Chapter Text
The first thing Steve Rogers noticed about James Buchanan Barnes was that nobody sat next to him. Not in homeroom, not in the cafeteria, not in chemistry. Not anywhere. It wasn't like people actively avoided him. Nobody got up and moved when he entered a room. Nobody whispered when he walked by. Nobody openly disliked him. If anything, it was stranger than that. People simply left him alone. Like an unspoken agreement existed throughout the entire school.
Leave Barnes alone.
Steve noticed it during his first week. Being the new kid meant spending a lot of time observing people. Trying to figure out who was friends with who, who dated who, who the popular kids were, who the weird kids were. Normal high school stuff. But Bucky didn’t seem to fit into any category. He existed on his own plane, never interacting with any of it, drifting through the hallways of the school alone. He moved through the school like a ghost with a schedule. Quiet. Efficient. Always alone. Headphones around his neck, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark hair falling into eyes too blue for a face that tired.
Steve couldn’t figure out why he kept looking.
Maybe it was the way Bucky held himself, shoulders drawn tight like he expected impact. Maybe it was the careful way he moved, like every step had been thought through before he took it. Maybe it was the bruises Steve caught glimpses of sometimes. Fading yellow near his jaw, purple beneath one eye, knuckles split and healing. Or maybe it was the fact that nobody else seemed to look at him at all. That bothered Steve most. Because Bucky wasn’t invisible. People had simply decided not to see him.
Sometimes Steve caught him helping people. Holding doors open, silently giving somebody notes from a class they'd missed, helping freshmen find classrooms. Then he would wordlessly disappear before anyone could really thank him.
It didn't make sense.
People who were jerks usually had friends. People who were nice usually had friends. But Bucky somehow had neither. It bothered Steve. So after a month of observing, waiting to see if his initial analysis was wrong, Steve finally cracked. Who was Bucky Barnes? The obvious person to ask was Sam Wilson.
Steve had met Sam on his first day at the school, when he'd gotten lost trying to find the gym and somehow ended up in the band hallway instead. Sam had laughed, pointed him in the right direction, and then introduced him to half the student body before lunch. Steve still wasn't entirely sure how Sam knew so many people. Somehow he was friends with everyone. Teachers liked him, freshmen liked him, seniors liked him. Athletes, theater kids, honors students, it didn't seem to matter. Sam floated effortlessly between social circles, collecting friends the way other people collected action figures. More importantly, Sam knew things. Not in a malicious gossip kind of way, but people just talked to him. They trusted him, and Sam had an annoying habit of remembering everything. If there was anyone in the school who might know something about Bucky Barnes, it was Sam Wilson.
So during lunch one day, Steve pointed across the cafeteria toward the far table by the windows where Bucky sat alone, picking at his lunch, reading a textbook and ignoring the rest of the world.
"Who's that?" Steve asked, trying to sound like it was any unimportant topic. Sam followed his gaze, his face twisting into one of surprise when he saw exactly who Steve was referring to. "Oh." he paused, schooling his expression back into neutral. "That’s Barnes." Steve waited for him to continue. 5 seconds passed, then 20. “You’re doing that thing.” Sam frowned “What thing?”. “The thing where you clearly know more than you're saying." Steve accused with a half smile. Sam sighed "I don't really know much." Steve raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Sam immediately looked uncomfortable. "Okay, that's a lie." Steve’s expression lit up. "I knew it!"
Sam glanced toward Bucky again, lowering his voice slightly despite the fact that nobody nearby seemed remotely interested in their conversation. "He's kind of a mystery." Steve looked across the cafeteria. Bucky still hadn't looked up from his book. "What does that mean?" Sam shrugged, looking back at Steve. "It means nobody knows much about him."
Bucky turned a page, shoulders moving in a deep sigh. Steve thought he looked exhausted. "He doesn't have any friends?" Steve asked. "Not really." Sam replied.
"Why?"
Sam shrugged. "No clue." he paused, before continuing. "People have tried."
That got Steve's attention. His eyes drifted back to Sam, shining with questions. "What happened?" Sam laughed softly. "Nothing." Steve’s expression turned confused "What do you mean, nothing?"
"I mean exactly that." Sam gestured vaguely toward Bucky. "People talk to him. He talks back. He's polite. Some would say nice, even. Then eventually the conversation ends and somehow that’s that." Steve’s eyes drifted back to Bucky, he was scribbling something down in his notebook. Steve found himself wondering how someone could spend their lunch studying, instead of talking to friends. "Maybe he just likes being alone." He concluded, but even as he said it, the words sounded wrong on his tongue.
"Maybe." Sam tilted his head. "But I don't think that's all of it." Sam looked as if he was debating whether to continue, but one look at Steve sent him over the edge. Steve was persistent, and he already knew he wasn’t going to let this go. Sam sighed. "There are rumors." Steve groaned immediately. "Of course there are." Sam laughed. "It's high school, man. There are rumors about everybody!"
"Fair."
For a second, neither of them spoke. Sam looked down at his hands, then back over at Bucky. "Some people think he's got anger issues." Steve blinked. "What?" Sam pointed subtly with a french fry. "You've seen the bruises, right?" The words made Steve pause. Because yes, he had seen them. A fading black eye last week, a neat ring of bruises around his wrist another day, a split lip once. Little things that showed up and vanished without explanation. Steve noticed things like that. Sam leaned back in his chair. "Some people think he gets into fights." Steve frowned. Steve looked back at Bucky. The boy was still reading, still eating his lunch one bite at a time, completely detached from the chaos around him. It was difficult to picture him throwing a punch at anyone. "Does he?"
"No idea."
Another pause before Sam continued "But I've never actually seen him start anything." Steve looked across the cafeteria again, brows furrowed in thought. "He doesn't look violent."
Sam snorted. "Tell that to the football team."
"What does that mean?"
"One of their linebackers, John Walker, called him a freak freshman year." Steve looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow. "And?"
"And Barnes punched him." The answer surprised him. "Seriously?" Sam nodded. "One punch, but the guy deserved it." Steve laughed. "Okay." “But that’s not all.. They were sent to the principal’s office, parents got involved and the whole shitshow. It looked like it was handled pretty quickly, but the next day Bucky showed up to school with a nasty black eye, so people assumed maybe they had fought more after school as well. Only Walked looked completely fine, so Bucky must’ve taken most of the damage.” Sam shrugged “After that the rumor never really left. Maybe that’s why people don’t interact with him unless they need to.” Steve looked back toward where Bucky sat.
He had finally stopped writing. He sat with his chin propped on one hand, staring out at the football field beyond the glass. For the first time since Steve had started watching him, he wasn't reading or taking notes or pretending to be busy. He just looked tired. Not bored, not sad, just tired. The kind that’s bone deep. Steve frowned. "Did anybody ever ask him?" Sam looked over. "Ask him what?"
"Where the bruises come from." Sam barked out a laugh. "Sure. A couple people."
"And?"
"And he says he's fine." Steve's jaw tightened slightly. Sam noticed right away. "See? That's exactly why I didn't want to tell you any of this."
"What?" Steve looked confused. "You've got that look." Sam pointed accusingly at him with a fry. "What look?"
"The one where you've decided somebody is your problem now."
Steve opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Because annoyingly, Sam wasn't entirely wrong. The bell rang before he could think of a response. Around them, the cafeteria immediately erupted into motion. Chairs scraped against the floor. Conversations were cut off mid-sentence. Students gathered backpacks and headed toward the exits in noisy groups. Across the room, Bucky moved too. He closed his textbook, slipped it into his bag, before standing and flinging it over his shoulder. Just another student heading to class. Except he wasn’t. Because nobody said goodbye to him. No one said `let’s walk to class together`, or called out his name from across the hall. No one stopped him on his way out. He simply slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed for the door alone, the same as Steve had observed for a month. Steve watched him weave through the crowd, unnoticed, like everyone’s eyes saw right through him.
Maybe Sam was right. Maybe Bucky just liked to be alone. Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Why he looked so exhausted, why he never talked to anyone for longer than necessary. Maybe Steve was just overthinking it. Maybe…
But no. Steve didn’t buy it. Not completely. Because people who wanted to be alone usually looked comfortable in their solitude. Bucky looked isolated. There was a distinct difference. Maybe Steve was reading too much into things. Maybe he was projecting, or meddling in things he had no business meddling in. Maybe he was curious, or too stubborn for his own good. His mother would probably agree with that one, but whatever the reason, he was tired of watching from a distance. Tired of wondering. Tired of trying to figure out who Bucky Barnes was without ever actually speaking to him.
Steve stood abruptly. Sam looked at him with suspicion. "What are you doing?" Steve grabbed his backpack. Across the cafeteria, Bucky was already halfway to the exit. Making his escape uninterrupted like always. Steve smiled. "Making a bad decision." Sam groaned. "Oh no."
"Yep."
"Man, you've known this guy for exactly zero minutes." Steve started walking. "Technically true."
"And yet you're doing this anyway."
"Also true."
Sam shook his head, already giving up on stopping him. "Good luck, man." He called after him.
Steve laughed and headed across the cafeteria. He walked with intent, past all the students moving towards their next class, weaving through the crowd with ease. Bucky reached the doors just as Steve caught up. "Hey."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, shoulders tensing as he slowly turned. And for the first time, Steve found himself on the receiving end of those startling blue eyes. Guarded immediately, not hostile or unfriendly, just wary. Almost like he was bracing for an insult. He looked so confused. Like nobody ever approached him, like he couldn't imagine why somebody would. Steve smiled. "You're Bucky Barnes, right?" Even more confusion flashed across Bucky's face. Quick and genuine, before caution replaced it. "Yeah?"
A pause. "Do I know you?"
Steve stuck out his hand, still smiling. "No. But I think we should fix that."
For several seconds, Bucky simply stared at him, completely baffled, as if this was the strangest thing that had happened all year. And honestly? It probably was. People talked to him sometimes. Group projects happened. Classmates occasionally asked to borrow notes or a pencil. But nobody ever sought him out like this. Not anymore. Most people left him alone, which was exactly how he liked it. Or at least that's what he told himself.
Bucky stared at the outstretched hand, then at Steve, then back at the hand. For a brief moment, he genuinely wondered if this was some kind of prank. The setup certainly felt familiar enough. Get the weird kid's attention. Watch him fall for it. Laugh afterward. It wouldn't exactly be original. But if that was the plan, Steve Rogers was putting on an impressive performance. His smile looked genuine. Not a trace of mocking. Just a genuine friendly smile. Which somehow made the whole situation even stranger. Steve, unfortunately, showed no signs of leaving. His hand remained extended, that patient smile still plastered on his face, waiting for Bucky to respond.
"This is weird." The words escaped before Bucky could stop them. Steve grinned. "Is it?"
"You don't know me."
"Nope."
"Then why are you talking to me?" Steve seemed to consider that, then shrugged. "You looked lonely." He finally dropped his hand, realizing Bucky wouldn’t stop clutching the handle of his backpack to shake it. Bucky blinked. The honesty caught him completely off guard. People weren't supposed to say things like that, especially not strangers. Especially not giant, ridiculously handsome strangers.
For a second, Bucky forgot how to respond. Steve took his silence as encouragement. "Also Sam said nobody talks to you."
Bucky furrowed his brows. "Wilson."
"I take it you know him."
"Unfortunately."
Steve laughed. The sound was warm. Easy. The kind of laugh people had when life hadn't spent years teaching them to be careful. Bucky felt his chest ache. He didn't know what to do with a sound like that. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Steve was still smiling, like this was a completely normal occurrence to him. Walking up to a complete stranger and just announcing they should be friends. Bucky couldn't decide if he found it charming or deeply concerning.
"So." Steve shifted his backpack higher on one shoulder. "I'm Steve."
"I know." Bucky responded too fast, the regret instantly washing over him. He looked away, towards the class he was originally walking towards, wondering if he should just start walking away right now.
Steve blinked. "Oh." The surprise vanished, replaced by a grin.
"You're new," Bucky added, because apparently his mouth had decided it was participating in this conversation whether he liked it or not.
Steve's grin widened. "So you noticed me." He said playfully.
"No." Bucky’s reply came too fast again. And yes, maybe he was lying, because who didn’t notice the new kid. Especially when that new kid was a 6 '2, broad shouldered, blonde all american, handsome guy.
"You just knew my name by accident?"
Bucky squinted at him as Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. The worst part was that he wasn't even trying to be smug. He was just genuinely delighted, like he'd discovered some fascinating piece of information. Bucky hated how infectious it was. His chest was doing that horrible aching again.
"You're annoying." Bucky had to do something to de-escalate the situation. How was Steve so good at this? He was trying to get him to leave, but somehow his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate with his usual methods. His brain was telling him to put his walls up, to tell Steve to fuck off. That he didn’t want any friends and certainly didn’t want to talk to the likes of Steve, but the words caught in his throat, never making it out into the world.
"I've heard that."
"I somehow doubt that." Bucky shuffled on his feet, again unsure why he kept speaking.
The statement pulled another laugh from Steve. That same warm and easy laugh that sent a wave of emotion through Bucky’s chest. He couldn’t understand how someone could laugh so naturally. For a brief second, he found himself wondering what it would be like to move through the world like that. To laugh without thinking first, to talk to people without fearing they would get too close. The thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
Steve was already looking at him expectantly. Like he was waiting for Bucky to continue the conversation. Like he hadn't already done more than enough. The weird thing was that Bucky didn't immediately leave. He probably should have. Instead he adjusted his grip on his backpack and started walking toward class. A second later, footsteps fell into rhythm beside him. Bucky glanced over, and saw Steve was still there, a smile still plastered across his face. Still acting like this was completely normal. Like they were already friends.
Bucky shook his head. "You're seriously coming with me?"
"Looks that way."
"Why?"
Steve considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "No reason." The lie was so obvious that Bucky almost laughed. Almost. Instead he rolled his eyes and kept walking. Steve matched his pace without missing a step. And for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, Bucky found himself letting him. Which was where he made his first mistake.
They walked in silence for a few seconds, and to Bucky’s surprise, it didn’t feel awkward at all. Steve also seemed at ease, walking with an easy stride next to him. "So how long have you gone to school here?" Steve asked. "Since freshman year." Bucky answered, keeping his eyes forward. "That's rough."
Bucky frowned. "What is?"
"Being here before me." Against all odds, a laugh escaped Bucky. Small and unexpected. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made him laugh, and the realization startled him. Upon hearing Bucky’s laugh, Steve immediately looked pleased with himself, grinning even wider than before. “So you can do more than scowl!” Steve teased, making Bucky’s cheeks turn a darker shade. “W-What?” He stopped walking, trying to compose himself. “It’s good to know you have a sense of humor.” Steve stopped as well.
“I don’t have one.” Bucky quickly replied, resuming his stride. He couldn't believe Steve had actually made him laugh. “You just laughed.” Steve said, matter of fact.
“I was laughing at you.” Bucky mumbled. “Because you sounded ridiculous..”
At that Steve laughed. “I’ll take it.” Bucky rolled his eyes.
The hallway was beginning to fill as students moved between classes. People streamed around them in every direction. Most of them didn't even glance at Bucky. A few looked surprised to see Steve talking to him, but Steve didn’t seem to notice any of the strange looks. Or maybe he noticed but just didn’t care. Bucky couldn't tell which possibility was stranger.
"So what class do you have?" Steve asked.
"History."
Steve groaned dramatically. "Oh thank God." Bucky looked over. "Why?". "I thought you were about to tell me chemistry."
"What's wrong with chemistry?"
"Everything."
For a moment, Bucky just stared at him. Then another laugh threatened to escape, but this one he just managed to suppress in time. Steve somehow managed to catch the change in his face and pointed accusingly. "I saw that."
"You saw nothing." Bucky schooled his expression to neutral. "I absolutely saw it." The grin on Steve's face widened. Why was he acting like making Bucky smile was some kind of personal mission? Steve was ridiculous.
The end of the hallway arrived far too quickly. Bucky slowed to a stop, suddenly aware of the knot of students filtering past them. For a second, neither of them spoke, and then Bucky realized something horrifying. He didn’t want the conversation to end. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water, because this was exactly why he avoided people.
This. The warmth spreading through his chest. The stupid grin that kept threatening to appear. The feeling of wanting more, of wanting a conversation to last longer. Of wanting things he didn’t deserve. It was dangerous. All of it. Which was why he had to avoid this. Bucky tightened his grip on his backpack, swallowing over the lump in his throat.
“My class is this way.” He choked out. "Oh." For the first time all afternoon, Steve looked vaguely disappointed. The sight sent another painful twist through Bucky's chest. "It was nice talking to you, Bucky." The smile he received in return was so genuine it almost hurt. Bucky didn’t deserve a smile like that. Bucky looked away first. "Yeah." Brilliant response, truly incredible work, Barnes. But Steve didn't seem to mind. "I'll see you around."
Immediately, every instinct Bucky possessed screamed at him to end this. The voice of reason in his head, yelled to put distance between them. He couldn’t let Steve get closer. Couldn’t risk him seeing any more of him. This was the only way he knew how to survive. He had to remind Steve that this wasn’t a thing. They weren’t friends, and they would never be friends. Steve should forget the whole conversation and move on to literally anyone else.
"Probably not." The words came out sharper than intended. Steve blinked. Bucky pressed on anyway. "It was just a conversation." There. That should do it. That should make Steve lose interest. That should make him walk away. Instead, Steve's smile somehow widened, like what Bucky had said had somehow challenged him. Bucky immediately knew he'd made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Steve wasn’t going to let this go. "I'll definitely see you tomorrow then."
"No."
"Yep."
"No."
Steve started backing away down the hallway, still grinning. "See you tomorrow, Buck!"
Bucky stared after him, the distance growing with every step. Buck? "Don't call me that!", Bucky yelled after him. Steve's laugh echoed down the hallway. Then he disappeared around a corner, leaving Bucky standing alone in the hallway once more. His heart was racing at a thousand miles per hour and his chest ached with an unknown feeling. And despite every logical thought in his head, despite every warning his voice yelled at him, Bucky already knew he was going to spend the rest of the day wondering if Steve would actually show up tomorrow. This was turning out to be quite the problem.
The feeling lasted exactly twenty-three minutes. That was how long it took Bucky to get home. Twenty-three minutes of replaying every stupid thing Steve Rogers had said. Every grin, every joke, every stupid mundane question he’d asked. It was ridiculous. The guy had talked to him for less than ten minutes. Bucky should have forgotten about it already. Instead he kept hearing it. You looked lonely. Nobody had ever said something like that to him before. Not like it was a problem worth solving. Not like it mattered. By the time he reached the front gate, Bucky had almost convinced himself it meant nothing. Steve was new, that was all. He would soon understand that Bucky wasn’t worth it. That there were other, better friends he could have. Tomorrow he would find real friends. Normal friends. And then he would forget all about Bucky, and Bucky would accept this and move on as if nothing had happened at all. The thought should have made him feel relieved, but instead something unpleasant settled in his chest. Disappointment. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around what this meant.
He opened the front door before he could think about it any further. And just like that, the feeling disappeared. The house had a way of doing that. Every good thing seemed to evaporate the moment he stepped inside. "James." His stomach dropped. Brock Rumlow, his father’s security guard, and Bucky’s so-called “babysitter” sat in the living room. He looked like he had been waiting for him, something that happened more often than Bucky wished. Something in Bucky's posture immediately changed. His shoulders tightened with tension, and his eyes dropped to the floor, wishing he could sink through and disappear. The heavily guarded and cool version of himself from school vanished so quickly it was almost embarrassing. Rumlow had a way of making him feel instantly small.
Rumlow's gaze narrowed. "What?" Bucky froze, not even daring to breathe for a second. “I said, what.” Rumlow repeated, getting up from where he had been lounging on the couch, looking like a predator scenting blood.
"What?" Bucky echoed back, barely above a whisper. Hoping that if he kept quiet enough Rumlow wouldn’t be provoked. "You look happier than usual." The accusation landed harder than a punch. Because he wasn’t supposed to see that part of Bucky. The version of Bucky that had laughed in the hallway with Steve Rogers didn't exist in this house. The moment he stepped through the front door, that person disappeared. In this house, Bucky was whatever Pierce needed him to be. Quiet. Obedient. Grateful. Above all else, grateful. That lesson had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember. Ever since Alexander Pierce had found him. Or rescued him, depending on who was telling the story.
Bucky's memories of his parents were fragmented at best. A cramped apartment. Empty cupboards. The smell of cigarette smoke. Adults who disappeared for days at a time and came back acting strange. Hunger that settled into his stomach so often it eventually started feeling normal. Then Pierce had appeared, like something out of a movie. Rich and powerful and important. He'd given Bucky a bedroom bigger than the apartment he'd grown up in. Clean clothes, regular meals, school. A future. At least, that was the story Bucky had heard since the age of 6. Pierce had saved him. Pierce had chosen him. Pierce had spent money on him. Therefore Bucky owed him everything. Whenever he complained, Pierce reminded him where he'd come from. Whenever he struggled, Pierce reminded him how lucky he was. Whenever he wanted something for himself, Pierce reminded him that none of this had been guaranteed. And after enough years, the message had sunk in. Deep. Engraved into his very soul. Bucky didn’t belong to himself. Not really. He belonged to the man who had taken him in. And whatever he wanted, Bucky would do. Whoever Pierce wanted him to be, Bucky would be. Bucky was nothing but a clean slate, ready to satisfy any way he could. Through his grades, his obedience, his attitude.
"What happened at school?" Rumlow took another step forward. "Nothing." The answer came too quickly. Both of them knew it. Rumlow's expression darkened, and Bucky felt the last of the tiny spark of happiness Steve Rogers had left behind begin to flicker out.
"Try again." Bucky swallowed, eyes remaining fixed to the floor. "It was a normal day." The hit came out of nowhere, a backhand straight across his cheek, pulling a yelp of both surprise and pain from him. When had Rumlow gotten that close? Bucky looked up at him, eyes wide with fear and hurt. Rumlow laughed then, a short, humorless sound that sent a shiver through him. "You know what your problem is?" Brock grabbed him by his hair and pushed his head into the door behind him, knocking his head hard against the wood. Bucky stayed silent, trying his best to not make a noise. "You think you're a better liar than you are." Bucky's stomach dropped. "I wasn't-" He pulled his head away from the door, only to slam it right back again, harder this time. "Don't." Bucky felt tears threaten to spill over his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. “You were smiling when you walked in.” The accusation made Bucky flinch. Rumlow noticed instantly, a sadistic smile slithering across his face. Bucky looked away. How could he have let this happen? How had he let Steve take over so completely? They had barely talked for 10 minutes, yet that stupid grin was stuck in his brain. The way he'd looked genuinely happy just to talk to him. It all felt like a dangerous dream now.
"Who was it?" The question brought him straight back to reality. “I-I’m not lying, sir, please-”
"Someone talked to you." The certainty in Rumlow's voice was terrifying. Bucky said nothing, focusing on breathing. On keeping his face as blank as possible. On not thinking about Steve. Definitely not Steve. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you.” Rumlow growled, pushing his body against Bucky’s. He had nowhere to go, hard wood against his back, and Rumlow’s hard muscled body against his front. He hated it. The feeling of being trapped like this. The smell of Rumlow’s cologne invading his nose as he leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I hope whoever you’re trying to protect is worth it.” Bucky once again stayed quiet. He knew nothing he would say would stop what was about to happen. When Rumlow got like this the only thing he could do was be as pliant as possible. Take the path of the least amount of pain. Years of dealing with this had taught him there was no point trying to stop the bigger man. He would take what he wanted, no matter what Bucky said or did. No matter if he struggled or not.
“Come here.” Rumlow dragged him by his hair from the door, over to the living room couch, pushing him down on his stomach over the armrest. Bucky didn’t fight, stumbling along and trying his best not to fall over his feet as Rumlow kept pulling painfully at his hair. Once he was face down in the pillows, he clutched at the pillows of the couch, bracing for the pain to come. Knowing what was about to happen next didn’t make it any easier. But this is what he deserved. Not the sunshine Steve had brought him today. What happened today was a mistake. An anomaly. This would remind him. This would put him in his place. What had happened today couldn’t happen again.
He felt his pants be dragged down to his knees and his shirt be dragged up to expose his back. Naked skin exposed to the air, Bucky shivered, clutching the pillows tighter. “Count them out loud. If you stop, I start from the beginning. Understood?” He could hear the grin in Rumlow’s voice. He loved this. Even if he told Bucky he didn’t enjoy punishing him, Bucky knew he was lying. Rumlow never ran out of reasons to make him suffer. No rule needed to be broken for him to find an excuse. And Bucky had learned to know when it was inevitable, and when it could be avoided. “Understood?” Rumlow repeated, bringing his hand down hard against the skin of his ass. “Y-Yes, sir!” Bucky yelped, gritting his teeth against the flash of pain. He was still bruised from the last time Rumlow had decided he’d done something wrong, which wasn’t more than 3 days ago. “Good. Now let’s start.” Bucky heard the distinct sound of a belt unbuckling, swallowing down his fear of what that meant. The hand was bad, but the belt was worse.
The first hit landed on his upper back, shooting searing hot pain through him. “One!” He yelled out, trying his best to stay still, despite how badly it hurt. If he moved, Brock would hurt him more, so he stayed as still as possible. Each hit arrived with a loud crack against his skin, hurting worse and worse for each one, but despite this, Bucky kept counting, focusing as hard as he could on the numbers. Each hit was carefully measured, perfectly placed to cause the maximum amount of pain, while also making sure it wouldn't be visible to others at school tomorrow. A perfect system that had been refined over the years. Under his clothes there would be a constellation of bruises and cuts from the belt, but only he would know. That’s how he was reminded of his place. Of who he owed his life to.
He had counted to 20 when it finally stopped. Bucky stayed still, face buried in the pillow, not wanting to move a single muscle, fearing that any movement might provoke him again. He tried to ignore the smell of Rumlow’s cologne, the sound of his breathing right next to him. The feeling of being watched even as he remained still. The silence stretched, and for a split second, Bucky dared to hope he might actually be safe, that Rumlow might be done for tonight. Then he heard the distinct sound of Rumlow’s zipper being pulled down, and Bucky had to physically stop himself from flinching. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on breathing through his nose. One breath in. One breath out. He could do this. Rumlow had done this before. He would do it again. All Bucky had to do was lay there. Rumlow’s heavy weight settled over him, and he felt the intrusion slowly enter, tearing him open. Bucky bit back a whimper, not quite able to stop himself “P-Please-”. He cried. He hated that he always cried.
Rumlow ignored his plea, pushing all the way in with a groan of pleasure. “Fuck you feel so good like that” He praised, before grabbing his hips and starting to pound into him, hard and fast. Rumlow’s heavy body pinned him down, a suffocating blanket of muscle and malice. The rough fabric of Rumlow’s uniform chafed against Bucky’s back, a counterpoint to the searing pain inside him. Every thrust was a violation, a reminder of his powerlessness. “This is what you were made for. Fuck-” Rumlow groaned, pounding in and out in a steady rhythm. Bucky couldn’t keep his whimpers back anymore. It was too much. Everything was too much. The lashes all across his back and backside, the intrusion ramming into him, using him. Rumlow’s words, drilling into his brain like a parasite. “If only the kids at school saw you like this. You think anyone would want to talk to you? Knowing you’re just a used up fuck-toy?” Bucky cried out, he couldn’t take it anymore. “S-Sir, please- s-stop!” At that, Rumlow grabbed his hair, pulling his head back at an awkward angle, somehow making the pain even worse. “Shut up! This is what you deserve.” He spat, continuing his relentless pace. “You come home smiling, lying to me about it and think you can just walk away?! I’m doing this for your own good. This is what you need, James.” Bucky had heard it all before, he knew it was true. So why had he let himself forget it today. Steve had barely spoken to him, yet he’d had such an effect on him. Bucky needed to remember his place. The pain was what he deserved. What he needed. He should be grateful to Rumlow for giving him this reminder. Bucky tried to go somewhere else until Rumlow would finish. Anywhere else would do. He tried to think about school. About a homework assignment he had to do. About a book he had read. About the blue eyes of a boy who had smiled at him like he was someone worth smiling at. A boy who had called him Buck.
But those thoughts were washed away by the pain, and the shame, and the feeling of being used, like he always did. When it was over, Rumlow left him there, stretched over the couch armrest. He didn’t dare move until the bigger man had left the room, not wanting to accidentally set him off again.
The house was silent by the time Bucky finally made it to his room. Silent except for the sound of his own labored breathing from the exertion of trying to move around with his fresh wounds. He made it to the shower, slowly undressed, then walked under the spray. He tried his best to scrub away the feeling of Rumlow’s hands on him, but nothing would make the pain and shame go away. Bucky lost track of how many times he had scrubbed his body, but the water suddenly running cold was an indicator that he had been in the shower long enough. He reluctantly stepped out and dried himself off, deliberately avoiding the mirror. Seeing himself after what had happened today would be all too much for him to handle.
It was hard to feel like doing anything after the events of the afternoon, but Bucky forced himself toward his desk anyway. Homework. That was what normal people did. That was what he always did. No matter what happened, there were assignments to finish. Tests to study for. Essays to write. Pierce expected excellence from him, no matter what he endured, no matter how little sleep he got. If his grades as much as slipped to a B, there would be hell to pay. And Bucky did not want that to happen. So life kept moving, and so did he. At least, he tried as much as he could.
With a small groan, he lowered himself into his desk chair, feeling the sting as he sat down on his newly made bruises and cuts. He ignored the dull throbbing and opened his history textbook. The familiar pages stared back at him. Words, dates, paragraphs. Normally he would have been halfway through a chapter by now, but tonight, he couldn’t even get past one sentence. His eyes moved across the page, but his brain refused to process what his eyes were reading. With a sigh, he rubbed at his tired eyes. This was useless. Slowly, Bucky closed the textbook. There was no point. Nothing was getting done tonight. Tomorrow was going to come whether he was ready for it or not. And right now, all he wanted was for this day to be over. Bucky changed into an old t-shirt and carefully climbed into bed. The familiar weight of the blankets settled over his shoulders, the bed making him feel comfortable, despite the pain in his body. For a while he simply stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. It didn't come. Not immediately. Because every time he closed his eyes, another memory surfaced. A grin. A laugh. Blue eyes. You looked lonely. Bucky rolled onto his side and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Tomorrow. Steve had said he'd see him tomorrow. Earlier today the thought would have filled him with hope, happiness even, but after what Rumlow had done, what he had been reminded of, Bucky found himself dreading it. Steve had to forget about him. He had to. That was how these things worked. Tomorrow everything would go back to normal. Repeating the thought like a prayer, Bucky finally drifted toward sleep. And the last thing he thought about before exhaustion pulled him under was a bright smile and a teasing voice echoing down a crowded hallway.
See you tomorrow, Buck.