Chapter Text
Bucky is lying, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that he’s lying to Steve. Normally, Bucky is a very good liar, always has been, and Steve has always liked watching him, liked the way he could chatter and charm, liked how he could smile in that boyish way of his that would make anyone want to believe him.
Steve liked the secrecy of it too, how every time Bucky lied Steve would be right there next to him trying to hide his knowing grin. Trying not to show just how much he liked being Bucky’s confidant, the only person he trusted enough to be let in on the joke, the only person he wanted to share the joke with.
It’s for this reason that he cannot lie to Steve. It’s not simply because they’ve known each other so long, like some may think. It’s because Steve has been witness and accomplice to so many of Bucky’s lies and schemes that he would recognize one in a heartbeat. Steve has also spent too much time studying Bucky to not know his tells, the curl of his grin, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the way he holds himself stiff and respectful or broad and relaxed depending on if he was trying to fool an authority figure or one of their school mates.
Like the time he tried to convince Mr. Wolowitz from down the street that they only wanted the booze for some cuts and scrapes that Steve sustained in his last fight, and that Bucky was worried would get infected.
[Bucky stood with his hands curled in front of him, clutching the edge of his worn hat. Steve wasn’t really sure what Bucky was playing at, but it was his thirteenth birthday, and Bucky said that that was something worth celebrating. How they were celebrating visiting the local grocer, Steve didn’t know, but he trusted Bucky, and they had agreed that going along with each other's lies (although Steve tries his best not to lie, his Ma says it’s a sin, after all) was part of being best friends. So, here Steve was, mirroring Bucky by taking off his hat and holding it in front of himself respectfully, meekly lowering his eyes downward.
He watched as Bucky smiled sheepishly and let just a hint of over-exaggerated worry seep into his voice as he tried to finagle just a bit of booze out of the shopkeeper. Only Steve noticed the way that his eyes shifted minutely, or the way that he leaned forward, almost imploring people to listen to him, like a snake mesmerizing its prey. Bucky doesn’t need to be a snake to mesmerize, Steve thinks. He could enchant anyone with those big blue-gray eyes of his.]
It was no wonder when they walked out of the grocer that day holding a medium-sized paper bag. Bucky knew how to work an audience.
Steve had noticed the way that Bucky was going out more, leaving at late hours of the night and coming back even later, only going out after he thought Steve was asleep. Usually Steve would assume he was going out to chase skirts, and he would sulk a little, would sit in bed and imagine what kind of girl Bucky might be with.
It didn’t really matter what kind of girl he pictured, tall, dark, and dazzling, or, petite, blond, and sweet, Steve would never be any of them. Except, Bucky never came back stinking of perfume that made Steve’s nose twitch, nor did Steve ever find any lipstick stains on any of his clothes when he did the washing, and Bucky also didn’t have that lazy smirk on his face in the morning that indicated he got lucky, he just looked tired these days, exhausted even.
Steve was at a loss for what to do; they never kept secrets from each other, sure there were things that neither of them liked to talk about, but they had certainly never tried to hide anything from the other. That was another one of their rules for friendship, they don’t hide things from each other, and even though they weren’t thirteen anymore, Steve still liked to hold onto the spirit of those rules.
Steve was sitting in bed, trying to convince himself he’s not intentionally staying awake waiting for Bucky to get back, just like he has done dozens of times over the past few weeks. Only this time he was sat up with eyes wide open, this time he wasn’t gonna pretend to be asleep, he was going to confront him.
Finally, at around midnight Bucky comes shuffling into their bedroom, freezing when he sees Steve still awake with the light on, he must not have noticed it through the crack under the door.
“Hey, Stevie” he says with a poorly plastered on grin, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his eyes.
Steve may be irritated that Bucky is lying and sneaking out and intentionally hiding things from him, but he’s also worried, more now than ever, looking at his best friend, dead on his feet, but still trying to act casual. Really, what could be so bad that he has to hide it from his best pal like this?
“Hey, Buck” he replies evenly, “where you been?” Steve has always been more comfortable with the blunt approach, no point in stalling things, he thinks.
“Oh, you know,” Bucky says, waving a hand dismissively and walking further into the room. “Just went down with the guys from the docks for a couple of drinks, Tony and his girl are getting ready to have a baby you know,” he plops down onto his bed, the springs squeak in protest to such a sudden pressing weigh being applied, and starts taking off his shoes, and slipping off his braces.
“Mmhm” Steve hums back, he doesn’t believe him. Well, actually, he does, that thing about Tony and his girl having a baby is probably true, Bucky liked to throw in true facts with his lies to make them more believable, but Steve is certain that Bucky wasn’t out drinking just now. Not only does he not smell like booze, or have the speech and coordination of a drunk man, just a very tired one, but Steve knows that’s not how going out with the guys works.
Despite the fact that Steve very rarely drinks, and even less so in the company of anyone besides Bucky, Steve knows that if the guys from the docks plan on going drinking they go directly from work to the pub. Mostly in an effort to avoid their nagging wives, or screaming children. Bucky has joked before about Steve being his equivalent of a nagging wife, but Steve knows he doesn’t really mean it, because unlike all the other guys he almost never stays out too late, or comes home too drunk, never tries to avoid him.
But that's not what happened today, today, like every other time, Bucky came home straight from work, they had a nice meal of ham and potato soup, courtesy of the groceries Bucky had brought home the day before, and then listened to the radio for a couple hours. Silently, but sat close together, before Steve had called it a night early, seeing as he was just coming off of a cold and still, at least in Bucky’s opinion, needed more rest.
What he was really doing was laying in bed with his eyes closed, waiting to hear if Bucky would leave, which he did, two hours later.
Now, Bucky shucks off his pants but doesn’t take off his shirt even though Steve can see that it's soaked through with sweat in certain places. This is odd in itself, because Bucky almost never sleeps with a shirt on, even in the winter. Steve gets up from his own bed and makes his way over to Bucky, standing slightly in between his legs. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, “Show me,” he urges. Bucky looks nervous, peering up at him.
“Show you what, pal?” he tries to play it off one more time, but the slight tremble in his voice gives him away. He’s never been good at lying to Steve, but more than that, he doesn’t like lying to Steve.
“Show me” he demands again, flickering his eyes over the covered expanse of Bucky’s torso.
Eventually, Bucky sighs, defeated, the jig is up. Steve continues watching intently as Bucky’s hands slowly work the buttons of his shirt lower and lower, exposing more and more skin in the dim light of the room.
Steve barely manages to hold in a gasp at the sight of all the bruises marring Bucky’s skin. From old, faded, slightly yellow to brand new dark blue with red tinge around the edges. It’s obvious now that Bucky has been getting into fights, but the question still persists, “why?” he asks in a pained whisper, unable to stop himself from lightly trailing his fingertips over the blooming bruises on Bucky’s ribs. Bucky’s sharp inhale the only sign he gives that it hurts.
Steve pulls his hand back quickly, as if it hurt him just the same.
Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs again, this time he looks like he’s bracing himself. “Look, Steve, you have to understand that I did this for us,” he cautions, Steve only stares at him with a mixture of concern and expectancy, so he goes on “there was this guy at work who said he could help me get a little extra cash if I was interested, and normally I’d say no to something that sketchy coming from a guy that sleazy, but it was just after you had Bronchitis again and I wasn’t sure if we were gonna make rent. Turns out he has connections to an illegal boxing ring on the other side of town, people come and place bets on the fighters, and if you win you get a pretty good lump of cash to take home.” he explained, looking at Steve pleadingly all the while, begging him to understand, that he didn’t want to do this, that he did it for them.
And he did, to a certain degree. Steve may have high morals, but he isn’t stupid, he knows that sometimes you have to do things you’re not proud of to survive, everyone does, that doesn’t mean that he’s not still pissed though.
“Buck, you can’t do this! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Steve exclaims.
He really couldn’t believe him right now, after god knows how many times he’s lectured Steve about getting into fights, and how it is never worth it to put himself at risk like that, how nothing’s worth a fight that he might not get back up from. Steve could almost laugh at the blatant hypocrisy of it all if he didn’t also feel like crying and punching Bucky himself.
Bucky winces, looking chastised by the expression on Steve’s face more than anything else, like he expected it, but still didn’t like the outcome. “It’s not permanent, okay? I’ve only been doing it for the past couple of weeks, but we’re covered for rent this month and next, and I’ve been stashing a little away for a rainy day.” he says, looking up at Steve with those big, pleading eyes again.
Pleading him to understand, to not be angry with him, to tell him he’s not angry so he can finally let go of this tension he’s been holding in his core ever since he started going to these matches.
Steve crosses his arms and purses his lips “How long?” he asks.
“Just a few more weeks, five more matches, tops,” Bucky replies. Some of the tension has already drained from his shoulders, partly because he is too exhausted to really stay tense anymore, and partly because he can see that he’s winning Steve over. “I just want to get to a place where we’re secure, where we won’t have to stress so much if one of us loses our job.”
Steve sighs, letting all the air out of his body in one big breath that deflates him, making him look even smaller than he already is.
It's unspoken, because Bucky would never say this to Steve, but he knows that Bucky really means they won’t have to stress if Steve loses his job, and it hurts. It's another reminder that he can’t pull his own weight, as light as that may be, that he will always be the one pulling Bucky down, holding him back from the bigger and better things that he knows Bucky is capable of.
It hurts even more now, because now he knows that Bucky has actually been going out there and getting himself hurt just so he can afford to take care of Steve. It’s unfair in the most profound way, and Steve will never stop being angry about it.
He’s angry at their circumstances, and his stupid, small body. He’s angry that he’ll never be able to be to Bucky what Bucky is to him, he’ll never be able to protect him.
He just nods, too tired to fight right now, and silently crawls into Bucky’s bed, they don’t share too terribly often, mostly when it’s just cold enough that Steve’s stubbornness gives out. That’s not it tonight, but Bucky doesn’t say anything, just slides to the right so he’s nearest to the window.
Neither of them makes a sound as they press close together, closer than most friends would, but no one’s here to point that out, so they let it happen, just like they always do.
The sense of familiarity, the warm, heavy weight of Bucky’s arm over his chest, the tickling exhale of his breath where his nose is buried in Steve’s hair, the feeling of being safe, here in his best friend’s arms, is what helps Steve drift off faster and easier than he has in over three weeks.