Chapter Text
April 6th, 1934
“James!” his father bellowed. He sounded mad, and if there was one thing Bucky hated, it was when people got mad at him.
He ran down the stairs. “Yeah, Pa?”
He skidded to a halt in the kitchen, where his father was standing. He held a small piece of paper in his hand. Shit. It was a picture from a photobooth that he and Steve had stumbled across on Coney Island a week or so ago. In the middle picture, Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek; it’s playful, but Bucky’s father doesn’t see it that way.
“James,” he’s stern, serious in a way that makes Bucky wish he were dead. “What do you think you’re doing? Going around making friends with those queers and then kissing one on the cheek? Hm?”
Bucky stumbles over his words. He rushes to defend himself, “It’s just. It’s just what people do nowadays, you know; just a friendly peck on the cheek is all.”
How could he be so stupid? God, his father was going to kill him.
“James, listen to me, I don’t want you hanging around with him anymore. He brings you down, and you don’t need that, alright. People just bring you down.”
“Dad, just because you’re the only parent here doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
Bucky’s dad was taken aback, and he regretted saying anything the moment he saw his dad swing at him. He dodged just by an inch and stumbled back. His dad swung again, but he was made slow by the alcohol, and Bucky turned on his heel and ran up the stairs. He hoped his dad wouldn’t follow him.
Hope never did anything for Bucky.
He locked the door to his bedroom; he was scared of what his dad would do. He’d never taken a swing before, and Bucky was worried that he wouldn’t stop once he got started. His dad had never been violent before; Bucks had never been hit. Not by his dad, at least.
His father pounded on the door and yelled at him. He hoped the girls wouldn’t come out of their rooms. He hoped they were already asleep and that his father didn’t wake them. Bucky opened his window and hopped out onto the roof. He didn’t leave the house this way very often, but desperate times. He hopped over to the fire escape that was close to the roof and climbed down.
He went around to the front of the house and knocked on the door, hoping to get his father distracted. He didn’t need him busting the door down or waking the girls. He headed for Steve’s after seeing his dad open the door from a distance. He yelled into the darkness and then slammed the door. Bucky winced even a block away.
He knew the walk well and let his mind wander on the short journey over to Steve’s. He thought about finding work. No one was hiring, and Bucky felt like he was running out of options. He got into an argument with his dad a few days ago, and he’d told Bucky he got fired. He was a manager at one of those nice department stores, and they’d fired him for being late and drunk.
Bucky didn’t realize how lost in thought he was until he’d reached the river. He turned back and made the short walk back to Steve’s apartment and, before he knew it, was taking the steps up two at a time. He hesitated before knocking but figured the Rogers' would still be up; they were night owls.
He rapped on the door a few times and heard footsteps approaching. A moment later the door swung open.
‘Bucky, what are you doing here? What’s wrong, hon?” Sarah questioned.
Steve appeared behind her and looked at Bucky; realization hit both of them as they ushered him inside. Bucky had told Steve about his dad losing his job and getting in arguments with him more and more.
“It got bad, didn’t it? He didn’t kick you out, did he?” Steve guessed. Bucky shook his head and bit his lip.
“No, he just swung at me. He’s never done that before.”
Sarah and Steve looked ready to defend Bucky at a moment’s notice or maybe to march over to his house and teach his dad a lesson.
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
Sarah nodded and gave him a hug. “We were just finishing up dishes, sweetheart.”
“Go get comfy, Buck; I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Hon, I can finish up dishes,” and with that Sarah shooed them both out of the kitchen.
Steve takes Bucky’s hand and leads him into his room. He sits Bucky on the bed and takes off his shoes, then his shirt. They’re silent, but their eyes speak volumes. Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it; he just wants to go to sleep. He’ll tell Steve about it in the morning. They climb under the covers, and Steve curls up behind Bucky, hugging him from behind. He feels safe.
For the second time that night, Bucky lets his mind wander, but this time, he’s safe and he’s home.
In the morning he wakes up early and leaves Steve and Sarah a note thanking them for letting him stay and apologizing for leaving so early. He slips his shoes on and quietly closes the door behind him. Bucky walks home and hopes his father is still sleeping. It’s early and the sun is coming up; the skyline looks gorgeous against the fiery orange of the sky. When he gets home, Bucky quietly pads up the stairs and slips into Rose’s room.
He nudges her shoulder to wake her. She blinks away sleep and squints up at him through the dim light.
“Bucky, what was going on last night? Where were you?”
“Dad and I got in an argument again. He tried to hit me.”
Rose’s eyes widened, and she let out a small gasp.
“He hit you?”
“No, he tried to hit me,” he paused, “but, yeah. He’s never done that.”
“I know. Why did he?”
“Told him he couldn’t tell me what to do just because Ma died.”
Rose shook her head. They tried not to mention their Ma around their father because he got more upset than usual when he was drinking.
“He told me to stop hangin’ around with Steve.”
“Oh, so you got in a fight with Dad over your boyfriend?” Rose smirked. Now she was playing.
Bucky bit back a smile.
“Yeah, I guess we did.”
“But, you’re fine now?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Bucky sighed. “I slept over at Steve’s.”
“Oh my God, Bucky, are you having sex with Steve?”
“Rose! Oh my God, why would you ask that?” Bucky was exasperated. What would he even say to that? Why would his little sister ask him that? He settled on the truth: “No, we haven’t gone that far yet.”
Bucky shook his head. “Anyways, I came in here to tell you that I’m fine and that I’m going out to look for a job.”
“Alright, are you going to be home for lunch?”
“I think I’m going to lay low and avoid Dad for a few days; I’ll pack myself something.”
Rose waved him away and lay back down. The conversation was clearly over, and Bucky crossed the hallway to his room and got dressed. He put on his nice pants and a good, clean shirt. He was going job hunting, and he needed to look nice.
Hours later, after asking every shop owner and factory manager for a job, he was ready to call it quits. He heard some guys yelling and a boat horn sound and turned to look at the water. Below the street, near the water, he saw a barge docking and men unloading crates and working on other boats.
He shrugged to himself; he could do some hard work. Forty-five minutes later Bucky walked off the dock with a job starting Monday and a renewed spirit.