Chapter 2

"Well, here we go again,

you've found yourself a friend that knows you well.
No matter what you do,
you'll always feel as though you tripped and fell."

BUCKY

Bucky Barnes was itching to move around. He'd been good for two das—two days—since Nurse M had chewed him out. He'd loitered outside the office, heard her tarnishing his good name to the skinny kid on the cot. He'd thought, rude. But he hadn't done anything. They liked it when he didn't do anything.

He, however, did not. He shrugged his jacket up tighter around his broad shoulders with a dramatic flick of his head. Weird how that lean little bleeding blonde boy kept popping up in his head over and over again. He was so small, so fierce and so…well, injured. He'd gotten his ass kicked, but there he was like he had nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe he didn't. He'd been there, all labored breathing and clutching that ice to his face, but somehow still looked like a champion. Bucky rounded the corner into the parking lot, paved and black under the gray afternoon sky. It wasn't dismissal time, but James Barnes dismissed himself. He sauntered past parked cars in his casual way, rapping his fingertips on hoods and windows just to listen to the sound.

He was humming to himself as he noticed a blonde head disappear behind one of the cars. He narrowed his eyes mischievously, digging around in his pocket for a cigarette as he tracked the boy's progress. He was damn interesting. Pride and valor and courtesy all packed into, what, 5'4" of respiratory issues? Bucky held the cigarette between his teeth, lighting it and drawing in deeply, feeling the tingling deep in his lungs before he exhaled.

"Hey!" He shouted. The word had just left his lips when it occurred to him that the kid might get the wrong idea. "I don't wanna attack you!" He followed up, blowing smoke out of his nose as he tilted on to his tiptoes to get a glimpse. The kid had stopped moving. "We met in the office." He called over. "Sorta."

The blonde head, now accompanied by a lean body, emerged from between cars to look at Bucky warily. Judging by the way he'd looked the other day, Bucky didn't blame him. He'd looked like Rocky's opponent after the championship. And he'd acted like it was a regular thing. "You gonna come over here, pal?" He called over, more gently, tilting the cigarette between his teeth.

"You're smoking." He pointed out.

"You're short. What's your point?" Bucky countered.

"I have asthma." He sighed.

Bucky thought it over for a moment, before dropping his cigarette to stub it out with the toe of his battered boot.

"Better? C'mere." He leaned against the truck behind him, someone's dirty red Toyota. The boy obliged, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his khaki pants as he stepped around bumpers tentatively.

"Do you…want something?" He asked carefully, angled defensively away from Bucky.

"I wanna know your name, I dunno, have a conversation. I don't want to attack you, okay? Chill." He held up his hands innocently. "I'm Bucky."

"I know. I mean, I heard." He paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "I mean, I'm Steve. Steve Rogers." He held out his hand. Raising an eyebrow, Bucky indulged him, shaking it. He couldn't help the slight turn of his lips, the slight smile that appeared on its own when he realized that the boy—Steve—was nervous. Like in all situations, Bucky stared the elephant in the face.

"Whatcha nervous about, Steve? Hands all shaky. I don't wanna attack you, you must know that by now. What do you have to be worried about?" He raised an eyebrow.

Steve froze for a fraction of a second. Talking to this guy was like talking to nine different people—you tell one of them you name and the next one has to ask you why that's your name.

"All of the people who do want to attack me, I guess." He shrugged it away, trying not to notice exactly how blue Bucky' eyes were.

"That's fair. You need a body guard." Bucky said. His hand went to his pocket, as was his habit to smoke during a conversation. For a second, it hovered there, until his mind rested on the thought of accidentally crippling Steve. He defaulted to pull out his Zippo lighter and toy with its cap, flipping it open and closed.

A smile crossed Steve's face, and even though it was wistful and wry, it lit up his thin face like a Christmas tree.

"I don't have the money for that, though, do I?" He leaned against the truck beside Bucky.

"I'll do it." Bucky said, almost too quickly. "You can…help me with homework, or something." He said vaguely, waving his hand. Steve smiled, his head turned away from Bucky. The idea was more appealing than he cared to admit, as were most things about him.

"If I helped you, would you turn it in?" Steve asked.

"Probably not." Bucky admitted.

They stood there, leaning in the silence for a moment, both of them just…people. You like him. Bucky's mind pointed out. No I don't. Bucky pointed out in return. Liking people is for seventh graders and friendly citizens. Bucky Barnes was neither of those things. This was community service that happened to have perks. Bucky glanced over at Steve, taking note of his long blonde eyelashes and the curve of his cheekbones in a way he would swear was objective and analytical. He wondered how someone who got beat up so much could still look so…unbroken.

"BARNES!" Someone shouted from twenty yards away. Bucky cringed away from the window of the truck, half-turning and half-crouching as he peered through the rain-streaked glass pane of the truck to see who it was. And, as he had both expected and dreaded, there stood Mr. Ripley. The disciplinarian—six feet two inches of misplaced anger and disappointment—had it out for Bucky.

"Shit. Shit." Bucky shook his head, wincing and tucking away his lighter.

"What'd you do?" Steve whispered loudly, eyes wide with unfamiliar panic.

"I have no idea. I mean—I'm supposed to be in class—but that can't be surprising. Shit. I don't know." He glanced into the car's side mirror, catching the reflection of the man walking towards them, arms swinging at his sides like bags of rocks. "Run off, man. Run and hide, or that dude will not forget your face." He squeezed Steve's shoulder. "I'll make a diversion."

"I—are you sure?" Steve looked overwhelmed by concern.

"Yep. Solid. I'll see you around, Steve." He winked, leaping out from behind the truck and breaking into a sprint.

"BARNES! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" Ripley's voice shouted itself hoarse as he chased after his least favorite delinquent, and behind a Toyota truck, Steve Rogers willed away several thoughts involving a boy in a leather jacket.

A/N: "Steady as She Goes" by the Raconteurs / I'm sorry the chapters are so short right now, but this is just some Bucky exposition for everybody. Enjoy & please review, and thank you to those who have! - Michelle