Well, here you have it! I think that this is the longest fix or work of fiction that I've ever written, and I'm pretty proud! Tell me if you spot any mistakes, and let me know what you think! ~kateodinson
Trials
by
kateodinson
"Steve?"
A teenage Steve Rogers hurried to his mother's side, a glass of water in hand. She doubled over in a fit of coughs, her whole body racked with pain. Steve reached over to support her head, and held the water to her lips.
"Mom…" he whispered, eyes starting to tear. Her calloused hand gripped his tightly, and she gave him a sad smile. Her warm brown eyes gazed into his as she began to speak.
"Steve," she whispered hoarsely, "Now Steve you listen to me, and you listen good and hard. I know that I haven't been able to give you-" She closed her eyes in a pain as her voice cracked, "Give you everything that you deserve, and I'm so sorry."
Steve interrupted her, shaking his head, "No, no Mom, you've done everything you can, you've done splendidly… No, more than that, Mom you've..."
She clasped tighter onto his hand. "I said listen!" She sighed. "You're like your father you know. Smart. Brave." She chuckled and jokingly pinched his cheek. "Handsome." Steve began to cry, and so did she. "You try too hard dear," she started, "And you're too hard on yourself. Lighten up. Live a little. Steve, Steve I don't want you to be alone all your life. I don't want you to be so sad. I don't want you to worry. So…" She turned her head away from him, as if ashamed. "So I've done something. Something that will ensure that you'll be happy. So you won't have to worry."
Steve straightened up, confused. "Mom, mom what are you talking about?"
"I don't want you to have to worry about money," she continued, "I don't want you to worry about missing a family. I want to provide for you, and this is my way of doing it. And I expect you to respect-" The rest of her sentence was rendered inaudible due to another fit of coughing.
A strong male voice spoke from the doorway, "Sarah, you know you shouldn't push yourself." Steve whipped around, surprised. He relaxed when he realized that it was Dr. Smith, the middle-aged neighborhood doctor that lived only a few doors down.
"She's getting worse," Steve said to the doctor. The man sighed and wiped his glasses on his sleeve.
"I know," he said, his voice monotone.
"I mean, she's just rambling nonsense! What am I supposed to do?" Steve asked, growing more frantic by the second.
Dr. Smith smiled and said, "Actually, she's being quite sensible. She knows that her physical state is declining, and she only wants what's best for you. She came to me for help, and I made her an offer she simply couldn't refuse."
Steve's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you talking about?"
Dr. Smith stepped closer and put his hand on Steve's shoulder, who shied away. "I've agreed to let you live on with me after- if your mother passes away. Of course this kind of generosity on my part requires something in return, so you'll have to work around my shop, helping where help is needed, et cetera. Additionally there was some other… payment… required from your mother, but don't worry, she's already paid in full," he chuckled.
Steve looked up at Dr. Smith, his face full of disgust, and started to stand and say something when his mother gripped his hand and tried to pull him back. "Steve," she wheezed, "It's for the best. Please," she added softly, "Please."
Tears slid down his face as Steve leaned over and kissed her forehead gently, "Okay."
5 years later
Steve grunted with effort as he hoisted a crate of milk over his shoulder, grimacing as the wooden edge dug into his arm. He may be small, asthmatic, and atopic, but he had an iron will when it came to getting the job done. This was one of the simpler jobs that Dr. Smith ordered him to complete. Over the years Steve had had to do numerous difficult, if not dangerous, tasks for Dr. Smith, while Smith's two sons did nothing but berate and jeer at Steve, destroying any opportunity for a friendship that Steve so desperately desired.
Steve paused and looked out into the bustling street in front of him, vendors shouting, people talking, laughing, yelling, cars honking, lights glowing brightly in the dimming light, and smiled. He longed to be able to just abandon the Smiths and join the wonderful world of New York City, but was held back by the thought of his mother telling him that this was best, and the countless times Dr. Smith had informed him how worthless he was and how he would never make it out there in the big world by himself… How he had only made it this far because of Smith, he practically owed his life to Smith and was indebted to him. Steve shook his head and turned back to the door to Dr. Smith's practice and hesitantly walked inside.
At first, they had treated him with some form of kindness, acting like he was part of the family along with a cot and warm wool blanket set out in the sons' room. That lasted barely two weeks before Dr. Smith dropped his loving façade and turned Steve in to a work mule. Verbally, he treated Steve quite cruelly, insulting his every action and using him as the punchline of every joke. Dr. Smith's sons, knowing no better, soon followed suit. At one point Dr. Smith made a crack about Steve's mother (something about her 'easiness') and Steve finally lost his cool and yelled back, and was then kicked out of the boys' room and downgraded to a thin hay-stuffed mat out on the covered back porch. Sleeping outside did nothing good for Steve's health. He had to be begrudgingly treated by Dr. Smith many times. ("I treat you more often than any actual patients. Maybe I should just let you die one of these days.") The best thing that had come from his time with Dr. Smith was Steve's hope and desire to one day find the courage to be free.
Steve carefully sat the crate down at the edge of the small and dirty kitchen, where Dr. Smith sat, smoking a cigar. "Ah. Steve my boy, I see you've finally got that in. Honestly, how long does it take?" Smith shook his head angrily. "Ah, get out of here. I've got work to do. Real work. Got to set up my next experiment," he grinned menacingly. Steve shuddered at the word 'experiment' and quickly scurried out the back of the place and onto his dank porch room.
Smith's experiments were the cause of Steve's nightmares. He had been there for a year or so when Smith began conducting his experimental 'trials' in the basement. Every month or so, he'd bring in a new 'patient' late at night- someone old or poor- unnoticeable- and try out what he called his latest advancement in medical technology. Steve could just barely hear the tormented screams and sobs of the poor souls chosen to be patients off the streets, and he shut his eyes tight and covered his ears trying to block out the images flooding his mind of what might be happening. His dreams were often filled with the screams and cries even days later. One time he saw one of the patients out on the street the next day, eyes empty, a soulless pit. Steve couldn't get those nightmare eyes out of his head or dreams, leaving him sleep deprived and severely shaken. As he lay there he wished that his mother could be there, by his side, as a warm comfort. Of course, she never was, and he was forced to accept the cold, dark night that lay around him as his next best option.
The next morning Steve was making his morning rounds, chatting with the numerous street vendors that he (or really Smith) had business with. The vendors had watched Steve grow up, and most of them considered him part of the family. Today he was picking up fruit from Mrs. Messer, who owed a little shop down the street from his home. She was one of his favorites, always doting on him and slipping him extra apple or peach to enjoy. She was old, and he liked to help her lift boxes in the back. He was doing that now.
"Now Steve," she began, her aged eyes twinkling, "When are you going to find yourself a pretty young woman?"
Steve stopped what he was doing and turned to her, blushing and stuttering, "Um, I'm sorry… I don't know what you're talking about…"
"Come on dear, we all know you need a little lady in your life to keep you smiling!"
Steve shook his head and chuckled softly, "Right… well, I best be going… Thanks for the fruit."
Mrs. Messer just continued to smile as she washed her hands, "Alright dear." As Steve left her shop she called out, "Next time you come back I want to see a lady on your arm!"
Steve continued down the street, wishing the light blush on his cheeks away. He walked past Smith's home and wondered deeper into the city, lost in thought. His head shot up when he heard a shriek coming from a nearby alley.
"No! Please! Please stop, someone help me!"
Steve immediately ran into the alley and saw a young blonde woman desperately thrashing against a large, bulky man with a knife between his teeth. Steve stood about ten feet away, hands clenched angrily. "Leave her alone!" he shouted. The man laughed and clasped the girl's arm harder, causing her to cry out in pain.
"Watcha gonna do about it loser?" he growled.
Steve took a deep breath and rushed at the man. He began to throw punches at him, but quickly realized that they had no affect and all he was doing was hurting himself. The man just laughed and swung his meaty fist at Steve, grazing his jaw. Steve dropped to the ground where he saw a half empty bucket of paint left next to the trash. Nimbly he snatched it up and turned to face the man, whose back was now turned. With all of his strength Steve swung the can of paint at the pack of the man's head. They collided with a rewarding crunch. The man yelled out in pain, releasing the girl as he tried to wipe away the paint dripping into his eyes. The girl quickly scurried away and out of the alley onto the main street, sending Steve a thankful glance.
"Good," Steve thought proudly, "She's safe." His heart quickly sank however as he realized that he was now face to face with a very large, very angry, thug. The man began to swing his fists at Steve, who at first was able to dodge the incoming threats, but soon was hit again and again. Steve could feel his stamina leaving him, and the bruises forming over his body. The man pulled out his knife and Steve was barely able to avoid the incoming swipe. Still, he tried his best, continuing to attempt to hit back even as his vision slowly left him. The last thing he heard before he past out was someone new yelling, "Hey!"
As Steve came to he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was lying on a cot… in someone's room? House? He wasn't sure. He groggily sat up and the warm rag on his forehead fell off into his lap. Steve was very confused.
"Hey there, I see you've finally woken up."
Steve looked up to see a guy sitting haphazardly on a stool next to him. He was tall and muscled, his short brown hair messed on his head. He was wearing a forest green shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top, revealing the start of some defined pecs. Even so, Steve couldn't stop looking at his face. His chiseled jaw perfectly accented his face, showing off his intense eyes and lips. For a moment Steve could think of nothing more than touching those lips, but he quickly shook the thought from his mind.
"Hey," the guy said again, "What were you thinking, attacking that man? I mean I can't say I'm not impressed… but that was pretty stupid."
Steve chuckled, then groaned as the movement pulled at his bruises. "Yeah… I just wanted to make sure that girl was safe. That's really as I far as I thought… and then… yeah."
The guy laughed and said, "Well I'm glad I was there. Wouldn't want a decent fellow like yourself become pulp." He smirked. "My name's James Barnes. Bucky for short," and extended his hand.
Steve shook his hand and questioned, "Bucky?"
"James Buchannan Barnes."
"Ah."
"So," Bucky begin, "You from around here?"
Steve nodded and said, "Yes, but I haven't gotten around much. My social circle doesn't extend past my street."
Bucky shook his head and scolded, "Come on, let me get you another bandage and I'll show you some real New York."
They spent the afternoon walking around New York City, laughing and talking. Steve was the happiest he'd been in months. As the blue sky faded into hues of fuchsia and umber, Steve frowned at the thought that they day was over so soon. Bucky stopped suddenly, and turned to Steve, a soft breeze ruffling his hair pleasingly.
"There's something else I want to show you… Somewhere else." Bucky shrugged his shoulders and Steve noticed how he kept playing with the edge of his shirt with his fingers, as if he was nervous.
"Anywhere," Steve said with a small smile.
Bucky lead him down a narrow back alley that ended abruptly. By this time it was twilight, and getting difficult to see.
"Um," Steve began.
"Have a little faith," Bucky chided. To the left of the pair was a garbage collection from the restaurant next door. Bucky swiftly pushed some of it aside, his muscles rippling subtly under his shirt. Behind the mess there was a tattered curtain hanging over the wall. Bucky pulled it aside and indicated for Steve to go inside. Steve hesitantly approached it and found a narrow staircase leading up into the dark. He started up, bending over as even his short height was too tall. He squinted in the dark, wiping dust off of his hands as he went up. He heard Bucky follow right behind him.
A couple of minutes later his head broke out into the cool night air, and, after glancing around, he determined that he was on top of a roof. He climbed out and reached his hand back down to help Bucky up, who scoffed and feigned being offended. Bucky stood up and walked over to the edge while Steve sat behind him, his knees tucked up into his arms. Bucky looked out and then back at Steve, and raised his eyebrow.
"You comin'?" Bucky prodded. Steve slowly walked over and his jaw dropped at the stunning view. The city lights were everywhere, blinking in a thousand colors, and the little cars ran around down below with their lights dancing through the night, illuminating the hundreds of people milling about below. He looked up and saw the dark sky broken up by faint stars, shining upon them.
"Wow," was all Steve could muster. Bucky looked at him, amused.
"Pretty much." He said, and sat down, looking away. "I used to come up here a lot after… I mean I used to come here to think, alone. It's pretty good for that, yeah?
Steve nodded and whispered, "Yeah… Thanks for showing me this… It's just that I wish I could have had a place like this to go to when I was younger. Might have saved me some pain. My, uh, my mother passed away several years ago… It's been very hard." Steve looked down, his blonde hair falling slightly over his face, shoulders slumping and muttered, "Sorry."
Bucky looked at him, trying to catch his gaze. Steve met his eyes and felt as if his very soul was being viewed. Bucky sighed, "I know how you feel… My father died fighting when I was younger." He quickly averted his gaze. Steve reached out and grabbed his hand, comfortingly.
They stayed like that for some time before Steve laid down on the cool concrete roof and stared into the night sky. Bucky followed suit, and they whispered for hours about every simple and in depth thing they could talk about. Eventually they laid quietly, enjoying each others presence and closeness, letting the cool air wash over them, a stark contrast to the bustling city below.
As the days and weeks passed, Steve thoroughly enjoyed his budding friendship with Bucky. The pair was practically inseparable, running around and having many misadventures. Steve finished whatever job Smith had demanded of him, then quickly sought out Bucky for the afternoon or evening. Bucky, it seemed, was always with a crowd of people, laughing and talking- quite the socialite. This was the part of his life that Steve usually shied away from. Socialization, at least with those his own age, was difficult. Today however, Bucky had set aside his social life and was following Steve around on his errands.
Steve pushed open the door to Mrs. Messer's shop and smiled as the familiar bell hanging on the door chimed. She came scurrying out of the backroom, wiping her hands on her apron while trying to brush the grey hair out of her face. Her face brightened when she saw Steve.
"Steve dear! So good to see you, what can I help you with today…" She trailed off for a moment when her eyes landed on Bucky. She looked him up and down, then looked back at Steve. "And who might we have here?" She asked, as she indicated to Bucky.
"This is Bucky," Steve began. "A good friend of mine." Bucky leaned forward and shook her hand, nodding his head at her.
"Nice to meet you," he said with a grin.
"And you as well dear," Mrs. Messer smiled. "Now Steve, would you mind helping me move some boxes in the back?" Steve stood to help her, and Bucky did too. "No, no, no, dear you're a guest here. I insist you wait here," she chided warmly. Bucky sat back down.
Mrs. Messer shuffled Steve into the backroom, looking at him happily. Steve looked around and realized that there was nothing there to move. "Um," Steve asked, "Where are the boxes?"
"Don't be silly dear, I just wanted to talk to you!" Mrs. Messer clasped Steve's hands in hers, looking very proud. Steve stared at her, extremely confused. "You know, I suppose I should have known that you didn't need a pretty young lady on your arm, you just needed a handsome young man!" Steve was silent for a moment, then realized what she was saying. His face turned bright red and he pulled his hands away, stuttering.
"Wha- No! No, no, Mrs. Messer I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong idea. Bucky and I are just friends."
"Alright dear, whatever you say," she said knowingly as she pinched his cheek. Steve shook his head as he walked out into the main store, meeting up with Bucky. Bucky looked at his red face, perplexed. Steve walked out of the door, while Bucky followed. "I look forward to seeing you two nice boys again!" Mrs. Messer hollered after them.
Bucky leaned down and whispered into Steve's ear, "What was that all about?"
"Nothing," Steve muttered, ignoring the tingling sensation that shot down his spine at the proximity of Bucky's lips.
There was an electric energy at the Smiths' house that night. Steve was unsure why as he walked into the kitchen, startled by Smith and both of his sons talking excitedly. On the table he could see some flyers of sort, but couldn't make out what was printed on them.
"I'm taking Jane," one of the boys was saying, while the the other one agreed how attractive she was.
"Ah Steve, nice of you to finally show up," Mr. Smith directed at Steve.
Steve shrugged worriedly, "I'm sorry I was-"
Smith waved him off and said, "I don't care about your excuses. Look here. Have you heard? The Roseland Ballroom is holding a three-day gala. It's going to be one of the biggest events of the year. Of course, I want my handsome sons to make an appearance. It starts on Friday. I'm going to need you to convince Ed's down the road to rush order their new suits. It's very important they look their best, representing my business." Steve nodded, trying to take in all the information.
One of the boys turned to Steve and asked, "Who are you taking?" The room was silent for a moment before Smith burst out laughing in loud guffaws.
"That's a good one son. Ha- who's he going with? Even if he was going, what pathetic excuse for a woman would go with him? Hilarious!"
Steve ground his teeth, upset. "But what if I did have someone to go with? Couldn't I go then?"
Smith's laughter slowed, and his eyes hardened. "Excuse me? Oh, come on Steve. Do you honestly think you can go? What would you wear? Those rags? This is a classy affair, and you have no class. Get out of here, I won't take such nonsense from you. Out!"
Steve scurried out onto the back of the house, and closed his eyes in anger and sadness. "Smith's right," he thought, "Even if I did go, no one would go with me." Bucky flashed through his mind, and he scoffed, "Yeah right." He settled down for the night, upset.
The next afternoon, he ran into Bucky on the street. "Hey," Bucky asked, "Have you heard about the gala?"
Steve looked away and said, "Yes."
Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and questioned softly, "So…. Will I see you there?"
"No," Steve muttered angrily. Bucky looked at him, taken back.
"What? Why not?"
"It doesn't matter," Steve said, continuing down the street.
After ten minutes of pestering, Bucky finally got it out of Steve. "Why didn't you just say something?" he exclaimed. "Clothing is an easy fix." (This is all Steve had mentioned- certainly not the part about needing a date.) "And it's not even like it's going to be that fancy, I'm sure that we'll find you something."
Bucky reached out to some of his social contacts and the pair actually ended up at Mrs. Messer's. "I'm sure this will fit you," she stated, as she dug around in an old trunk in her storage room. "This used to be my nephew Frankie's. He was a fine young man, he moved out downstate with his wife. You know, I think they're having have a baby soon. What a kind family." Steve waited nervously as she chatted away.
At last she pulled out a worn tan suit, and held it up to him. It was much too big. Steve looked away disappointed. "Thanks anyway," he said sadly.
"Oh nonsense," she chattered, "I'll sew it up right quick for you dear, no problem!"
As the evening wore on and Mrs. Messer hummed away on her sewing machine, Steve found his eyelids drooping. He was sitting on a crate next to Bucky who kept whispering to him about the most random of things, making him laugh. Steve sighed and leaned back, resting his head on the warped wood behind him. Bucky leaned in closer and Steve instinctively rested his head on Bucky's shoulder, reveling in how perfectly they fit together. The last thing he saw was Bucky looking at him, eyes gleaming, a light smile crossing his lips.
When Steve woke up he had a crick in his neck and had to blink to grow accustom to the dim lighting. He was lying on the floor, with Bucky's jacket as a pillow. He sat up, disoriented. He could faintly hear laughter coming from another room. He stood, up and pushed open the soft curtain separating the rooms, and found Bucky and Mrs. Messer laughing away over what looked like tea.
"Steve!" She exclaimed, "You're finally up! Here dear, take this." She handed Bucky her cup, and grabbed the folded suit from the counter behind her. Steve took it and walked back to the other room to try it on. Mrs. Messer had done a good job; it fit wonderfully. As he walked out he was met with Mrs. Messer's beaming face and Bucky's wide eyes. Bucky looked him up and down, and Steve had to fight to keep the warmth off his cheeks.
"It's great," Bucky grinned, "You look great."
It was finally time. Smith's boys had already left hours ago, but Steve wanted to be sure that he would not be caught. He was wearing Mrs. Messer's suit, and had carefully combed his hair to the side using the window as a mirror. He walked off the porch and quietly slipped past the gate, his heart beating with adrenaline. Once he was on to the main road he calmed down, lulled by the comforting feel of the city. It was drizzling, so he walked under the awnings of the shops on the way. As he approached the Roseland, he could hear and feel the music vibrating down the street. He found himself nervous again, worried about what would happen when he got there.
As he entered the building, his senses were overflowed. The light widened his eyes, along with the many colored dresses and outfits swishing across the floor; the aroma of different foods filling his nose. The laughter and music pulsed through his ears. He was overwhelmed. All he could think was, "Where's Bucky?" Steve carefully maneuvered between people, beautiful people who could dance perfectly, making him feel self-conscious. He had a near run in with a wait staff carrying a tray of bubbling champagne. The man glared at him and turned away. Steve averted his eyes, embarrassed, muttering, "Sorry." He continued around the giant room, eyes darting back and forth over faces, hoping that every brown top was Bucky.
At last he heard a familiar voice a couple feet behind him. "Ah, that's right, doll." He turned around with a smile on his face at finding Bucky. When Steve saw him, his heart dropped. He was sitting at the bar halfway on a stool, leaning over on his hand on the edge. Next to him was a pretty young blonde woman who was obviously thrilled by Bucky's attention. He watched them flirt for a moment more, than turned and pushed past people, trying to get away. His face burned with shame as he rushed out of the building. He froze for a moment as he ran out into the rain, then let it slowly soak through his clothes, mixing with the beginning of tears.
Steve clenched his fists, standing at the edge of the street. His mind was running at a thousand miles. "Of course. I don't know what- I don't know what I was thinking. That we would hang out? That he would dance with me?" He scoffed under his breath. "I should have known. It was just a social thing. He would dance with beautiful girls, and I- I would dance alone." He could no longer tell if the liquid on his face was rain or tears. Shaking his head, he crossed the street, ready to make his way home.
He looked back as someone yelled out, "Hey!" He squinted to make out a blurry shape coming out of the Roseland. "Hey, Steve!" Steve's stood, surprised, as Bucky ran through the rain toward him, his feet splashing in the street. Bucky grabbed Steve's arm softly and asked, "Why did you leave? I saw you there, and then you were gone." Steve was lost for words. Bucky leaned his face closer, foreheads almost touching. "Why did you leave?"
"I-" Steve stammered, "I thought that- I thought- you were busy. I thought you were with that- that girl. I thought that you didn't want- didn't need me there."
Bucky shook his head angrily and scoffed, "Are you kidding? I don't'- I don't give a shit about that girl or those people. I mean they're nice of course. But I was passing the time. I was waiting for- for you." He was breathing heavily, upset. They both were. Bucky brought his face closer to Steve's, cupping his face in his hand, oblivious to the rain pouring over both of them. "Steve," he whispered, "Steve, I'm with you till the end of the line." They stared at each other, eyes wide, and just like that their lips were touching.
Bucky's lips were warm and soft, gently moving against his. Steve was unsure of what to do at first, but it quickly became apparent. Their lips moved together in a motion that sent warmth throughout his body, like nothing he'd ever felt before. Bucky's hand roamed his side, causing shivers to cascade down his skin. Steve retaliated by reaching up running his fingers through Bucky's hair, pulling just enough to illicit a soft moan from Bucky which he caught in his mouth, continuing to kiss him. The two stood there for what seemed like an infinity, intertwined together in the rain, next to the bustling building long into the night.
When Steve finally made it home and had laid down on his sorry excuse for a bed, he couldn't get rid of the grin that was spread across his face. Even though he was soaking wet and quite cold, he was still warm inside. He couldn't stop reliving the magical moment over and over, and couldn't wait for the next day of the gala. Perhaps this time they would actually dance. He fell asleep the happiest he'd been since his mother passed away.
He slept in late the morning after, and hurriedly rushed to get ready, sure that an angry Smith was waiting for him inside. He slowly pushed open the back door, mentally preparing himself for a barrage of insults. He was greeted with an eerie silence. He walked around, glancing in each room, confused. There was no one there. He didn't let it get to him though, and soon made his way outside.
Soon enough he ran into Bucky, who had been looking for him. Bucky's grin stretched across his face when he saw Steve, and Steve was sure he was doing the same. Bucky leaned down and pecked Steve's cheek, which was now light pink. The two held hands as they walked down the road, earning a hoot of joy coming from the direction of Mrs. Messer's shop.
The afternoon was uneventful, and Steve enjoyed the time with Bucky. Now it was dark, and he was ready to head out to meet up with Bucky at the gala. He put on his suit again, and tightened his tie. (The suit was still slightly damp from the night before, but he didn't care.) He made his way over to the gate, and pushed it open. Except, it didn't open. He tilted his head, confused, and pushed it again, wondering what the deal was. The gate refused to move. He ran his hand over the rough wood, realizing that it was locked from the outside, and was too tall to climbing. Steve was quite worried now, perplexed by the locked door. He made his way back to the back door of the house, and quietly pushed it open. The place was dark, and the moonlight coming in from the window left odd shadows waving on the floor. Steve made his way passed the kitchen, and then jumped in the air, surprised, when the light was flicked on.
Sitting at the table was a very angry looking, very drunk looking, Dr. Smith. Steve's shoulder's slumped, afraid of what was to come. Smith stared at Steve disapprovingly, running his large thumb around the glass of brown liquid on the table before picking it up and bringing it to his mouth.
"So," he began, his voice disturbingly calm, "So Steve, as you know, I have given you everything. I took you in when no one else would, out of the kindness of my heart. I gave you a home, a place to sleep, food to eat, a family. So imagine my surprise when one of my dear patients, Mrs. Thompson, informed me that she had seen you at the gala last night? She saw you there, in the very clothes you are wearing now, which are most definitely not suitable for an event of that standing- she saw you there knock into a waiter? Run through people? Essentially misbehave and destroy my good name in as many ways possible; disobey me. And to top it all off, you were running around with some boy?" He was angry now, his fist clenched tightly around the glass, reddening.
Steve looked down, trying to hold back tears. "I'm sorry, I-"
"You're sorry? YOU'RE SORRY?" Smith roared, tightening his grip on the glass so hard it shattered, causing Steve to flinch back. Smith stood up suddenly, then slowly reached behind him on the counter for the bottle of alcohol he had been drinking, and took a chug straight out of it. He walked around the table and up to Steve, who had backed up to the wall. Smith leaned down got right in Steve's face, reeking and spraying spittle all over him, "I am sick of your worthless apologies. I am sick of you. I'm sick of your pathetic self. You are worthless to me you hear? You are worthless!" And with that he swung up the bottle and brought it crashing down on Steve's skull. Steve cried out and sunk to the floor, grimacing in pain as he felt the blood on the side of his and blackness began to enter his vision. Still, he found the strength to stand up and face Smith, who's face and eyes were glowing with fury.
Meanwhile, at the Roseland, Bucky was waiting for Steve. It was passed the time they had agreed upon, and Bucky was growing worried. He was aware of Steve's history with the Smiths, and was afraid of something bad happening. The worry began to gnaw at him, and he could sense that something was not right. He made his way out of the building and to the Smith's business, and the closer the got the faster he ran. He made it to the door, and could hear yelling coming from the inside. He banged on on the door and when he got no answer, steadied himself then kicked it in. The door sprung open as the edge buckled under his foot, and he was able to see Steve being gripped at the arm by Smith.
Steve's fight was over. His vision was almost gone, and he had no stamina. Smith was lifting him up by his arm and was about to smash him into the wall when Steve saw Bucky run up behind him. "No," Steve thought, "No, please, don't hurt Bucky." Steve was dropped to the ground and all he could do was watch the scene unfold in front of him. Bucky was strong and fit, and was able to attack Smith and land several good blows to his face and chest, knocking him breathless. However, Smith was considerably larger, and had the remains of the glass bottle and was using it as a knife to cut into the skin on Bucky's arms, who had no way to defend himself from the sharp object. "No!" Steve hoarsely called out, "No, Bucky!" Smith had been able to use the glass to cut his stomach and face, and had forced Bucky to the ground. Bucky suddenly dove to the side, and leapt up behind Smith, kicking his knees in from behind. Bucky stood, triumphant, over Smith on the ground. Steve breathed out a sigh of relief, then watched in horror as Smith had opened the cabinet nearest to him and pulled out a small gun, which was now pointed at Bucky.
The two were at a standstill, staring at each other. Smith turned to Steve, and slowly smiled as he pulled the trigger, hitting Bucky in the right side of his chest, knocking him down onto his back. Steve yelled out, desperately trying to crawl towards Bucky, who was now moaning in pain. Smith stood up and yanked Bucky up, causing him to cry out louder. Smith looked over a Steve, a terrible look on his face, and laughed, "Ha. Looks like your little boyfriend and I need to get acquainted. He's a perfect candidate for one of my trials wouldn't you say?" He then forcefully kicked Steve in the ribs, then pulled Bucky down the stairs to the basement, locking the door behind him.
Steve pulled himself to the door, sobbing, the tears on his face mixing with blood. He banged and banged on the door, begging, "Please… Please no, not the experiments… please." He was met with silence. Soon, however, he wished for the silence back. He could hear Bucky's screams coming from below, over and over again, more and more painful each time. Steve curled up into a ball, shuddering, as the night continued.
The screams finally ended as early sunlight began to pool in from the window. Not long after Steve could hear some one coming up the stairs. He sat up groaning in pain, oblivious to the blood and tears matted on his face and hands. The door creaked open and he watched as Bucky and Smith exited. But Bucky was not Bucky. He stood straight and unmoving, his face solemn, staring off into the distance.
"Bucky?" he whispered. Bucky looked down at him barely acknowledging his presence. His eyes were empty, and Steve shivered from looking at them. Bucky cocked his head at Steve and squinted his eyes before muttering,
"Who the hell is Bucky?"