I apologize for the lateness. Yesterday my eyes had something wrong with them and I nearly went to the ER. My cousin ended up going instead, after being mauled by a dog and she is only four years old. She is fine now.
Over a week, the two had strung together a routine. Bucky would go on odd jobs for money early in the morning, leaving breakfast for Grass. Grass eventually had enough sleep under his belt and would wake up an hour after Bucky would leave, eat, and then clean.( Not once did Grass drift into Bucky's room and Grass intended to keep it that way, he respected privacy to the point, that it could be said he worshipped it. ) When Bucky did return for the day, he would make dinner and the two would grudgingly trade the day's events.
The only real event was when Bucky left a note telling Grass he could use the shower. The teen had first ignored it, but then Bucky had come home and threw one of his spare black tanktops and a smaller pair of cargo pants at the kid. Grass had thrown a tantrum saying he wasn't a charity case but Bucky retorted that it was his water bill, so he should just take the stupid shower. Grass had relented, took the shower, and somehow the whole thing made him try to do even more around the apartment to pay Bucky back.
They were more or less reluctant roommates. Bucky was ok with that, the kid just being able to stay under his roof was enough to fill that unknown need, that made him drag Grass home in the first place.
However, today was Bucky's unlucky day. For weeks, he had worked himself to the bone and his prosthetic metal arm had paid for it. Yes, Bucky's metal arm was highly advanced, but everything has its limit. So, when he had stumbled into his apartment with his false arm hanging limply by his side, he was instantly approached by Grass. The greenish blonde would often greet the brunette with a slur and then would hop onto his hands to waddle his way to a table chair; except when the teen had seen that expression of pain on his caretaker's, (if that was the right word), he cursed up a worse storm than usual. "What the fuck did you fucking do to your damn arm, bastard!?"
Grass was swift to shake his head angrily, "Ya what? I don't wanna fucking know! Sit the hell down somewhere!" The kid barged through the room and to the cabinet under the sink, shouting "You're fucking lucky I found fucking tool kit!" Bucky's eyes blazed in amusement and interest, did the kid even how complicated prosthetics were?
The cursing half pint dragged himself onto the couch and the spot beside Bucky in seconds. The tool kit they possessed in the apartment was basic and missing a lot, being made up of a handful of various sized screwdrivers and wrenches. Yet, somehow Grass began navigating around the tools like an expert." Take the fucking shirt off," he commanded Bucky while not evening glancing from the kit resting on one of his thighs. Bucky humored the kid, grunting as he one handedly took of his shirt. He doubted the kid could do anything for his prosthetic, but he had learned to let the kid have some power over things.
Grass' eyes analyzed the dirty metal like a machine, he began listing off problems mentally without even realizing it. Too much grime, bolts were loose, and wires were probably snapped under the exterior. Huffing, the teen hopped back onto his hands to retrieve a rag to remove the dirt blocking up the arms tiny joints. Once back on the couch, Grass used his nimble fingers to cleanse the metal plates and managed to displace a pebble, the size of Grass' pinky nail. After that, grass began to tighten a the bolts on Bucky's shoulder, which held his arm on him.
At the same time, Bucky was bewildered by Grass' surprise skills in repairing his arm. He couldn't manage a word until the kid had finished what he could.
Grass dropped the tools back into the kit and crossed his arms, "That's all I can fucking do." He sighed and peered away from Bucky, "If I had the fucking tools or fucking knew something useful, maybe'd I'd have been able to fucking do something." Bucky blinked in confusion, what did Grass mean? Bucky attempted to move his metal and was remarkably able to twitch his prosthetic fingers. Bucky cocked an eyebrow, this kid had to be in denial or something, how many teenagers could make a futuristic high tech arm to almost work again with a few tools?
Before Bucky could stop himself he was already asking, "What would you need?"
Grey eyes rounded in double-take, "W-what are you fucking asking?" Bucky simply clarified with, "To fix my arm." "Why would you fucking trust a dumbass like me with that?", Grass gulped. Bucky almost rolled his eyes, "Because I believe you can fix it." A pregnant pause passed and Grass blushed crimson as he began to rattle off a list of what he would need to fix the prosthetic. Once Bucky had the list committed to memory, he made a point to comment,"You know most people don't know how to fix a prosthetic to the point you did."
"Wait, they fucking don't? Then why the hell do I fucking do!?"
.
.
.
Bucky was out shopping the next day for the things Grass had mentioned. He had no idea if what he was buying was actually the right thing, but Bucky could remember once using the phrase, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' as a motto for his life. So, on that ground, Bucky bought what he thought would be needed for fixing his arm. It was on his way home that Bucky found something that caught his eye.
The bookstore next to the carpentry store was having a blow out sale. It was a dingy shop that had been falling apart, but the books in the window were going for a low ball price that was hard to pass up. Grunting, Bucky walked into the store ignoring the hello from the elderly woman at the counter. Bucky studied the titles on the spines of the books. All of the books had extremely obscure names or were on topics that were strangely advanced. 'Fundamentals of Engineering', 'The Stark's Engineering for Geniuses', and ' Richard Reed's Sciences'. Ideally Bucky wondered if Grass would be interested in them. The books were cheap but Grass did appear to be knowledgeable on his prosthetic, maybe he'd like to read on more stuff like that?
Gathering up more than a small stack of books, Bucky took them all up to the cashier. He paid the lady and took off.
When Bucky got to his doorstep, he frustratedly realized he would have to knock. His metal arm wasn't usable enough to hold bags or open the door and his real arm was too busy holding his purchases. Sighing, he kicked the door and listened as he heard Grass yell, "Wait a fucking minute!" It wasn't long before the click of the door sounded and Bucky saw Grass balancing on one hand. "Welcome the fuck back.", Grass whined as he put his raised hand back on the ground. The two settled around the table as Bucky took out the tools he bought, which Grass happily swept up to stash away the tools in the kit.
After that, Grass had began to set things up so he could dissect Bucky's prosthetic enough to repair it. He laid out a towel and grabbed some oil and the tiniest screwdriver they had. Grass prodded underneath the plating of the bionic carefully, scrapping out enough grime out that he could finally get the smallest idea of how the arm worked. "Fucking finally." Grass muttered focusing in on a wire that was coming loose. The greenish blonde snapped off a piece of electrical tape and jammed it around the wire, pushing it back into place. Once he had, Bucky winced as the connection between his nerves and his arm were back in full. Bucky's hand clenched into a fist and Grass cheered, "Fuck yeah!" , in celebration.
Bucky grinned, this time the smile even reached his eyes. This kid was really something. Grass was looking smug, but this time in confidence rather than the usual defensive way. Almost like a proud father, Bucky ran his now working hand through Grass' hair. Grass froze but slowly relaxed. That's when Bucky recalled the books he had picked up. He stood up and grabbed the plastic bag that had been tossed aside by the door.
The bundle caught Grass' attention immediately and the kid tensed up in suspense. Bucky pretended not to notice and sat the back on the table, sliding it over to Grass. Grass stared at the bag for a moment before timidly taking out the contents. The fire in Grass' eyes sprung to life almost instantly as he took in the titles. He met Bucky's eyes questioningly, "Fucking why?" he whispered. Bucky shook his head, "You deserved an award." Grass nodded in shock, this was the first gift he could remember getting from any body.
It was an awkward night after that, but it was fine with both of them. They had both made a big step forward. Bucky was becoming more himself by taking of someone else and Grass was learning he was worth something by having someone take care of him.
.
.
.
The next day Grass had been glued to his new books. Admittedly, the information was addictive to Grass. Bucky had pointed out to Grass, that he knew more than most people did about repairing prosthetics. Now with the books, Grass could tell he knew more than just about prosthetics. Info was clicking into place in his head and Grass was just grasping how much he really knew. Mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, hydraulics, and so much more.
He pulled on his black tank top while sitting on the bathroom counter and then stared at himself in the mirror. He had taken a shower to organize his thoughts, but it wasn't working. Fuck… Grass grabbed a lock of his hair and frowned. His hair was a lot like Bucky's, not by choice but because he hadn't had anything to cut it with on the street. He bit his lip and glanced back at the mirror. The hairstyle felt wrong, like it wasn't suppose to be on him.
Grass jumped off the counter and pulled out a pair of electric clippers. He tossed it up on the sink and pulled himself back up. He plugged the clippers in as he licked his lips. Warily he put the cutter against the side of his head and watched as the hair fell. Once the right side was only about a centimeter long, he swapped to the left side. He stopped and thought about buzzing the top of his head, but that didn't seem like the thing to do. Nervously, he pushed the clipper to the back of his head.
He gleamed over his reflection, by the end of his haircut, the hair on top of his head had dried and began to curl. The haircut looked edgy but… Grass smirked. He fucking loved it. He was changing, remembering, but he could hope it was for the better.