#micromarvel

The sentence sounds a bit off, muffled and dulled as the swell of Steve’s lip makes it hard for him to shape his mouth around the words. It’s all he says for a long while, and once Bucky’s sure that’s all he’s going to get, he drags down a deep breath into his lungs before letting it out in a slow, steady sigh.

“You know,” he says carefully, “maybe you wouldn’t hate it so much if you stopped picking fights with every other fella more than twice your size?”

Steve glares at him then, but that’s nothing new. Bucky meets the stare head-on, and after a second or two, Steve looks away again.

Bucky’s pleased to see that he’s stopped shivering now; even more so when Steve sullenly tugs Bucky’s jacket tighter around himself. He nearly drowns in it, the wide collar reaching well past his ears. He’d look adorable if it hadn’t been for the battered look on his face.

Then Steve tips his head back up to the sky, and Bucky decides that he looks adorable either way.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Steve mutters under his breath, and Bucky’s heart aches a little at the crestfallen tone of his voice.

“Don’t mind them knuckleheads,” he tries, reaching out to wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulder and give him a consoling shake. “They’re just too big’a cowards to pick on somebody their own size.”

He means it as a comfort, but to his surprise, Steve just shakes his head and ducks away, shrugging Bucky’s arm off of him. “That’s not it,” he groans, wincing when the brash movement of his mouth causes the lip to start bleeding again.

“Inner pocket,” Bucky says simply, and Steve obediently pulls out Bucky’s handkerchief from within the depths of the jacket, bringing it up to his mouth.

“I don’t care that they pick on me,” he clarifies into the hanky, and Bucky arches a curious eyebrow at him.

“That purple tint on you mug says differently,” he points out, and Steve scoffs as he hangs his head back down.

“They weren’t after me,” he reports sourly, and Bucky instantly squares his shoulders.

“They?” he asks grimly. “As in more than one?”

“Don’t,” Steve orders, but then his posture slumps, and he lowers Bucky’s handkerchief down into his lap. “They came out from Nancy’s. Three of them, drunk as all hell. I was heading the other way, and I heard them—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan. “They went after Oscar Callaghan.”’

“Baker’s kid?” Bucky asks with a frown, and Steve nods. He looks sad, but Bucky can see the anger seething just underneath the surface as clearly as he can see the warmth of his own breath turn into mist in front of him in the cold night air.

“I couldn’t let them,” Steve explains. His knuckles are white against the fabric in his hands, the dried blood standing out sharply against his skin even in the dark. “He’s not even sixteen years old, Buck, he—” He swallows the sentence down, and Bucky’s gut churns. Anger, relief, pride; all of it mixing together into something live and feral that spreads through his veins like a fever. He lowers his head down, tearing his eyes away from the bloodied handkerchief in Steve’s grip.

“You didn’t happen to catch their names, did ya?” he asks tightly.

“No,” Steve answers. Bucky knows it’s a lie, but he also knows that trying to push for an answer will get him nowhere.

“If I were bigger—” Steve starts, and it cuts into Bucky’s soul to hear the croak that escapes from the back of his throat as he continues, “I would have been able to help him for real. Chase them off, you know… Like you do.”

He gives Bucky a quick, almost shy glance out of the corner of his eye, and even though Bucky forces himself to smile back, he’s not sure whether or not Steve actually sees it before he’s already turned away again.

Bucky gets it. Truly, he does. Of course Steve would never leave someone to fend for themselves, not even when doing so would put him in harm’s way. Sadly, that’s the only way of helping Steve knows; to act as decoy while the original victim flees. The results, as made evident by the state Bucky had found Steve in tonight, are always the same.

“Fuck, I hate bullies…” Steve suddenly mutters, and Bucky lets out a snort of surprise at the other’s so uncharacteristically crude choice of words. He looks Steve up and down, taking in the sight of him where he sits, huddled up in Bucky’s clothes like a child, and his insides swell with the sudden rush of admiration for the man beside him.

“Did Oscar get away?” he asks softly, and Steve shrugs.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and Bucky’s lips curl up in a fond smile.

“Then what are you whining about?” he teases. “The kid’s fine because of you. You made yourself someone’s hero today.” At that, Steve snorts out an incredulous laugh, and Bucky reaches out to tap his knuckles gently against the other’s temple. “And don’t worry about those other guys,” he orders. “You’ll get the drop on them one day, you’ll see.”

“Whatever you say, Buck,” Steve agrees halfheartedly. Then he groans and buries his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s just so frustrating,” he complains, words partially muffled by the fabric, and Bucky laughs as he nudges him up into a sitting position once more.

“Then maybe you just need to let that frustration out?” he suggests, and Steve frowns at him.

“How?” he asks skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “What do you feel like doing? Like, when you think about it, what does it make you wanna do?”

Steve shakes his head, sighing heavily. “Honestly?” he asks. “It just makes me wanna punch something. Or scream.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve done enough punching for today,” Bucky says with a laugh. He looks at Steve again, and then he stands up, gesturing for Steve to follow his lead. “Get up here,” he orders, tugging at Steve’s borrowed jacket.

“What are we doing?” Steve asks warily, even as he does as he’s told.

“We’re gonna scream,” Bucky announces confidently, and Steve lets out another short, disbelieving laugh.

“No, we’re not,” he announces firmly, but Bucky won’t have any of it.

“Sure we are,” he argues. “Look, it’s easy. You stand up straight, grab a mouthful of air, and then you just…” Following his own instructions, he lets out a yell, as loud as he can, and his voice reverberates between the buildings around them like the ring of an explosion.

The silence that follows after the final echo has rung out only lasts for a second. As a dog begins to bark from somewhere below them, Bucky turns towards Steve with his arms triumphantly thrown out by his sides. “See?” he says, smiling widely, but Steve just laughs at him while shaking his head.

“You’re insane,” he declares, and in return, Bucky sends him a wolfish grin.

“Maybe,” he admits, “but it felt good.” He nudges Steve in the side. “Go on, you try.”

“No way,” Steve chuckles.

“Come on,” Bucky coaxes. “Just once.”

Steve glares at him, but when Bucky only responds by expectantly raising his brow at him, he turns towards the ledge of the rood with a sigh.

He does, in fact, yell, but Bucky would lie if he were to call it an actual attempt.

“That,” he says flatly when Steve turns back to him again, “was pathetic.”

“Was not,” Steve objects, but Bucky just shakes his head and waves a reprimanding finger at him.

“You can do better,” he decides. “C’mon, all the way from your toes this time.”  

“What if I get an asthma attack?” Steve asks defiantly.

“You won’t,” Bucky says with unabashed confidence, and as Steve shuts his mouth, Bucky just winks at him. “On the count of three,” he says, turning out towards the horizon, watching Steve follow suit. “One. Two. Three.”

They scream, shouting at the stars above their heads from the very top of their lungs. Their voices bounce between the surrounding apartments, winding through the alleyways below, and throughout it all, Bucky can see from the corner of his eye that Steve’s smiling.

Someone, somewhere, opens a window, shouting out curses at them, which are only partially drowned out by the loud barks of at least three dogs nearby. The cacophony does nothing but send them both head-first into a desperate giggling fit as they quickly pull back from the ledge, ducking their heads down and clutching at each other’s arms while trying to avoid being seen.

“Oops,” Bucky snickers, upon which Steve – still giggling – gives him a shallow punch to the arm, only to wince out a laugh when the hit makes his knuckles hurt all over again.

“Feels better now though, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks, and Steve takes a moment to glance down at his feet – down at those raggedy, newspaper-filled shoes that Bucky both loves and hates all at the same time – before looking back up again.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “It actually does.”

“Told ya,” Bucky muses. He reaches out and gives Steve’s shoulder a light shove, before stepping forward to wrap an arm around his neck, yanking him in for a hug. “Damn punk,” he mutters fondly.

“Jerk,” Steve replies, before adding, a bit more seriously. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, pal,” Bucky offers. He gives Steve’s shoulders another hard squeeze before stepping back to shove his hands down the pocket of his trousers with an exaggerated shudder. “But next time you feel like sulking around up here, bring your own goddamn jacket, will ya? Jeez, I’m freezing my ass off.”

“You want it back?” Steve asks, already moving to take the garment off, but Bucky waves him away.

“Nah. You keep it on until we get back inside,” he decides. “For some reason I think you’d be worse off catching pneumonia than me.”

“Probably,” Steve agrees. He looks up at the sky, eyes wide and clear in the dark, and inside Bucky’s chest, his heart skips a beat without his consent.

“C’mon.” Bucky makes a throw of his head towards the fire escape, smiling. “Let’s head down to Nancy’s. First pint’s my treat.”

“It’s always your treat,” Steve points out while walking ahead towards the stairs.

“Does that matter?” Bucky asks sweetly.

“No,” Steve admits. “Not really.” He turns to look at Bucky again, one foot on the fire escape, and the other on the ledge. “Besides,” he adds cheekily, “what’s the point in being a hero if I have to pay for my own drinks?”

At that, Bucky laughs, and Steve gives him a wide, generous smile as he begins to head down the fire escape. Bucky watches him go, and then sends a final look at the stars above, before going after him.

Hero or not, Bucky’s still certain that he’ll follow that kid across the plains of the Earth, should Steve only ask him to.