Brooklyn seemed different.
Steve had been gone longer than he thought, but it felt as if he had walked down his block just last week. The military had paid for his flight back home. This time, he was staying.
He was tall and awkward, and he kept shifting in his seat in the back of the cab. His eyes darted nervously around the road, taking in the sights he had all but forgotten.
There were local barbershops and markets, all of which his mother supported like the gracious woman she was before she passed away while Steve was in his teens. The memory of walking there with her on the weekends made him crack a smile.
More images flew by the window as they drove. They must have renovated this place. Things were a lot nicer than he remembered them being. It seemed busier, as well. More cars were driving through, and the sidewalks were filled with people.
"Are you sure this is the way?" Steve asked. He leaned a little bit to his right so the taxi driver could see him in the rear view mirror.
The man nodded bluntly. "Four-eighteen Barker Street, right?" His eyes were bored as he stared at Steve in the reflection.
"Yeah. That's it." Steve replied quietly. He sat straight again, chewing on his lip as they drove through the city. He hadn't been home in a long time, but he was sure that his neighborhood was much farther from downtown.
The man driving was puffing on a cigarette, but the window beside him was barely cracked. Steve made a fist and loudly coughed into it, but the driver paid no attention. If he did, he was ignoring him. So maybe the people are different, too.
The rest of the car ride was in silence. Steve wasn't used to taking cabs, but it was definitely a nice break from wobbly combat vehicles plowing over rough terrain. The radio was on. It was quiet, but definitely on. Military trucks didn't have that, either.
The more the they drove, the more nervous Steve became. Maybe he had jumped into the wrong taxi and got stuck with a shoddy driver. But that was just his luck.
"This is Barker Street." The man announced. It was almost as if he wanted Steve to feel lost just so he could take another ride and double the cab fair. The people are different.
Steve ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. It was short, and he really didn't like it that way, but just in the week that he'd been out of service it had grown a bit. He shook his head, making himself worry about the fact that he may be lost in Brooklyn instead of worrying about his hair.
"Are you sure?" Steve tilted his head to look at the man in the rear view mirror. He had the urge to say something snappy, but the irritated look on his face made him wonder if he was concealing and carrying.
The man took a deep breath. "I'll pop the trunk so you can get your bag. Unless you wanna go for another joy ride?" The man's accent was heavy with sarcasm as he puffed out his cigarette smoke.
Steve forced a smile, hoping he looked just as sarcastic as the other man sounded. "Thank you for the drive."
With that, he gripped the door handle and pushed it open so roughly he was surprised it didn't break off entirely. As Steve stepped out of the cab, he was so thankful of the fresh air compared to the stuffy atmosphere of the cab he was about to stop and wait in the middle of the street. But the cars kept humming along, forcing him around back.
Steve grabbed the tail of the trunk and pushed it open. With a soft grunt, he pulled his army duffel out of the trunk and slid it over his shoulder. After being away for so long, he wasn't sure if he should be proud or pitiful that all of his belongings fit into one bag.
He closed the trunk with a slam so hard the back end of the taxi bounced. A satisfied smirk leapt over his face. Steve stepped up onto the curb and looked at the continuous strip of shops. This was definitely not his neighborhood. This was downtown Brooklyn.
"Hey, kid!"
Steve turned around, surprised to see the taxi driver's shoulders stuck out of the passenger side window. The man was still chewing his cigarette as he called out, "You didn't pay yet."
With a short gasp of embarrassment, Steve patted around his pockets to find his wallet. The army bag slid around on his shoulder in the process.
Steve missed it, but he wished he could've seen the look on the man's face when he noticed the bag was army issued.
The driver grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and let it fall onto the sidewalk outside the cab. His hands quickly grabbed the baseball cap on his head and took it off, revealing hair so balding and messy he should have kept it on. "Thank you for your service."
He had come home wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It was crazy how differently people treat you based on what you look like.
Steve's eyes furrowed as he looked away from his wallet and at the man. His blue eyes widened in surprise, seeing the baseball cap twisted between the man's hands. "You're welcome." He gave the man a curt nod before stretching out his leg and stomping the man's cigarette to ash beneath his shoe.
"Here." Steve ducked down to read the fare meter, pulling out the money needed and handing it to the driver.
The man took the money, his hands a bit shaky. He pulled half of it into the car and stuck it in his pocket before returning the other half to Steve. "Welcome home, sir."
Steve gingerly reached out and took the money. His face was blank-mostly with shock. He took it, and didn't have time to insist the man take all of it; he had slipped back in his cab, rolled the window up and drove away.
The people are definitely different. Steve's hand flew to the strap on his shoulder, making sure his bag stayed there as he walked a few shops down. All of them were numbered above the door, but Steve didn't see 418 until he stood in front of a tattoo parlor.
He was debating whether or not to go in when the door opened up and someone else walked out. He was shorter than Steve by a few inches, as his messy brown hair was tied back in a bun. He wore a plain tank top, showing the sleeves of ink that covered his arm.
The man had keys in his left hand as he locked up the shop. That arm was covered in black and grey, a work of art so vivid Steve had to stare for a moment before realizing it was only the tattoo of a robotic arm and not an actual prosthetic. It ran all the way to his fingers.
"The daycare is across the street, few shops down." The man said clearly, turning around and swinging the keys around on his finger.
Do I look like a dad to him? Steve didn't care to argue. "Is this four-eighteen?"
The man was silent a moment. He looked behind him, and up at the sticker numbers plastered above the front door. "It seems it is." The man said slowly like he was talking to a child.
"Well, is-is there a different Barker Street?" Steve asked.
The man shrugged. He reached behind his head, deciding his hair was annoying him. His mechanic tattoo arm flexed behind his head as he pulled the tie from his hair. The messy locks fell down to his shoulders. "Just so happens this is the one and only in Brooklyn."
Steve could've punched him, but he wasn't that violent. His thoughts of hitting that man in his smug grin quickly subsided as panic washed over him. He rose his hands to his face, stressfully rubbing it before tightly skimming his fingers through his hair. "Seriously?"
"Seriously." The man looked over Steve's shoulder and gestured to his bag. "How long have you been gone?"
The blonde man sighed deeply, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Nine years."
A low and deep whistle came out of the other man's lips. "The neighborhood that used to be here was torn down six years ago. I take it that's where you were?"
Steve just nodded blankly, unable to form any words.
The man made a pitied clicking noise with his tongue. "You're folks didn't tell you?"
Steve didn't feel like sharing any more personal data with the snarky guy, so he just shook his head. "I lived alone." He lied, and he was sure it was obvious, but the man went with it.
"I'm Bucky." He said, holding out his hand.
His right arm was covered in tattoos as well. Steve tore his eyes away from his sleeves in an attempt not to stare, but only got caught up in staring at the man's brownish blue eyes. They were chocolaty for sure, but there were a few specks in them that seemed to be blue.
The man cleared his throat, the smug grin on his face growing wider as he saw Steve to be flustered. "I'm Steve." He managed to say at last.
Bucky shook his hand. For someone smaller than him, he seemed like he wanted to crush Steve's hand. So he was a bit of a spitfire, if that wasn't clear already.
"Well Steve," Bucky sighed, his hand still clasped around Steve's, "I think it's safe to say you're homeless."
thank you all for reading! i was pretty sure the comics never said where steve lived exactly but if they did then let me know! and i really like spunky-punk bucky and dad steve lmao. also, bucky's eyes are brown but sebastian's are blue, so i mixed them to make him extra pretty. i hope you enjoy too :)