems than not hear from you at all, you colossal jerk.”

Bucky shrugged. “And Peggy doesn’t like me.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “And when has that ever stopped you? I remember it took a while for me to warm up to you, and look at what happened.”

“Look what happened,” Bucky echoed on the tail end of a sigh.

Steve waited a minute before he said quietly, “You say that, but I have no idea what happened. It’s like one minute we’re living out of each other’s pockets, and the next you’re a million miles away. What gives, Buck?”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Bucky said, a hard edge to his voice. “It’s not that dramatic. We saw each other nearly every day.”

“In Magical Theory II and History,” Steve added sharply. “And you’re delusional if that’s what I think I meant.”

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face, scraping his fingers down the stubble lining his chin. “You have Peggy, and yeah, more often than not I had someone, but it wasn’t the same. When I got a new girlfriend, you’d want to analyze what went wrong, double down on finding someone to stick with me. I was just looking for a good time, you know?” He leaned out, peering down the empty tunnel leading uptown. “I didn’t want what you and Peggy have,” he said as he settled back down in his seat.

“I didn’t-” Steve started, but his denial died on his lips as he took in Bucky’s unamused expression.

“You did,” he insisted. “Then I started not bringing them around at all, but do you know how hard it is to third-wheel for two years, Steve?”

Steve didn’t know, so he kept quiet for once.

“It’s fucking hard,” Bucky added in case Steve didn’t get the memo.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s mouth thinned as lip curled in distaste. “You were happy. You didn’t need to hear about my hang ups.”

“I would have listened,” Steve swore. “I would’ve been better.”

“It’s not better if you’d rather be with Peggy,” he said as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to force you to make time for me.”

“I didn’t know you were even an option anymore!” Steve said loudly, his anger jumping closer to the service. “You made me choose Peggy by staying away.”

Bucky didn’t respond for a moment, and Steve exhaled loudly, glaring at Bucky out of the corner of his eye as he stared at the mostly empty platform across from them. The haze of alcohol was fading, and his limbs felt heavier, his whole body weighed down by exhaustion. He brushed sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He would’ve given anything for a bottle of water.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Steve said tightly.

“Alright,” Bucky said slowly. “This is me with a fuckin’ olive branch, okay? I genuinely want to know – What’s up with your Bond situation?”

Steve let out a groan.

“I promise this is the last time I ask,” Bucky said, holding a hand up in the air in oath as the corners of his mouth twitched up into the ghost of a smile. “It’s not an issue of not wanting to Bond, right?”

“No,” Steve said, sounding a little bit surlier than he meant to.

“Just talk to her. You can do that much. Tell her that you’re lookin’ to Bond. It isn’t rocket science. She’ll get the picture.” He eyed Steve critically. “Or are you too proud to ask the Familiar to pop the question? That’s how most people do it, Steve.”

Steve’s fists clenched in his lap. “It’s not fucking pride, Bucky,” he said loudly. “I want to Bond with you, alright? That’s why I never let Peggy ask me in the first place.”

Bucky repeated in a strangled voice, “Never let Peggy…?”

“I told her a year ago that you were going to ask me,” Steve muttered. “Presumptuous, I know,” he said dryly with a rueful smile. “But, I’m nothing if not an optimist.”

Bucky stared at Steve, blue eyes wide in surprise. He didn’t say anything until the train pulled out of the station, clearing his throat before speaking. “You’re not going to Bond with Carter?”

“No.”

“Even if she asked you tomorrow?”

“Not if you asked me tonight.”

The words slipped out before Steve’s brain could catch up with his mouth. He bit his lip and shifted slightly in his wooden seat, the flat planes digging into his thighs as he tried to get comfortable. It was useless.

Bucky swallowed and reached up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, as he stared at Steve. “You’d chose me?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about all night?” Steve asked wryly as he studied Bucky’s stunned face.

Bucky didn’t hesitate: “Bond with me.”