Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's a lovely spring day. The sun peaks out between fat, white clouds, warming the pavement beneath Clint's feet. It was a beautiful day, unless you were a new kid. It's made worse by the fact that this is Clint's ninth school in ten years, and he's starting two months before the end of term. Great.

Groups of students gather in front of the huge brick school. Clint takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn around and walk back home, and glances at the increasingly sweaty paper in his hand.

Guidance Counselor Rm 159

Clint finds himself in a small office. An olive-skinned woman with short, black hair cut into a pixie style sits behind the meticulously organized desk. A gold nameplate on the desk identifies the woman as Ms. Hill.

"I'll be right with you." The woman smiles at him politely before typing a few more lines on the laptop in front of her.

Clint picks, bored and nervous, at the bandage that covers the scrapes on his hand. Ms. Hill ignores Clint's existence and continues to type away.

With a click, Ms. Hill closes her laptop and looks at him with that same kind Counselor Smile. When she speaks, her tone doesn't state facts nor ask questions and certainly doesn't invite Clint to participate in a conversation.

"So, Clint, nine schools in ten years; army brat?

Clint opens his mouth to answer, but she cuts him off before he can utter a sound, "Here you go," she hands him a class schedule.

"I'm sure you won't find Shield any different than your old schools..." Just then, what appears to be either a pile of food or excrement splats against her window from the outside, "...same little asswipe-shit-for-brains everywhere." She punctuates the sentence with her Counselor Smile.

Clint's eyebrows raise involuntarily.

Ms. Hill opens up her laptop again, "Good luck on your first day. Sam'll show you around. If you have any questions, try to figure it out yourself before asking me." Her last Counselor Smile lacks the effort of the earlier ones, indicating that she is done with having this kid in her ofice.

Slightly confused and very uncomfortable, Clint stands up and exits her office. A boy, probably a junior like himself, is waiting politely outside of Ms. Hill's office. He's slightly taller than Clint, wearing jeans and a nice t-shirt. He greets Clint with a genuine smile and shakes his hand, "Clint?" he asks.

"Um, yeah." Clint seems relieved that the kid, who introduces himself as Sam, is legitimately polite. Maybe not everybody here is as odd as Ms. Hill.

"Ms. Hill, she's um..." Clint is hoping Sam will help him make sense of the awkward meeting with the counselor.

"Yeah, she's totally weird but also nice and understanding when you need her to be. I'll be giving you the grand tour of Shield High." Sam replies, leading the pair down the hall and out onto the commons area in front of the building.

The pair walk past a group of kids in obviously expensive clothes, "Those are the A-listers. Don't bother talking to them unless they talk to you first." As if to prove Sam's point, the kids stop talking to shoot well-practiced glares at Sam and Clint. Sam points to a group of white kids with gross white-kid dreads, "White Rastas, semi-political, but mostly they smoke a lot of weed."

As they cross the open area, surrounded by groups, Sam points out a group of kids who are wearing identical cargo pants and plain shirts, most with shaved heads. "Those are Hydra, actual Hitler Youth."

"Like Nazis?" Clint can feel the blood draining from his face. He cant help but feel that this school is an actual nightmare.

Sam giggles, seemingly unaware of the severity of Clint's nervousness. "Yeah this place is fucked up," Sam replies casually.

For the second time that morning Clint considers going home. Just then, petite girl with long orange-red hair passes the pair. She's walking with another brunette girl. Clint can hear bits of their conversation, something about a class.

Clint feels the blood rushing back to his face. His palms go clammy, and his heart threatens to burst from his chest cavity. "What group is she in?" He practically drools at Sam.

"Don't even think about it, man." Sam tries to turn away, but Clint keeps staring, mouth gaping. Sam sighs before speaking again, "It's a well-known fact that Fury's foster kids don't date. Even if she were in your league, it's not going to happen."

"Fury? Sounds a little intimidating" Clint asks.

Sam giggles as he answers, "Oh you have no idea."

Clint tries not to be discouraged by Sam's words. The bell rings, shocking him out of his reverie. Sam and Clint walk to their first class of his first day.

Bucky sits in class, hunched over his desk. His curtain of dark brown hair hides him from the world. Bucky could be grouchy at the best of times, and being in English at 9 in the morning was far from the best of times. The bell rings and Mr. Morgan begins class with a prompt,

"What did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?"

A girl that Bucky doesn't know raises her hand before speaking up. "I loved it! He's so romantic." The girl has a dreamy tone in her voice. Bucky chuckles once to himself at her answer. He chooses not to speak up. Things are better if he doesn't. Just as Mr. Morgan opens his mouth to continue the discussion, another student walks into the room, late. Bucky thinks this kid's name is Scott or something like that.

"What did I miss?" the kid asks. He holds his arms out dramatically at his question.

Bucky replies, his voice low and cynical, "Just the patriarchal, heteronormative values that dictate our education." He doesn't look up to speak, and doesn't expect a response from anybody in the room. Bucky rarely talks. When he does, his classmates do their best to pretend he doesn't exist. However, the student behind him chuckles quietly. The positive reaction startles Bucky, and he can't help but smile to himself.

"Good," Scott immediately turns around and exists the classroom. Bucky can't help but think that high school is a weird damn place.

Steve Rogers sits behind Bucky Barnes in first period English. On the first day of their senior year, Steve had walked into the classroom alone and a little late. All the desks were filled except the ones surrounding the long-haired grunge-clothed boy. Steve was at first shocked at the rude way the other students avoided the boy. He was then curious when he noticed buttons on the boy's bag that read things like "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" and "Your Sexist Jokes Are Boring and Stupid", he decided to sit behind the quiet stranger. On that first day Steve only learned a few things about him: his name was Bucky, he was very very quiet, and he had a silver hand that peeked out from beneath his layers of shirts and jackets. Now, it's almost the end of the year, and Steve had learned little else.

Steve often found himself wondering why he had never befriended Bucky, or even actually talked to him. Despite Bucky's intelligence and good looks, nobody seemed to eager to get to know him. Bucky also didn't seem the type to engage in small talk. He only spoke in class to point out if somebody had said something particularly ridiculous. He never started arguments and never answered questions.

Mr. Morgan asks Steve a question, which forces the young man out of his daydreaming.

Classes go by as usual at Shield. When the last bell rings at the end of the day, waves of students flood out of the doors, eager to get out of that place. Sam and Clint had only separated if they had different classes. Clint was relieved that he had a friend. Sam felt the same.

As they cross the parking lot, giggling and joking about their history teacher's uniquely boring way of lecturing, Clint notices a dark haired senior staring at Natasha across the parking lot. There's something mean in the kid's eyes. Clint can't help but think this guy looks like the stereotypical bully in a 90s sitcom.

"Who's that?" Clint nods to the Bully Kid.

Sam chuckles, "That's Brock. He's a jerk off. Apparently she's his latest obsession: he's been eyeing Nat like prey for weeks now." He brushes off the comment with a wave of his hand. Clint glances at Brock again, uncomfortable with the way Brock stares at Natasha like she's prey he's tracking. Everything about this kid seems unpleasant, actually. Clint can't help but think it'd be nice of somebody would kick the creep in the balls.

Clint glances at Natasha again, who is walking across the parking lot. Clint sees her spot somebody, smile, and walk toward them. Clint followes her and watches as she chats politely with a kid with short brown hair, small round sunglasses, and a cane. Natasha takes his arm, and they walk together, on the sidewalk, away from Sam and Clint.

"Who's that one?" Clint is exasperated at the way everybody at this school seems to have a better chance with Natasha than he does. He hasn't even talked to her yet.

"Oh," Sam replies with a tone of familiarity, "Matt. Blinded in some accident as a kid. Unlike the rest of the trash cans that go to this school, he actually has charm and good looks. He's smart as hell too. Wants to be a lawyer I think." Clint feels his heart sink with every word.

Sam continues, "Look. I wouldn't get too obsessed with Natasha. She's great, and you will never have her. Move on." Sam places a hand on Clint's shoulder and smiles. Sam seems real enough, Clint can't believe that Sam would try to manipulate him or give him bad advice. Yet, Clint feels a tightness in his chest when he thinks of leaving Natasha behind.

"You're wrong." Clint says.

Sam resigns. Clint isn't going to give up so easily, "You're in luck, she's looking for a French tutor."

"That's perfect!" Clint practically shouts.

Sam's eyebrows raise as he responds, "You speak French?"

"No. I will." With Clint's naively positive answer, Sam fights back a laugh. This kid is something else.

Sam jumps into Clint as a motorcycle comes to a quick halt inches from hitting him. Bucky shoots Sam a dirty look. Sam smiles in apology, stepping out of his way.

"You ok?" Clint watches as the brunet on his motorcycle zips out of the school parking lot.

"I'm fine. That's Bucky, your girlfriend's foster brother."

Clint isn't sure what to take from any of this. That kid seemed, well, scary, and Bucky isn't the name of an actual human teenager. Clint couldn't help but picture himself picking Natasha up for a date, and Bucky punching his face in before he could even get in the door, "That's her brother?"

"Sort of. Fury's fostered both of them since before they were in high school. Supposedly Bucky's parents were killed in a Russian mob hit a few years back." Clint can't tell from Sam's tone if he's serious about the mob hit or joking. He seems legitimate; Clint can't help but believe him, if only a little.

"See you later, bro." Sam mounts a small moped. Clint waves him off before stepping into the bus.

Bucky sits on Fury's modernist leather sofa, back against the arm. He has a textbook spread on the space in front of him and a notebook in his lap. He takes notes meticulously, not wanting to have any scribbles in his outline.

It was only a few minutes ride from school to Fury's sprawling, suburban home. Natasha, Bucky, and Nick shared the house. It was odd, though. The place was big enough for a family of 5. With just the three of them, it often felt empty and quiet. Bucky thought it was a waste of a nice house for a bigger family. Bucky would never complain though. He had a comfortable home, amazing foster sister, and a foster parent who would go to the ends of the earth for him. Despite Bucky being 18, Fury let him stay there. Fury also planned to let Bucky live with him for another year while Bucky worked to save up money for college. Fury isn't comfortable with Bucky taking off on his own, so the gap year was a compromise. Despite their plan, Bucky had found himself filling out a couple of college applications.

Fury walks into their living room. Bucky can't deny that he's an intimidating man, standing at about Bucky's height with shaved head, eyepatch, and a voice that sends shivers down everybody's spine. Fury has an aura of authority, but he's always been caring about his foster kids.

Fury shuffles through the mail when he addresses Bucky, "Make anyone cry today?". Bucky smiles at the taunt, "Sadly no, but it's only 4:30." Bucky looks up to Fury when he responds. Both men share an understanding smile.

Fury pulls an envelope from the pile of mail in his arms, "This one's addressed to you." He seems slightly confused.

Bucky immediately feels a surge of excitement race through him. If this is what he thinks it is, his day just got a whole lot better...or much worse. He tries to hold back his excitement as he takes the envelope from Fury's hands. Bucky plops back on the sofa, holding the envelope in his hand.

It is what he thinks it is: an envelope from NYU. He tears it open, pulls out the letter and starts scanning the words as fast as he can. "I got in!" he practically shouts. Bucky smiles broadly, reading the words over and over. Bucky got in! He's been accepted to NYU. He is going to college in New York in the fall.

"Now hold on," Fury interjects into Bucky's excitement. It's obvious now that Fury had known wha the letter was about all along, "I thought you were going to take a year off, live here, get a job, then go to school."

"That was before." Bucky's smile has given away to a tight expression of frustration. He stands up as he continues, "I think I'm ready to move back to New York in the fall. I want to go to school now." with every word, Fury looks stoic as ever, and Bucky is getting more nervous. His words speed up and he's afraid they'll start to stumble over each other, "Besides, I don't need the money. A gap year would just waste time!"

Just then, Natasha walks into the living room behind Fury. When she sees Bucky's face, hers immediately falls into an expression of concern. If there is one thing that Natasha has learned over their few years living together, it's how to read Bucky like a book. She plops down on the sofa, careful not to land on Bucky's schoolwork.

Bucky glances at his sister. Thankful for a distraction from the matter at hand, he addresses her, "What took you so long to get home?"

"I walked Matt back to his apartment." she answers.

"Don't change the subject. The-what?" Fury ends his sentence addressing Natasha, who sits lazily on the sofa.

"I walked Matthew home, it's not a crime." She's getting frustrated now. Bucky can hear it in her voice. She glares at Fury, deciding to really push his buttons. She continues, her face and tone calm and calculating, "He's really nice, incredibly smart, and cute. Maybe I'll ask him-

"No," Fury interrupts. Natasha keeps her expression cool despite the frustration she feels. Fury tells Bucky pay attention as he continues, "No dating until you graduate and no going with people I haven't met or to places without my express permission."

"Don't you think those rules are a tad over-dramatic and unfair?" Natasha asks cooly. Bucky's always admired how she stays calm in these situations where he'd fall apart.

"You know what's unfair? Today I oversaw an investigation into the murder of two 15 year olds.." Bucky and Natasha glance at each other, not entirely sure where Fury was taking this, "Wanna know where we found them? Behind a dumpster. Want to know what they were doing that was so reckless and dangerous that they were killed in cold blood? They were walking to one of their boyfriend's houses, minding their own business."

"It's not that simple and you know it." Bucky's voice is low. He's really frustrated now, his face growing hot and his hands clenching and unclenching. It's an insult, not only to Natasha and Bucky, but to people who are experiencing violence or mourning their lost loved ones. He also knows that Fury was in Boston this morning, not DC where they live. Fury is manipulating the information to prove his ridiculous point.

"I still don't want to see you two dating anybody until you graduate high school."

"Everybody dates." Natasha scoffs.

"Bucky doesn't date." Fury retorts.

"I don't intend to." Bucky snips back.

"Why is that? Fury seems almost excited to hear Bucky's answer.

"Have you seen the immature miscreants who go to that school? Besides, I'm a gay orphan with a fucking robot arm, I'm not exactly reeling them in," Bucky deadpans.

Fury's face lights up with Bucky's answer. He smiles to himself as the idea comes to him. Bucky and Natasha glance at each other again before looking back to their parent, wondering what he might be coming up with now.

"Ok. Old rule out. New Rule: Nat can date-" Bucky's mouth drops open at this new rule. Before he can say anything, Fury points to him "-when he does." Fury's expression is nothing short of smug. Natasha's jaw drops. Both kids sit on the sofa, open mouthed, staring up at Fury.

"That's totally ludicrous. That doesn't even make sense!" Natasha stands up. Her cool demeanor is fading with every frustrated word. On cue, Fury's phone goes off, a signal that he'll be running off to save the world for an undetermined about of time. Fury's job meant that the siblings spent a lot of time, alone at home.

"Bucky doesn't even want to date! Why should you base my allowances off of Bucky's interests?" Fury is scrambling to gather his coat before leaving the house.

"Do we still have to check with you before we go anywhere ever?" Bucky asks, just as confused and upset as Natasha.

"We'll talk about this more later." with that, Fury steps out of the house, leaving the siblings alone with their new frustrations.

"I'm sorry." Bucky offers Natasha.

"It's not your fault." Natasha smiles at him kindly, before going upstairs to her room. Bucky returns to his homework on the sofa.

Chapter Text

Clint sits alone in the library. He'd arrived 30 minutes early for Natasha's tutoring session. He missed part of his history class, but it gave him time to cram in as much French studying as possible.

Clint had stayed up late the night before, trying to learn French online. He'd gained some understanding of basic pronunciation and vocabulary, but also gained huge bags under his eyes. He'd brought a huge thermos of coffee to school to help make up for his lost sleep. Clint was tired, jittery, and looked like hell.

Not to mention nervous beyond belief about talking to Natasha.

Silently, Natasha slips into the seat next to Clint. She pulls out a notebook and French book, and places them on the table. She looks at Clint with wide, beautiful eyes.

Clint glances up at her from his book. His eyes burn with exhaustion and from reading almost constantly for hours.

Clint cannot help but notice how beautiful Natasha is. Today she has her red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that falls between her shoulder blades. She's wearing black skinny jeans, a t-shirt, striped sweatshirt, and matching jacket. Clint thinks she looks effortlessly perfect. As she looks into Clint's eyes, and he can't help thinking her eyes are the most beautiful shade of green he's ever seen. Her soft lips quirk into a polite smile. Clint is afraid she'll hear is racing heart-beat.

"I'm Natasha," she introduces herself. Clint realizes they have yet to formally meet.

"I'm Clint", he replies.

Clint swallows before continuing, "I think we should start with pronunciation-"

Nat chuckles quietly before interjecting, "The hacking, and gagging, and spitting part."

"There's an alternative." Clint has a momentary swell of courage, "French food. We could eat some together. Saturday night?"

"You're asking me out?" Natasha seems legitimately surprised.

"Yeah. I know your dad, or foster dad, or whoever, doesn't let you date. I figured if it were for French class then-"

"Cameron-"

Clint," he corrects.

She seems unphased, "Fury just introduced a new rule." She interjects, "I can date when my brother does."

"That's great!" Clint's voice cracks. He can feel the crimson blush rise on his cheeks as he realizes the horrible sound he just made. "Um, so, I'll pick you up at 5?"

"A beaucoup problem, Chris, James has no interest in dating right now. Besides, everybody here thinks he's some sort of murderer or something. They're all terrified of him."

Clint's gotten this far, he's not going down without a fight, "There's got to be some girl here who'd be interested in dating a difficult guy. I mean, people jump out of air planes and ski off cliffs. It'd be like- extreme dating."

"Guy," Natasha responds.

"What?" Clint had thought it was going well, now he's confused. Maybe it's the 2 hours of sleep, maybe it's his overwhelming nervous energy.

"My brother's gay. There might be some guy who'd be interested in dating a difficult guy." She realizes however, that Clint is going to do whatever it takes to get Natasha to date. She can't help but think of Matthew before she asks, "You think you can find my brother a date?"

"How hard could it be?"

It could be very hard.

Sam had laughed at Clint for a solid two minutes when Clint had revealed his grand plant to him. It sounded ridiculous when thought about critically: Find a kid to go out with the terrifying potentially-involved-with-the-Russian-mob kid so that Clint can go out with the terrifying kid's sister. Certainly not Clint's best plan. Definitely not his worst either.

After some begging, Sam agrees to help out Clint.

Sam spends the rest of the day gathering up guys he thought would suit the job. After the eighth hour bell rings, Sam and Clint meet the candidates in an empty classroom.

Clint can't help but wonder if Sam had simply gathered all the strangest and scariest guys in the school.

Sam introduces them as 'Shield's finest'. As they interview each guy, Clint things they're Shield's weirdest.

When posed with the question "Will any of you date James Buchanan Barnes" 2 guys openly screamed. The greasiest replies with an honest "If we were the last 2 people on Earth...and there were no sheep."

After the interviews, Clint feels disturbed and disappointed. He'd wasted his entire eighth hour, and all he has to show for it is he now knows who 'Shield's finest' are.

Defeated, Sam and Clint walk down the crowded halls, ready to empty their lockers and go home. As he pulls books out of his locker, Sam standing beside him in wait, Clint spots a tall, dark haired, dark clothed guy standing by the senior lockers. The huge guy glares threatening down the hall at a passersby. The kid looks intimidating and like he enjoys looking intimidating.

"What about him." Clint offers, pointing the guy out to Sam.

"Hydra." Sam replies casually.

As if Sam cued him, the guy starts shouting after a younger student walking by. Clint can't hear what he's saying, but judging by the way the kid looks down and tries to shuffle away quickly, it's bad. Just as feelings of shame and guilt settle in Clint's gut, a taller, more muscular blond student picks up the Hydra kid by the collar and shoves his back against the lockers with a bang. The Hydra kid's face contorts in fear. The blond remains calm and is saying something to the Hydra kid. The Hydra kid begins sweating and nodding with everything the bigger guy says.

"What about him?" Clint offers. Survival of the fittest.

"Steve Rogers. Senior," Sam replies. Clint starts to wonder if Sam studies yearbooks or something that he knows everybody at a glance.

"He seems-well-intense," Clint watches as Steve allows the Hydra kid to regain his footing. Without looking back, the Hydra kid scurries away. Steve watches the Hydra Kid's escape, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Is he...y'know-" Clint rubs his hand on the back of his neck as he speaks.

"Steve took a gap year last year to make gay porn in LA; it's a safe bet." Sam's casual but odd answers never cease to impress Clint.

"What?" Clint's gaze continues to watch Steve as the blond reaches into his locker and pulls out books. Clint shakes the image of naked Steve out of his head.

Clint and Steve glance at each other, then back at Steve. With a cheesy fist bump, they decide that he's their guy.

The next day, Sam and Clint meet outside the weight room before classes for the day start. Steve is in there, bench pressing a ridiculous amount of weight with ease. Sam and Clint are both much younger, much thinner, and much more gangly than any of the older boys in the weight room. Just as the two swallow their fear and make a move to approach Steve, the blond sits up and exhales deeply. He's huge, covered in sweat, with veins in his arms and neck bulging. In unison, the two younger boys turn on their heels and power walk away from the weight room.

Sam and Clint sit at one of the wobbly cafeteria tables. Sam shovels food into his face as if he's afraid it might try to escape, but Clint can only pick at his food. The weight of defeat sits in Clint's gut. They've avoided talking about The Plan all day. However, as Clint picks at his salad, Sam's eyes light up with a new idea.

"We need a backer." He says, mouth food of food.

"What?"

Sam swallows before speaking again, His eyes glance to an invisible place above Clint's head, deep in thought, "We could have somebody hire Steve to go out with Bucky. We'd need somebody who has a little bit of cash to throw around, and who isn't afraid to talk to the meatball." Clint is starting to catch on.

However, Clint doesn't buy this new plan too easily, "Who pay Steve to take out this Bucky, or James, or whatever?"

Sam's eyes snap back, boring into Clint's. His entire face lights up with the brilliance of his latest thought, "Somebody who wants to take out Nat!"

Sam glances across the lunch room. His eyes stop at a table in the opposite corner.

Matt is sitting at a table with Foggy, eating lunch.

Clint scans Sam's face in confusion. Why is he staring like that? he thinks. As if Sam can read minds, he grabs Clint's face, squishing his mouth into ridiculous Fish Lips, and turns head to the Matt and Foggy's table.

Once again, reading Clint's mind, Sam answers, "Matthew Fucking Murdock." He releases Clint's face and continues, "He's totally hot, totally blind, totally into Natasha, and his father left him a hefty inheritance.

"If you think it'll work..." Clint trails off.

Sam is smiling as broadly as ever, proud of his new plan. "I got it."

Clint let's out a quiet, cheering 'whoop' as Sam stands up from their table and struts across the cafeteria.

Foggy is a stockier kid with shoulder-length blonde hair. He's Matthew's best friend, and everybody at school knows that both of them will be attending Columbia next fall. As they eat, Foggy rants about something with his usual dramatic flair and good humor. Matt smiles ear to ear and laughs at Foggy's story.

Sam slides into the seat next to Matthew, cutting off the conversation. Foggy alerts Matt to Sam's presence with a simple, "Sam Wilson."

Sam smiles quickly at Foggy before turning to Matt. His words are hurried with barely contained excitement, "So, you want to date Natasha, but you can't 'cause her brother is this head case and nobody will go out with him." At the mention of Nat, Foggy glances down at the table, then back up to Matt and Sam.

As Sam speaks, he can't shake the feeling that Matthew's sunglass-covered eyes are seeing right through him. He pushes back a slight pang of nerves before continuing his sales pitch, "What if you could hire some guy to go out with Bucky so you can take out Natasha?"

"Why does any of this matter to you?" Matt asks with a curious smile. His voice is low, but kind.

"I'm just a dude helping out a fellow guy." As the words leave Sam's mouth, he realizes it's a weak excuse.

Matthew smiles before speaking again, "You want me to do your history research paper." Although Matthew is wrong, Sam thinks that the pieces are falling into place in his favor.

"Yeah." Sam lies. "I help set you up with Natasha, and you help me do my paper."

"I don't have any money to pay this guy off with. I'm going to Columbia next fall." Matthew explains. Sam's heart sinks, before Matthew continues, "Brock also has a thing for Nat. Unlike me, however, he is stupid and has money. You have him hire Bucky's date, then I can ask Nat out, then we talk about your paper."

Sam's head spins with this new, more convoluted plan. He thanks Matthew for his time, shakes his and Foggy's hands politely, then walks to the table where Hydra is sitting in a dark, mean cluster.

Sam starts talking as he slides into a seat next to Brock. Immediately all the kids at the table ball their hands into fists and glare menacingly at Sam. Sam clears his throat before starting his pitch, "So, you have the hots for Natasha Romanoff, right?" Brock nods, confused. He picks up the sharpie that's setting on the table and begins to draw on Sam's face. Sam doesn't move, letting it happen, hoping that letting Brock torture him is a small price to pay for this conversation. As Brock draws, Sam continues, "She can't date until Bucky does. I propose that you pay Steve Rogers to take out Bucky Barnes, and you can have Natasha."

Brock looks at Sam thoughtfully before speaking, "What do you care?"

"Hey, I set you up with Natasha now. Then, later, when you feel like beating the hell out of me for no reason, you will remember this small favor and abstain." Sam smiles charmingly around his lie. Brock finishes the final touches on whatever line-work he's put on Sam's cheek and sets down the marker.

Brock continues, "Steve Rogers? I heard he ate a live duck once-"

"Everything but the beak and feet," Sam finishes. "If anybody can handle Bucky, it's him."

Brock nods in agreement. Sam stands, offers handshakes to a couple of the kids sitting at the Hydra table, is rejected each time, then returns to where Clint is sitting.

"What did you do getting Brock involved!" Clint's voice is in a panic, "I was worried about creating a love-triangle with Matt. You've just created a love-rhombus!"

Sam slaps a hand on Clint's shoulder. "Don't worry. I have everything under control."

Sam notices that Clint's eyebrows are knitted together in worry. Sam turns the charm up to eleven, then continues, "We just let Matt and Brock think they have a chance. You already have the upper-hand seeing her regularly for French tutoring and coming up with this whole scheme. While they pursue their agendas, you have time to charm Natasha." Clint smiles, agreeing to this new plan. Clint thanks Sam, before standing up to depart the lunch room. Alone, Sam's eyes widen with the realization, "I have a dick drawn on my face don't I?"

Steve is retrieving books from his locker after class when Brock leans against the lockers in front of him. Steve's expression shifts from amicable smile to an annoyed frown as he eyes Brock.

Brock speaks first, "I had some great duck last night." Steve's eyebrows furrow. He slams his locker shut and tosses his bag over a shoulder.

"What do you want?" Steve asks impatiently

"I want you to take out Bucky Barnes."

At that, Steve peers around Brock, down the hall. Bucky's locker is about 25 feet from his. Bucky slams his locker shut and throws his backpack over his shoulders. Steve can't help but notice that Bucky clicks the chest strap closed. Students walking down the hall take several strides around Bucky, as if he were surrounded by an invisible force that pushes them away. Students continue to avoid him and stare as Bucky walks broodingly down the hall toward where Steve and Brock are talking.

Brock continues, "See, I want to take out Natasha, but their foster dad has this rule that-"

"Touching story," Steve interrupts, "I don't care."

"What if I provided generous compensation?" Brock leans in closer to Steve. It's no secret that Steve doesn't have a lot of money. With college in the fall, Steve is desperate.

Steve can't hide his new interest. His shoulders relax and the creases between his eyebrows relax, "You're going to pay me to take out some guy?"

"Yes." Brock smiles at Steve. Steve hates that he did anything that would make Brock smile.

"How much?" Steve asks.

"Thirty bucks." Just as Brock finishes, Bucky semi-accidentally collides with one of the Hydra kids walking down the hall, sending the smaller boy sprawling into the lockers. Brock turns to watch the altercation. He sighs as he turns back to Steve, "Fine. Forty."

Steve glances harder at Brock. His lips pull up into a slight smirk. "Look at it this way: We go to the movies, that's 20 bucks. We get popcorn that's 53. He'll want Raisenettes, right? So we're looking at 90 bucks." Brock starts to squirm as Steve talks.

"Forty bucks, take it or leave it."

Steve smiles, "90 bucks and we've got a deal."

Brock sighs as he pulls out his wallet. He counts out 90 dollars and slaps the cash into Steve's hand. Steve smiles, thanks Brock, then continues down the hall after Bucky.

It takes a semi-awkward-jog for Steve to catch up to Bucky, but he manages it. Bucky is dressed in his usual dark jeans, boots, layers of dark shirts under a gray jacket. He wouldn't look out of place warming his hands over an on-fire trashcan. His dark hair falls around his face. He hasn't shaved in awhile, and the dark stubble contrasts with his pale skin. Steve can't deny that Bucky is sort of attractive.

He also feels slightly out of place with his boot-cut blue jeans, plain t-shirt and jacket. Not to mention his general 'blond hair blue eyes goody-two-shoes vibe'.

"Hey." Steve manages casually, addressing Bucky. They walk side-by-side. "How ya doin?" Bucky stops walking to look at Steve. Steve stops and looks into Bucky's face for the first time. He never realized how grey Bucky's eyes are until now.

"Tired and pissed off." Bucky answers honestly, "Yourself?"

"Um, good." Steve can feel the blood rise to his chest and cheeks. Ok, this is ok, just stay cool, he reminds himself. "Pick you up on Friday?"

Bucky furrows his brows, still looking at Steve. "Yeah right." Steve notices how Bucky's shoulder's just rolled forward slightly.

"It could be fun." Steve offers.

"Ha." Bucky fake laughs at Steve, brushing him off. "Do you even know my name?"

Steve stammers, his cool exterior totally gone, "I know a lot more than you think." He's wanted to talk to this kid for months. Finally, he manages it and is getting paid to do so, but it's going horribly.

"Doubtful." Bucky replies, voice low. He turns and continues his walk down the hall. Steve watches him go, and chooses not to follow. Exhasperated, he runs a nervous hand through his hair which causes it to stick up in every direction.

Clint and Sam watched the interaction from a perpendicular hallway.

As Clint watches Steve walk away, looking utterly defeated, he feels that familiar ball of frustration rise in his chest. "We're screwed." He mutters.

"Hey. I will not have your defeatist attitude!" Sam nearly shouts at Clint.

Clint puts on a cheesy smile and fakes a positive, cheer-leader like voice, "We're screwed!"

"There we go." Sam replies.

Chapter Text

Bucky is sitting in his and Natasha's bathroom. He'd been seated at the chair that's in front of Natasha's vanity for a couple minutes, grey eyes staring blankly through his reflection. He's wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Without a shirt on, he can see the silver arm in his reflection. It extends to his shoulder, where it meets flesh with knotted lines of scars. It had been weird at first, having something that's not him become so much a part of him. He'd gotten used to it though. Being used to something didn't necessarily make it easier.

Bucky has been getting better, slowly, these past years. He'd learned how to notice when he starts to slip, how to handle attacks, how to handle flashbacks. He'd gained back a lot of memory, full motor skills, and doctors were pleased with how the prosthesis was working out.

The end of his senior year, the drama with the new rule, NYU, and increasingly bothersome lack of friends had all built up, making the past weeks very stressful.

Natasha walks silently into their bathroom and places a warm hand on Bucky's flesh shoulder. Bucky flinches slightly as he's pulled back to the here and now.

"You going to be ok." Natasha's voice is low and soft. Yet Bucky's not sure if she's offering a question or a statement.

He sighs. "Everybody walks around me like I'm made of glass." His words are a statement.

Natasha's hand slides off his shoulder, she walks across the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet. Bucky turns to face her. His head tilts to the side.

Bucky thinks back to the way that Steve had so openly walked up to him in the hall. Steve had prompted the conversation and didn't seem thrilled about Bucky cutting it off. Steve didn't treat Bucky like he was going to break or break something. Steve's actions had been reeling around in Bucky's head for hours now. He couldn't help but wonder why, or if Steve meant anything he'd said, or why Steve decided to talk to him. Was it all some kind of a joke?

With a sigh, Bucky speaks, "It's Fury's job to make stupid rules to protect us, so I can see his concern. Not to mention the state we were in when he first took us in, I think that excuses a lot of his behavior. You and your friends and the other kids at school though..." Bucky's words trail off. His eyes trail off too, staring at a point above Natasha's right shoulder.

"I think we're scared for you." Natasha replies. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper.

Bucky can feel heat rise to his face and a small bubble of anger settle in his throat. His eyes snap back to Natasha's. He can't hide the frustrated furrow in his brow or clench of his jaw. He never can be as cool and collected as Natasha.

"Are you scared for me, or scared of me?" His words come out angrier than he had anticipated. Natasha flinches slightly at his words. Her green eyes widen are immediately red-lined as if she is seconds from crying.

"You know that's not what we think!" Natasha fights back the emotions that threaten to pour out of her.

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before standing and retreating to his room. Natasha is alone in their bathroom, rubbing a nervous hand on the back of her neck, trying to figure out how to fix this. She sighs in defeat before retreating to her own room for the night.

The spring sun warms Bucky's face and hair. Bucky walks out of the record store examining his latest purchase. After all the stress of the past few days, he's decided to treat himself. He pulls his backpack off his back to slide the record inside when he notices a large, familiar man standing by his bike.

Steve smiles up at Bucky, who is staring back, eyebrows furrowed. "Nice ride. Vintage fenders." Steve offers. The compliment seems legitimate, but Bucky won't let Steve impress him so easily.

"Are you following me?" Bucky asks, zipping his bag and sliding it over his shoulders. He notices Steve's staring at his chest as he click's the chest strap on his backpack closed.

"I was walking to the store and I saw your bike. Thought I'd come over to say hi" Steve smiles his genuine smile back at Bucky. Bucky takes a good look at Steve for what is actually the first time. He can't deny that Steve is attractive. The blond's smile seems legitimate with soft pink lips wrapped around perfect teeth. He's wearing rugged boots, jeans, an a super-tight grey t-shirt. Steve's blond hair is styled to stick up in the front, which Bucky immediately decides looks silly. The spring sun makes Steve squint slightly and kisses his face with a yellow glow.

"Not a big talker, huh?" Steve continues, stepping away from Bucky's bike.

"Depends on the topic." Bucky answers honestly. Steve can't help but notice this is the most conversation he's ever heard Bucky engage in. With extra sarcasm Bucky adds, "My fenders don't exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy." Bucky is surprised that Steve giggles genuinely at Bucky's comment. Bucky finds himself smiling at the other man. It feels good to smile, to talk to somebody. To make an attractive man giggle.

"You're not afraid of me." Bucky states. He realizes too late that he's just ruined the moment.

"Afraid of you," Steve looks taken aback as he speaks, "why would I be afraid of you?"

Bucky leans in as if he's telling Steve a secret. His voice pitches low and he doesn't hide the mischievous smile that tugs at his lips, "Most people are."

"I'm not afraid of you." Steve's answer throws Bucky.

"Why not?" Bucky challenges.

Steve smiles as he answers, "You're too cute to be scary." Despite the confidence in his voice, a pink blush spreads over Steve's cheeks. Bucky notices his upper arms blush pink too.

Bucky feels a blush rise to his ears. There he is, staring another man down on the street, having some sort of blushing contest. It's not entirely unpleasant, Bucky has to admit to himself.

With a roll of his eyes, Bucky mounts his motorcycle. "See you around," Steve shouts over the rev of the bike.

"Sure," Bucky replies before stepping back out of the spot, and driving up the road in a roar of the engine.

Bucky is laying on the sofa, listening to his new album. His eyes are closed and he feel utterly at peace, taking in the music. The low beats aren't unlike a heart beat and the angry lyrics are ironically calming. Music relaxes Bucky, externalizes what he's feeling inside sometimes and grounds him. With a clumsy scratch of the needle, the music stops. Bucky opens his eyes and sits up on the sofa. Fury is walking across the room from the stereo, standing in front of where Bucky is sitting, hands on his hips.

Fury starts speaking first, "Natasha told me-"

"What the hell?" Bucky cuts him off. Bucky's hand flies up to run through his hair. He can feel the familiar racing of his heart and the heat rising to his face. He should have known that Natasha would tell Fury about their conversation the other night.

"What's been bothering you?" Fury asks curtly. Bucky's not sure if his foster parent actually cares or is just trying to get this over with.

"Nothing. I'm just stressed with school and..." Bucky's words trail off into silence. He stands up, eager to run away from this conversation.

"Is this about NYU? Is this about me wanting you to ease into going to school?" Fury asks.

Bucky wats to tell him that, yes, this is about NYU. This is about Bucky making his own choices. It's about moving away and starting a new life. It's about graduating and getting away from Shield High forever. It's about recreating himself outside of the context of his current life.

Instead, Bucky mutters "no" before hurrying past Fury and up to his room.

Sam and Clint meet outside one the history rooms. Sam knows that Steve has history when Clint and Sam have a free period. Clint and Natasha cancelled their tutoring session for today. Phase 1 is go.

Sam pushes Clint to go first. Clint takes a step, sees Steve, then pushes Sam to walk in first. Sam stumbles awkwardly past Clint and Clint follows awkwardly behind. Rows of chatting seniors pause to stare at the two younger students who are walking, comically nervous, into the room.

Sam walks right up to Steve and starts talking, "We know what you're trying to do, with James, er, Bucky Barnes."

Steve is taken aback, "What? Why do you care?"

Clint pipes in, "We want to help you out."

Steve eyebrows furrow in confusion at his answer. Sam looks between Clint and Steve before speaking again, putting on his trademark charm, "My friend Clint here wants to date Natasha. We told Brock to pay you to take Bucky out. Brock's just a pawn."

"All of you trying to get me to date Bucky so you can chase after Natasha?" Steve looks between the two shorter boys, "You created a love triangle with Brock and Nat just so he could pay me?"

"Love rhombus," Clint mutters.

"What?" If Steve were any more confused, Sam is pretty sure that he would explode right there.

"Look, it's a complicated situation, but we are going to do whatever it takes to set you up with Bucky-"

"So that Clint can ask out Natasha." Steve finishes, nodding in understanding. It's a convoluted plan, but he thinks he understands.

Clint clears his throat before speaking, "Look, Scott Lang is having a party this Friday night. We're going to do some recon work to find out what Bucky likes and doesn't like so you have some intel on how to get him to go out with you. We just need you to take him to the party Friday night so I can ask Natasha."

Steve smiles at these two ridiculous kids, "You're going to help me tame the wild beast?"

"We're your guys!" Sam responds with a smile.

"And we mean that in a strictly not-gay-porn kind of way." Clint sputters.

Steve raises his eyebrows at the two flustered sophomores.

Natasha and Matt walk to their sixth period class together. He asks, "You're going to Scott Lung's thing on Friday night?"

Natasha smiles, tightening her grip on Matt's hand. "I really really want to go, but you know I can't unless James does."

Matt thinks back to his awkward interaction with Sam the other day. He wasn't an idiot, and Foggy loved tapping into the gossip chains. Most of the school knows that Steve is trying to ask out Bucky. Steve is equal parts cute and intimidating. Mat thinks the odds are high that Bucky will have a date to the party on Friday.

"I think i'll be seeing you there."

"I don't feel comfortable going through James' personal things."

Clint offered to walk Natasha home. The long walk gave them time to discuss The Plan. Natasha hadn't been thrilled when Clint revealed his idea of going through Bucky's stuff to try and figure out what made the man tick.

"Well, he's not going for my guy. I thought that if we knew a bit more about him, maybe you were wrong...is he?"

James likes men romantically and sexually. He's my brother, we've talked about it, I know." Clint is caught off-guard that Natasha can finish his sentences a lot of the time. Clint thinks it's romantic.

Luckily, when they get to the Fury household, Nick is still at work and Bucky is nowhere to be found, so sneaking around should be easy. After they're sure the coast is clear, the two immediately shut themselves into Bucky's room and being their work shuffling through Bucky's dresser and desk.

The room isn't what Clint would have expected. He'd expected a bare utilitarian room like a Russian government office from a film. Bucky's bedroom walls are plastered with posters for various rock bands, most of which Clint's never heard of. The array of posters and dark curtains pulled over the windows make the room feel small and cozy. The desk and dresser are scattered with chocolate bars and notebooks. Some of the notebooks have the names of classes scribbled on the front. Others are blank. Clint never would have guessed that Bucky would be the type to keep journals or write creatively.

Natasha explains, "Fury took him in before he started high school. He had a lot of memory loss and trouble coping. He journals...a lot. It helps him." Natasha moves notebooks with steady hands, careful not to open a single one. Clint starts sliding desk drawers open. He pulls concert tickets for tomorrow night out of the dresser. Natasha has wandered across the room to the dresser.

"Aha!" Natasha pulls black fabric out of the drawer. "Black panties." Clint's eyes go wide.

He responds, stammering and flustered, "Um. Well, they might not be his."

Natasha looks at him skeptically. She reminds him that Bucky never has people over, before unfolding the panties and holding them up. Yup, they're several sizes too large for Natasha. They'd fit Bucky perfectly, though.

Natasha giggles as Clint looks away, embarrassed.

Clint, Sam, and Steve had planned on meeting at a local Thai restaurant. It was neutral territory.

"What do you have for me?" Steve asks the two boys as they sit down across from him.

"A little insight into a very complicated boy." Clint replies. Sam pulls out his phone. Sam and Clint had met earlier and created a list of talking points.

Sam starts reading from his notes, "Likes: American-Chinese food, the Science Channel, and angry queer music of the indie rock persuasion." Steve giggles at the science channel comment.

Clint jumps in, "He also likes pretty guys." Clint and Sam both stare at Steve. Their heads tilt as they examine Steve's face.

After a few minutes, Steve speaks up, "You're saying I'm not a pretty guy?"

Sam and Clint are both taken aback, "You're you're a very pretty guy!" Both boys start complimenting him, which makes Steve blush and laugh at how ridiculous these two are. This plan is stupid, at least they're dedicated.

Sam continues, "He has concert tickets to a gig at Club Skunk tomorrow night."

Steve immediately understands what Sam wants him to do. "You want me to go to Club Skunk and pretend to like punk music to win Bucky's heart?"

"We're asking you to act mildly interested in punk music. Just long enough to convince Bucky to go with you Friday night."

Steve sighs and leans back into the booth.

Clint leans forward before speaking quietly to Steve, "He has a pair of black panties." Steve looks at Sam who is now giggling to himself. Much to Steve's dismay, he can feel the blush spread over his face and down his chest and arms.

"That can't hurt, can it?" Sam chimes in with a smug grin.

Steve makes his way through the club. The floor is packed with couples of all colors, sizes, shapes, and genders. It's hotter than hell in the club. Pink and blue lights add to the overwhelming motion of the room.

Steve spots Morita from across the packed club. Steve had almost forgotten Morita bartended at Club Skunk. When Steve pulls a stool up to the bar, his friend behind it greets him with a hearty 'Hey, man!' and a slap on the arm. Steve just orders a bottle of water and settles in, scanning the undulating crowd for Bucky.

The music is aggressive and sloppy for Steve's tastes, but he likes the lyrics. He spots a familiar, muscular figure toward the stage. Bucky isn't wearing his usual layers of warm clothes. Now he's in black jeans and a simple black t-shirt. Steve can see the metal arm that extends into the sleeve. Steve realizes it's the first time he's seen the man in short sleeves. Bucky's hair is cleaner than usual, which gives it more volume, and it flips out at the ends. When Bucky turns around, Steve notices that he has grey and black makeup smeared around his eyes. Sweat glistens on his forehead and makes the makeup run. Bucky looks happy, and in his element here. Steve can't contain his smile as he watches the other man jump up and down to the music.

Bucky begins pushing through the crowd toward the bar. Steve mutters a couple curses to himself, before ducking his head, pretending to examine the countertop. Bucky orders a water, and stands next to Steve while he waits. Steve's presence doesn't escape him. Bucky pays the bartender, grabs his bottle of water, and addresses Steve.

"You following me?" Bucky asks. Steve can't read Bucky's expression. He's sweaty and smiling slightly, but his brows are furrowed in their usual expression of frustration.

Discouraged by Steve's lack of an answer, Bucky asks, "You listen to Agatha?"

"With all your shouting, you're kind of ruining this for me." Steve teases.

"This entire song is shouting, you punk!" Bucky shouts over the music and the crowd.

Steve looks at Bucky again. With a new surge of courage, he tries flirting again, "I saw you dancing before, I've never seen you look so sexy!" Just as the words leave his mouth, the music dies and Steve is shouting about Buck's sexiness in a quiet club. The people standing around them giggle at Steve.

Bucky laughs as well. Every time Bucky smiles, Steve can't help but think it's the most beautiful sight in the world.

"Go to Scott's party with me." Steve insists.

Bucky looks into Steve's eyes when he answers, "That's not even a question."

"Is that a no?" Steve has to shout over the start of the next song. Bucky has started pushing through the crowd away from Steve.

"No!" Bucky shouts back.

Steve is smiling like an idiot when he asks, "So it's a yes?"

"No!" Bucky shouts and is swallowed by the crowd.

Satisfied, Steve turns around and wades through the crowd on his way out of the club.

Chapter Text

Natasha and her friend Wanda silently step down the Fury household's stairs. It's not an easy feat, with Natasha in a tight black dress and Wanda in a similar red one. Both girls are holding their shoes in their hands and peering into the living room to see if they can get visual on Fury.

"Should of used the window," Fury's voice booms from the sofa.

Both girls stop, caught, defeated.

Fury stands up and walks until he's facing the girls. Looking down to meet their eyes he asks, "Where are you two going?"

Wanda answers in her thick accent, "A small study group with friends."

"Otherwise known as an orgy?" As Fury speaks, he raises his eyebrows at Natasha, who rolls her eyes in return.

Natasha answers this time, "It's just a party."

"And hell is just a sauna." Natasha can't tell if Nick is seriously pissed off or just messing with them at this point.

Just as Natasha opens her mouth to retort, Bucky steps down the stairs.

Nick addresses him, "You know anything about a party?"

Bucky shrugs before striding toward the kitchen.

"If Buck's not going, you're not going," Fury tells the girls with a satisfied smile.

Natasha tells Wanda and Fury to hold on a second before following Bucky into the kitchen. She walks up to her brother, who is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, has his hair pulled back, and his eating ice cream directly from the box. Natasha hates to ask Bucky to go out when he looks so settled at home, but it's Fury's rule. Besides she really wants to go.

"James," Nat starts. Bucky watches her intently with focused eyes as she speaks, "I have people expecting me at this party. I know you don't want to go but please, can you go?"

Bucky looks at her and replies with, "This party is just another excuse for the idiots from that school to get blackout drunk and rub up against each other to distract themselves from the emptiness of their consumer driven lives."

With that, Bucky starts worrying his lower lip between his teeth and looks down at his ice cream. He pokes at it with the spoon a couple times.

Natasha continues, voice soft and pleading, "Please do this for me."

Bucky looks up. He sets the ice cream down on the counter. With a small obviously forced smile and replies, "Fine, I'll make an appearance."

Natasha hugs him tightly around the neck and rushes back to Wanda and Fury, who are still standing in awkward silence by the stairs.

Bucky puts away his snack and runs upstairs to put on proper pants.

"James is going, so we're going," Natasha tells Fury smugly. Fury glances between the girls, formulating his next argument. Before Fury can come up with a new excuse for them not to go, Bucky comes down the stairs, pulling on his boots.

Fury sighs, resigned, before addressing all the kids, "No drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no ritual animal slaughters of any kind...oh god I'm giving you ideas."

Bucky holds in laughter at their foster parent's ridiculousness as he pulls open the door. Steve is standing on the porch, dressed up in dark jeans and a tight-fitting blue button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his toned forearms. Bucky stands in the doorway, staring up at Steve with a look of complete confusion. That familiar blush spreads over Steve's cheeks and neck.

"9:30", Steve says, too loud nervous, "I'm early."

"I'm driving." Bucky responds with a glare as he pushes past Steve. Steve follows and watches, eyes wide as Bucky mounts the motorcycle. The girls jump in Wanda's car, giggling and grinning in excitement.

"Well?" Bucky asks, annoyed. He pats the seat behind him.

Steve swallows, thankful that it's too dark for Bucky to notice just how red his face is getting. He throws his leg over the bike, and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist.

Bucky didn't have time to think about how awkward it might be to have 200 pounds of beefcake pressed up against his back. As they ride, Steve's arms wrapped strong and warm around Bucky's middle, Bucky partially regrets offering to drive. It's actually quite pleasant, to have Steve's broad, warm body so close to his own. That's what bothers Bucky about the experience. It's too pleasant.

Clint nervously runs his fingers through his hair, talking rapidly about him and Natasha. He's been trying for twenty minutes to shape his hair into something not-a-total-mess, but nothing was working. Sam stands up behind him, looking in the shared mirror while he buttons, then unbuttons his shirt. Both boys are noticeably nervous, neither have gone to a 'real' party before.

"-Nat told me that, the fact that I had noticed 'really meant something'!" Clint finishes.

"You told me that part already," Sam replies, nervous and hurried.

Sam continues, "Can you stop being so self-involved for one minute? How do I look?"

"Like my uncle Milton," Clint retorts.

Sam sighs before taking off the shirt and replacing it with a jacket over his t-shirt.

Waves of students flood into the doors of Scott's house. Like most of the students at Shield, Scott lives in a huge suburban house. Unlike most of the students at Shield, he doesn't know just how destructive a bunch of drunk 16 and 17 year olds could be.

A couple kids have set up a makeshift DJ station around Scott's stereo. Every kid is holding at least one cheap, get-drunk-quickly drink. Music and teenagers fill up every square inch of the house. A majority of the party-goers fill the kitchen, eager to get very drunk very quickly.

The second they enter the house, Bucky's patience has worn out. It's loud, hot, and stupid. To make matters worse, the music sucks. Bucky's tense shoulders and clenched jaw don't escape Steve's attention. Steve's can't hide his eyes-wide look of concern at Bucky's immediate shift in demeanor. Bucky responds to Steve's concerned look with a harsh well-practiced glare.

Natasha and Wanda try to hide their excitement as they walk into the party. Wanda can't help but be impressed that kids drink out of plastic solo cups in real life. The booming music and sweaty undulations of the crowd are an assault on the senses, and the girls can't get enough of it. Natasha and Wanda push through the kids toward the kitchen where the booze is stored.

Bucky starts walking up the stairs, Steve close behind him. An already drunk kid flops against Steve asking the older boy to kiss him.

"Kiss him," Steve redirects the stranger to another boy nearby before turning around to follow Bucky through the crowds of teenagers. As Bucky walks through the masses of people, Steve loses him. With a frustrated sigh, Steve rubs a hand over his face before working his way back downstairs.

"Hi, pussy cat," Brock has spotted Natasha in the kitchen. Nat and Wanda roll their eyes simultaneously.

Brock stands beside Natasha, leaning against the counter, trying really hard to look sensual. The vibe he succeeds in giving off is more that of a creepy guy in a Walmart parking lot.

Natasha's had enough and speaks up, "Can you find somebody else to piss off?"

Brock is obviously taken aback. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, a boy rushes in from the other room and yells 'fight!'. Brock, completely forgetting Natasha, yells "fight!" into the air as loud as he can, before taking off to the next room to investigate the intriguing fight that is apparently taking place.

Natasha's eyes follow Brock into the next room. She spots Matt, holding a beer and laughing at something Foggy has just said. Matt looks handsome as ever. He's wearing dark jeans and a shirt with the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to expose his toned forearms. Natasha can't help but smile when she notices him. She tells Wanda she'll be back soon, before pushing through the crowd toward Matthew.

Two kids are locked together, punching each other in the chest. A semi-circle of onlookers surrounds them, cheering for nobody in particular, but out of excitement that there's a fight going on. "Guys! Take it outside!" Scott yells over the crowd.

Next thing he knows, the two guys are flying through the window landing in the hedge outside. "Thanks," Scott mutters, sarcastically.

Sam awkwardly wanders from group to group, facing rejection each time. His confidence is waning when he makes accidental eye contact with a boy across the room. The boy is taller and older than Sam. Sam recognizes him as T'Challa. Transfer student. Despite having those facts memorized about the older boy, Sam has never actually talked to him. T'Challa is cute, and totally intimidating. Sam swallows back his fear, puts on his most charming smile, and crosses the room to introduce himself.

Bucky is at the end of his rope. He's wandered all around the house before returning to the main room. Just as he stops to consider where to go next, a kid who appears to be moshing by himself bumps into Bucky. The kid looks up, eyes wide, when he realizes who he bumped into. Bucky just raises his eyebrows as the kid scurries off, terrified.

Bucky's head is spinning. It's too loud, too smelly, and too crowded.

A kid who is carrying shots offers one to Bucky. He takes it, not even asking what it is, and throws it back. The burning in his throat makes him cough and his eyes water.

"I've been looking all over for you," Steve says, now at Bucky's side.

"I'm getting trashed, man, isn't that what you're supposed to do at a party?" Bucky retorts, laying on the sarcasm.

Steve runs his fingers through his hair in frustration before answering, "I don't know. I say do what you want to do."

"Funny," Bucky answers, walking away from Steve, "you're the only one." Bucky grabs another shot from a kid before disappearing into the crowd.

Clint is nervous. He hasn't seen Natasha all night. He hasn't had a single drink and hasn't talked to a single person. He knows nobody. Clint finally spots Sam again. Sam is chatting comfortably with a kid Clint doesn't know. Clint walks up to his friend, happy to find a familiar face. He asks, shouting over the crowd, "You see her yet?".

Sam looks past Clint, smiling before answering, "Follow the love." He doesn't notice T'Challa's smile him at this comment.

Clint follows Sam's eyes and, surely enough, Natasha is walking down the stairs not 20 feet from him. Matt is holding onto her elbow as they walk.

Clint cannot ignore how beautiful she is. With her face shiny with sweat and a pink blush glowing on her cheeks, she has Clint enraptured.

"Hi, Nat." Clint smiles politely.

"Oh," Natasha answers, caught off-guard, "Hi."

Matt, smiling and buzzed, whispers something into Nat's ear. Clint can't hear what it is, but it infuriates him how it makes Natasha giggle.

Clint is working up the courage to ask Natasha if she wants to dance or something, when she says, "See you around?"

Clint's heart falls, but he answers her with a polite smile, "Yeah." Clint keeps his gaze fixed on the ground as he makes his way outside.

Natasha giggles as Matt tells her a story about Foggy from when they had first met. After the story is over, Matt stops giggling and his voice is low and genuine as he confides in Nat, "I don't even know what he looks like."

She doesn't know what to say to that. In a sobering moment, Natasha realizes that Matt's soft smile right now isn't because of her. Her lips pull into a sad smile as she realizes what Matt is finally understanding about his feelings for Foggy.

He continues, "There's. Um...there's something I've got to tell Foggy. It's-a little difficult..." His voice trails off.

"Well," she begins. Behind his sunglasses, Matt's eyes focus on her lips, "no time like the present."

Natasha guides Matt to where Foggy is standing.

Natasha left Foggy and Matt to chat. Bucky and Wanda are nowhere in sight. She's alone, surrounded by a crowd of now-very-drunk teenagers.

As she walks aimlessly around the house, Natasha catches Clint's eye. She starts to smile at him, before noticing the hurt expression on his face. Natasha knows that she had hurt him, she'd gotten his hopes up about going out, then left him. Really though, she decided who she hung out with, and she and Matt were just friends. Natasha had wanted to be more, but the way that Matt was talking about Foggy tonight changed her mind. The boy was in deep, and it wasn't with her, and she was ok with that.

None of that changes how Clint must feel. Deciding that she doesn't want to have that conversation right now, Natasha ducks her head to avert Clint's gaze. She strides out of the room in search of Wanda.

Steve is starting to think this party is a complete disaster. He's spent most of the evening alone, trying to find Bucky in the increasingly intoxicated crowd of students. Just when Steve considers going outside and waiting for Bucky by the motorcycle, he spots the familiar curtain of dark hair.

Bucky's face is reddened and he's downing yet another shot. Strands of dark hair stick to the sweat on Bucky's face. Steve is surprised that Bucky has taken off his jacket; he always had on full sleeves. This is the first time Steve has seen Buck in just a t-shirt. Bucky stumbles awkwardly across the main room. Steve walks towards him and puts a hand on the brunet's shoulder.

"Let me have this one," Steve moves to grab the shot from a very-drunk Bucky's hand.

"No, this one's mine," Bucky whines as he slips away from Steve yet again.

"How did you get him to do it?" Brock asks, grabbing Steve's arm so he's forced to look at Brock.

"Do what?" Steve is beyond infuriated now.

"Act like a human," Brock continues.

Both boys turn their attention to the circle of cheering kids around the dining room table. Bucky is standing on the table. More specifically, Bucky is dancing on the table. Steve is shocked and second-hand-embarrassed for his date. Bucky is thrusting and grinding and sliding his hands over his body. As drunk white kids go, Bucky's not a bad dancer. After bending over, showing Steve a very-close-up view of his very-cute ass, Bucky slowly stands up, his back arched and hands sliding up his thighs suggestively. To punctuate the move, Bucky throws his head back, causing his hair to flip into the air in a flash of brown and successfully banging the back of his cranium into the chandelier above the table.

Steve gasps and instinctively holds out his arms to catch Bucky as he falls awkwardly off of the table. The crowd, now apathetic about Bucky, dissipates, leaving Steve alone to worry about his concussed date.

"I'm fine," Bucky grumbles sloppily into Steve's shoulder.

"You're not fine," Steve answers as he awkwardly tries to maneuver Bucky into a standing position, supported under his arm.

"I wanna lie down," Bucky slurs, finally cooperating and standing side-to-side with Steve.

Steve wraps a supporting arm under Bucky's armpits to help hold him up and keep balance.

"You lie down and you'll fall asleep."

Steve is doing his best to guide him and Bucky out of the house. It's too crowded and hot in there. They push clumsily through the packed, sweaty bodies toward the door.

Bucky rolls his head awkwardly to one side, "Sleep is good." He starts giggling at the end of his statement.

"Not if you have a concussion," Steve tries to stay calm, to not get frustrated.

The pair eventually push out of the house and into the backyard. Bucky slumps down, sitting on the short stone barrier outlining a flower garden by the door.

Clint spots the two older boys and is immediately at Steve's side. "Steve we gotta talk," Clint says. Clint looks tired and done with this party.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," Steve explains, gesturing toward Bucky who sways slightly where he's sitting.

Clint places a hand on Steve's back, they walk a few feet, out of earshot of Bucky, and Clint continues, "It's off. The whole things off."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Steve asks. He looks as exasperated as Clint feels.

Clint sighs before swallowing back the ball in his throat and explaining, "She never wanted me, she wanted Matthew the whole time. Look, it's not gonna work out I don't deserve her."

Steve throws his hands up, "Clint, do you like the girl?"

Clint, embarrassed answers, "Yes."

"Is she worth going through all this trouble for?"

"I thought she was but-

Steve cuts him off, "Look, she is or she isn't." Steve puts a supportive hand on Clint's shoulder. "Never let anyone ever make you feel like you don't deserve what you really want."

Clint looks up at Steve. Both men look exhausted, doing their best for people they're not even sure want them. Clint lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He decides he's going to tell Natasha how he feels, to her face, honest and straightforward. If she rejects him, so be it. At least he had the guts to tell her how he feels.

To break the silence, Bucky slides off of the stones, landing like a sack of shit on the paving stones.

Steve waves goodbye at Clint as he lifts Bucky up again, both arms wrapped around Bucky's torso like a clumsy sideways hug. Steve starts guiding Bucky away from the house again. A probably-decorative pair of swings sits down a path away from the house. Steve guides Bucky toward the swings and plops his date down in one of the them. Bucky clutches the ropes white-knuckle tight to maintain his balance. Just as Steve steps away, Bucky starts to fall backward. Steve manages to throw his arms out in time to catch him and gently help him back into a sitting position.

Once Bucky has his hands on the ropes and his feet planted on the ground in front of him, he seems relatively balanced on the swing. Satisfied, Steve sits down in the swing next to Bucky's.

"Why did you decide to, and I'm quoting 'get trashed'? Doesn't seem like you," Steve asks bluntly.

"You know me now?" Bucky asks. Steve doesn't answer. He honestly doesn't have an answer. After a second of silence, Bucky continues, still diverting Steve's question, "Well you know what they say-"

Steve smiles up at the stars, "What do they say?"

Steve glances over at Bucky just in time to notice Bucky's arms flopping off the ropes of the swing. Bucky's eyes are closed, and his head lolls lazily toward his shoulder.

Steve jumps out of his swing and is crouching, face-to-face, with Bucky. He frantically but gently pats Bucky's cheek a few times, begging him to wake up.

Like a pain-in-the-ass sleeping beauty, Bucky opens his eyes slowly and gazes directly into Steve's. Steve quickly removes his palm from where it's settled on Bucky's sweaty cheek.

Bucky's voice is soft when he tells Steve, "Your eyes have a little green in them."

Something about the comment pulls Steve's lips into a smile. Just as Bucky finishes his statement, he doubles over, coughs, then vomits on Steve's shoes. He only pukes for a second, but stays slumped over, facing the ground, embarrassed and tired.

Resigned, Steve sits back in his swing, but places a gentle hand in Bucky's hair and rubs small circles into the brunet's scalp with his thumb. Bucky groans quietly, relishing the soft caress of Steve's hand in his hair.

Clint can't find Sam anywhere. The stream of people leaving the party has turned into a steady scattering of groups. The music has stopped and piles of garbage and some discarded clothes fill the spaces that, hours before, hundreds of drunk high schoolers had filled.

Wanda left with some guy, Matt and Foggy went home together, and James is nowhere to be seen. Natasha looks around at the remaining kids at the party, hoping to see a friend, or at least somebody she trusts to drive her home.

Clint looks up to meet Natasha's eyes. Both of them look equally self-pitying. Natasha is the first to speak, to ask Clint for a ride. Clint answers with a quick 'sure' before walking toward his car.

Steve drives Bucky home for obvious reasons. He's actually surprised that Bucky managed to stay seated, arms wrapped around Steve for the entire ride. However, Steve does drive slowly and carefully back, afraid that Bucky will flop onto the road. The last leg of the party had sobered Bucky up a little bit, but he was still a bit of a mess.

Steve stops the motorcycle in front of the Fury household. He stands up, off of the seat. He offers Bucky a hand to help him off the bike, which Bucky accepts. "Thanks for going to this party. I know you usually don't do stuff like-"

Bucky cuts him off, "This is the second time tonight you've assumed you know anything about me, Rogers." Bucky's lips are turned upward in smirk, a challenge. He continues, "The only thing anyone knows about me is that I'm scary."

"Yeah well, you don't scare me,"

Bucky looks at Steve, eyes wide. Steve notices that Bucky's lips look red and spit-shiny.

Steve sighs, breaking the spell, before continuing, "What's up with your dad. Is he a nut-case?"

"No," Bucky answers honestly. "He just wants me to be something I'm not."

"What's that?"

"I think I'm still trying to figure that out," with that answer, Bucky looks down, fidgeting with his hands.

Steve kicks the gravel with the toe of his puke-stained shoe, "Maybe you should just be you."

Bucky looks up at Steve. Their eyes meet, Bucky's-wide and intense. Steve's- honest and crinkled with the ghost of a smile. Bucky steps closer, wobbling a bit with the spins. He puts a hand around Steve's hip and pulls them together until their mouths are inches apart. Bucky's eyes slide closed, but Steve watches the other man the whole time.

Bucky's drunk. Steve's being paid to take him out, and the whole situation is too fucked up for this. With a sharp inhale, Steve gently pulls out of Bucky's grip. Bucky's hand slides off of Steve's waist, and Steve would be lying if he claimed he didn't miss the warm point of contact. Bucky, still inches from Steve's face, looks into his eyes for the last time that night. His usually bright grey eyes are brimming with tears. He pulls his mouth into a tight scowl, before grabbing his keys out of Steve's hands and storming up toward the house, leaving Steve alone and as frustrated as ever.

Clint pulls up to Fury's house in his run-down car. He'd cranked up the volume on the radio, hoping to discourage awkward conversation as he drove Natasha home.

After thinking about it, rehearsing it the entire drive, Clint finally turns off the radio and speaks up. "You never wanted to go out with me, did you?"

"Did you consider that maybe I there are other people I'm interested in?" Natasha fires back.

Clint is fueled by his frustration now, he doesn't shout, but his voice is raised as he retorts, "You really made me think you were going to this party for me! If you'd just wanted to go alone or whatever you could have said something."

Clint is entirely pissed off and the floodgates between his mouth and his brain have opened, "It's better to just be honest than manipulate people. You think people will do stuff for you because you're pretty and smart? You knew I would make sure you could get to this party if you pretended you wanted to go with me! If you'd just been honest then-"

Clint's words are swallowed by the soft press of Natasha's lips against his own. It's a brief, chaste kiss, but it's enough to get Clint's heart pounding behind his ribs. Natasha pulls back, smiling to herself. Without a word, she opens the car door and lets herself out. Just as Clint is about to drive away from the house, Natasha turns and sends him a shy wave.

Bucky managed to get into the house, wish a surprisingly convincing pseudo-sober goodnight to Fury, and get cleaned up and into his bed. Bucky listened to Steve's advice and drank some water before going to bed. Now, laying alone in the dark, head spinning, Bucky tries desperately to wrap his mind around what had happened. All he knows for certain is that he hates himself, he hates Steve Rogers despite how warm and nice Steve is, and he wishes he hadn't gone to that stupid party.

Chapter Text

Bucky and Natasha get ready for school in their shared bathroom. Bucky hasn't actually talked to his sister since before the party. Bucky has been avoiding human contact all weekend, never admitting to himself that he's intentionally isolating himself.

"You ok?" Natasha asks. Bucky flinches at the harsh shattering of the silence.

"Yeah," Bucky answers simply.

Natasha draws in a breath before continuing, "Well I noticed you uh- who's the big blond guy?" Natasha is good at lying, at feigning ignorance to assess the situation from another perspective.

"Some punk who thinks he likes me." Bucky answers before bending over the sink and washing his face. He had decided the night before to trim the stubble on his face. The new shorter facial hair makes him feel bare, but clean. He thinks he likes it.

Natasha is honestly upset that Bucky didn't even notice that she had a guy in her life now too. She wants Bucky to talk to her, but doesn't know how to start the conversation, so she continues her questions.

As she runs a brush through her hair she asks, "But what do you think of him?"

The corners of Bucky's lips pull into a small smile, which he quickly tightens into a scowl. "I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns."

Natasha is completely taken aback. Bucky retreats back to his room, leaving Natasha alone in the bathroom.

Bucky pulls clothes out of his closet. Shirt after shirt gets tossed onto his bed. Eventually he finds a short-sleeved grey t-shirt. Bucky tries not to think about how this will be the first time he's not worn long sleeves to school, and pulls it on. He likes the way the light fabric falls over his chest. After a minute of deliberation, Bucky decides against pulling his hair back.

In a small apartment blocks away from the Fury house, Steve gets ready for school. The little apartment seems far too quiet, even with Steve's favorite jazz playlist blasting out of his laptop. Steve had been restless all weekend. He found himself pulling out his phone, typing out paragraph long texts to Bucky, then deciding the whole thing was stupid and deleting the texts. Bucky probably just needs some space.

Steve has hardly slept all weekend. He thinks he shouldn't be as bothered by Bucky stomping off after the party. After all, he's just getting paid to take Bucky out. However, there is a part of Steve that undeniably wants Bucky to like him.

Steve uses a hand to style his hair, spiked up at the front. He throws on dirty jeans, a t-shirt, and his still-puke-stained boots. He'd done his best to clean them off, and was successful in getting rid of the smell, but a large dark splotch stains the toes.

As Steve steps out the door, he can't help but think that it's going to be a long day.

Walking into first period English Monday morning is a unique experience for Bucky. Instead of blatantly avoiding making eye contact with him, the other students are cheering, albeit semi-sarcastically. One kid in a costume-shop cowboy hat walks right up to Bucky before saying "Dance with me, cowgirl." Bucky worries his bottom lip and considers punching him. Instead, he slides into his desk and goes about his usual routine of pretending he's invisible. Bucky thinks he prefers being ignored to being harassment.

Mr. Morgan walks into the room and faces the class, "Not that I give a damn, but how was everybody's weekend?"

Brock speaks up from his seat in the corner of the room, "Maybe you should ask Bucky." Although Bucky can't see Brock, the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's smiling.

"Unless he kicked the crap out of your dumb butt, I don't want to hear about it," Morgan responds without looking up. Morgan continues, "Open up your books to page 73, Sonnet 131. Listen up." Without waiting for his class to catch up, Morgan starts reciting, no rapping, the sonnet.

Bucky looks up, intrigued by the sonnet and Mr. Morgan's delivery. He makes eye contact with his teacher for the first time that year.

As soon as he's done reciting, Morgan addresses his class, "I want you to write your own sonnet."

Bucky raises his hand. Morgan literally double takes at this new development before indicating that Bucky is allowed to speak.

"Do you want this in a Shakespearean style, or can we write it in another sonnet form?"

As Bucky speaks, every pair of eyes in the room is turned to him. The overbearing attention makes the blood rush to Bucky's face, yet he looks up at Mr. Morgan with confidence.

"Shakespearean," Mr. Morgan answers, not hiding his shock at Bucky's change of character.

Sam was trying to gain intelligence on Bucky, which was difficult when Bucky had no friends and few contacts. As it turns out, T'Challa hates Bucky for no apparent reason, but to the point that he has some info on him...well, more like info on who might have info. T'Challa pointed Sam to Pietro who happens to be Wanda's brother. Wanda tells Sam to talk to Natasha if he wants information on Bucky.

After a wasted morning, Sam wonders why he didn't just ask Natasha in the first place. So much for trying to be clever.

Matt doesn't grip Foggy's elbow as they walk to class. At the party, Matt had gone out of his way to find Foggy. After announcing to his friend that he had something very important to tell him, Matthew chickened out. The embarrassing memory of his own fear lingered on Matt's mind weekend.

I'm a coward Matthew thinks. The space between Foggy and him is almost tangible. Like Matt is fighting to pull apart two magnets. Two very attracted magnets. It's tearing at Matt, but he doesn't have the first clue how to handle the frustrating space between him and Foggy. My headstone will read 'Matt Murdock: Goddamn Coward.

Clint met Steve by the senior lockers after third. Apparently word had gotten around that Steve and Bucky weren't getting along. Steve had been worrying all day about how to handle the situation and make Bucky not hate him. The worry shows in the circles under Steve's eyes and the frustrated crease between his eyebrows.

"What did you do to him?" Clint asks bluntly. Steve slams his locker shut, sighing.

"I didn't do anything."

"The plan was working!" Clint is getting impatient.

Steve's lips press together in contemplation before he asks, "I thought you wanted out?"

"Well," Clint looks down, blushing, as he speaks, "that was before she kissed me."

Steve can't hide his smile. He's actually impressed with this kid, "Where?"

"In the car." Clint answers honestly.

Just as Steve furrows his eyebrows again in confusion, Sam saunters up to the pair.

"What did you find out?" Steve asks, impatient.

"After wasting hours chasing down a string of leads that led to an obvious source, I learned that he's pretty much pissed at you."

Steve rolls his eyes. Sam continues, "I was told he 'hates you with the fire of a thousand suns'. That's a direct quote. Kind of poetic if you ask me."

With a resigned sigh and his sad smile, Steve leans agains the wall of lockers. "That's very comforting," Steve mutters to nobody in particular.

Clint and Sam glance at each other. They're both thinking the same thing, but neither will verbalize it. Instead, Sam slaps a hand on Steve's shoulder. "We'll figure this out. No problem."

After a quick farewell, Sam and Clint walk to their next class. As Steve starts walking to his class, Brock moves in, walking beside him.

"What do you want?" Steve glares at the shorter man.

They step to the side of the hall, out of the way of the other students. Brock answers, "Bucky needs to go to prom." He holds out a wad of cash.

"I'm sick of your stupid game."

Brock holds the money higher, as if maybe Steve didn't see it at first. "There's $500, more than enough for a rental tux, transportation, and flowers. I included extra in case Bucky wants to get his hair done."

Steve looks at the cash. His mind is reeling. He hates helping Brock. He hates being paid to take out Bucky, who probably wants nothing to do with him right now. It's a shit situation. Yet, if Bucky did want to go to prom with him he'd never be able to afford even a tux. Steve needs this money.

Hating everything, but mostly himself, Steve takes the cash with a pointed glare at Brock.

Steve lets Bucky cool down for a few days. This also gives Steve time to think about what he's going to say. He's not sure what he should apologize for, but he feels sorry. Steve spends countless hours rehearsing lines in a mirror or typing more unsent texts. Ultimately, he decides to play it by ear, letting everything fall into place on its own. Unfortunately he only has a couple of days to figure out taking Bucky to prom.

On Tuesday afternoon, Steve is walking to the health food store in his neighborhood. He slows to a stop in front of the guitar shop. Bucky is sitting on one of the stools, headphones on, playing a beautiful blue guitar. Bucky's eyes are closed and he's seemingly strumming a song from memory. His fingers move with a clumsiness that makes it obvious he's not well practiced. The calm expression on his face, however, makes it apparent that he loves this.

Steve smiles at Bucky. That man never ceases to catch Steve off-guard. Nobody at school knows that Bucky loved music or could play guitar. Nobody at school had bothered to learn anything about the kid. Bucky seems happy in this setting. He's comfortable and confident in a way that he never seems to be at school. Steve moves to walk into the shop, but decides it would break the spell. He instead glances once more at Bucky, who is swaying gently on the stool, and walks down the sidewalk towards his destination. Steve commits that image to memory, deciding he'll draw it later.

Sam, Clint, and Steve decided to meet for coffee on Wednesday after school. For the first time, they're not hanging out with a specific goal of discussing The Plan. Steve has come to like Clint and Sam's company. They've gained an unlikely friend in Steve as well. They chat comfortably about school and homework. The boys ask Steve what he's doing in the fall. The conversation is comfortable.

Steve is the first to bring up The Plan. "Look. I don't know what to do."

Sam answers with a dramatic gesture, "Sweet love, renew thy force!"

Steve and Clint both stare at Sam and raise their eyebrows in shock. "When did you get all romantic?" Clint asks.

Sam attempts to hide his blush by taking a sip of his coffee.

Clint ignores Sam's unusual reaction and leans over the table toward Steve. "You embarrassed Bucky. Sacrifice yourself on the alter of dignity and even the score."

The idea hits Steve instantly. "Sam, you know everything; what does Bucky do during 8th period?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but answers, "Usually he stays in his study hall room, but when the weather's nice he sits in the stands of the pitch and does homework and broods and whatever else he does."

"Can you make sure he'll be in the stadium in 8th period tomorrow?" Steve asks.

Sam smiles, not knowing what the senior is thinking but liking it anyway, "I'll tell Nat we need him to be there."

In English, Steve is relieved to sit behind Bucky, close, but not at all intimate. His pencil scratches against the blank page before him. He sketches some simple lines that turn into light beautiful eyes under furrowed brows. Steve won't even deny that he's pining, nor will he deny that Bucky is a great subject to draw.

Bucky and Steve are still awkward around each other all day Thursday. Bucky looks toward Steve, but pointedly avoids eye-contact. Steve can feel Bucky's eyes on him when he's looking down. Steve imagines Bucky's glaring at him from across the room in all their shared classes.

After slipping one of the audio kids some cash, Steve double checks the pitch to make sure Bucky is there. Surely enough, Bucky is sitting on the tiered stone seats that surround the pitch on the side facing the announcers box where Steve is currently standing. Natasha is sitting next to him. They have schoolbooks spread out in front of them. Even from here, Steve can tell that Bucky's hair is pulled back; his metal arm reflects the sun in with a harsh glow.

There are also a ton of kids on the field. The band is practicing, which Steve knew of and was able to get them in on his plan. There's an archery class going on as well. Kids are spread out in the stands, doing homework or watching the band events on the pitch. If there's an alter of dignity, this is it. Steve clears his throat, turns on the mic in his hand, and starts.

Bucky can hear him before he can see him. After the first line of the song is sung, Bucky is looking up from his book, confused. Natasha is looking up too, but giggling.

Steve sings into the wireless microphone. He wraps a leg around a pole and slides down from the booth to the stands.

"You'd be like heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I'm alive-" As Steve sings those lines, Bucky notices him from across the pitch. Steve winks, not sure if Bucky can see that from here. Bucky's gaze increases Steve's confidence, and he goes into full showtune mode.

As Steve sings "Can't take my eyes off of you," the band starts playing along. Steve is singing into a stadium full of people with a high school marching band to back him. His voice isn't bad, but certainly not well-practiced. "I love you baby and if it's quite all right. I need you baby to warm the lonely nights-"

Bucky stands and stares open mouthed at Steve. Steve is sauntering down the stands now, throwing out his arms to punctuate the words. On 'baby' he points directly at Bucky. There's no doubt in anybody's mind that Steve is singing to Bucky.

The archery practice has frozen. Every person in the stands and on the field is watching Steve sing. Some students film it on their phones. Natasha is laughing so hard that tears start to run from her eyes. Bucky's slack jaw expression slowly pulls into a broad, glowing smile. Steve sits on the stands, looking directly at Bucky but without the dramatic flare of earlier, "Let me love you, baby, let me love you!"

Just as Steve sings the last lines of the chorus, two campus security officers start chasing him through the stands. Steve is more fit than them and runs down the stands with relative ease. At the end of the chorus, Steve focuses more on his escape than the song. He runs past one security guard, giving him a dramatic slap on the ass. Smiling like a dork, Steve is chased out of the stadium by the guards, leaving a field full of cheering kids and a laughing Bucky in his wake.

Steve has just earned his first ever detention.

He sits in the middle of the packed detention room. Steve doesn't know any of the other students there. Mr. Chapin is overseeing detention today. Steve has never had a class with Mr. Chapin. All he knows is that he teaches lower level English classes and coaches the soccer team.

Mr. Chapin walks up to a sweaty kid sitting to Steve's side. "You're sweating like a pig," Chapin says condescendingly, "You're eyes are all bloodshot. You've got pot, don't you?" The sweaty kid nods nervously and pulls a plastic bag out of his backpack. Mr. Chapin snatches it with a sly, "I'm confiscating this."

Mr. Chapin walks up the row of desks, stopping next to the desk that has a bag of Doritos on it. "These too." He grabs the bag of chips and returns to his desk.

Steve looks down at his desk. He scribbles away in his English notebook, brainstorming ideas for the sonnet assignment. The classroom door opens and shuts with a thud. Steve looks up to see Bucky standing in the room. Mr. Chapin looks as shocked as Steve feels.

"Mr. Chapin, can I talk to you?" Bucky asks. Mr. Chapin. He continues, "Because I have some ideas for how you can win the match next Friday."

Chapin tells Bucky "We'll talk about it later," with a tone that obviously means 'go away'. When Chapin is looking down at his desk, Bucky turns to Steve, eyes wide with panic and urgency. Steve smiles, but Bucky skips the flirting and nods frantically toward the window. He mouths at Steve, "Through the window!"

Steve realizes what Bucky's plan is. It's a stupid plan, but Steve's going to try it.

Bucky tries again with Mr. Chapin, hoping to distract him, "Well, they kick our butts every year, and, being the huge fan of Shield's women's soccer as I am, I've thought of some ways you might be able to win." Bucky's voice is higher than usual, drawing out the words, hoping to pique Chapin's interest.

It works.

Chapin stands up at that to better talk to Bucky. Bucky turns so, in order to talk to Bucky, Chapin has to turn his back to the students, Steve is up out of his desk and silently sneaking across the room.

"Your bicep is huge!" Bucky grabs one arm to turn Chapin as Steve walks. "The other one's bigger!" Bucky yanks on Chapin's other arm.

Steve is frozen about 10 feet from the window. Steve exhales hoping the beating of his heart remains contained in his chest. He takes slow, silent steps, watching Chapin and Bucky with terrified focus.

"I hope you don't take steroids." Bucky is ranting now, desperate to distract Mr. Chapin, "Because I heard they can severely disintegrate your package." Bucky makes himself look down at Chapin's crotch. Oh how he hopes this is worth it.

"Not that I'm thinking about your package." The point is-misdirection!" Steve is seconds from being able to slide out of the window now. Bucky continues, frantic, "We get them to look right while we're going left. Boom! We score; we win!"

Chapin steps back from Bucky. Doubtful he asks, "How do we get them to look right?"

Bucky is desperate. Steve has one leg out of the window, but it's slow going trying to remain silent. Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Considering his two options, he goes for the 2nd. With false confidence, Bucky unbuttons and drops his jeans in front of a teacher and a full classroom.

Bucky knows he has a really nice ass and legs. He considered flashing the class, but this has more shock value. Chapin clenches his jaw at the sight of Bucky's retro sheer black and gold panties. The rest of the classroom has a full view of Bucky's sheer-fabric wrapped ass. A few 'whoos' and whistles emit from the crowd of students behind him.

With an sigh and a fierce blush warming his cheeks and ears, Bucky bends over to slide his pants back up. "Now that you know the plan, I'm gonna go. And show the plan to somebody else." Bucky punctuates the fake statement with a fake smile topped with fake confidence. The students in detention cheer Bucky on as he leaves the classroom. With a quick glance back, Bucky is reassured that Steve is nowhere in sight.

Chapter Text

Steve and Bucky peddle the paddle-boat in tandem. The spring sun warms Bucky's back. The cool water cools the blue plastic of the boat. Bucky decides he likes the contrast.

They're still in adrenaline-fueled hysterics after the great detention escape.

They've been giggling together since they'd met at the river.

"I thought for sure I was busted when I was climbing out of the window," Steve says with a smile. He giggles before he asks, "How did you manage to keep him distracted?"

Bucky pauses for a second before answering. "I dazzled him with my...whits."

"I can't thank you enough," Steve says, turning to look Bucky in the eyes. Bucky, however, is looking straight ahead at something.

"Up for it?" Bucky asks. Steve follows Bucky's gaze to a paint-fight course set up across the river. Paint splattered boards are set up to create partial barriers to hide behind. The ground is covered in loose straw, and hay bails add additional obstacles. Splatters of bright paints are on every surface. The city in the distance creates a beautiful grey-blue backdrop.

Bucky and Steve look, quite frankly, ridiculous. Both are wearing toe-to-throat white hazmat suits and snorkeling goggles. Bucky has his hair tied back into a little bun at the nape of his neck. When the kid running the paint-fight course told Bucky he'd have to pull his hair back, Steve giggled teasingly. Bucky smiled, fueled by spiteful confidence before pulling his hair back. Steve liked the way he looked with his hair out of his face. After too much thought, Steve decided against telling Bucky this.

Steve starts the game by throwing a paint-filled water balloon at Bucky. It misses Bucky's shoulder by an inch, exploding on the ground a few feet away. Bucky giggles before turning and running away from Steve.

Bucky sprints, full speed behind one of the wooden panels. He peers over the corner of the barrier, just in time for red paint to splat into the panel, inches from his face. In a moment of triumph, Bucky steps from behind the panel to dance ridiculously and stick his tongue out at Steve, which earns him a blue-paint-filled balloon to the gut. Bucky doubles over, more in shock than pain, then quickly recollects himself to throw a return paint balloon.

Bucky is chasing Steve now, tossing balloons which splatter over his back. Bright yellows and reds cover Steve's hazmat suit and splatter into his hair. Steve is a ridiculously fast runner, but Bucky has determination on his side. As Steve runs toward a barrier, Bucky catches up to him. With a laugh, Bucky wraps his arms around the taller man's waist, spinning them around and causing both men to lose their balance. They land, clumsily, into a pile of loose hay. Steve is on his back and Bucky rolls from his side to face the other man. Their legs tangle together awkwardly. Bright paint smudges on their hazmat suits where their bodies meet.

Bucky throws off his paint covered goggles. Steve follows suit. Bucky, held above Steve with one arm, looks down at the man laying beneath him. Steve's face is flushed from running. His face and hair are streaked with paint, and his hair is spiked up on the top as usual. Bucky lays a hand on Steve's cheek and runs his blue paint stained thumb across Steve's cheekbone, which leaves a faint trace of blue in its path.

Steve is looking intently at Bucky's lips. They're red and shiny but free of paint. Before Steve can imagine what Bucky's mouth feels like, Bucky leans down and presses his lips to Steve's.

Bucky kisses with a hot need, but soft reserve. At first the kiss is chaste, closed mouth. Then, Steve is running his tongue along the seam of Bucky's lips. Bucky parts his lips and begins exploring Steve with hot swipes of his tongue. Steve must have had a little bit of paint on his lips, because a harsh chemical taste mixes with the wet heat of his mouth. Bucky doesn't mind though. As Steve's tongue pushes gently against his own, Bucky's hands cup Steve's cheeks, his thumbs rub gentle lines over his cheekbones.

Just as Bucky turns his head to deepen the kiss, the harsh crash of a paint filled balloon splats against the back of his head. Bucky pulls away to see Steve's lips pull back into a smug grin. Bucky immediately smashes a balloon into Steve's chest in retaliation. Before he can think, Steve is chasing Bucky through the course again, giggling and throwing balloons. They get ushered off the course a few minutes later for not wearing their required goggles. Both men are winded and laughing as they strip off their hazmat suits and wipe as much paint off themselves as they can.

Nick is at work, of course. Natasha is out, so Bucky and Steve have the house all to themselves.

They had driven separately to the paddle boats then to the house. Bucky was surprised that Steve also drives a motorcycle. "Vintage fenders," Bucky shouts at Steve with a cheesy thumbs up. Steve smiles and laughs in reply.

Bucky sits on the sofa. Steve lays along the sofa, his head resting on Bucky's lap. Bucky gently scratches Steve's scalp with his right hand. Quiet but angsty music floats through the room from the turntable. Steve had not missed the opportunity to tease Bucky and call him a 'grandpa' for listening to vinyl. Bucky had not missed the opportunity to inform Steve the sound quality on vinyl was simply superior.

Bucky breaks the comfortable silence. "Tell me something true."

"Avocados are fruits."

Bucky giggles at that. "No! I mean about yourself. Tell me something nobody else knows."

"I love old jazz music," Steve replies. He then leans up and shifts his legs around so he's sitting. Bucky turns so they're facing each other on the sofa.

"Who's the grandpa now?"

Steve leans back, his mouth open and eyes squint shut in exaggerated pseudo hurt.

Bucky giggles again before Steve leans in close and says, "You gotta to tell me a truth now."

"I love pancakes," Bucky replies with a smile. Steve is grinning now too, giddy on the excitement of their afternoon and this new game.

Bucky continues, "Where were you last year? I know the porn career is a lie."

"Do you?" Steve says with a smoldering look. Bucky's ears burn red and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Steve sighs and looks to the side before answering honestly, "My mom died right after the end of sophomore year. I went to live with my aunt in Brooklyn for my junior year. Because I turned 18 in the summer, I told her I wanted to try it on my own, go back home to finish school. I didn't realize how hard living on your own could be, but she helps me out."

Steve's honesty is sobering. Bucky grabs Steve's wrist and flattens his hand in Steve's palm.

Steve continues, breaking the silence, "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue," Bucky answers with a smile. "Yours?"

Steve giggles before answering, "Blue".

It's Steve's turn to ask, "Russian mob thing?"

Bucky smiles, before answering, "All lies."

"That's exactly what somebody in the mob would say," Steve teases.

Steve reaches out a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. Some blue paint lingers in the fine hairs of Bucky's eyebrow and hairline. Steve makes a mental note to draw Bucky like this later. Little does he know that Bucky has noticed the paint that stains Steve's hair. Bucky thinks the blue and green look good on him, and tries to commit the way Steve looks, sleepy and paint-stained, to memory.

"Go to the prom with me," Steve states more than asks.

Bucky smiles sadly and glances down from Steve's eyes. His answer is quiet, but firm, "No."

Steve asks, too quick, too loud, "Why not?"

Bucky leans back away from Steve. His gaze is questioning, suspicious. "It's just some stupid tradition."

"Come on, it'll be fun," Steve presses.

"Why are you pushing this?"

Steve knows the moment is ruined. Bucky's calm expression has twisted into his usual furrowed one. He's completely lost Bucky's trust with one stupid question and his own relentlessness.

Bucky continues, "What's in it for you?"

Steve considers telling Bucky everything, that he'd been paid to take Bucky out, that he's being paid to take him to prom, that the entire thing was set up by some guys who are after Nat, that none of that matters anymore because he trusts Bucky. He likes Bucky and wants to kiss him everyday and tell Bucky how important he is at every available opportunity.

Instead, Steve says nothing. He smiles sadly and turns on the sofa, away from Bucky.

Bucky's voice is heavy with frustration and suspicion when he speaks, breaking the tense silence, "Well when you decide you can talk to me, give me a call."

With that, Bucky stands up from the sofa and storms up the stairs, leaving Steve ashamed and embarrassed on the sofa. Steve, not sure what to do in a strange house with a man who probably hates him now, stands up and leaves. He decides he'll text Bucky later.

As per usual, Foggy walks Matt home. When they first met freshman year, Matt was adamant that he could do things himself. Foggy had dropped the subject, not wanting Matt to feel like he was being condescending. One day, out of the blue, Matt had stepped next to Foggy, gently grabbed Foggy's arm above the elbow, and asked Foggy if he'd be kind enough to help Matt home. They'd walked home together almost every day since.

Today, Foggy is sweating more than usual. The sweat from walking home on a hot spring day combines with nervous sweat which results in Foggy becoming an embarrassed damp mess.

Of course Matt notices and asks Foggy if he's ok. Foggy makes a 'chubby kid walking' joke and they drop the subject.

As the pair approach Matt's building, Matt releases Foggy's elbow. "I'm stopping" Foggy alerts Matthew to the fact that he's ceased walking and instead stands on the sidewalk. Matt turns toward Foggy and quirks his head in confusion. Foggy loves the way Matt tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow.

Foggy releases his held breath and begins rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous hand, "So. Um. If you want. I was wondering if you'd go to the prom with me." Foggy had rehearsed the lines in his head, tried a couple of jokes and cheesy pickup lines. When it came crunch time, however, he folded like a sweaty house of cards.

Matt smiles which creates soft creases around his mouth and on his cheeks towards his sunglasses-covered eyes. "I'd love to go to prom with you."

Foggy decides against punching the air, even though Matt wouldn't be able to see the incredibly dorkish move. Before Foggy can continue, Matt's warm hand is on his own. Matt's fingers slide slightly up the sleeve of Foggy's shirt. Matt considers kissing Foggy, but instead teases, "It's about time you ask me out. I was beginning to get impatient."

Foggy's heart races in embarrassed realization. "I've wanted to ask you out for four years! And you're telling me you were getting impatient!" Foggy's real embarrassment combines with pseudo-anger. He throws his arms up and his mouth pulls back in an impossibly huge smile.

Matt throws his head back and laughs. "Better late than never, right?" Matt jokes.

Natasha and Clint decide to meet at the local coffee shop after school. They bring their French to study, fully well expecting to actually make some progress with Natasha's tutoring. Unfortunately, Clint has been too distracted with The Plan to actually teach himself French.

They each have a coffee, Clint orders his black, Nat's is a seasonal thing that's more flavoring and milk than coffee. Their French books and notebooks are sprawled across the small table they share. Natasha hasn't said much since they met at the coffee shop. Clint assumes she's just really trying to focus on her French.

Clint flips between pages as he speaks, "Puis-je vous offrir un panais?"

Natasha doesn't even look down at her book as she answers, "Non, tu ne peux pas."

Clint flips through some pages quickly before trying another question, "Où est le crayon de mon oncle?"

"Je ne sais pas. Peut-être qu'il est dans ton cul?"

Clint looks up at Natasha then. Clint is confused, lost, and intimidated. Clint actually flinches when he notices Natasha's expression. Natasha looks back at him, glaring slightly and looking entirely fed up.

Nat sighs before continuing, "Permettez-moi de vous poser une question, Clint, vas-tu me demander en fait sortir? Ou est en train d'étudier français ce que vous aviez à l'esprit lorsque vous avez décidé de mettre en place ce plan pour obtenir une date?"

Frustrated, Natasha stands up and begins shoving books and notebooks in her bag. She makes an effort not to look at Clint. Clint is too busy shuffling through his book, trying to figure out what Natasha had asked him. He knows she's pissed and there was something about asking out.

Natasha throws her bag over her shoulder, grabs her coffee, and walks away. Her walk is fast and she doesn't even look up to see where she's going. Natasha is fuming and embarrassed.

Just as Natasha exists the shop, she runs into a somebody with a thud. She doesn't fall over, but the impact throws her off balance. She sways for a moment before regaining her footing.

She looks up, preparing to apologize. Upon realizing who she's bumped into, she decides against it.

Brock sneers down at Natasha. He speaks first, "So you goin to prom with me?"

Natasha's lip twitches in anger.

"No," she answers simply before making an attempt to walk past Brock. He steps to the side to block her.

Brock's sneer twists into a scowl. His brows furrow and fists clench. Part of Natasha thinks he's going go hit her.

"I paid Steve to take your pathetic brother to prom so you could go. You owe me for that little favor."

Natasha is burning with anger now. She can feel it bubble in her gut and tighten her throat. She steps forward, getting into Brock's space and forcing him to take an awkward step back or be pushed over.

"Listen here, you prick." Her voice is louder than she wants it to be. Her usual carefully crafted facade is completely gone. "You don't need to tell Steve who and when to date, you don't get to talk about my brother, and I don't owe you shit!"

Brock's eyes are wide in shock and his jaw is clenched in anger. Both kids stand there, fuming, waiting to see who will make the next move.

After a second, Brock reaches out and grabs Nat's wrist, hard. Natasha, more by instinct than by design, pulls Brock in and knees him in the crotch. Brock loses grip on Natasha's arm and falls on the ground, knees banging into the concrete painfully. Natasha does her best to saunter away in confidence despite the blood rushing behind her ears and the tears that threaten to fall from her burning eyes.

She steps around the corner. A quick glance back reassures her that Brock isn't following. Natasha leans against the wall, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. Tears fall, burning trails down her face.

Chapter Text

It's obvious that Matthew is no longer interested in pursuing a date with Natasha. At least, Sam assumes based on the fact that he heard a rumor that Foggy had asked Matt to the prom. Sam, ever the lover of happy endings, was excited that Foggy finally let Matt knows how he feels, and that Matt had felt the same. Unfortunately that also means the deal to have him write Sam's history paper is off the table. Sam decides that having to write a paper is a small price to pay for Matt and Foggy looking so happy. Sam can't help that he's a sap about these things.

Sam settles in the library, with about 50 tabs open on a computer and his history book open in front of him. He puts on his 'kick ass and write stuff' playlist and the big headphones he's wearing block out any potential distractions.

Sam jumps when a white square of paper falls into his open textbook. Sam immediately looks around, but the source of the paper is nowhere to be seen.

He opens the little white envelope. Inside is a small, plain card that asks Go to the prom with me y/n?. Sam smiles broadly at how cute this is. Recognizing the handwriting, Sam circles theY and slides the card into the envelope. When the bell rings, Sam packs up his things, but leaves the envelope in front of the computer he was at. As he exists the library, Sam looks back in time to see a tall, intimidatingly beautiful, girl snatches up the envelope. Her hair is shaved, and her entire aura gives a vibe of "Do not fuck with me." Sam recognizes the girl as, Shuri, T'Challa's sister and giggles at how dramatic T'Challa is sometimes.

Nick is sitting in his office. Natasha generally made it a point not to go in there, especially when Nick was working.

As Natasha steps into the small room, Nick looks up from his computer.

"So, Nick, I was thinking about prom-"

Nick cuts her off. "Is Bucky going?"

Natasha has had a long couple weeks. Her ability to put on a relaxed and unbothered demeanor is failing. She doesn't even try to hide her scowl at the question.

"Last I knew, he wasn't even interested in going." she snaps.

"He doesn't go, you don't get to go. That's the rule."

"You can't exactly tell me what I can't do because of what Bucky doesn't want to do!"

Natasha can feel heat rise to her face. Her hands are clenched in fists at her sides. Nick either doesn't notice how upset she is or simply elects to ignore it.

"It's my job to keep you two safe, and I am trying to protect you."

Natasha lets out an exasperated groan and stomps out of the room. She gets into the living room before leaning against the wall, counting as she takes in and lets out a few breaths. The pounding in her ears fades. Her cool demeanor has returned, if only artificially. Natasha walks calmly up to her room and flops down on the bed.

Natasha's door opens with a slight creek and Bucky's familiar footsteps announce his entry. Natasha sits up, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Bucky is holding two mugs in his hands. He holds one out to her with a small, careful smile.

It's tea. Natasha can smell that Bucky chose to make coffee for himself. She gulps down half the mug before Bucky can sit down on her bed.

"I'm sorry Nick is being shitty about this whole thing." Bucky starts. He sighs before continuing, "It's not fair that you can't go to the prom because I'm a solitary head-case."

"So you're still not going." Natasha states it as a fact, not a question.

Bucky's answer comes out as if he'd been rehearsing it, "I'm a firm believer in doing things for your own best interests. It's not like I'd have a good time anyway."

"You don't know that."

Bucky smiles sadly at Natasha's answer.

Natasha continues, "Your discomfort with most aspects of teenage life shouldn't determine what I'm allowed to do. Can't you just go and try to have a good time?"

Bucky's gaze is focused on Natasha's now. "Nat, I-"

"I'm sick of everybody's self-loathing neurotic bullshit controlling my life!" Natasha practically shouts. She steps off of the bed, standing up and pacing a little bit. Bucky's eyes widen at Natasha's sudden outburst.

Natasha continues, voice raised and blood rising to her cheeks, "Aren't you just supposed to enjoy being a teenager? I'm supposed to just go to the prom, kiss the cute guy, and write about it in my diary. Why don't we get to have a normal, boring, life? Why does everything have to be such a mess?"

Bucky takes a careful breath and makes his response as calm as possible, "We're not necessarily normal or boring-"

Natasha takes a deep breath and continues, her voice quieter, resigned, "Maybe if we pretend that everything is ok that'll be enough."

Bucky immediately remembers the feeling of Steve's lips against his. Of the careless comfort he'd felt in the paddle boat and laying on the sofa with Steve. Maybe just letting go and enjoying things, no matter their consequences, is exactly what he needs.

The television illuminates the living room in a soft, blue glow. There's an informercial about spray on hair, "Fibers that cling to the tiniest hairs on your head." "Minimizes appearance of balding" "Comes in nine colors!". Nick considers writing down the 1-800 number, but is interrupted by Bucky's heavy footfalls descending the stairs.

"Bye, Nick. I'm going to the prom," Bucky shouts as he walks out the front door.

"Funny" Nick shouts back, nonplussed.

The click of high-heels on the wooden staircase catches Nick off guard. Natasha steps down into the living room. Her dress is a floor-length black dress with red sequens around the bust. Red lines the thigh-high slit in the skirt.

"I'm going to the prom." Natasha announces. Nick begins to protest when the front door opens. Clint stands awkwardly on the stoop, dressed in a tux-white shirt and black jacket. The little black bow-tie is slightly askew around his neck. "You look...good. No great. You look great!" He manages to sputter. Natasha's lips pull into a kind smile.

Natasha turns to leave.

Nick cuts them off, "Stop. Turn. Explain" He crosses his arms, trying to look intimidating and succeeding. Clint is terrified of Fury and really bad at hiding it.

Natasha starts explaining, rambling more, "Well, you said I could date when James dated. James found this guy who is sort of perfect for him, which is sort of perfect for me. I can go out with Clint based on the aforementioned rule and previous stipulations."

Natasha doesn't wait for Fury's response before she grabs Clint's hand and pulls him out the door. "I know every cop in town, kid." Fury shouts after the couple.

The prom is a more controlled level of chaos than the party. Still, the music is too loud, the lights too bright and shifting too rapidly. Bucky takes two steps into the crowded ballroom before turning around and standing awkwardly in the lobby. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes in deep heaving breaths. He considers going home when a familiar movement in Bucky's periphery catches his attention.

Bucky can't contain his smile as Steve's nervous form walks into the lobby. Steve spots Bucky, waves dorkishly, and approaches the other man.

As Steve steps toward Bucky, he raises his eyebrows and manages, "You look...amazing."

Bucky looks down sheepishly, realizing that his grin has reached stupid proportions. "You too," he replies.

Steve does look great. His suit is a sleek grey. Bucky wonders how Steve afforded it.

"Where'd you get the suit?" Bucky asks bluntly.

"Just something I had, y'know, lying around." Steve answers casually.

Steve continues, "Where'd you get yours?"

"Something I had, y'know, lying around." Bucky teases. Each man know the other is lying, both men think it's rather romantic.

Bucky holds his hand out to Bucky. Bucky giggles at how ridiculous this all is, but takes Steve's hand. His grip is firm, warm, and reassuring. They step into the ballroom together. Somehow, the ballroom seems less overwhelming with Steve there. "Care to dance?" Steve asks, that nervous pink blush rising in his face.

"Hell yes."

They dance to some cheesy dance music that Bucky doesn't particularly like. Bucky quickly learns that Steve really can't dance, but his energy sort of makes up for it. Neither man leads, they just sort of take turns throwing each other around.

Suddenly a familiar screech of guitar spills from the speakers. Bucky's mouth drops open at the sudden shift in music. It's the same punk music from the club.

Steve dips Bucky down and leans in close enough to be heard over the music, "I know a guy who knows the DJ."

They continue to dance cheesily to the new song. Most of the dance floor clears, but they continue.

After the song, Bucky throws his head back, breathing heavily. Sweat gleams on both mens' faces. The music shifts to a loud horn melody.

"Old jazz music." Bucky mutters under his breath. Bucky takes Steve's hand in his right, and gently wraps his other hand around Steve's waist. Steve wraps his arm around Bucky, and pulls him close. Their torsos are mere inches apart. They sway gently to the music. Bucky can't help but notice that Steve is less awkward slowly dancing to this song. Their faces are so close. So close that Bucky fights the urge to close the space and kiss Steve. Bucky can see his partner's lips gently mouthing the words. It feels like they are the only two people in the world right now, swaying in perfect tandem to a song about returned lovers.

Natasha and Clint spend the drive to the prom making small talk. They talk about classes and comment on the venue for the dance. It's not entirely casual, but not uncomfortable either.

Natasha's expectations for the prom are fulfilled. The couple walk into the building, arms intertwined. The ballroom is cluster of sweaty, but well-dressed people. Most of whom can't dance but pretend otherwise. She can't help but smile as she tugs Clint into the crowd.

T'Challa fidgets with the ring on his finger. Shuri reassures him that Sam picked up the note, and that he will be here. T'Challa trusts his sister, but grows more restless with each passing moment.

He finds himself wandering into the ballroom for what has to be the fifth time in as many minutes. Couples dance slowly to an old song. He recognizes Clint and approaches him, asking about Sam. Clint, sweaty, winded, and cheerful, points over T'Challa's shoulder and says, "Follow the love."

T'Challa turns and releases a long-held breath when he sees Sam smiling across the room at him. Both boys work their way to the middle of the dance floor, where they meet. T'Challa's nerves take over again. He thinks he's complimented Sam. Based on the giggle Sam lets out, his comment was effective.

Sam grabs T'Challa by the hands and pulls him close. T'Challa takes the initiative to wrap his arms around his date. Sam slides his arms to T'Challa's back and they begin dancing to the music.

After the last notes of the jazz song dissipate, Bucky closes the space between them and places a gentle kiss of Steve's lips. As they pull apart, Steve smiles, eyes gently closed. As the next song starts, Bucky pulls Steve out of the busy ballroom into the much quieter lobby outside. Both men have a blush on their cheeks and strands of Bucky's hair stick to the thin layer of sweat on his brow.

Steve pulls Bucky in for another quick kiss on the lips. When they pull apart Bucky's lips are pulled back in a breathless smile.

"Car accident." Bucky says bluntly. Steve's smile fades as he tries to comprehend what Bucky means. Bucky starts to explain, quickly, afraid that this courage will leave before he can finish.

"Car accident killed my mom before I was in high school. I lost my arm, had...well...have some severe trauma. When Fury started fostering me, Nat had already been living with him for awhile, so he thought we could help each other out. No Russian mob." Bucky keeps his gaze fixed on Steve, even after he finishes talking.

Steve stares deeply into Bucky's eyes. He says nothing while he tries to swallow what Bucky had told him, and the significance that Bucky trusts him. He thinks he wants to cry.

Instead Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and takes Bucky's hands in his own. One warm and flesh, the other cold and metal.

"Thanks for telling me," is all Steve can say.

Bucky smiles again, tears welling in his eyes, and pulls Steve in for a hug. He decides that he loves the feeling of Steve's broad body wrapped around his.

They pull apart and agree to get back to the dance. They start dancing again, every more dramatic and cheesy. Both men are laughing and singing along to the songs. Both are completely happy.

Matthew expresses his dismay that he can't actually see Foggy dancing. Foggy reassures his date that it's probably a blessing.

Just as Bucky pulls Steve up from a dramatic dip, Steve is pulled away from Bucky. Bucky stands in shock, which quickly turns to anger as Brock Rumlow gets in Steve's face.

Brock is pissed. The veins in his forehead bulge as he shouts at Steve, more out of anger than attempt to be heard, "I paid you to take out that freak so Natasha could go with me! What's she doing here with that cheese-dick?"

Bucky hears every word Brock says. Steve looks back at Bucky, eyes wide and brimming with tears. Bucky feels like he's been submerged in ice water. His entire body goes cold, and everything around him seems fogged over. The music, so loud only a second ago is a distance muffle in his ears. He turns and runs from the ballroom. Steve glares at Brock, but decides he's not worth the time. With a sigh, he turns and chases after Bucky.

Natasha is aware that something just went down. The second she manages to spot her brother, and he's storming out of the ballroom, Steve following closely behind.

Brock turns around toward Natasha. She expects him to seek her out next. Instead, he looks at a spot directly to her left, directly at Clint. Clint glances to her, his eyes wide, expression sad.

"What the hell is going on?" Natasha shouts to Clint, above the noise of the crowd. She notices that Brock is fast approaching them.

"I think the shit's just hit the fan," He explains. When he notices Natasha's continued confusion, he tells her he'll explain later. With that, Brock is face to face with Clint.

Just as Brock opens his mouth to speak, Sam's exuberant figure slides between Clint and the other boy. Sam starts talking Brock down, but before he can complete a sentence, Brock shoves him to the side. Sam flops to the ground with an awkward flailing of limbs and no small amount of cursing.

Brock is set on Clint again. "You messed with the wrong guy. Now you're gonna pay! You and that little bitch!" With that, Brock punches Clint square in the face. Clint's head snaps back painfully; he then reels forward in pain.

Before Brock can celebrate, a small but powerful fist collides painfully with his nose. "That's for making my date bleed!" Natasha punches him again, square on the nose. "That's for my brother!" He then grabs Brock at the sides, and drives the hard plate of her knee into his groin, making him fold over, eyes watering. "That's for me!". Natasha looks down at the pitiful heap at her feet. Satisfied, she walks over to Clint, and asks if he's ok. "You're scary sometimes." Clint starts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Natasha's ear, "I like it." Natasha helps Clint out of the ballroom.

T'Challa helps Sam up, concern spread across his face. As soon as he knows his date is ok, he approaches Brock, "We're not done with you yet."

The expression on T'Challa's face is downright hostile. Brock is terrified for the split second before Sam reassures T'Challa that Brock's not worth their energy.

Bucky finds himself in the lobby, standing alone in the middle of the room. He turns in awkward, lost circles, looking for a way out, trying to gather his thoughts. Bucky feels a familiar hand grab his own from behind. With a harsh tug, he pulls away, not turning around. Not wanting to face this. Steve is talking, stammering out an explanation, but Bucky doesn't turn. Steve can feel the tears fall from his eyes. He can feel his heart beat violently in his ears.

When Bucky turns around, Steve's blood runs cold. Bucky's eyes are red with tears that refuse to fall. His jaw is clenched tight, teeth bared behind grimacing lips. Steve expects Bucky to shout, to swear and scream, but Bucky speaks softly, his voice low, "Nothing in it for you, huh?"

Steve stops sputtering out excuses and explanations. Bucky draws in one deep inhale before continuing, voice still low and steady "You're so not who I though you were."

To Steve, those words feel like a punch to the gut. They share one last tense look, Bucky's grey eyes glaring into Steve's, dark and hateful as ever. Bucky pulls his gaze away and storms out of the building, leaving Steve alone and ashamed. Tears burn hot trails down his face.

Natasha and Clint find Steve standing in the lobby. His hand attempts to cover his face as he sobs silently.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning wakes Bucky with a yellow ray of sun across his eyes. His eyes feel puffy and heavy from crying. Part of him wants to stay in bed, to hide under the covers and never come out. Another part of him could really use some food and caffeine. He weighs his options. With a frustrated, sleepy grumble, Bucky pushes himself out of bed. He's done with letting things get him down.

A few hours later, he sits comfortably on the porch, scribbling away in a journal. He takes a break to lean back and feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He stays like that for a few moments, eyes closed, hiding from reality for a few precious seconds.

Natasha clears her throat. Bucky's eyes open slowly as he's pulled from his moment. He turns to face his sister. She's dressed in cute skinny jeans and a tank top. Her hair is pulled back, and she's wearing a gentle smile. He can't help but notice the faint purple bruises on her knuckles.

"Hey," she offers quietly.

Hey," he responds. His voice is gravelly.

"Clint and I are going sailing, if you want to come."

He smiles, warm and genuine. "No. Thanks, but I'm fine."

"Thanks for uh, for going last night."

"I hope you had fun," Bucky offers, honest.

"I did. I punched Brock Rumlow in the face," Natasha giggles around the confession

Bucky laughs at that, warm and genuine. "I'm proud of you."

The two share a few seconds of mutual giggling before Clint rounds the corner and stops beside Natasha.

After noticing Bucky sitting there, Clint shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and looks down at his shoes. He looks back up at Bucky, his face twisted in an embarrassed grimace.

The first thing Clint thinks when he sees the other boy, is that he's no longer afraid of him. Sitting there, eyes tired, Bucky looks soft and vulnerable and human. Clint pushes aside his guilt and offers, "I'm sorry. About...everything."

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise. His lips open in a bright smile. "It's fine. I'm fine."

They believe him. With a small wave from Clint, the couple turns to leave. Natasha looks back at her brother. He smirks, glances between her and Clint a couple of times, and wiggles his eyebrows comically. Nat giggles as she turns around to join Clint.

Bucky is still smiling widely as he returns to his journal. He doesn't really know the boy, but Natasha can certainly handle herself.

Bucky hears the front door slam open then shut and Nick's familiar, heavy footfalls approaching. Bucky doesn't look up. Instead part of him holds on to the idea that if he can't see Fury then he can avoid the upcoming conversation

"Mind if I join you?" Fury's voice is as strong and low as ever, but a bit of the edge is absent.

"Sure," Bucky mumbles. He bends his knees, making room for Nick at his feet.

Nick sits down and gazes over at his foster son. Bucky finally admits defeat. He closes his notebook and looks into his father's eye.

Nick's voice remains in its soft tone as he starts, "Parents don't like to admit when their children are capable of running their own lines. We go from being a star player to spectator."

Bucky holds back a smile at how cheesy he think Nick is being.

Nick continues, "You and Natasha have grown into very capable young adults. I know that you're eager to take off and start your own life, but I also know that when you leave I won't even be able to be a spectator anymore."

Bucky's eyes go wide, "When? You said when I go."

"Let's say we reach a compromise."

With Nick's words, Bucky's mouth drops open in shock. Nick can't help but smile that the silly look on his face.

"How about you go to New York for the spring semester? It'll give you plenty of time to get a job, make some money, get used to being on your own out of school. But it's not a whole year."

Nick holds his hand out to shake Bucky's in agreement. Bucky takes Nick's hand, and uses it to pull them together. He wraps his arms around Nick in a hug. After a second of awkward shock, Nick returns the affection, wrapping warm arms around his son.

Fresh tears well in Bucky's tired eyes.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?"

"I do now." Bucky's arms tighten around Nick.

Alright, I assume everybody has their poem ready for today. Except for Mr. Rumlow," Morgan can't hide his giggles at the sight of Brock's bruised and broken nose.

"Alright," Morgan continues, gathering himself, "Who wants to go first?"

Bucky's right hand rises slow with hesitation.

Mr. Morgan nods to indicate that Bucky is going first. He steps to the back of the room mumbling, "Oh god here we go."

Bucky stands in front of the class, exposed and vulnerable and all too aware of it. He draws a slow breath and consciously relaxes his shoulders. He flips open the notebook in his hands, takes a deep breath, and begins.

"I hate the way you talk to me

and the stupid spiked style of your hair.

I hate the way you ride my bike

I hate it when you stare"

Steve manages to pull his gaze from his desk to Bucky. Bucky looks up quickly from his notebook to glance at Steve. Steve's blue eyes stare into Bucky's sad and intense. Bucky can't help but notice that they're beautiful. He swallows around the lump in his throat, and returns to his reading.

"I hate your big dumb muscles

And the way you read my mind

I hate you so much that it makes me sick

It even makes me rhyme"

Bucky's eyes burn with welling tears. He fights the urge to look back up at Steve. Pulling in deep, shaky breaths, he continues.

"I hate the way you're always right

I hate it when you lie

I hate it when you make me laugh

Even worse when you make me cry"

Bucky breaks. Tears roll down his face. His lips quiver uncontrollably and his forehead scrunches.

"I hate it when you're not around

And the fact that you didn't call

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you

Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

On the last line, Bucky's voice breaks.

Steve looks up at Bucky again, hoping to catch his eyes. Bucky doesn't look back at him. Instead, tears falling down his cheeks, Bucky closes his notebook with a snap, practically runs to his desk to grab his bag in one hand, and hurries out of the classroom.

The whole classroom is staring out the door at Bucky. Then, simultaneously, their eyes all land on Steve.

With eyes wide and brimming with tears, Steve glances over at Mr. Morgan. "I gotta go," he mumbles pathetically as he gathers his things and shuffles out of the room.

Bucky will not let this get him down. He's not going to run away, no matter how much he wants to. After leaving the classroom he locks himself in a bathroom stall for a few moments to gather himself. He's sick of crying. He's sick of hurting, but, with reading that poem, a weight has been lifted off his chest. He can't help but wish things had ended a little better. He realizes with a searing, invisible pain that he misses Steve.

Fully intending to leave campus until after lunch, Bucky strolls across the parking lot toward his bike.

Bucky approaches his motorcycle. He's preoccupied with getting his notebook shoved into his bag, so he's nearly at the vehicle before he sees it.

A guitar case is leaned carefully against his bike. Bucky flings his bag over his shoulders and steps forward to investigate. The tag on the case simply says "Bucky" on it in sloppy letters. His heart beat accelerates and his lips flicker into a smile. He lays the case flat on the pavement and opens it gingerly.

The guitar is in it. The guitar he's been going into the shop for weeks now, just to look at. It's a beautiful gibson with a unique black paint job with a red star in the middle.

His mouth falls open in shock. He runs gentle fingers over the strings, as if making sure it's real.

After a moment of sheer disbelief, Bucky snaps the case shut. He stands and scans the parking lot for the guitar-leaver.

His shoulders relax as he spots Steve walking across the lot from the school building.

Bucky can't contain his smile. He throws his head back in disbelief before glancing back at Steve. Steve, who is blushing and rubbing a nervous hand on the back of his neck.

They're close now, close enough that Bucky could punch Steve or kiss him. Either way would be fun.

"For me?" Bucky asks, still in disbelief.

Steve shrugs and smiles, "Yeah I thought you could use it. Y'know, for when you start your band."

"How did you afford this?" Bucky asks, his forehead creased in confusion.

"Some asshole paid me to take out this really awesome guy." A pink blush rises to Steve's cheeks as he answers.

"Oh really?" Bucky challenges.

"Yeah. But I uh- I screwed up, " Steve continues, his mouth fixed in a flirtatious smile, "I fell for him."

Bucky fists his hand in the collar of Steve's too-small shirt and pulls him in for a clumsy kiss. Their lips smash together gracelessly.

When they separate, Bucky takes a step back and sizes Steve up.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, deciding Steve won't win him over that easily. "You can't just buy me a guitar every time you screw up y'know."

With a broad smile and no small amount of sass Steve answers, "Well y'know there's always drums and a bass and maybe even one day a tambourine."

Steve closes the distance between them. He places one warm hand on Bucky's cheek to close the distance between them.

The kiss is a gentle press of lips. Warm, honest, and intimate.

Bucky can't help but think of the lyrics to an old love song as he slides his flesh fingers into Steve's short hair.