Red Liquorice and Paintings | Stucky

Chapter 4

James Buchanan Barnes strides out of the doors to the school when the final bell rings. He's managed to get out of class slightly early, meaning he's well ahead of the wave of students about to pour out of the school.

James shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his head ducked as he walks towards the bike stand. He can almost hear the stampede of feet behind him, and the rest of the school makes their way out of the building. Just as he hears the doors bang open and chatter erupt in the air, he reaches the bike stand, where his Harley basks in all of it's glory.

He finds himself smiling at the lean, polished beast of a bike. It's probably one of the few things James would truly die dramatically for, and he almost had to sell his kidney for it. Until Pearce, his step-father, walked in and decided to buy it for James.

He still remembers the sick, twisted smile Pearce gave him as he handed over the cheque. James wanted to tear his head off.

James leans against his bike and waits for Natalia here. He had promised to give her a ride home, and James Buchanan Barnes is a very chivalrous man who wouldn't say no to a pretty dame.

The crisp wind hits his face like shards of glass, almost splitting his skin and whipping his hair about. He attempts to turn away from it, trying to angle his head away from the breeze. It doesn't work very well, he realises, so he switches to plan B.

With a thump, his helmet slips onto his head, and it shelters his face a little better from the wind.

It once belonged to his uncle, but he gave it to James when they moved. It's fairly old, and the padding on the inside has almost worn away, but there's something comforting about the helmet. There's something warm in his chest when he absently runs his fingers along the word 'Barnes' written along the back of it. A good thing his uncle has the same last name as him.

He's pulled from his thoughts by a familiar voice, carrying across the yard right to James's ears.

"Mornin', Rogers." James hears Rumlow, one of the jocks that James is familiar with, says with a sneer.

Without a thought, James's head snaps up, and he sees a group of at least 5 surrounding a small guy, who runs a hand nervously through his blond hair. James can't see him too well from where he is, but he can see a pair of worn-out jeans, red converse, a green coat, and a red scarf.

Bloody ghastly fashion choice, in James's opinion.

"It's actually afternoon." The blond quips back.

James's lip quirks up.

Rumlow snatches a sketchpad from the blond's hands, and passes it to his right hand man, Zola. Zola's short, pudgy, sort of good for nothing. He helps Rumlow with his science homework, which is probably the only reason Rumlow keeps him around.

James watches as Zola begins to tear up the pages one by one.

He can't see the blond's reaction, but he doesn't imagine he's overly happy.

"Come on, fag, not gonna beg him to stop?" Rumlow asks, taking a step towards the blond. "You know how much I like it when you beg."

James pushes off of his bike, and approaches the group with his fists clenched. He felt his blood boil the second that disgusting word slipped from Rumlow's lips. He wrenches his helmet off of his head, then drops it to the group, alerting them of his presence. Zola's eyes snap over to him, and he sneers. He nudges Rumlow's side, and then Rumlow's looking at him too.

"Barnes, good to see you man." Rumlow murmurs, as James continues to stalk toward him. "We were just showing this fag-" he's cut off by James's fist hitting him across the face.