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When will he learn?
Steve is running down the cracked sidewalk, dodging a few people as he goes. He chances a glance over his shoulder, his too long blonde hair that his mother was supposed to trim weeks ago falling into his eyes, and he groans.
The boys are still chasing him, the bigger of the three leading the group, hands clenched into fists that pump at his sides as he runs.
“You’re dead, Rogers!”
Hastily pushing his hair out of his eyes, Steve pumps his legs harder and faster, the familiar burn spreading in his chest, warning him to slow down or potentially suffer an asthma attack. He can’t slow down, not until he’s somewhere safe and far away from the boys who want to pummel his face into the concrete.
He skids to a near stop and makes a sharp right turn into an alleyway that he knows doesn't come to a dead end. He can cut through they alley, cross Main Street, and then cut through the alley that flows into Mercer Court. After that, he’ll be home free.
Steve doesn’t make it to Main Street, not even close. It’s becoming harder to breathe and before he knows it, he’s stumbling and tripping over his feet, quickly losing the lead he had on the three older boys.
When he trips, he falls to his knees, palms out to break his fall, and he gasps, not only because of the pain reverberating through his hands and up his arms from the sudden jarring against the ground, but because he can finally suck in a breath of air, his lungs angrily protesting all of the running he’s just done. He can’t even catch his breath before the leader of the group—Brian, he thinks—picks him up by the collar of his shirt.
Steve’s head connects with the brick wall and he closes his eyes, knowing what’s coming next. He can already see Brian’s chubby fist swinging toward his face and he tries his best to brace himself for the feeling of a broken nose or a broken tooth but it doesn’t come. Instead, a fist connects squarely with his stomach and he audibly gasps, his head falling forward until his chin rests on his chest as he groans.
Brian drops him in a heap and Steve does the only thing he knows to do—curl into a ball and hope he can get a well-timed kick to at least one of the boys’ groins. It proves to be harder than he thinks as the three boys deliver kicks and blows to whatever exposed parts of Steve that they can, so he doesn’t think, doesn’t aim—he just swings his leg up and hopes for the best.
When he makes the connection with the kid he knows is named Kyle, he only has about three seconds to scramble to his feet. He’s still gasping in part because of his asthma trying to flare up but also because of the beating he’s just taken. He doubles over slightly and attempts to take a swing at Brian’s face, as if that’ll do him any good. Steve misses, but Brian’s fist connects with Steve’s jaw and pain immediately shoots through his teeth. He stumbles backward, a hand to his face as he tries to massage away the pain and he shakes his head.
When am I going to learn to stay out of things? he wonders to himself as he tries backing down the alley as Brian stalks closer to him. Steve’s thoughts are cut short when the familiar sound of his best friend’s voice echoes off the brick and he breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hey! He’s a kid, let him go!” Bucky shouts, though he’s just a kid himself, and Steve has never been more thankful for Bucky in his entire life.
He charges at Brian, grabbing a fistful of the back of his shirt to pull him away from Steve, and pushes him hard against the wall. Bucky’s fist does what Steve’s couldn’t and he catches Brian high on the cheekbone. When he pulls away, he’s shaking out his fingers and flexing them to make sure they’re not broken.
Bucky’s lucky in the sense that he was forced to learn to fight so young. After the death of his mother, he found it increasingly hard to keep his cool around the kids who would make fun of him and luckily for Bucky, he was a quick learner when it came to fighting; it’s how he channeled his anger for the longest time. The kids in Brooklyn are the rough, roll around in the dirt and punch each other until one passes out kind of kids.
Bucky can roll with the best of them. Steve, however, can not.
Kyle has made his way to his feet and doesn’t even wait for the others to follow—he takes off back the way he came and Steve watches from a bent-over position, one eye closed, as the other boy stumbles back out onto the sidewalk.
Brian doesn’t wait around for another swinging punch from Bucky and he takes off after his friend, the third boy not far behind.
Confident that they’re not going to be coming back to finish off what they started with Steve, Bucky turns back around and makes his way over to his friend who is still breathing heavily.
“Here, here,” he says, wrapping an arm around Steve and leading him to an old apple crate that’s been overturned. He helps him sit and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, encouraging him to take some deep, slow breaths.
“I swear Steve, it’s like there’s something hardwired in my brain that tells me when you’ve gotten yourself into some stupid situation,” he says, only half joking. “What are you doing picking a fight with kids three times your size?”
Steve looks up from the ground and gives Bucky a crooked smile, the cut just above his eye still bleeding. His lip has been busted too and Bucky can already see a faint bruise under Steve’s other eye. It’ll definitely be black and blue by the morning, but at least his friend isn’t sporting any serious injuries like broken bones or knocked out teeth.
“Ah Buck, come on. You know I don’t go looking for trouble on purpose,” Steve says, and for a moment, he wonders if that’s entirely true.
The look Bucky gives Steve is full of skepticism and he shakes his head as he pulls out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket to press to the cut on his friend’s forehead in order to staunch the bleeding.
“You’re lucky I showed up when I did. They were ready to kick the crap out of you. What did you do this time?”
The tone in Bucky’s voice makes Steve very aware that his best friend—his only friend, really—is getting a little aggravated with how often he’s been forced to come to his aid lately and Steve feels what he can only assume is guilt gnawing at his stomach. Well, that and hunger.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Buck! I did the right thing is all and they came after me! The big one, Brian I think his name is, was in the corner store and I saw him stuffing his pockets full of the five cent candies while Mr. Morrison had his back turned. And I saw Kyle shove an orange soda into his jacket, so I told Mr. Morrison before they could steal anything.”
He looks up at Bucky and sighs, throwing his hands in the air with exasperation.
“They we’re trying to steal and I wasn’t about to let them get away with it. So of course they got thrown out and Mr. Morrison told them to never come in the shop again. They were waiting for me almost as soon as I left.”
Bucky grits his teeth because Steve is such a good kid and it gets him into many unfavorable situations that Bucky usually has to stop and clean up. If only the kid would just take a moment to consider the consequences of his do-gooder actions first…
“Steve… you gotta be more careful. What if I wasn’t around this time? Or the time those kids tried pushing you in the lake? Or the time Mrs. Nelson’s boy tried to shove you in the dumpster outside the school? Or the time—.”
“Buck, I get it!” Steve nearly shouts, standing up from the apple crate and shoving Bucky’s hands away from his forehead.
He sighs, head down and his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t yell at the one person who always tries to make sure he’s safe and keeps him company when his mother is working double shifts to try and make ends meet.
“C’mon, lets just go,” he says, jerking his head toward the street.
Bucky falls into step with Steve, making sure to pull back his stride a bit so he doesn’t get too far ahead of his friend. They both walk in silence for a long time, not even bothering to wave back to those who call out greetings of hello to them.
They’re just two blocks from where Steve lives with his mother when he looks up and spots the familiar ice cream stand he passes everyday on his way to and from school. It’s not the nicest of places, but what can you expect from an area of town such as this? Ms. Judith is sweet and she usually gives Steve a break on the price for a cone and to him, her ice cream is just as good, if not better, than the expensive ice cream parlors downtown that all the rich kids visit. Ice cream may not make up for everything he’s put Bucky through lately, but it’s a start.
Cutting across the street, Steve looks back over his shoulder and shouts for Bucky to follow, the older of the two hurrying after his friend.
“Steve what’re you—?”
“Hi Ms. Judith. Two double scooped sugar cones please. Chocolate for me, strawberry for my friend.”
Bucky’s eyes go wide as Steve pushes a hand into his pocket, searching around for something.
“Steve, no—you don’t have to spend your money on ice cream for me. Come on,” Bucky says tugging at Steve’s arm. “I don’t need the sweets anyway.”
He ignores the pleas of his friend and instead pulls out two quarters from his pocket and places them on the wooden ledge as Ms. Judith comes back with a double scooped cone for Steve.
“Steve, you know it’s only ten cents a piece for double scooped,” she says, making to push the second quarter back toward him.
“Yeah, but you usually give me two scoops for five cents and I want to pay you back for that. Take it, please?”
Ms. Judith considers him for a moment before slowly sliding both quarters toward her while handing Steve his cone and a couple of napkins. She drops the money in the cash register before busying herself with the strawberry cone for Bucky.
Steve ordered strawberry because he knows it’s his best friend’s favorite flavor of ice cream and he wants to show him that he does care and wants to make it up to him because really, if it weren’t for Bucky, who knows where Steve would be right now.
When Ms. Judith brings Bucky his cone and a handful of extra napkins for the both of them, Steve leads Bucky back across the street to the park that is so rundown kids from the area don’t even play in it anymore. Steve doesn’t mind though because that means it’s always quiet and there’s a big oak tree near the back that is close to a little stream. He goes there a lot to think or just to get away, sometimes bringing his sketchbook with him when he’s had enough money saved up to buy extra pencils so he can keep drawing.
He’s sketched a lot in the park, from the landscape to the rusted swings to the bits of trash that litter the ground. He wishes he had his sketchbook and pencils with him now to capture Bucky as he eats his ice cream cone.
Settling on the ground in his usual spot, Steve leans his back against the trunk of the tree and licks at the ice cream that’s starting to melt down the side of his cone, shoving the extra napkins under his knee so they don’t blow away.
“Thanks for today, Buck. I know, I know, I bring this stuff on myself, I get it. But I just don’t feel right letting kids like Brian and Kyle get away with stealing or calling girls mean names. It’s not right and I can’t stand bullies,” he says, using his ice cream as an excuse to stop talking.
“Aw come on, Steve. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t speak up for what you believe in. You know you’re going to get your ass kicked every time, yet you keep doing the right thing. It’s admiral. You just worry me sometimes is all. Like I said, it’s like something is hardwired in my brain to detect when you do something stupid. Admirable, but stupid.”
Steve smiles at this because he knows Bucky’s right. He does always seem to appear right when he needs him the most and Steve couldn’t be more thankful for a dedicated friend like that.
When they’ve finished their ice cream cones and wiped the remnants from their face and fingers, Steve gets up and shoves the napkins in his pocket to take home, knowing if he tossed them in the park trash can they would just get blown out by the wind before anyone stopped by to empty it.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” Bucky says as he dusts his pants off from sitting on the ground. “Ms. Judith really does serve the best stuff.”
“That’s what friends are for. By the way, Mom is working late tonight,” Steve says, heading back toward the entrance to the park. “She made meatloaf though and said there’s green Jell-O in the refrigerator for dessert. Wanna come over? I could maybe show you some of the new sketches I’ve been working on.”
Bucky thinks this over for all of two seconds before wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders, grinning as he does so.
“I think that sounds great, Steve. I love your mom’s meatloaf and never say no to green Jell-O. And after dinner, I’m finally going to teach you how to play poker.”