Chapter Text
“Stand down, soldier. I’m your CO, not your friend. You don’t have to like the chain of command around here, but as long as I’m here, there’ll be food on the table and a roof over your head.” — George Barnes
Bucky
Bucky didn’t remember waking up. He didn’t usually remember waking up. There was no process there- the noise just became too much to ignore, and at some point it became worthless to continue trying to sleep. Like every day, he curled a little tighter, sighed quietly, and opened his eyes.
It was almost dawn, the threadbare curtains pulled well out of the way of the cold gray light by a small table that had been shoved up against the window months ago. They’d never used the table- like most things in this grimy little apartment, Becca would only remind him that “it was mom’s” and dad huffed out some comment about being “too busy for all this nonsense” if Bucky brought it up. Like most things in the apartment, it was sure to sit there for years, useless clutter, just a reminder of something else.
Grumbling at his own morning gloom, Bucky dragged himself off the sofa and toward the bathroom before anyone could try to drag him into this morning’s argument. Liz had wiped something (which he certainly wasn’t going to investigate) on the wall, and dad was berating Becca about it like she hadn’t been up half the night cleaning up his bottles and doing his laundry. He had places to be, she was letting the house go to pieces, yadda yadda. Bucky hated himself for not helping her- he knew she deserved better. She was filling shoes far too big for an 11 year old (and had been for years) but weren’t they all? Who was George Barnes to parent 3 kids by himself, and who was Bucky to pick up the slack? It wasn’t as if anything he could do would make a difference, so he let Becca try to do it all alone, and then hated himself all the more for being so worthless.
Bucky huffed out a deep breath, not quite a laugh, as he flushed the toilet and pulled on a new shirt from beside the tub. This place was a dump, and as much as it fit him, it wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Bucky, can you-” Becca called out as he headed for the door. He tossed her the towel hanging off their meager kitchen counter, uncertain if that was even what she needed.
“Gotta go,” he shot back with a confidence he didn’t feel. He shut the front door gently behind him (lest the neighbors get any ideas about poking their noses into the Barnes’ business again) and headed out. At least it was Saturday, and he wouldn’t have to sit through some kind of lesson today. Maybe he could finally get some sleep at Steve’s.
Steve
Sarah’s voice was an indistinct mumble in the other room, which probably meant some neighbor had come by and she was having a cheerful little conversation. Steve picked at his blanket, restless. His sinuses made sleep impossible, but his mother would start locking him in here if he tried to do so much as step out the door. Bucky was always listening in on people in other rooms, but Steve would have had to glue his good ear up to the door for that to work, and even so, he’d probably only catch every third word. The window was more likely to give him something interesting today. If the light was better, he’d at least grab that scrap of paper on the floor by his bed and-
“Finally, a little goddamned peace and quiet.”
Steve jerked his attention back to the door, where Bucky had kicked off his shoes and was already pulling his shirt off. Shaking off the blankets, Steve started to get out of bed.
“Buck, you gotta get me out of here, I’m losing it. Get your shoes on, mom might let me go if you’re around-”
-But Bucky just laughed and climbed up under the blankets, pulling Steve back down onto the bed and tucking the blankets back around them.
“You outta your mind, Stevie? It’s not even light out. Lemme get some sleep.”
Steve scowled, ripping the blankets back off, and trying to ignore the cozy warmth of Bucky’s arm around him.
“My mom send you in here to babysit me? I’m not gonna fall over if I step foot outside-” he snapped, but was cut off by Bucky’s yawn.
“Yeah, whatever,” Bucky mumbled, snuggling down into Steve’s pillow. “But I might.”
Steve huffed and climbed out of bed to the chair by the window. Bucky didn’t protest- just wrapped the blankets around himself, peeking over at Steve with one eye until he saw Steve settle down with a little nub of pencil and the blank title page he’d scrounged out of an old textbook last week. Satisfied that Steve wasn’t going anywhere, Bucky settled back in to sleep.
“You’re an ass, you know that, Buck?”
Bucky snorted a quiet laugh.
“Least I don’t keep people up in the middle of the damn night.”
Steve considered protesting that red light was already seeping out behind the rooftops, making it decidedly morning, but gave it up. Bucky wouldn’t give up his Saturday lie-ins if the world depended on it, and besides, it was just enough light to form highlights and shadows on Bucky’s sleepy scowl. It would have been a waste not to do a quick sketch.
Sarah woke Bucky as gently as could be, about 2 hours later. Steve knew something was wrong when she didn’t fuss at him for being out of bed, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the two mugs of warm milk and bottle of honey she’d set out on the living room table. Where had she even gotten honey from? Sarah just patted the seat beside her for Steve to sit.
That was the day Bucky’s father died.