Chapter Text
It’s six in the evening, and his corner store is almost empty. Steve is crouched on the floor in the baked goods area, pricing down the items that had been fresh that morning, but need to be put on clearance now. He’s bored, but the evening shift usually does that to him. There’s always a dip in customers around dinner time, so it’s quiet, but it’s long enough until closing time that it’s still too early to start cleaning the store.
There’s just one guy browsing, and over the tinny sound of the radio Steve can hear the metal studs of his leather jacket hit the wires of his shopping basket as he walks through the store. Steve keeps half an eye on him so he’ll know when to head to the till to check the guy out.
After a few minutes, he spots the guy slipping something into his bag from the corner of his eye. With a heavy sigh, Steve gets to his feet. He walks over to where the guy is standing, puffing up his chest as he crosses his arms. “You’re gonna want to put that back real quick, or pay me for it if you won’t.”
The guy starts and turns around. Loose strands of his long hair, that is mostly tied up in a bun at the back of his head, whip through the air. Wide eyes trail over Steve’s chest up to his face, their light grey colour making him look even paler when all colour in his face visibly drains away at the sight of Steve looming over him.
“I’m sorry— I’ll— I’ll put it back. I’m sorry. Please don’t call the police,” the guy stammers. He reaches into his bag, moving to put the jar he’d taken back on the shelf. Steve can’t help but stare at it, his posture sagging a little.
“You’re stealing peanut butter?” he asks, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
The guy lowers his eyes to the floor and shuffles his feet, still holding the jar as he speaks, “I’m not stealing, I’m leaving. I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again.” He moves to put the jar back once more.
“No, wait.” The guy freezes on the spot when he hears the command, his wide eyes rising to meet Steve’s again. Steve gives him a searching look. “Why are you stealing peanut butter?”
“Because my sister is hungry.” His words are clipped, and he’s looking down at the floor before Steve’s feet again, glaring, this time. “Can I go now?”
Steve pauses, assessing the guy. He is surprised by the sharp contrast between the angry set of his jaw and the way his shoulders are hunched over, as if he’s trying to hide. At once, Steve makes a decision. “No,” he says with a firm shake of his head. He nods at the jar of peanut butter. “Give it to me.”
The guy’s eyes flick up to look at him again, narrow and mistrusting. “Why?”
“Give it to me,” Steve repeats, “so I can buy it for you.”
“What?” The guy is staring at him now, brows drawn in apparent confusion. Steve holds his empty hand out patiently, palm up. The guy doesn’t move, though. Instead, the frown turns into an indignant scowl. This time it’s aimed at Steve. “I’m not your charity case. I’ll put it back and then I’ll leave.”
“Not without something to eat for dinner, you’re not,” Steve decides stubbornly. He shifts his hand, holding it out with his thumb up instead of his palm. “What’s your name? I’m Steve.”
The guy eyes him suspiciously, but then slowly reaches out to shake Steve’s hand. “Bucky,” is all he says.
“Do you have a job, Bucky?”
Bucky’s lips tighten, and he visibly swallows. He shakes his head. “Got laid off two months ago,” he says, his voice rough.
Steve winces sympathetically. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the guy has been struggling to stay on his feet – apparently while trying to support a sibling. “Alright. Can you start tomorrow?”
“What?” Bucky’s head whips up, his mouth falling open slightly. Steve tries not to grin at the absolutely baffled expression on his face, but can’t help the corners of his mouth from quirking up. Then, however, Bucky’s expression sours, and he averts his eyes. Steve’s smile fades away. “I already said I don’t need your charity,” Bucky snarls. He pushes the pot of peanut butter into Steve’s hands and turns around.
“It’s not charity, and I’ll dock the peanut butter from your pay,” Steve promises. “I’ve been looking for a new employee for two weeks, ever since I caught one of my part-timers stealing.” He points over his shoulder at the register.
Bucky, his attention visibly piqued, turns back to Steve. He peers at the wall, where the ‘Help Wanted’ poster is hanging behind the till. His eyes widen slightly and he looks back at Steve.
“Why would you hire me?” he asks then, his voice dubious. “If you fired the last guy for stealing, why the hell do you want me?”
Steve shrugs. It’s not even a question to him – Bucky was clearly trying to steal to feed his sister, not out of greed. “Can I trust you to write down what you take home from the store, so I can deduct the cost from your pay?” Bucky nods, his eyes wary, and Steve shoots him an encouraging smile. “Well, then you’ve already got better qualifications than the last guy.”
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly,” Steve assures him, handing the peanut butter back. “If you promise to be here tomorrow morning, six AM sharp, you can grab some bread too, it’s on clearance anyway.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow and he studies Steve, who smiles gently as he meets the man’s gaze. “Sure... I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Bucky says after what feels like an eternity. He bites his lip, and then says softly, “Um thanks— I mean— Thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” Steve assures him. “I’ll show you around before the store opens. If you just wait a moment I’ll fetch a contract for you. You should read it through at home and bring it along tomorrow to sign.” He walks to the counter and rummages through the top drawer for a moment until he finds a standard adult full-time employment contract.
Bucky has wandered after him, so Steve hands him the contract over the counter. “Everything you need to know is in here,” he explains. “My phone number too. Text me if you have questions, and call me if there’s an emergency.”
Steve holds out his hand, and Bucky shakes it with a numb expression on his face that betrays just how out of his depth he must feel, his eyes flitting between Steve’s and the contract in his left hand. Steve guesses the guy is probably in shock from the turn of events just now. “Welcome to the team, Bucky...?”
“Barnes. My name is Bucky Barnes.” His voice is soft, and he is looking up at Steve in a daze. The remnants of a puzzled frown still lightly creasing his forehead.
Steve’s smile softens. “Welcome to the team, Bucky Barnes. I’ll see you tomorrow. Now go bring that food to your sister.”