Drawing Lessons

And Suddenly There He Was

Steve felt like shit. Groggy, a little out of breath, just generally not the greatest. It certainly wasn't the worst he'd ever felt, in fact it didn't even come close. But, it was bad enough that he took a pass and headed down to the nurse's office to sit for awhile because there was no way he was going to chemistry feeling like this.

On the way down, he stopped at his locker because maybe he'd draw while he was sitting around and doing nothing on the little cot in the nurse's office. He started to put in his com before he remembered that he could just kick it open. He always forgot about that, it was so frustrating. Why couldn't he just remember these things?

Exhausted and frustrated, Steve jammed his textbooks into his locker and grabbed his sketchbook. Underneath it were those pencils that Bucky had given him earlier because, oh yeah, this day didn't have to be entirely bad. Those pencils had been a most pleasant surprise and maybe he would use them right that moment to make some sort of "thank you" drawing for Bucky.

After grabbing his pencils and sketchbook, Steve shut his locker and began the trek down to the nurse's office. He just wandered through the empty halls, meandering his way down toward the front of the school through a haze of allergies and asthma. There was one bright pinprick of light breaking through the fog Steve that could feel in the tin of pencils that he was holding. The idea that Bucky thought of him enough to save up for those expensive graphite pencils and give them to him was amazing, and the prospect of seeing Bucky after school was also just wonderful. Bucky had just shown up a few months ago and made Steve's whole world brand new.

And suddenly there he was. A blur of a boy and the smacking of tennis shoes against the linoleum floor. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, barrelling down the hall toward Steve.

"Bucky!" Steve called, smiling already.

But then he saw Bucky's face.

Something was wrong. Something was so very, very wrong. "Bucky? What's going on? Are you alright?" Steve's voice was all concern as Bucky's sprinting quickly ground to a halt in front of him.

"Bucky?" Steve looked up at the taller boy, reaching out his hand hesitantly, unsure of what to do because he'd never seen Bucky like this before. Bucky, not saying a word, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Steve, as if for support, and fell apart right there in the middle of the empty hall.

*                         *                         *

Bucky was running, running, running. But it wasn't like running normally was for him. He wasn't running toward something, or running for that electrifying feeling that it gave him. No, he was running away from something. He couldn't remember all the details of what he was running from, but he knew it was bad because it had been awhile and he hadn't stopped running yet. He could swear he'd seen that drinking fountain before, so maybe he was just going around and around in a loop of the school. That probably wouldn't end well if he was running away from someone who was chasing him, but he didn't think anyone was chasing him.

In fact, he knew they weren't chasing him. They wouldn't. They'd never catch him even if they were chasing him, but they weren't. They were probably in class, because they didn't care. They didn't think what they said held any weight or value. They were wrong, of course, because if it didn't hold any weight Bucky wouldn't be desperately sprinting around the school.

Bucky was out of breath. He was a little out of shape, and he didn't usually run for this long this hard anyway. But they'd said those hateful things. They'd said that hateful thing. About him. And not just him, but about Steve, too. Honestly, Bucky needed to talk to Steve right then, or even just to see him. Steve would understand, he'd just get it without a word, and Bucky needed that. If Bucky didn't see Steve soon, he wasn't sure he'd ever stop running.