Chapter Text
The following hours, aside from a quick and limited tour were mostly spent in Bucky’s bedroom. The kitchen was busy, and Mr, and Mrs Barnes returned home a couple hours before the table was to be set without a word. Bucky could tell that Steve was itching to explore further, the library in particular, but the more he limited any interactions with his parents the better. Becca visited them for a while, and the three chatted pleasantly until the bell signaled it was time to start the festivities.
Bucky had changed into a brown dress sweater, and Steve was wearing a similar colored cardigan embroidered with small squirrels that he’d apparently picked up at the secondhand store back in Marigold. He looked nicer than usual, the ratty street style he favored replaced with what would hopefully be considered passable by his family.
“Relax, alright? It’s just dinner, we eat, we go.” Steve whispered to him as they descended the stairs, affirming that he hadn’t been hiding his nerves as well as he wished.
“Just dinner.” Becca repeated, nudging him kindly as they took their places.
The room was heavily perfumed, with expensive candles, Lysol, and various aromatic dishes working together to give Bucky a terrible headache. Inviting Steve had been a mistake. Bucky had been beguiled by the idea of having Steve by his side, but in the moments before he’d asked, he had forgotten that that would also entail subjecting him to Bucky’s parents.
“So,” Winifred started, setting her cutlery down on the intricate placement with a gentle clink. “You’re friends with James?” She directed a tight smile and blank stare towards Steve.
“We share a dorm.” Steve said, easily. This answer didn’t seem to phase anyone but him.
“Well, this is nice. Rebecca never brings any of her friends over.” Bucky’s mother continued, taking a long sip of the glass of wine she’d poured herself when she’d gotten in.
Becca, from across the table rolled her eyes as much as she could get away with. “We like to meet at Maddie’s house, she has a game room.” As well as a handsome older brother, if Bucky was remembering correctly. Despite the casualness she tried to portray, the ease of her quips were lessened as they always were around their parents. She looked smaller, here at the table, than she had when they’d met at the door. Bucky was grateful she would be headed to college soon, it would be good for her.
His mother let out a sigh. “Oh, I’m sure.” She said, into her glass of wine.
Becca glared over. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Neither your father nor I have met any of your friends.” Winnifred said, with a shrug, as though implying they weren’t real.
Bucky, who might have normally stayed out of it so early in the evening, spoke: “I’ve met Maddie. She’s nice.”
“Don’t argue with your mother.” George said, and the conversation was over. He looked over at Steve, as though he’d forgotten he was there. “We were hoping James would bring home a girlfriend, and now he shows up with a boy. Let’s hope no one saw them arrive.” He spoke it as though it were almost a joke, but no one laughed.
Bucky froze up momentarily, unable to breathe. He felt Steve tense beside him for a second before relaxing. Steve gave him a kick under the table, which he figured was meant to be reassuring, but did in fact hurt a little bit. It was distracting enough, though, that by the time he turned his attention back to the dinner, he was confident enough that Steve wasn’t going to murder his parents, and was able to react a little. Not that Bucky would even be particularly inclined to stop him if he tried.
“Your grades are good, I assume?” Winnifred asked Bucky perfunctorily.
“Yeah, mom.” Bucky replied, stabbing the turkey with his fork.
George took a sip of beer. “Extracurriculars?”
“No, not really. Haven’t had time.” He wished desperately they would all stop looking at him so much.
When there was a quiet silence for a moment, Steve offered, “You’ve been running.”
That caught Bucky a little off guard, he hadn’t expected Steve to notice. He was so rarely home.
“Given any thought to joining a house?”
Bucky choked on his food, glancing over at Steve, who also looked disconcerted. “I’m not sure that’s for me.” He said, in as even a tone as he could manage.
“Nonsense.” His father said, less playfully. “Some of my best business connections are from my fraternity brothers at Brown.”
“Right,” Bucky said, dismissively, looking anywhere but Steve’s eyes. He didn’t need them to be reminded of their last falling out, not while he so desperately needed Steve to be on his side. “Becca, how’s senior year?”
“Don’t call her that.” Winnifred snapped. “It’s ridiculous.”
“What? Mom, she likes it. It’s fine.” Bucky tried, for the first time in years, to push back against his parents a little.
His mother’s vacant eyes narrowed at him. “Rebecca is named after her great grandmother. Is disrespecting our family fine to you?”
His father set his fist down on the table with a thud. “You will not talk back to your mother like that. That is not how we raised you. We’ve put a roof over your head, food on your table, paid good money for you to attend that sissy college, and now you ignore my advice?”
It took a minute for Bucky to realize he was still talking about the fraternities, and hadn’t really been listening to the conversation he was having with his mother.
“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, shrinking in his chair, staring down at his plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve looking at him. Though he couldn’t quite parse his reaction, Bucky felt a whole new wave of shame wash over him.
“You know,” George said, still not willing to let it go, “Your grandfather went to Hollis. He had connections with HYDRA men his whole life. Some of them were at his funeral.” He finished the sentence as if the matter was decided.
Bucky and Steve both turned to stare at him. There was a long silence before Bucky spoke, “Granddad was in HYDRA?”
His father gave him a disapproving look. “You should know that. Bartholemew Barnes was a great man, and an important member of our family. I knew to respect my parents.”
“…did he ever say anything about it?” Bucky continued. Less afraid of his fathers disposition than he was stunned by the revelation.
“Only that it was the best decision that he’d ever made. You’ll feel the same way when you join. Those men will take care of you, they took care of us.”
“I had… a pretty weird experience with them.” Bucky said cautiously, hopeful he could learn something else.
“I’m not asking, James.” His father stated, voice low and even.
“Don’t cause a scene in front of our guest.” Winnifried chimed in unhelpfully. She gave Steve a plastic smile.
Bucky’s grip tightened on his cutlery, but he nodded. “Uh. I’ll look into it.”
“They’ll be glad to know you’re interested.” George said, with a finality that made Bucky incredibly nervous.
Dinner continued silently for another couple minutes, with only the uncomfortable sounds of chewing and occasional glassware clinking.
Eventually, Winnifred remembered they were supposed to be roleplaying as a happy family. “So. Any girls, James?” She had always been incredibly invested in his love life.
Bucky now wondered if that had any hand in why he had never had one. “No, mom.”
George frowned. “I met your mother when I was your age.”
Look how well that worked out for you, he thought. Instead he said nothing.
His mother pouted. “I wish you’d just try, James. People might talk, you know.”
“Mom. No one cares who he dates but you.” It was the first time Becca had spoken in a couple minutes, and almost everyone at the table had forgotten she was there.
“Marsha’s son didn’t date anyone for years, and then one day he came home with a husband.”
Steve, graciously, tried to step in. “Bucky’s got some girls hanging around.”
“Oh?” His mother raised an eye, at the same time his father snapped “His name is James. Jesus both of you two with your obsessive need to reject the names we’ve given you.”
“Marsha should have known,” His father muttered further under his breath, “you can always tell.”
Bucky, before he realized it: “Dad. Come on. Who cares?” Immediately, he regretted it.
“Excuse me?” His father had been waiting to jump down his throat. “Don’t you see what they’re doing to this country? What they’re doing to the children?”
It crossed the back of Bucky’s mind that George Barnes had never cared for children whatsoever, not even his own. His head was still reeling from learning that his grandfather had been an active member of HYDRA. That there had been former members at the same funeral he’d attended less than ten years ago.
Finally, he said, “I’m not sure they’re doing anything to children.” He tried to keep his voice firm, but heard it waver.
His father looked down at him with deep contempt. “This is what I get for letting you transfer to an arts college. I thought maybe, at the very least, you’d get something out of it the way my father had. You know your cousin is married, and works at a bank. He’s only a year older than you.”
“…okay?” Bucky wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
George set his beer down on the table with a thud. “I had the wrong kid.”
“Dad!” Becca protested, weakly, before she was cut off with a glare.
“Don’t you start. One disrespectful leech is enough for this family, don’t you think?”
Becca shrank back, giving Bucky a woeful look. He shook his head, it was best to stay out of it.
* * *
“You can get out onto the roof from this window.” Steve noted with more surprise than Bucky felt it warranted.
“Yeah.”
Steve looked back at him, he was still shaking mildly from the argument downstairs. That was something Bucky had noticed about him, the effects of a fight, physical or not, seemed to linger. “You didn’t mention it.”
Bucky frowned. “Should I have?”
But Steve was already pushing the window open with both hands. A gust of chilly air entered the room, Midas meowed disapprovingly. Before Bucky could ask, Steve clumsily climbed out and onto the available space facing out to the neighbourhood. A second later, his blond head poked back through, cheeks already redder from the cold. “Are you coming?”
Bucky hesitated, but the heat that had been building beneath his collar hadn’t entirely subsided, and the fresh air was appealing. He nodded, grabbing a zip-sup strung over the bedpost and following suit.
The wind was harsher than he’d expected, but their position shielded them enough that it was bearable for now. He’d never been out here, had never even thought of it, and the view was pleasant. Most of the houses were within eyesight, yellow and orange squares of lights contrasting the blue late autumn night sky. There was an icy bite to the breeze, like little pieces of sand that promised the snow would be here sooner than later. That was comforting, the rain and fog had been weighing heavily on the both of them.
“I’m sorry for throwing that mug.” Steve suddenly spoke, voice softer and without his usual strength.
Bucky watched him carefully, Steve wasn’t looking at him, opting to instead stare at the city lights in the far distance. When it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, Bucky nodded. “It’s alright.”
“God, I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Forgive me.”
More silence, Bucky shifted cautiously, the cold from the shingles had seeped through his dress pants and was making him shiver. He wondered what a fall from this height would do, how hard the grass would feel, how perfectly he’d have to land in order to die instantly.
“I shouldn’t have lied, I-”
“It could’ve hit you, broken your skull or something.”
“It didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
Steve drew his knees up to his chest, leaning back against the house. Bucky felt the urge to comfort him further, but knew it was unwanted. Instead, he mirrored the action, allowing his head to make contact with the frosted panelling.
“I’m sorry about what my dad said.”
Steve scoffed. “You’re apologzing to me? He called you a leech.”
Bucky just shrugged.
“Has he always been like that?”
The wind howled, the lights on the houses surrounding them had been growing dimmer. Bucky thought about it. If he tried, he could almost remember a time when the scene they’d just lived through inside wasn’t the norm. Blurred memories of baseball games and warmer holidays intertwined with the movies he’d grown up watching with Rebecca. His father had definitely been calmer, less explosive, although trying to focus in on it now he wondered really how much of that was real and how much had just simply been a longing in hindsight.
“He used to be more apathetic, I guess.” He settled for, eventually, receiving a small huff from the blonde by his side.
“When I was nine my dad tried to kill me with a beer bottle.” He said after a beat, the casualty of the statement stunting Bucky’s response for a moment.
“Wait what? Seriously?”
Steve nodded, looking at him now. He smiled, but the desolation in his eyes was jarring. “I just mean I get it, having a shitty dad.”
“My dad never tried to kill me.”
Steve scoffed. “I’d take a cool scar and a deadbeat over dealing with that freak inside for seventeen years any day.”
Bucky didn’t ask about the scar, or contest the statement as much as he felt it might be warranted. Try as he might, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away from Steve, eyes fixed on the curve of his jaw, the way the wind was blowing his hair above his ear that looked far too red after only minutes in the cold. He wondered what a nine year old Steve would’ve looked like, fending against a grown man. It was hard to imagine Steve as vulnerable, or scared, but he must’ve been.
“What?” Steve asked, noticing the starring, but Bucky still didn’t look away.
Bucky refused to let himself hesitate, the drain of the evening having lowered his resolve just enough, to the point that he may as well have had a few glasses of wine. “I want us to be friends again.” he stated it solemnly, as seriously as he could muster. Steve just frowned.
“I’m at your family thanksgiving, Buck.”
Bucky shook his head. “You know what I mean, listen I know you’re- I know you don’t like a lot of things about me, and that’s fine, but it’s not just about getting along because we live together. I, care about you, I like when we eat dinner, and I miss watching shitty cable when we can’t sleep, I know I fucked up but I just want things to-”
“God, okay jesus, you’re in love with me, I get it.”
Bucky hung his head in his hands, unable to look at him. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, about Brock, you were right.”
Steve was quiet for a second, but nodded. “I was, but, they did really do a number on you on Halloween.”
It was Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Yeah.”
“I want us to be friends again too.” A beat. “And I’ve been shitty, I know that. Just, sometimes I can be a little, guarded.”
“What, you?”
Steve shoved him. “Shut up. I just, yeah whatever. We’re friends.”
The wind had quieted significantly, and the picked up chill was growing steady. What was rainy dampness in the air had fully iced over, and as Bucky was watching the first snow of New Castle begin, Steve spoke again. “I missed you too.”