Hello, fanfiction world! Long time no see. After an unexpected break from writing, I am back due to the wonderful encouragement of Bree Colbern :)
This fic is in response to a request by Nocx. I hope it's what you were looking for!
(Bucky is 16 and Steve is 15 in this story)
"So what do you want, Steve?" Bucky questioned, stepping into the diner.
Steve followed at a more reserved pace as his friend strode straight for the stools lined up at the bar. Bucky easily claimed a seat, nonchalantly propping his elbow on the counter, thereby declaring the space as his own. When the attractive young waitress glanced his way, he gave her a casual wink, which earned him a coy smile and her full attention. As Steve climbed onto the stool beside him, Bucky gestured to the menu.
"What do you recommend, doll?" he asked the diner employee.
She gave a delicate shrug with her left shoulder and tossed a curl of blond hair over her shoulder flirtatiously.
"I'm trying to decide between the corned beef and cabbage or a hamber." Bucky leaned forward. "Either of those good today?"
"Sure," the girl answered.
"Which one should I have, Steve?" Bucky asked without even looking at him.
Steve shifted in his chair. "Are you sure we can afford this?"
Bucky rolled his eyes and reluctantly turned away from the pretty young woman in front of him to look at Steve. "Don't blow your wig. I just got paid today." He patted his pocket, where his well earned money rested. "We're here to eat, not to worry about the amount of dough we do or don't have."
Steve frowned but by then, Bucky had already swiveled back around. "So Miss…" he trailed off expectantly.
"Ruth," the waitress eagerly supplied.
"Ruth," Bucky repeated with a wide smile. "Would you be so kind as to serve me up some of that corned beef there." He pointed at the sign hanging on the wall.
"I'd be happy to," she replied with a coquettish lilt in her voice.
Bucky elbowed Steve in the ribs. Steve grimaced and glared at his friend. Tilting his head at Ruth, Bucky said, "She doesn't have all day, Steve. Tell her what you'd like to have."
"I'm not really hungry," Steve answered truthfully, glancing around the little restaurant.
Bucky sighed. "Just give him a grilled cheese."
Ruth nodded and stepped away to get their order taken care of. Bucky watched her go and then turned to Steve once more. "She's quite the looker, isn't she?"
"Yeah, I guess," Steve replied, distracted by the scene he could see through the window.
Two teenagers were cornering a third one, forcing him off the sidewalk, around to the back of the diner, out of sight. Steve straightened in his chair, alarmed.
"Do you think I should ask her to the dance this friday?" Bucky queried, eyes sliding back to Ruth.
"I'll be back." Steve abruptly jumped off his stool and hastily exited the building.
"Steve," Bucky called after him. But the door swinging shut was the only response he received.
"Where did your friend go?" Ruth questioned, returning to the spot where Bucky sat.
"I don't know," Bucky told her. He then planted his arms on the countertop and asked, "Would a pretty thing like you be interested in going dancing with a fella like me on friday night?"
Ruth agreed enthusiastically just as the food was finished. She brought the prepared plates to Bucky, then situated herself in front of him. Between bites, Bucky had a nice conversation with her about the food, the latest radio programs, and the most recent cartoon in the theater. Finally, a new customer pulled Ruth away and it was only then that Bucky took stock of his surroundings. He glanced at the plate next to his and frowned. Steve's sandwich was a sad picture of cold bread and drooping cheese. Bucky glanced around the diner's interior. But Steve was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, he wrapped his friend's supper in a napkin and put it in his coat pocket. After pulling out the appropriate amount, Bucky laid some money on the counter and headed for the door.
"Aren't you even going to say goodbye?" Ruth called after him.
"I'll see you Friday," Bucky offered.
Ruth's pouting lips weren't enough to stop him from ducking out the door. He stepped into the sunshine and glanced up and down the street for Steve. But there was no skinny, blonde, suspender-wearing asthmatic in either direction. Coming to the conclusion that Steve must have decided to go back to his house, Bucky began walking that way. But something caught his eye. A drop of liquid reflecting the sun sparkled to the side of his shoe and he bent down to examine it. The red color left no doubt as to what the substance was. Straightening, he surveyed the ground for more. A couple more spatters left a trail to the alley behind the diner and Bucky followed the tracks until he found what he feared he might.
Steve was sitting against the back wall of the restaurant, knees forming a barrier in front of his chest, while his hands plugged his bleeding nose. Bucky immediately knelt beside him. Apparently focused on his nose to the point of excluding all else, Steve startled at Bucky's arrival.
"Easy, it's only me," Bucky assured.
Steve relaxed minutely while still maintaining his defensive posture.
"What happened?" Bucky inquired, leaning forward to inspect his friend for damage.
"Buthin'," Steve mumbled with pinched nostrils.
"Did he hurt you?" Bucky asked, temper rising.
"Dey," Steve tiredly corrected.
"They?" Bucky clarified.
Steve nodded. "Two ob dem."
"Let me see." Bucky reached forward.
"No!" Steve jerked away.
"Steve..." Bucky sighed.
Steve mutinously scooted a few inches further out of reach.
"Steve," Bucky repeated, harsher this time.
"I'b find," Steve insisted, glaring at him.
"Of course you are," Bucky sarcastically agreed.
He stood and pretended to be interested in something out on the street. When Steve turned to look at what he assumed had captured his friend's attention, Bucky swooped down and snatched his wrist. Steve instantly resisted. Bucky tugged on it.
"Lebbe go," Steve demanded.
"Show me," Bucky commanded.
"No," Steve refused.
"Let me see your nose," Bucky growled, yanking hard on Steve's wrist.
Steve winced and was forced to yield to Bucky's insistence. Bucky crouched in front of him, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up. Although it was bleeding profusely, the nose was straight, not crooked. Whoever had punched Steve hadn't done it hard enough to break his nose, for which Bucky was grateful. He released Steve, more gently than he'd captured him. Steve turned his face away.
"Where's your handkerchief?" Bucky asked quietly.
Steve hesitated before reluctantly uncurling his legs so he could reach the pocket in his pants. When he did, Bucky was able to see that the thugs who had beaten Steve's face had also roughed him up elsewhere. His shirt was rumpled, the collar sliding aside to reveal a bruise already forming on his clavicle. There was a tear in the knee of his trousers and one of the buckles to his suspenders had somehow been broken. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. A flush crept over Steve's cheeks before he hid them behind the kerchief he pressed against his nose.
"Geez, Steve. You really know how to find trouble, don't you?" Bucky said sympathetically.
"I basn' twying to ged bead up," Steve defended.
Bucky frowned. "Well what did you think was going to happen when you tried taking on two guys?"
"I didn' stard the fighd," Steve bristled.
"Let me guess. You were trying to help someone." Bucky crossed his arms.
Steve glowered silently at him over the top of the tissue. Exasperated, Bucky threw his hands out.
"I don't get it, Steve. Why do you do it? Why do you always have to get involved in stuff like this?" Bucky questioned, arms moving to encompass the alley, Steve's dirty clothes and the blood streaming from his nose. Steve opened his mouth to launch a defense but Bucky wasn't finished. "It's not like you ever help anyone anyway. All you end up doing is taking the whooping meant for them."
Steve's eyes darkened with hurt before sparking in anger. "Ad leasd I twy."
"And a fat lot of good it does," Bucky scoffed.
Ripping away the handkerchief, Steve glared furiously at Bucky. "I never asked for your opinion."
Bucky blinked at the sudden outburst, wavering between offense and empathy.
"Or your help," Steve added sullenly.
Temper winning out, Bucky snapped, "Then I won't give it."
He turned his back on Steve and stomped out of the alleyway. When no voice called him back, he felt justified in crossing the city alone and going straight into his house. He slammed the door and didn't regret it either. But when he ripped his coat off and threw it over the back of the chair at the kitchen table and the wrapped sandwich tumbled out of his pocket to land with a dull thump on the linoleum, all his self-righteous indignation slipped away like the cheese spilling over the crust of the bread. Quickly, Bucky put his coat back on and, as an afterthought, scooped up the fallen lunch and carefully rewrapped it for transportation.
After climbing the stairs to Steve's back door, he paused before knocking. There was no answer and for a moment, he panicked, imagining that Steve had gotten into another fight on the way home. Just as he spun on his heel to launch a rescue mission, the door was cracked open and Steve's face appeared. He looked worse than when Bucky had first found him. A black eye was manifesting in a smear of maroon circling his left eye and the top of his cheekbone, while dried blood was crusted around his nostrils and the edge of his lip. He didn't seem surprised to see his friend, his expression one of resignation.
"What are you doing here?" he sighed.
Bucky swallowed and awkwardly held out the napkin covered peace offering. "You forgot your lunch."
Steve tilted his head and Bucky thought for sure he would reject it. Instead, Steve took the sandwich from his hands.
"Thanks, Buck," he mumbled, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile.
"Waste not, want not." Bucky shrugged self-consciously.
Steve acknowledged the idiom with a wry chuckle. Bucky laughed along with him, sensing their equilibrium returning.
"You know, I was going to see if I could find you a girl for Friday, maybe have you tag along. But now that I see your face, I'm having second thoughts," Bucky teased lightly.
"At least I have a reason for looking like this. What's your excuse?" Steve bantered back.
"Which one of us already has a date the dance?" Bucky reminded smugly.
Unable to argue with the truth, Steve just laughed softly.
"Honestly, Steve, you've got a little something on your face…" Bucky hinted, pointing to his own nose.
Steve sighed. "I know. I can't seem to get it all off."
"Would you mind if I tried?" Bucky offered, putting as much nonchalance into his voice as possible.
Steve considered the proposition. Finally, he swung the door wider in invitation. Bucky crossed the threshold and quietly closed the door. He pointed into the dining room.
"Sit, Steve."
"But-" Steve started.
"Sit," Bucky repeated in a tone that left no room for protests.
Steve obediently went to the table and selected a seat. In the kitchen, Bucky opened a drawer and pulled out two dishcloths. Then, he retrieved a spoon from the silverware collection and used it to chip away a chunk of ice from the bottom of the icebox. He wrapped the ice in one of the rags and took it to the dining room.
"Hold this," Bucky instructed.
Well accustomed to the practice, Steve placed the ice on the swelling skin around his eye. Once he'd done so, Bucky returned to the kitchen. He wet the second washcloth under the faucet before rejoining Steve. He hooked an ankle behind the chair next to Steve's, dragging it closer. He sat on it and leaned forward to begin the process of cleaning the blood from Steve's face. Steve watched him through his one good eye as Bucky expertly dabbed the rag against his nose and mouth. When all the blood was gone, Bucky tossed the stained rag onto the tabletop. He examined his handiwork and, satisfied, nodded once.
"There you go, pal. Good as new," he declared.
"Almost," Steve corrected ruefully, pulling the ice away from his eye.
"Nu-uh. Keep that on there," Bucky insisted, directing Steve's hand back into its original position. "Or you'll be in no shape to go out Friday."
Steve groaned. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to go to the dance?"
"What are you talking about? Everyone wants to dance," Bucky countered.
Steve rolled his eyes.
"Don't worry, Steve. I'll find you a date," Bucky promised.
"I don't even have the right clothes for it," Steve mumbled, fingering the busted buckle of his suspenders.
"You can borrow mine," Bucky brightly answered. "Now, no more excuses. We're going and we're going to have a good time."
"If you say so," Steve accepted with a long-suffering smile.
"We always do, don't we?" Bucky grinned.