Opposites Attract

One

A pale white ceiling speckled with dark blue paint. He would never wake up to it again.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought as he sat up. Moving day, from Boston to Brooklyn, to a school he had frankly never heard of: Rosewood Secondary School. It was for the generally more gifted students, he was told - the brainiacs, the artistic, the athletic, the theatrics. His dad told him to approach it as if it were a modern Hogwarts with no magic and more AP exams.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

Bucky slid out of bed and wiggled into some dark jeans before yanking on a sweater that needed stitching done. He almost fell down the stairs putting his socks on.

"Morning," he groaned as he greeted his five other siblings. He got a response of other groans and snappy comments. His father, George, was bustling around the kitchen. His mother was still in bed; still sick.

"Wow, you're up early," he hummed as he shuffled over, bumping Bucky's hip briefly with his own, his hands full with a hot skillet and hash browns. "Moving day, kids, you ready?"

Again, he was answered with grunts and complaints. "Why are we moving?" Rebecca demanded for the eighteenth time, brushing her long hair behind her ear. George fixed her with a look.

"We can't afford this place anymore, work relocated dad, and the school is there," Teddy recited, sounding bored, slowly cleaning his glasses. Emma looked annoyed at the pessimism - though she was the one to talk.

"Cut it out, we talked about this," she snapped before taking a chug of coffee.

"Shut up before we've had our coffee," Charlie droned and George shot him a look.

"Language."

"Shut up? What, that's banned too? What next, holy f -- " They bickered back and forth for a while. Bucky took the seat next to Rebecca and elbowed her. She looked over.

"Save my seat in the van?"

"As long as I'm not stuck with Emma, I'm good." Bucky nodded solemnly, his serious façade breaking as he looked at her serious face.

They had always gotten along the best, despite the age difference of three years, give or take. Bucky could trust her not to tell their parents any secrets, and she trusted him not to mention whenever she stole Charlie's things.

From eldest to youngest, it went Charlie, Emma, Bucky, Christopher, Teddy, Rebecca. Their mother was Winifred, and she was quite sick. Their father, George, earned what he could as a salesman. He was being re-located to a fancier neighborhood. He hoped business prospects would be better there, and the fresh air would do Winifred some good, surely.

Breakfast whips by and suddenly, before Bucky knows it, he's packing in the last box and straightening up, wiping his forehead.

He stared up at the old house, sighing a little. It was time to go.

"Pile in, gang, we have a couple hours to go," George said as he gently helped his wife into the passenger's seat. She gave him a weak smile and closed her eyes as she settled in.

Bucky clambered in next to Becca, not bothering to make a comment when Teddy kicked him in the side as he crawled to the back.

"All in?" George turned around to face them all. Most of them were listening to music or hitting each other when George didn't see. "Take that as a yes."

And they were off, their family van rattling along the rocky road.

Bucky gazed out the window, forcing himself to feel positive. He usually was - he had to be, in the situation he was in. So he worked a smile onto his face when his mother asked if he was excited.

"I am," he assured. She smiled back. He always loved his mother's smile - gentle, sweet, the wrinkles around her eyes showing her true nature.

Bucky closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what's to come.

He wasn't ready for what he'd run in to.