What's up my gorgeous readers. I'm a bit late with this update because have had one hell of a busy week, between A-Level results day and my 18th birthday (I donny know how to adult bro) I've been super fucking busy, but before summer ends and my last year of school begins, I bring you a Steve chapter (;
This chapter finalises teenage avengers and the time skip will commence after this chapter/ during chapter twenty-five. I'm very heavily focused on Tony during this fic, and I know that, but ya know Tony is my boy and I'll try and balance it out better in the second part of this fic.
Oh my I hated this chapter the next will be totally better
Enjoy!
"-Tasha said that we can borrow her car, which is an understatement because she gave me a fucking Bible of instructions on how to start the stupid piece of shit, and apparently, if we damage it, we have to pay for it as if it's not already falling apart- and you're not even listening, Steve."
"Something about Natasha's piece of shit car and paying for damages."
"Lucky guess,"Bucky grumbles, flicking a piece of eraser across the classroom and successfully hitting Clint in the face with it, watching how Clint whips his head around in confusion, trying to figure out what had hit him and who it was. Clint, despite the fact that his hobby and possibly future career is in dire need of being constantly socially away, is very much an oblivious, slow mess. He is the only person that Steve knows who could sense that you were coming his way 2 miles away but would jump out of his skin if you tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
Part of Steve when he thinks of stupid, funny little quirks that his friends posses, has him spiralling into a terminal state of depression of his current life choices, of his own ambitions and wants and needs. His career, or his hopeful career, is going to take him far away from the moment that he's in now, surrounded by his friends, the people that he cares for, in the moment and being apart of the memory, which is the fearful part.
It's not that Steve fears of regretting his decision, it's more that Steve fears of what he'll miss out, which is a lot worse in his head, anyway. Steve, as much as it sounds shallow and self-important, has always been the centre of their group. He's always been the one to make decisions, sway them out of trouble or take the brunt of the trouble instead. They always hang out at his house, in his garden, around his schedule of school, extracurricular activities, volunteering, visiting Tony in the times that he did.
And now, that's all going to change, and in a way, it already has started. There's pieces of Steve's life, certain aspects and events, people and places, that have already changed in Steve's life in a way he hadn't expected, and maybe he should've. Sometimes he is naive and oblivious, unaware of the things that are happening around him, and sometimes, that's his own fault. But he doesn't want to dwell, this isn't the time.
Bucky soon gets bored with flicking pieces of eraser at a disadvantaged Clint Barton, turning back to look at Steve whose head is prompted up by his hand and looking off into the distance, mind distracted and uninterested by his surroundings. Bucky bites his bottom lip momentarily, a heavy sigh taking over him before he speaks up.
"How's your mom?"He asks tenderly, watching as Steve sighs, his chest rising and falling heavily, eyes turning from the window to Bucky who sits a desk diagonal from him, slanted in a chair and long dark hair falling over his face a little.
"We're not talking."
"Bad, then?"There's a sort of wince to his words as he scratches his nail over a carved marking on the wooden table, the initials or nickname of some student from years ago that had been carved into the wood, made to stay for decades to come as if people care for who they are.
"Not exactly great, no."They're both silent because Steve doesn't really want to talk but Bucky really does want him to, which is a dynamic that the two of them have never really worked out the kinks to. Both, however, hate dragged silences but Steve hates them more."She's more upset than she is mad at the decision, and right okay, I get her. I get where she's coming from, sometimes, but she also has not right."
"She has every right, she's your ma, punk."There's a sort of desperation behind Bucky's voice on the word ma because Steve could be 40, married with children and working his dream job but Sarah Rogers has every right to have an opinion and say on his life. Steve is her only child, her son, her baby, her pride and joy because everyone knows that the reason Sarah has worked so hard in her life is to give Steve the best life as possible and that she sees none of her wages for herself.
"So you're saying if your mom had a problem with it, you wouldn't go?"
"Of course my mom has a fucking problem with it, what sane mother wouldn't?"Mrs.Barnes, despite everything, loves Bucky a whole lot more than people think. She's a hardworking mother of 4, 3 of which who need her care more than Bucky does, and he only understood that that morning he told her he wanted to sign up for the army. Bucky had stood there by the sink and watched every emotion wash over his moms features, watched the fear in her eyes, listened to the lecture of why he shouldn't go, how he couldn't go, why she didn't want him to go."But she knows I'm going, no matter what she says."
"Well, so am I."Steve has rolled his shoulders back, squared them up as he sits up straighter, and Bucky knows this stance. It's the stance of dominance, a tactic to overcome fragile masculinity, to win an argument, to show he's right, when he puts on his stubborn, headstrong head on. It's a stance that causes most arguments and one that nearly everyone is very familiar with.
The conversation is dropped rather quickly when Bucky fails to find something to add up on, turning away in his seat to watch as an argument unfolds somewhere at the front of the class, leaving Steve to his own brooding thoughts that wrack his mind. Somewhere, deep down under all of the arrogance and pride and self-respect, there's a little bit of guilt floating about in Bucky's system every time he glances at Steve, watches as he frowns, analyses the lines on his face, the way his body is hunched when it's not rigid for a fight.
But he pushes down the guilty, self-loathing part of himself that rears it's ugly head during random parts of his day, when he's away on a jog or with his arm draped over Natasha's shoulders as they watch a film on the couch. It makes him tense, it makes him feel rotten, it makes him think that maybe he shouldn't have been so filled with smugness and eager to gloat that Tony, Tony Stark, was a shifty fucker just as he suspected from the start. And so he pushes it down, because he was right and Steve was wrong, and he was just being a true friend unlike everyone who licked up Tony's ass the moment they met him.
Steve knows this, because he might be in a constant solemn headspace of brooding and short temperament, but he isn't too oblivious of the fact that Bucky is still parading around with a smug face and a proud attitude. Steve also knows, despite the fact that sometimes he can't even see the nose on the front of his face never mind his surroundings, that he's been the topic of many conversation and the discussion of many planned intervention too, something in which he is an expert at avoiding.
Tony. His voice still rings in Steve's head even know, as he finds himself back at home, away from the constant voices of fellow peers and worried glances from friends who don't know the meaning of personal space and boundaries, cloaked in the darkness of his bedroom where curtains are drawn shut and his bed is freshly made. Tony's name still floats behind his eyes when he closes them, his voice ringing in his ears, his touch on his skin, his scent lingered on places he touched months ago.
Because Tony is not only intoxicating, he's a drug. He's something that you crave yet you shouldn't have because it'll rot you, create a monster out of you, destroy your life little by little until it's taken away from you and you're left in the decay. But intoxication always feels good when you're riding on that high, of the scent of his expensive cologne or freshly pressed coffee, of the roughness of his finger tips in comparison to the softness of his lips, of the way his eyes lift when he smiles, crinkles with his grin, laughs when he laughs.
It hurts. It hurts a lot more than Steve has ever felt in his life as he lies on his bed, palms of his hand dug into his eyes to take the pressure off from behind his eyes, to stop this pathetic cycle he has caught himself in. Steve would be lying if he told himself that the months have gotten better, that he's forgotten and moved on, but he hasn't, and his solution is a distraction instead.
The kitchen is quiet as Steve enters after his nap, ready to grab himself a bottle of water from the fridge before waiting out on the front porch for Bucky to pick him up in Natasha's car to sign up. His mom is already there, sitting at the kitchen table about to go to work but willing to wait for her son to make an appearance, a last minute intervention.
"You're really doing this, yeah?"Under all of her stature and strong facade, holding herself up high and strong and independent, Steve can hear that slight tremble of fear in her voice as the words deep through her lips. He doesn't need to turn from where he is at the doorway, already in half a mind to turn back around and forget his intentions, to know there's a look of anguish and a motherly fear breaking through the mask she usually wears on her face.
And Steve feels it, he feels every single piece of fear that his mother holds, every single piece of her motherly instinct in the room that tries to convince him not to go, not to sign up, not to leave her. And she isn't being selfish because really, no mother truly is, and she's doing it for her son, even if he doesn't realise it yet.
"I'm going to come back, Mom."Steve isn't sure if he's reassuring himself or Sarah when he speaks those words, half way between being numb about the whole ideal and being ecstatic about it as well.
"This isn't just a fight that you start on the corner of the street, Steve, this is a war."She tries to empathise, wanting to get it into Steve's head, make him know that this isn't something small or little, it's not a petty fight or one that can easily be brushed under the carpet, it's a war, a grown-up fight, so be it."You could come away with a lot more than a few scrapes and a busted nose, you could lose your life."
"I know,"His voice is soft, softer than it's been in weeks, in months, because he's had no one to speak softly to, he's had no one to whisper reassurances or murmur praises and encouragements, or to be gentle around a subject because he no longer wants to be gentle. But this is his mom, someone who spent years being gentle around him, picking him up when he fell, looking after him when he was ill, working hard to pay off medical bills, buy him Christmas gifts, take him out for breakfasts.
And Steve knows, he knows of all of the consequences that come with going to war, he knows that it's a lot bigger than just looking out for the little guy, because he's not just doing that now, he's looking out for himself, for a team, for a country, for his mom and friends back home. The more he thinks of it, the more frightened he becomes, but he's so much more than fear, because he wants to fight for his country, he wants to be loyal and respectful, he wants to give back and he's not going to do that if he's just sitting at home.
"I know,"Sarah echoes just as softly, her words confirming that she knows what is going on in her sons mind, of all of his conflicting but knucklehead filled thoughts, of where his morals and loyalty stands."Just, please-"
"I'll try."He answers what she can't dare speak and then they're hugging, wrapped in one another's arms in the middle of the kitchen and Sarah can't help the feeling that she's hugging her little boy, not the big strapping lad that's actually wrapped in her arms because all she feels, and all she imagines is 5 year old Steve with scraped knees and a runny nose."I'll have Buck with me, don't worry."
"That gives me even more reason to worry."She snorts, pulling away from the hug but with hesitant actions, a slight quiver in her voice but she pulls herself together just like she always does because she's Sarah Rogers and she's strong, despite the fact she's hurting and despite the fact she disapproves but she can't stop him.
It's Steve's life. It's Steve's war. And he'll make her proud.
Oh my god I hated writing this chapter it was just so bland and without any happy emotion I'm so sorry but ya know the next chapter is going to be like 100000 times better trust me, I just wanted to get this one over and done with ya know
Okay, please tell me your opinions on this chapter and let me know what you think with what is going on.
What is your opinion on Steve and Bucky going to war?
What do you think will happen with the rest of the group? Bruce, Natasha, Thor, Clint and Phil?
Who wants some more Sarah Rogers in the future? (I've got planned chapters for her bc she's awesome as fuck man)
Who's excited for the time skip?
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Peace✌🏼