Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2022525.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes_&_Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Sam_Wilson_(Marvel), Natasha_Romanov,
      Clint_Barton, Nick_Fury, Tony_Stark, Darcy_Lewis
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Circus, Slow_Burn, Underage_(Steve_is_15_during_his
      first_sexual_encounter), Discussion_of_non-con_(not_Steve/_Bucky)
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-26 Updated: 2017-04-08 Chapters: 21/? Words: 79784
****** Little Lion Man ******
by xena2210
Summary
     "Running away to join the circus – Steve wasn’t so green that he
     didn’t realise the notion was romantic; a cliché. He also knew it was
     possible that no one would ever believe that his running away and the
     circus arriving in town on the very same day was merely a
     coincidence."
     Steve runs away from home but not to join the circus. Bucky works
     with the big cats.
Notes
     Circus!AU set in the 1940's.
     Warnings: slight age difference (Steve is 16, Bucky is 20), animals
     used as entertainment (Bucky is a lion-tamer), mentions of past
     emotional and physical abuse, bigotry, sexism, classism and
     homophobia and descriptions of violence (towards animals and people).
***** Chapter 1 *****
Running away to join the circus – Steve wasn’t so green that he didn’t realise
the notion was romantic; a cliché. He also knew it was possible that no one
would ever believe that his running away and the circus arriving in town on the
very same day was merely a coincidence. In all honesty, he had run away from
home without any other intention than leaving –to escape his father’s angry
words and his mother’s sad eyes.
But as he stood in the fairgrounds, head back and eyes squinted against the
glare of the sun, watching as the Big Top was erected: he was in awe. He knew
already, as he watched the flags atop the peak of the Big Top flutter wildly in
the wind, that no-one would ever take the time to let him explain that he had
only thought of the circus as a possibility once he’d stumbled off of the train
and seen the posters in the station windows.
“The show doesn’t start until tomorrow.” The voice wrenched Steve from his
musing and he turned sharply to find a boy watching him with a careful, guarded
look.
The boy was dressed in strange attire. He wore a billowing shirt that Steve
supposed had once been white, black leggings – the kind he’d seen girls wear
under their Church dresses – which hugged his lithe legs to mid way down his
calves and strange slipper-like shoes on his feet. The boy’s short brown hair
was almost completely hidden by the large grey beret he also wore. The boy
crossed his arms over his chest and Steve realised he’d been caught staring.
“Pardon?”
“The show.” the boy began, slowly, as though he was explaining a difficult
concept to a child. “It doesn’t begin until tomorrow. After the parade.”
“Oh. Um…” Steve paused to shift the weight of his suitcase from one hand to the
other, swaying awkwardly under its weight. “Actually, I wanted to know if I
could meet with whoever’s in charge.”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly before he recomposed his expression into the
cool appraisal he’d regarded Steve with moments before. He looked from Steve’s
face, to his bulging suitcase and back again, calculating.
“Oh hell.” he muttered, under his breath. Then, louder: “Look kid, we don’t
take on stragglers. Especially rubes who think running away to join the circus
is some fantastical jour –”
“Tony!” another voice interrupted. “I hope you being charitable towards our
future customers.”
Steve turned to find another man approaching them. He was taller than Steve and
older too, by the looks of it, and walked with an air of confidence that made
Steve feel slightly intimidated. He pulled back his shoulders hastily, trying
to make the best of his short stature.
The taller man wore a battered leather jacket over a threadbare shirt. His dark
pants were slightly looser than Tony’s but still clung to his frame and
disappeared into the tops of his large black boots. His laces were undone.
“He’s not a customer. He’s a runaway.” Tony told the taller man. “Another gilly
that’s got romantic notions about joining the circus.”
Steve felt his face flush and looked down, feeling foolish and already trying
to think of where he’d go once they turned him away. Maybe coming to the big
smoke had been a mistake. His father had always warned him about the
inhospitality of the city. He’d been a fool to give into the temptation of
seeing New York and waste his dwindling cash on the train fair.
“Well.” the taller man said, thoughtfully. “I guess he’d better come see the
boss man then.”
Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide. The taller man was smiling though his
expression was a little too sharp to be kind.
“Really?” Steve asked.
“Sure, kid.”
“Barnes–” Tony tried to cut in but the taller man waved a hand at him,
silencing his objections.
“It’s fine Tony. I’ll take him to see the boss man myself. You got a name,
kid?”
He was still wearing the same sharp smile and Steve had to swallow around the
dryness in his throat before he could answer.
“Steven.” he said. “Uh...Steve.”
“Well, Steven-Uh-Steve. You’d best follow me.”
Without further instruction, he turned and strode off towards the Big Top,
whistling tunelessly. Steve looked to Tony for confirmation but the boy just
scowled and adjusted his cap before starting off in the opposite direction.
Steve watched the way Tony’s shirt billowed in his wake before remembering what
he was supposed to be doing and taking off at a jog to catch up to the taller
man.
When he looked back over his shoulder, Tony was nowhere to be seen.
*
The man did not make an effort to wait for Steve as they crossed the lot to
where the train carriages were still being unloaded and Steve struggled to keep
up with the taller boy’s pace, the weight of his suitcase and the weariness of
his legs making him hobble awkwardly, trailing in the other man’s wake.
The man greeted almost every second person they passed by and Steve began to
feel light headed from the amount of times his head whipped around to stare at
something new.
“Hey Barnes, who’s the kid?” a voice called and Steve’s gaze locked onto a
woman no taller than himself, his eyes growing wide with amazement.
The woman wore an outfit similar to the other man – sans the jacket – and every
inch of her bare flesh was covered in colourful swirls and designs. Steve could
even see the tattoos through her white singlet. Steve had never met someone
with a tattoo, let alone someone who was covered in them. As the woman drew
closer, Steve could see that even that backs of her hands and fingers were
tattooed.
“Got ourselves a runaway, Christine.” the man - Barnes - replied, pausing and
throwing a look back at Steve, smile still in place. “I’m taking him to see
Fury.”
Christine grinned, looking Steve over. “Well,” she said after a moment. “He
does like ‘em young and pretty. Good luck, kid.”
Steve tried not to think about what Christine had meant as he continued on
after Barnes.
*
They found Fury in his trailer. As they approached, Steve could hear raised
voices coming from inside even over the din the elephants made as they were
unloaded. Elephants. Steve ignored the angry voices in favour to staring in
amazement as the two massive animals lumbered passed, herded by their keepers.
Elephants.
Barnes nodded to one of the men that was herding the elephants but took no
further interest in the commotion. Instead, he leant against the side of the
trailer and fished a pack of matches from his vest pocket, producing a mangled
looking cigar from the breast pocket of his jacket.
His eyes flicked over to Steve as he struck his match, guarding the flame with
his other hand as his cigar hung between his lips. He inhaled deeply from the
lit cigar before he spoke.
“Alright listen, kid –” he began, flicking away his used match.
“Steve.” Steve supplied, forgetting himself momentarily.
Barnes rolled his eyes, taking another drag and exhaling the smoke purposefully
into Steve’s face. Steve coughed and Barnes smirked.
“Okay Steve, you got an act?”
Steve frowned. “An act?”
“You know, an act. A turn. Something you’re good at that Fury can use in our
here little show.” James gestured towards the semi-erect Big Top with the
glowing end of his cigarette.
Steve shook his head slowly, eyes wide and watering slightly from Barnes’
second hand smoke.
“Huh.” Barnes inhaled again, all the while looking at Steve, inspecting his
slight frame. “You’re not really built for roustabout work. Any experience with
animals?”
Steve knew Barnes wasn’t asking about the pet dog he’d had when he was younger.
He shook his head again.
“Didn’t think so.” Barnes admitted. “You probably won’t get patch work either.
You look a little too upper-crust to be a patch.”
“Patch work?” Steve asked.
Barnes nodded. “A patch is someone who calms the crowd if something goes wrong
with ticket-sales and alike. A smooth talker, ya know? Makes people feel good
about getting jibbed.”
Steve looked down at his trousers. His mother had pressed them the night before
so that he could wear them to Church the next day. Barnes’ trousers looked as
though they’d never been pressed and had more than a handful of holes in them.
He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly out of place.
Barnes’ seemed to sense his discomfort. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Fury might be
looking for another 24-hour-man or someone to help out in the kitchens. Mostly
we get locals in to do that sorta work but we’ve had a bit of trouble with the
little punks taking off and leaving us high and dry.”
“What do you do?” Steve asked, curious.
“Me?” Barnes laughed. “Done a little bit o’ everything really. But now I work
in the menagerie - with the animals you know? The big cats mostly although now
we’ve got
Baloo as well.” He glanced over, taking in Steve’s floored expression and
smirking. “Maybe you could be in my act, Stephan.”
“Steven.” Steve corrected automatically.
Barnes’ smile got sharper. “Yeah o’ course. Well, Steve, you might just luck
out. Fury might want to dress you up and keep you on as one of the rubber men.”
He looked Steve up and down again. “You ever worn a dress before?”
Steve felt his eyes bulge and he looked away, cheeks flaring with heat. He
couldn’t even find the words to reply, so caught off guard by the very idea of
Barnes’ question.
He was saved from further interrogation by the door of Fury’s trailer sliding
open and someone almost falling in their haste to get out. Steve only saw a
flash of the man’s face as he strode passed he and James without the slightest
acknowledgement of their presence.
“Fandral! Fandral!” a voice yelled and Steve whirled around to find another man
still standing in the trailer, leaning out and calling after the other man.
“Ah, to hell with you then.” the man said, straightening and catching sight of
James.
Fury was tall, dark-skinned and imposing. Steve knew he was in charge thanks to
James but even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t hard to tell from Fury’s fine clothes
and the way he held himself. If Fury’s suit coat had been black instead of
vibrant red, he would have almost passed as a lawyer or business man of some
sort.
“Hey boss man, what’s got Fandral’s knickers in a twist?” Barnes asked,
stubbing his cigar out on the side of the trailer and tucking it back in his
pocket.
Fury huffed and wiped a hand over face. “He’s crabby with me about half his
band taking off. It ain’t my damn fault the little punks liked the bright
lights so much.” He explained gruffly. He turned then to face them and Steve
almost flinched. The left side of Fury’s face was puckered with several long-
healed, yet jagged scars and an eye patch covered his left eye. Steve bit his
lip and tried not to stare.
“Who’s your friend anyway?” Fury asked, running his good eye over Steve as he
fidgeted.
Barnes smirked. “Found myself a runaway. He’s looking for work.”
Fury laughed though the sound was mirthless. “You ran away to join the circus
huh kid?”
Steve shook his head, not trusting his mouth to work.
“Then what are you doing here?” Fury asked, lip curling in distaste as he
looked away from Steve, in the direction that the other man, Fandral, had
disappeared.
It took Steve a moment to find his voice. “I did runaway, sir. But not to join
the circus. It wasn’t until I got to town that I even knew the circus was here
and I –”
“You thought you might find work at the Big Top?” Fury was still staring across
the lot.
“Yes, sir.” Steve said.
Fury’s gaze flicked to Barnes and then to the mark his cigar had left on the
side of the trailer before his attention finally returned to Steve. Steve
looked down at his feet, unnerved by the intensity in the older man’s one good
eye.
“Well now,” Fury said, tone dark. “I always did like people who knew how to use
their manners.”
*
Two hours later, Steve had decided that Fury couldn’t have liked him all that
much. He sighed, regretting it immediately when the stench of the elephant
manure he was shovelling caught in the back of his throat and made him gag,
sending him into a coughing fit.
“Alright then?” a voice asked when Steve had almost managed to compose himself.
He started and turned to find a man watching him from the entrance of the
carriage. He was wearing a plain grey shirt, rolled up at the sleeves over dark
slacks and his smile was warm. His head was shaved and his skin dark. Steve
coughed again when he tried to answer.
“Yeah, it’s just...” he trailed off, gesturing with his shovel to the pile of
manure he was extracting from the far corner of the carriage.
The man laughed. “I know. I remember. Everyone gets stuck with a shovel for
their first week or so. Especially if they aren’t going on the Bill. You’re
Steve, right?”
Steve nodded.
“I’m Sam.” The man said. “Sam Wilson. Barnes sent me to collect you and take
you to the Mess for a bite to eat.”
As if on cue, Steve’s stomach rumbled angrily and he smiled sheepishly.
Sam laughed again. “C’mon then. We’re any later and we won’t get fed. You can
get back to shovelling your shit after you’ve filled your stomach.”
*
The Mess, Steve discovered, was the long tent on the other side of the lot
where meals were served. Sam chatted to him merrily as they picked their way
through the grounds towards the tent. They were preparing for the parade
through the city the next day, Sam explained. Some of the ring stock had to be
unloaded from the train and loaded into their road coaches which was the
biggest issue.
“The big cats tend to get a bit cranky,” Sam mused. “Fury and Barnes often have
a hard time getting them under control and loaded. Some stops it’s so bad we
don’t get them loaded ‘til just before the parade.”
“I thought Fury was in charge.” Steve prompted.
He hung on every bit of information that Sam gave him, keen to find out as much
as he could of the magical place that was taking shape around him. Marquees and
tents were popping up all over the lot. Music was playing from somewhere and
the people – the people were like nothing Steve had ever seen. Some in
colourful costumes, some dressed not dissimilar from Sam or himself but all of
them fantastic.
“Oh, he is.” Sam chuckled. “But he was master of the big cats before he took
over the job of Ring Leader and he never could say goodbye to his kitties
completely. These days he helps Barnes out seeing as the kid is the only one
around with the gall to work with the big cats.”
Steve nodded. It made sense. He’d seen a few of the big cats earlier, being
hauled across the lot in their cages, pacing agitatedly back and forth behind
their bars. He hadn’t wanted to get much closer to them.
“What about you? What do you do?” he asked Sam as they reached the Mess and the
other man showed him where to wash up.
Sam smiled a little self-depreciatively. “Me? I’m just a roustabout. No one
special.”
“Don’t you lie Sam Wilson!” cried a voice and Steve jumped when a small man
bounded up to them and promptly wrapped himself around Sam. “You’re plenty
special! You’re my very favourite ever.”
Sam stumbled under the stranger’s weight, a sharp bark of laughter escaping him
as he righted himself and attempted to disentangle himself from the stranger’s
grasp.
Steve watched, bemused, as Sam finally extracted himself and set the smaller
man back on the ground. Sam was still grinning from ear to ear when he
introduced them.
“Steve, this is Peter. Pete, this is Steve. He’s new. Fresh today.”
Peter rounded on Steve, his face alight with a bright smile. “Fresh meat!
Lovely! I bet you’re on stink duty, huh? I remember it well. However, I am now
Peter Parker, contortionist extraordinaire!”
Steve shook Peter’s offered hand and found himself nodding dumbly along with
what Peter was saying, barely able to keep up. Sam shook his head good-
naturedly.
“Don’t break him yet Pete, he’s still shiny.” He joked, clapping a hand on the
other man’s shoulders and leading them in the tent.
*
Once inside, Peter dashed off to where another boy was waving to him, calling
goodbyes over his shoulder. Sam just laughed and showed Steve to where the food
was served. Steve grabbed a metal tray when instructed and he and Sam joined
the queue.
“So, yes, that’s Peter.” Sam explained. “He’s part of our contortionist act
with that boy, did you see him wave? Yeah, that’s Wade Wilson. They’re a double
act. Have been for a couple of years now. Fury picked ‘em up together in New
Jersey a few years back now. Good kids.”
“Kids?” Steve asked.
“Pete’s fifteen. Wade is sixteen, almost seventeen. Like I said, kids.”
Steve flushed. He was barely sixteen himself and was thankful when Sam didn’t
ask his age, deciding maybe it was something he should keep to himself.
The queue shuffled forward slowly and eventually Sam and Steve reached the
front. A tall light haired woman stood behind the counter, dressed in a white
apron and armed with a ladle. She smiled at Sam as she took his tray and ladled
a large spoonful of the stew onto it. When Steve stepped forward, she raised an
delicate eyebrow.
“Frigga, this is Steve. He’s new. Steve - this is Frigga, our cook and
substitute mother. ” Sam supplied helpfully.
Frigga laughed and the melodic sound made Steve smile cautiously. “My boys give
me enough trouble without adopting the rest of you.” She grinned and slopped a
ladle full of the stew onto Steve’s tray too.
Sam chuckled as they went to find a seat. “Frigga’s good people and a helluva
cook. She and her two sons have been with the tour for years. Longer than most
can remember.”
Steve nodded, eyes wide. Sam grinned at him reassuringly. “It’s a lot to take
in, huh?”
Steve nodded again and inexplicably felt his throat tighten with emotion. It
hadn’t escaped his notice that Frigga resembled his own mother slightly and
despite everything, a wave of homesickness rolled through him.
Sam sighed and clapped a hand over Steve’s shoulder. “People are going to give
you a bit of a hard time at first ‘cause you’re new but ain’t nothing serious
if you mind your place. Once you’ve been here awhile it’s sorta like family, ya
know? We look out for each other. Fury makes sure of that.”
Steve swallowed and nodded again as they sat down at one of the three long
tables, one across from where Peter sat stealing tit-bits off Wade’s tray with
his fingers. Wade either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, continuing his
conversation with a thin, handsome man with long black hair. Peter caught Steve
watching and gave him a small wave. At least he seemed friendly. Sam, too.
The food was tastier than it looked and after Steve took the first tentative
forkful; he began devouring the rest of his meal eagerly, famished from his
morning’s work. Sam watched on amused.
“Might wanna savour that.” He suggested. “It’s while ‘til dinner.”
Steve made a gallant effort to stop inhaling his food quite so vigorously. “Do
we get all meals?”
Sam nodded. “For the most part. ‘Cept when the alfalfa gets a bit low but even
then it’s still usually two squares. Only been real bad a few times and that
was before Fury took over.”
“How long’s he been in charge?” Steve asked.
“Five years.” Sam replied. “Took over when our last Ring Master, ah, left. He’s
a better leader anyway. Fairer, ya know?”
Steve nodded absently, distracted as Fury himself walked into the tent, flanked
by Barnes. Fury had removed his red jacket, leaving just a plain white button
down with a ruffled collar tucked into black pants and large black, shiny
boots. He looked untouchable, like royalty. However it was Barnes that caught
Steve’s attention. He’d lost his jacket and his battered shirt was now tucked
into the back of his trousers, leaving his chest bare and glistening with
sweat. He had the body of a man, all corded muscle and dustings of dark hair.
Steve blushed and looked back at his meal, finishing the rest in silence when
Sam took up a conversation with the man sitting across from him.
*
After they’d finished, Sam walked Steve back to the elephant carriage and told
him he’d come and fetch him at the end of the day to show him where he’d sleep.
Steve thanked him and got back to work, tying his handkerchief over his face to
help hinder the awful smell. He sincerely hoped there would be somewhere to
wash at the end of the day.
He finished the first carriage and had just clambered into the next when he was
interrupted. Barnes stood in the door way of the carriage, smirking at him.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Fine.” Steve replied, mortified when his answer was smothered by his
handkerchief. He yanked it off and repeated: “Fine.” He could feel his blush
all the way to the tops of his ears.
Barnes’ smirk grew wider. “Enjoying your work then?” he asked looking around.
Steve knew where this was headed. “If it means I’m pulling my weight then I
don’t mind it.”
Barnes cocked an eyebrow. “Well, we’re here for near a month before we move on.
Plenty of time for you to change your mind and go back home. Tony was right,
kid - running away to join the circus ain’t no fairytale.”
Steve looked down at the shovel in his hand, the manure on his shoes and pant
cuffs. “Well, obviously.” he muttered.
When he looked up, Barnes was regarding him with a curious gaze. “I’ll let you
get back to it then.” He said after a moment, turned and jumped from the
carriage.
Steve watched him go, pulled his handkerchief up and got back to work,
determined.
*
As promised, Sam came to fetch him at the end of day, laughing when he saw how
filthy Steve had managed to get over the course of cleaning out nearly all the
animal carriages. Every muscle in Steve’s body seemed to scream in protest as
Sam helped him down from the carriage he’d been cleaning. He’d never worked so
hard in his life.
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move the next day, let alone get up and do it
all again.
Sam led him to an area behind the Mess tent where there were a few large
barrels filled with murky looking water. Steve couldn’t even bring himself to
care about modesty and alike and once Sam had explained this was indeed the
wash area, he stripped down to his undergarments as fast as his aching limbs
would allow.
Sam perched on the side of the barrel and talked to Steve while he washed, his
feet resting on Steve’s suitcase while he lit a cigarette.
“So how was your first day?” Sam grinned, his face momentarily illuminated in
the failing light by the spark of his match.
“Long.” Steve huffed, scrubbing at his chest with the strange smelling soap,
determined to wash the stink from his skin.
Sam inhaled deeply, smoke pluming from his mouth as he nodded. He sat with his
back to Steve, giving him some semblance of privacy for which Steve was
grateful as he washed his lower regions hurriedly.
“Barnes came to see me.” He mumbled, scrubbing the soap through his hair a
minute later, angling his body away from Sam as the other man turned to look at
him.
“Oh really?
“Yes. Asked me how I was enjoying my work, like shovelling manure was anything
but awful.” Steve explained, reaching for his soiled shirt and pants and
dunking them into the barrel as well.
“Ah.” Sam had finished his cigarette and he threw it to the ground, stubbing it
out with the toe of his boot. “He was probably just messing with you. Haven’t
had anyone fresh in a while. Fury doesn’t usually agree to take in stragglers.
Especially when they don’t have a skill he can exploit.”
“Then why take me on?” Steve asked, curious. He didn’t have anything to offer.
Barnes had even said he wasn’t right for roustabout work like Sam.
Sam shrugged. “Could be any number of reasons with Fury. My bet is he’s
thinking you’ll get sick of the work and pack up for home. Most do.”
Steve looked down at the suitcase by Sam’s feet. Images flashed through his
mind in quick succession: Will’s scared brown eyes, the horrified look on his
mother’s face, the ache of his father’s beating and the weeks and weeks of
silence that had followed. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have one, not really.
“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.” He said finally, forcing his hands to move
as he began to wring out his shirt.
*
That night when he lay in his cot, listening to Sam snore from the other side
of the carriage, he turned and looked out of the open door, across the lot.
People were still moving around, a few singing along to music which was playing
from one of the tents.
A large bonfire had been lit behind the Big Top and people were beginning to
gather around it, laughing and shouting at one another, dark silhouettes in
front of the blaze of the flames. Steve watched as one of the silhouettes
flipped onto its hands and then back again, legs flailing, encouraged to repeat
the action by a chorus of shouting voices.
What Steve had told Sam was true: he didn’t have a home anymore. But maybe – he
thought sleepily – maybe if he stayed here long enough, he’d find one.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Oh, Barnes is a touchy one, no doubt.” Sam conceded, tone hushed.
     “And he’s got that tiger eating out of the palm of his hand. But I
     was there five years ago when Dante’s daddy damn near laid Fury low.
     Barnes was too. Popular opinion is that the boy’s got a screw loose
     to still want to work with the cats after seeing that.”
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Steve awoke the next morning before first light to find the dark lot already
buzzing with activity. When he rolled over Sam was sitting on his own cot,
lacing up his boots. 


“Mornin’” the other man greeted him, voice still rough from sleep. “Best get a
move on. Lots to do on parade day and no doubt you’ll want some food in your
belly to start you off.”
Steve stretched in his cot, grimacing when his limbs and joints ached and
throbbed in protest. He climbed gingerly to his feet and began to dress,
wincing again when he leant down to tie his laces and the ache in his back and
shoulders flared to a bright spark of pain. Sam noticed, huffing a laugh under
his breath.
“The labour’ll take a few weeks to get used to, kid.” he explained. “But the
ache dies down eventually.”
Steve righted himself, shrugging on his shirt as slowly and gently as possible.
“Good to know.” He gritted out through clenched teeth and followed Sam out of
the carriage and toward the Mess.
*
After breakfast, Steve went with Sam to help ready the road coaches.
“It’s grunt work.” Sam explained as they made their way across the lot. “Gotta
get the road coaches off the train carriages and then get the horses harnessed
up to pull ‘em. Not to mention getting the other animals loaded.” Sam shook his
head. “Word of advice? If you see Fury or Barnes today, turn yourself around
and walk in the opposite direction. Pair of them ain’t worth speakin’ to on
days when we gotta move the cats.”
Steve nodded, jogging awkwardly alongside Sam as the other man spoke. It seemed
he took two strides to every one of Sam’s. He doubted he’d be much use at all
hauling machinery around.
*
He wasn’t.
Between his small stature and cluelessness about how to unload the carriages,
Steve got shouted at more than he ever had in all his years at school combined.
After the third or forth time he was bodily shoved out of the way of the work,
he gave in and hung back, watching dejectedly as the other men unloaded the
coaches.
He could feel the skin on the back of his neck ripening under the heat of the
sun and he tugged his collar up in an effort to shade the exposed skin. It was
not yet Summer but the weather was getting steadily warmer and by mid-morning,
the men were hot, sweaty and angry about it. They groused at Steve even though
he did his best to stay out of the way. He understood, of course. It was never
enjoyable to witness someone lolly-gagging while you worked but he was at a
loss as to how he could help at all.
“Hey kid!” a voice called and Steve turned on instinct. It was the man Sam had
been speaking to in the Mess the night before. Steve couldn’t remember his name
but he had an easy smile and for that Steve was grateful.
“You reckon you could head over to the mess and get us fellas somethin’ to
drink?” the man asked, mopping his brow with the hem of his filthy shirt.
Steve nodded hurriedly, eager to be useful, and headed off towards the Mess.
*
Frigga laughed when he’d told her why he’d been sent and lead him to the back
of the Mess where a road carriage stood, locked and secure. She fished a key
from the top of her bodice (Steve had politely looked away), unlocked the wagon
and fetched a crate. She’d been able to carry it with more ease than he could
manage. The bottles inside clinked prettily as he hoisted the crate into his
arms.
The effort made the muscles in his arms burn, still aching from his work the
day before, but he hauled the crate all the way across the lot and was rewarded
for his efforts by the cheer the men gave when he approached. Obviously the
word had gone around that he’d gone to fetch drink. Each of the men patted him
on the back as they retrieved a bottle and offered him thanks.
Sam appeared by his side and took his own bottle. “Looks like you’ve made
yourself useful.” he grinned before taking a swig from his beer.
Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling.
*
By high noon, the convoy was ready, lined up and waiting to roll out. Steve had
thought the disorganised hustle and bustle of the previous day had been
impressive but to see the entire circus lined up was truly a sight to behold.
Each road coach was painted in spectacularly bright colours and pulled by a
number of horses, all of which were groomed to a shine and dressed with
feathers and ribbons. The performers milled around the carriages in elaborate
costumes, some stretching, some hastily practising their routines. Three
carriages from the front, the band lined up, four abreast and five men deep,
instruments gleaming in the sunshine, gold and brass contrasting beautifully
with the red of their uniforms.
Two coaches behind them, the two elephants Steve had seen the day before swayed
drowsily, dolled up in swathes of bright material. Three women sat atop the
larger elephant, laughing and chatting and petting the huge animal’s ears. Two
clowns sat atop the other, one over the neck and another towards the rear,
calling insults at one another as they juggled long batons back and forth.
Towards the rear of the convoy was one of the largest coaches, pulled by a team
of six beautiful matching bays with silver ribbon through their plated manes.
Inside the coach, the big cats paced. Steve could see now that there were four.
Two female lions, an adolescent male lion and a tiger. The two females circled
the perimeter of the coach while the male lion paced back and forth along one
side. The tiger appeared the most relaxed of the group, lazing about in the
sun, watching the other three from his vantage spot in the middle of the cage.
Steve could’t believe how big they were. Especially the tiger who was half the
size again of the two lionesses. He moved closer for a better look. Performers
and roustabouts walked past the cage as if the big cats weren’t there, used to
the spectacle and the cats’ part in it, but Steve found himself mesmerised by
the subtle shift of their muscles under their pelts and the low, heavy hum of
their breathing.
“Gonna have to charge you if you keep staring like that.”
Steve jumped, startled badly by the voice. He turned to find Barnes standing
beside him. Like the other performers, Barnes was dressed in his show costume.
He wore heavy, black boots over dark trousers that clung to his legs and which
were accented by a white stripe either side that ran hip to cuff. His shirt was
a deep red, tight and undone almost to his navel, adorned with large silver
buttons all along the front and the cuffs of his wrists. Steve could see the
contours of Barnes’ chest and the dusky pink of his left nipple. He swallowed
hard and turned back to the cats.
“They’re bigger than they seem in story books.” he admitted, proud of how
steady his voice was.
Barnes huffed. “Dante is only half grown.” He said, nodding towards the young
male lion. “He’ll get to about 400 pounds in a few years time.”
Barnes walked closer to the cage and Steve found himself following despite his
reservations about the cats. As they approached the lions padded to the far
side of the cage and eyed them wearily. The tiger on the other hand, slunk
closer, scenting the air with long deep huffs.
Barnes chuckled. “Hey, hey, hey.” he crooned softly, reaching out with his left
hand.
Steve’s heart seemed to flip in his chest. Surely Barnes didn’t mean to…? He
watched in awe as Barnes reached between the rails of the cage and towards the
tiger, who butted it’s enormous face into Barnes’ palm as though it were a barn
cat seeking affection. Barnes chuckled softly. “Hey, Khan. Hey, buddy.” he said
in the same low tone.
Steve didn’t dare move. He’d known Barnes worked with the big cats but he had
never imagined that they would respond to him like tame house pets. Especially
the tiger, who was the largest and most intimidating of the four. 

Barnes ran his palm over the big cat’s ears, pulled at the fur directly behind
them and then smoothed it back into place, a soft, adoring smile gracing his
face. The expression was so warm that, for a moment, Steve had trouble
remembering that it graced the same face that had smirked so sharply at him the
day before.
“Khan came to the show the same year I did.” Barnes said. “We were both just
cubs then.”
Steve drank in the information as he watched Khan bunt his nose into Barnes’
palm once more. He realised suddenly that the low rumble emanating from the
cage was no
longer just the huge cat’s breathing - Khan was purring.
“He’s like a giant house cat.” he muttered inanely.
“He ain’t.” Barnes said sharply as he withdrew his hand. “No house cat I ever
seen could kill you in three seconds flat.”
Steve flushed, knowing he’d insulted Barnes by the tone of the other man’s
voice.
“I didn’t mean-“ he began. “I just - he seems so-“
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Barnes asked bluntly. “There’s probably some
fresh shit to shovel by now.”
Insulted, Steve closed his mouth so quickly that his teeth clicked. He set his
jaw and turned on his heel, stalking off towards the front of the convoy. He
hadn’t meant to insult Barnes but Barnes had belittled him on purpose. Steve
huffed angrily. What a jerk.
*
Late afternoon found Sam and Steve sat in the open side of their bunk carriage,
watching as the day slowly faded into dusk. Only a handful of the more
experienced roustabouts went with the parade, the rest staying behind to ready
the lot for the swarms of people that would undoubtedly follow the parade back
to the lot. Sam explained that there was no show that night but that the stalls
and vendors still operated and turned a bit of coin selling sweets and tricks
to the townsfolk.
“Ain’t always the case.” Sam explained. “Most days we roll into a town, have a
show that night and roll out by dawn. But we’re here for almost a month. Start
of the season and all.”
Steve frowned. “But if the show is only in town for one night, how do people
know to come?”
Sam shrugged. “Most see the train roll through or see the big top being set up
and wander down. Call ‘em ‘lot lice’, the townsfolk that nose around before the
lot is even set up. We’ve got a couple of 24-hour men as well that travel ahead
of the show, put up posters and hand out flyers and the like.”
Steve watched as Sam uncurled a beaten looking pack of cigarettes from his
shirt sleeve and tapped one out. “Business ain’t been the best these last few
years. People just haven’t got the money to spend on the nonessentials, ya
know? But we get by. Fury makes sure noone goes hungry.”
Steve nodded, trying not to think about the empty feeling in his stomach.
There’d been no lunch in the Mess due to the parade and dinner felt like a long
way off. Sam seemed to read his mind. He grinned around the end of his
cigarette.
“No dinner tonight either.” he said and Steve’s stomach gave a horrified twist.
“Everyone eats from the vendors tonight. Means Frigga gets a night off too.
Stick with me, I’ll get you fed.”
Steve smiled and dipped his head in thanks.
“Saw you talking to Barnes today.” Sam said then. “Didn’t think he’d be so
friendly on a parade day.”
Steve’s smile dropped. “Wouldn’t say he was overly friendly.” he admitted,
still stung from Barnes’ blunt dismissal.
Sam’s eyebrows climbed up. “He seemed to enjoy introducing you to Khan. Big lug
was smiles all round.”
Steve huffed. There was a note in Sam’s voice that Steve couldn’t quite place.
“He got offended when I said the tiger looked like a house cat. Brushed me off
right smart. Wasn’t too polite about it either.”
Understanding dawned across Sam’s handsome face. “Ah, I see.” he murmured and
took another long drag from his cigarette. “Don’t ever disrespect the cats,
kid. Ain’t none that have been round here five years that will appreciate it if
you do.”
Steve frowned. “I don’t understand. He coddled the damn thing as though it was
a house cat! What was I supposed to think?”
“Oh, Barnes is a touchy one, no doubt.” Sam conceded, tone hushed. “And he’s
got that tiger eating out of the palm of his hand. But I was there five years
ago when Dante’s daddy damn near laid Fury low. Barnes was too. Popular opinion
is that the boy’s got a screw loose to still want to work with the cats after
seeing that.”
“What happened?” Steve asked, curiosity burning in his chest.
Sam sighed. “I’ve been kickin’ sawdust about 10 years now. Started when I was
just a young lad of about twelve or thirteen. Both my folks had shuffled off
and I thought the circus seemed a lot more fun than the orphanage.” He shook
his head. “I’ve seen a lot these last few years. All sorts of accidents, you
know? But five years ago, Fury walked into the ring with Dante’s daddy,
Lucifer, and we carried them both out. Fury had been working with Lucifer since
the damn beast was a cub but that one day, Lucifer took exception and hauled
off. Swiped Fury across the face in the middle of the act, in front of all the
rubes.” Sam took another puff from his cigarette. “I ain’t ever gonna forget
how the kiddies screamed or how fast Fury went down. Out cold and missing half
his face in a split second.”
Steve winced. “What happened to the lion?” he asked.
“Barnes did.” Sam answered. “The tent was chaos. Townsfolk trying to get out,
away from Lucifer, and all us trying to get in to help Fury. Lucifer had gone
wild, they tend to when they scent blood. He would’ve mauled the first thing he
got his paws on. In the middle of it all, Barnes picks up a rifle and pops the
damned cat straight between the eyes from about 40 paces.”
Sam flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the toe of his
boot. “We got Fury out, got him patched up as best we could.” He paused for a
moment and Steve realised he could hear music blowing in faint and soft on the
warm spring wind. It was the band, playing in the distance. The parade would be
back before dusk. “But there ain’t no eye under that patch,” Sam continued.
“And ain’t one of us that can forget why.”
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter 3 will be up tomorrow as this one is quite short.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     "I know I’m new. I know I don’t belong.” Steve's voice caught on the
     last word as other emotions tried to bubble up alongside his anger.
     He fought to push them back. “But I damned well don’t belong anywhere
     else anymore and I am trying, okay?” He stared at Barnes through the
     failing light, chest heaving, knowing vaguely that he was possibly
     about to get punched.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The parade rolled back into the lot as dusk settled in and suddenly the
impending night was lit up with the sounds and lights of the entire show. Steve
dodged through the flocks of people flanking the parade, finishing the last of
his corn dog in two large bites. The crowd swelled as the parade disbanded and
the lot opened up to reveal the stalls and vendors. Children yelled excitedly,
tugging on their parents hands, and guys swung their arms over the shoulders of
their best girls, keen to win them prizes at the games.
Steve had been to the circus once as a child - an experience that he remembered
in flashes of colours and snippets of sound. His father had won a small stuffed
bear and presented it to his mother. Steve smiled fondly at the memory before
the ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him and he looked about the lot
with burning eyes, seeking distraction.
He caught sight of the big cats’ road coach as it slipped around the side of
the Big Top, headed for the menagerie. The big cats looked to be asleep,
despite the commotion, heaped in a pile in one corner of their cage. Barnes was
perched a top the coach, hair wild from the wind, his red shirt still bright in
the failing light. Steve could not help but see him a little differently now.
Barnes was a hero for having saved Fury’s life as well as the lives of
countless others with his quick thinking and marksmanship and, even if part of
Steve still did think him mad for ever agreeing to work with the big cats after
what had happened, he had to respect Barnes for that.
He needed to apologise, Steve decided, for what ever it was he’d said that had
offended Barnes. He didn’t want to ruffle any feathers or get on anyone’s bad
side so early on, especially if what Sam had said about the circus-folk looking
out for one another was true. Mind made up, he dodged around two small children
and their parents and set off toward the menagerie.
*
Steve found Barnes by the water pump at the rear of the menagerie. The pump
looked antiquated but drew up clear, fresh water with each crank of the handle
and was one of two that was watering the entire lot. Barnes’ shirt was so tight
that Steve could see the muscles across his shoulders ripple with every pump of
the mechanism and for a moment, his voice was lost.
Steve’s fingers, despite the blisters and scabs that his hands had accumulated,
itched for a pencil or a chunk of charcoal. Anything that he might use to be
able to sketch out the ratio between Barnes’ shoulders and hips. He was still
staring when Barne’s turned and startled at the sight of him, water sloshing
over the edge of the buckets he was carrying as he jumped.
“Christ! That’s a good way to give a fella a heart attack!” he exclaimed,
setting the buckets down once more to wipe his damp hands across his thighs.
“Sorry!” Steve managed. “I just…I want to - uh…”
Barnes raised an eyebrow.
“Apologise.” Steve finished lamely.
Barnes’ other eyebrow climbed and he appraised Steve with a bemused gaze. “Oh?”
“For earlier.” Steve explained, relieved that the words had started to escape a
little easier from his suddenly dry mouth. “I thought I might have offended you
before the parade and I wanted to make amends.”
Barnes looked genuinely taken aback for a moment before he schooled his
features back into the cool expression of almost-disinterest that Steve was
becoming increasingly familiar with.
“Don’t mention it.” he told Steve, hoisting the buckets up once more and
heading back towards the big cats coach.
Steve frowned, uncertain if his apology had been accepted or not. He scurried
after Barnes.
“I didn’t mean to imply your work was’t dangerous or anything like that.” Steve
continued words tumbling out.
Barnes scoffed but offered no other response.
“I mean, anyone can see that it’s exactly the opposite.” Steve’s cheeks were
beginning to heat. “You must really be brave to get up close and personal with
‘em.”
Barnes set the buckets down before hoisting one up to pour through the bars of
the coach, filling the cats water trough until it ran over. Steve bit his lip
to stop himself from saying anything else. Barnes didn’t reply, didn’t even
look at him. Instead, he stepped around the still full bucket and approached
the horses still attached to the road coach.
“Sam told me what happened to Fury.” Steve blurted. He didn’t like the way
Barnes refused to acknowledge him or his apology. He felt like a fly, a pest:
annoying but not worth paying any real attention to.
Finally, Barnes looked up from where he was working on the straps of one of the
first horses harnesses. “Is that so?”
Steve nodded despite the extra heat that flared across his face. “Real brave
what you did. Sam said you saved Fury’s life.”
Barnes hummed noncommittally and went back to working loose the harness. “Any
man with a conscience woulda done the same thing.” he said.
“Sam said you hit the lion between the eyes from forty paces.” Steve continued,
emboldened by the fact that he’d coaxed Barnes into replying. “Ain’t just any
man that coulda made that shot.”
Barnes grunted as he pulled the final stubborn strap free. “Yeah, well, I used
to shoot at cans back when I was a lad. Always kind of had a knack for it.”
“And not just Fury. Sam said all the rubes panicked and that-” Steve began
earnestly.
Barnes barked out a laugh that cut Steve off. “Rubes?” he asked, grinning his
unkind smile. “The pressed creases haven’t even dropped out of your very fine
trousers and you’re already using the lingo, eh?” He shook his head,
disbelievingly. He turned then and began to lead the horse away.
Steve’s smile slid off his face and settled cold and hard in his stomach.
Barnes was mocking him again when he’d only wanted to apologise. He didn’t need
anybody to remind him that he looked out of place, that he didn’t belong. He
knew that already. Heat replaced the cold feeling in his stomach as quickly as
it had frozen over and Steve felt the anger bubble up through his chest as he
watched Barnes walk away.
“Hey!” he called and started after Barnes. “Hey!”
Barnes didn’t turn until he’d finished tying the horse to a resting pole and by
the time he did, Steve was already in his personal space, frowning so deeply he
could feel the way the skin folded between his brows.
“Whoa!” Barnes said, stepping back and spooking the horse slightly. “What’s
your problem, punk?” he demanded.
Steve huffed. “You are!” he hissed. “Yeah, I said the wrong thing and we got
off on the wrong foot. But I am trying to apologise and you’re still trying to
make me feel like a mook!” He raised a hand and poked himself in the chest for
emphasis as he continued. “I know I’m new. I know I don’t belong.” Steve's
voice caught on the last word as other emotions tried to bubble up alongside
his anger. He fought to push them back. “But I damned well don’t belong
anywhere else anymore and I am trying, okay?” He stared at Barnes through the
failing light, chest heaving, knowing vaguely that he was possibly about to get
punched.
Barnes stared back for several long moments. “You done?” he asked finally and
Steve blinked, thrown by the other man’s response.
“Yeah?”
Barnes nodded once. “Then help me with the rest of the horses, will ya? I don’t
wanna be here all night.” He brushed past Steve and headed back towards the
roach coach where the waiting horses were beginning to shift restlessly.
Thrown, Steve followed.
*
Barnes showed him how to unharness the horses and where to bunk them for the
night. Despite Steve’s outburst, Barnes was patient and almost-kind as Steve’s
unpractised fingers slipped uselessly over buckles and straps and when he
spooked the horses with his cussing and too-quick movements.
As they worked, Barnes talked. He told Steve about what would happen the next
day - two shows, a matinee and an evening show.
“You’ll probably work some patch work here and there.” Barnes told him, as they
hauled water over to the horses. Barnes had a bucket in each hand, arms
straining with the effort.
It took all of Steve’s strength to carry one and it made him hobble awkwardly,
water sloshing with every step.
“They always need people manning the hooch tent.” Barnes continued. “Fellas try
and get a look at the girls for free, peep under the side of the tent and the
like. You get to whack ‘em with sticks.” He smiled as though he was reliving
some fond memory and in the few seconds that the expression graced his face,
Steve yearned for a means to draw the other man.
Barnes’ face was a myriad of contradictions. For the most part, he looked sour,
his full lips seeming to pout of their own accord while his eyes stayed blank
and almost unfocussed. It gave him a bored and slightly uninterested resting
disposition. However as soon as the muscles in is face moved - to smile, to
frown, to arch an eyebrow - his whole face came alive. Steve tried to catch and
remember each nuance of emotion as it flitted across the other man’s but it was
difficult to do without outright staring and he didn’t want to wreck their
shaky truce before it had begun.
It wasn't until the final horse was tethered and watered that Steve realised
Barnes was apologising to him by trying to familiarise him with the comings and
goings of the circus, trying to make everything seem less alien by explaining
how it all worked.
By the time they had started to make their way back across the lot, towards the
wash area, Barnes had even begun naming the performers and their acts. “Pete
and Wade are our contortionists, though Wade swallows swords as well. Natasha’s
on the trapeze but she also helps out with Clint’s act. He straps her to a
spinning board and shoots arrows at her blindfolded-” he paused at Steve’s
shocked intake of breath.
“I know! It’s a real trip. Touch wood, he ain’t ever hit her. Then there’s
Thor, he’s our strong man and his brother Loki is our illusionist. He also
reads fortunes for the rubes when he’s in a sweet enough mood. They’re Frigga’s
- you’ve met Frigga, right? - yeah, well they’re Frigga’s boys.”
Steve nodded along as Barnes rambled but soon found he could hardly concentrate
on what the other man was saying for the distraction of the shape of Barnes’
mouth while he spoke.
“Hey Barnes?” he said.
Barnes stopped and looked over at him. Steve could now only make out the
features of Barnes’ face by the soft glow of the lanterns and the residual
light from the bigtop.
“Thanks.” Steve said, thankful for the dim light when his own cheeks began to
heat up again.
Barnes cocked an eyebrow but then shrugged, like he was shrugging off the
attitude and cool appraisal that Steve was already so used too.
“Ain’t nothin’” he muttered and then turned to one of the barrels and slipped
out of his red shirt.
Steve bit his lip and watched the muscles in Barnes’ back work as the other man
bent to scoop out a large hand full of water and wet his hair. Water trickled
down the long smooth plain of Barnes’ back to the waist of his trousers and
Steve’s eyes tracked it until he had to look away, flushed and embarrassed.
“You gonna wash?” Barnes asked, looking over his shoulder.
Steve nodded hurriedly but said nothing as he did not trust his voice to
cooperate. Instead he tugged off his own shirt and tried not to notice the way
Barnes’ looked him over, probably cataloguing the way Steve’s ribs protruded
and the scrawniness of his arms. He turned his back and picked up a discarded
bar of soap.
“My first name is James, by the way.” Barnes said to his back. “James Buchanan
Barnes. But most call me Barnes. Easier to go by last names when there’s fifty
fellas around all named James.”
Steve wanted to turn around again, wanted to watch Barnes-James-Barnes soap his
chest and under his arms but instead he washed his own, humming happily as the
grime of the day slid off.
“Buchanan?” he asked.
Behind him, Barnes scoffed. “Don’t ask me, pal. Was pinned to my blanket when
my mama left me under the seats in the big top.”
Steve did turn at that, eyes wide. “How old were you?” he asked.
Barnes shrugged. “A few months. My daddy was a roustabout. Met my mama when the
circus was in town and then left her with a bastard baby in her belly. A year
goes by and the circus is back. Daddy wasn’t workin’ the show no more by then
but she figured she could still give me back.”
Barnes’ tone was casual, like he hadn’t grown up without his parents, like it
hadn’t hurt him at all to be abandoned by the two people in the world that were
supposed to look out for him no matter what.
“But you were only a baby!” Steve implored. “You could have died!”
Bucky shrugged again and rescued - what looked to Steve to be - the same
battered cigar stub from the day before out of his pocket before his trousers
became too damp. He didn’t look at Steve as he dusted it off with nimble
fingers and then stuck it between his teeth so that he could light it, flicking
the match to the sodden ground at his feet when he was done.
“Yeah, well, lucky for me one of the cooks had just lost her own bub and was
still feelin’ mighty maternal.” Barnes said around the end of his cigar, smoke
puffing out between the words.
“Did they ever find your father?” Steve asked.
Barnes shook his head. “Some of the working men knew who he was but we had no
way of getting in contact with him. Didn’t matter to me anyway. Most kids get
one dad if they’re lucky. I had about eighty fellas to teach me to shave and
fight.” He laughed then but the noise was hollow.
Steve’s chest ached for him.
“Come on, punk.” Barnes said then. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t take to
kindly to pity. You’re reminding me why I haven’t told this story to too many
people.”
Steve averted his eyes. “I just…didn’t realise you’d been with the circus for
so long.” he lied, trying to make his tone light, like he wasn’t thinking of
his own father and mother and how lucky he’d been to have them until he…didn’t.
“What happened to…?” Steve trailed off.
“My mama?”
Steve nodded.
“Dunno. My adopted mama died about 7 years back now, God rest her soul. She
ended up having another baby when I was four. Rebecca’s married now herself,
lives in Graceland with her fella. Circus life never suited her well.” Barnes
shook his head and took a long drag on his cigar. Steve was glad they were out
in the open and the smoke couldn’t effect his lungs.
“Jeez, punk.” Barnes said then. “You know more about me now than some of the
fellas here that I’ve known half my life and all I know about you is your name
and that you’ve got a fiery Irish temper that don’t half match up with your
size.”
Steve flushed and reached out to collect his shirt back from the side of the
barrel, wrestling it on despite the fact he was still damp. He couldn’t take
Barnes’ eyes on him - it made him feel small and useless in a way he hadn’t
done in years. It made him feel worse than not being able to help the men
unload the road carriages had done.
“You seem to have forgotten my name.” He pointed out, throwing Barnes a hard
look. “It’s not actually ‘punk’.”
Barnes smirked. “Nonsense Stuart.” he said nonchalantly around the end of his
cigar but the act was ruined when Steve’s outraged squawk caused him laugh,
full bodied and rich.
“It’s ‘Steve’, you jerk!” Steve pointed out but his stern tone was ruined by
the grin that he could not contain.
“Steven Rogers.” Barnes grinned. “I know.”
*
Sam was already asleep by the time Steve got back to their carriage. He could
hear the other man snoring when Barnes gave him a lazy two fingered salute and
a whispered: “Goodnight, Stevie” before setting off for his own bed.
Steve clambered into the carriage as quietly as possible but ended up catching
his foot on the end of his cot and swearing loudly as he caught himself from
landing on his face. Sam’s snoring cut out with a snort.
“Steve?” he asked, pulling himself partially upright in his cot and reaching
out to turn up the flame in the oil lamp beside hid bed. The lamp cast a warm
light through their carriage and made their shadows dance high up the walls.
“Yeah. It’s me.” Steve huffed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He watched as Sam rubbed his eyes and checked his watch.
“It’s almost 2. Where have you been?”
Steve bit his lip to keep from grinning and busied himself by unlacing his
boots. Sam had procured them for him the day before. “People will take one look
at those shoes you got on and assume you’re a rube.” he’d warned Steve. The
boots were a size too big but the well worn leather was awfully comfortable.
“I went and found Barnes when the parade got back.” he explained. “I wanted to
apologise for upsetting him.”
Sam scoffed. “Upsetting Barnes on parade day is about as easy as falling out of
a boat and hitting water. You needn’t have put yourself through that.”
Steve heaved one boot off, wincing as the movement pulled on sore muscles and
then again at the smell of his own foot.
“Naw.” he told Sam. “It wasn’t so bad.” He paused, considering. “Well, it was.
But I called him on being a jerk and then he asked me to help him with the
horses. Filled me more about how everything’s run too. Who people are and the
like, ya know?” Steve didn’t mention Barnes opening up about his childhood. It
felt private and he was secretly pleased to know something about Barnes that
most others didn’t.
“Sounds like he got downright chatty.” Sam observed, cocking a dark eyebrow.
“Musta taken a shine to you, kid.”
Steve hid his grin by contorting himself to tug off his other boot. He’d gotten
away with telling Barnes as little as possible about himself which he felt
slightly guilty about when Barnes had shared so much. His story was pretty
boring compared to Barnes’ anyway. At least that’s what he’d argued when Barnes
had pressed about his past. He’d told Barnes he’d grown up in Brooklyn (true)
before lack of work had pushed his parents to move out to Jersey where the rent
was cheaper and they needed fit men like his father for manual labour (also
true). He hadn’t told Barnes that his mother had pushed for the move because
she’d thought the air would be cleaner somewhere less built up than Brooklyn
and that it might help Steve’s asthma or the real reason he’d run away from
home. Instead, he’s fobbed up some cock and bull story about a disagreement
he’d had with his old man and that he’d been thrown out which was - Steve tried
to reason with his guilt - partially true. He paused and wondered if his
parents would return to the city now that they didn’t have his lungs or medical
bills to worry about.
“Steve?” Sam asked, pulling Steve out of his thoughts.
“Hm? Oh yeah. Well, he ain’t that bad.” Steve said. “Got a keen sense of humour
even.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think I’ve even heard him chuckle, let alone tell
a joke.” he said.
Steve frowned. “When we went for a wash, he-”
“You went for a wash?” Sam asked, cutting him off. “In his carriage?”
“What? No. At the wash area you showed me last night.” Steve explained,
confused.
Sam made a soft noise of disbelief. “Huh.”
“What?” Steve asked.
“Barnes is a performer, kid. One of our top bills even. He’s got a swanky
carriage towards the front of the line with a washroom and everything. He even
tosses a penny to poor sods like us to fetch him wood for his fire every now
and then.” Sam explained. “Just seems odd that he’d choose to take a wash out
of a barrel when he could of had a warm shower is all.”
Steve blinked. “Maybe he didn’t want to mess up his carriage.” he reasoned.
“Maybe.” Sam agreed. “Or maybe he just wanted to hang around with you a bit
longer. We roustabouts don’t get invites to the front of the line very often.”
“But you said it was kind of like a family here.”
“I did. But even families have a hierarchy. Fury’s the boss man so he’s like
our father, yeah? Tells us what to do and gives us an allowance when we do it
right. Frigga’s our mother ‘cause she feeds us and is the only person I’ve seen
beat Fury in an argument. Anyway, the performers - they’re the older brothers
and sisters - too cool and daddy’s favourites to boot. They eat first, get a
bigger allowance and the best rooms in the house, you follow me?”
Steve nodded, his brow knit with concentration.
“After them comes the stall holders and lot acts. They’re the middle children.
Not as special as the first borns - the spec acts - but they still do alright.
And then there’s us. We’re the youngest children and we ain’t nothing special.
We crawl around in the mud and get paid a pittance for it despite the fact that
the show couldn’t run without us. The performers - they don’t play with us.
They wouldn’t want to get their pretty costumes dirty.”
“So you’re saying Barnes can’t be my friend because he’s a performer and I’m a
roustabout?” Steve asked.
Sam shook his head. “No. I’m saying that Barnes ain’t your friend because he’s
a performer and you’re a roustabout. People only mix within their own lot.”
A thought struck Steve. “But you and Peter are friendly and he’s a performer.”
he argued.
“Pete’s a newcomer. Wade too. They’re performers but they started out same as
you - shovellin’ shit. And same as you, I took ‘em under my wing. It wasn’t
’til Wade worked up the courage to show Fury his skills that they even made the
bill and by then, Peter was mighty thankful for all my help. We’ve stayed
friendly, but we ain’t friends.”
Steve frowned harder. “That’s ridiculous.”
Sam laughed. “I know. But it’s just the way things are. Always have been.” He
reached over and shut off the lamp. “Get some sleep, Steve. You get your
shovellin’ done early tomorrow and you might actually get to see the show.”
Steve crawled onto his cot and laid down. He wanted to ignore what Sam had told
him and hold onto the hope that Barnes actually wanted to be his friend but
before he could give it too much thought, the weariness of his body won out and
he slipped into a restless sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for the last! Be
     warned: it's turning into a bit of an epic. See you next week! :)
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     The next morning, Steve woke slowly and not completely rested. He
     groaned and pulled his thin quilt up over his head in an effort to
     block out the light beginning to filter into their carriage. Sam was
     already up and dressed and sat smoking a cigarette in the carriage
     doorway, one leg tucked up to his chest, the other swinging loose.
     “That’s what you get for stoppin' out all night with strange men.” he
     teased, voice muffled around the end of his cigarette and Steve’s
     ears went pink beneath his blanket.
The next morning, Steve woke slowly and not completely rested. He groaned and
pulled his thin quilt up over his head in an effort to block out the light
beginning to filter into their carriage. Sam was already up and dressed and sat
smoking a cigarette in the carriage doorway, one leg tucked up to his chest,
the other swinging loose.
“That’s what you get for stoppin' out all night with strange men.” he teased,
voice muffled around the end of his cigarette and Steve’s ears went pink
beneath his blanket.
“Us workin’ men need our beauty sleep if we’re going to make a decent start on
the day.”
Steve groaned again. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Half seven. You’re gonna wanna get up now or you’ll miss breakfast.” Sam
replied.
Steve finally sat up, smiling sheepishly at Sam. “Mornin’.”
“Mornin’.” Sam grinned back.
The morning was fresh without being cold and the lot was already doused in soft
spring light. Steve stretched and took a deep breath which miraculously didn’t
catch in his lungs despite the fact that some of Sam’s cigarette smoke was
wafting back into the carriage.
“Remind me to ask Frigga for some stale tea bags at breakfast.” Sam said once
Steve had pulled himself upright and begun to pull on his boots over fresh
socks.
“Yeah. Why’s that?” Steve asked before cursing under his breath when he looped
a lace wrong.
“‘Cause your boots reak like somethin’ crawled into ‘em and died.” Sam
chuckled. “The tea pulls the smell out.”
Steve flushed. “They smelt like that before I got ‘em.” he argued.
Sam laughed again. “Whatever you say, kid. Come on. I’ve been helpin’ to set up
tents already and I’m starving. Breakfast time!”
*
As they walked towards the Mess, Steve was amazed by the way the lot had
changed over night. Twice as many tents now stood in front of the Big Top,
lining the way from the entrance gate to the grounds.
“Those tents are for the stalls.” Sam explained. “Food vendors, side-show games
and the like. Loki’s got a tent for his fortunes and Bruce has one that he
sells his remedies and potions out of. Some of the cuddlier animals go into a
petting-zoo for the kids. All very family friendly. They do a lot of business
in the hour or so before the show.”
Steve nodded, his eye catching on an emerald green tent that had sprung up
further back. It was well out of the way of the other tents, almost hidden
behind the Big Top and the sprawl of the menagerie marquee.
“What’s that green one for?” he asked and Sam barked a laugh.
“That’s the hooch tent.” He explained. “It don’t open until tonight.”
Steve’s cheeks flushed hot. Barnes had mentioned the tent the night before. “Do
the girls really…?” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish. When Sam looked at
him with an arched eyebrow, he gave a quick shimmy off his shoulders, trying to
imitate the way the girls might dance, which set Sam into another fit of
laughter.
“Sure do and hell, kid, with those moves? You might me looking at a time slot
there yourself.”
Steve face felt like it was on fire despite the pride he felt for making Sam
laugh. “Hush up.” he groused good-naturedly. “Barnes said I might work there
later tonight.”
Sam chuckled. “In your dreams maybe. The hooch tent is the only place men
volunteer to work for a few very obvious reasons.” He reached out and held the
flap of the Mess tent open for Steve. “You’ll be shovellin’ shit in the
menagerie no doubt.”
Steve stepped through the door with a muttered “great” and grinned when Sam
laughed again.
There was hardly any line for breakfast as most were already sitting down
eating. Steve caught sight of Barnes sitting next to Fury but as the other
man’s attention seemed to be focused on the paper sprawled out in front of him,
he did not notice Steve. Steve tried hard not to feel disappointed.
Breakfast was porridge and black coffee, served with a scolding from Frigga
regarding their tardiness.
“I am almost about to close up the kitchen.” She told Steve. “And there’s not
enough of you to send you out to work on an empty stomach.”
“Yes, mam. Sorry, mam.” Steve apologised, smiling when he saw her ladle an
extra half a spoonful of porridge onto his tray. “Thank-you.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Frigga warned. “There aren’t enough boys around
here with manners as nice as yours.”
Steve gave her one last grin and set off after Sam to find a seat. Sam was
already seated next to a group of men, some of whom Steve recognised from the
day before. He climbed onto the bench beside Sam and nodded to the man in the
bowler hat who sat opposite him.
“Steve, this is Timothy Dugan.” Sam introduced him. “Or ‘Dum Dum’ for short.”
“Pleased ta meet ya.” Dum Dum said and held out a meaty across the table for
Steve to shake. “I saw you scurrying about yesterday. Got us some drinks, you
did.”
Steve nodded as he released Dum Dum’s hand. “Yeah, that was me. Steve Rogers,
nice to meet you too.”
Dum Dum gave him an assessing look. “No offence, kid, but you ain’t really
built for roustabout work.”
Sam laughed. “That’s what I told him. But Steve here has grand ideas about
working the hooch tent tonight.”
The men around them chuckled.
“Over mah dead body per’aps.” an accented voice piped up and Steve looked down
the table to find a man - smaller than Dum Dum, though that wasn’t hard -
smiling back at him. “Jacques Dernier” he said again in his heavily accented
English. “Or Jackie, ef you prefer. A pleasure.”
Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement.
They took turns introducing themselves then. Gabe Jones was the dark skinned
man sitting beside Dum Dum and James Falsworth was the Brit sitting next to
him. Jim Morita, “the Jap from Fresno”, sat between Sam and Jackie.
“So, you ran away to join the circus, eh?” Gabe asked and Steve shook his head
hurriedly, mouth too full of porridge to answer.
“Didn’t know the circus was in town until I got here from Jersey.” he explained
once he’d swallowed.
“Ah, so eet is just a ‘appy coincidence then?” Jackie asked and Steve nodded.
“A happy coincident indeed.” Jones agreed in his own smooth baritone. “I was
about to keel over before you fetched that beer for us yesterday.”
Steve grinned. “Just happy to help.”
“You know Steve.” Falsworth said. “I bet Frigga could use a man like you in the
kitchens to run errands and the like for her. Some of the performers prefer to
eat in their trailers and she doesn’t like to trust rope-in rubes to do that
kind of thing.”
Steve nodded. He liked the sound of the idea.
Sam was nodding too. “Could be a sweet gig. You should talk to her after
breakfast.”
Steve grinned, emboldened by Sam’s approval. “Will do.”
Dum Dum grinned. “Just be sure she don’t mistake you for an underfed chicken
and try to make you into soup.” he warned which was apparently the wittiest
thing he’d ever said because the others roared with laughter.
Steve laughed with them, able to recognise the comment as nothing more than a
good-natured ribbing.
He looked across the tent then and caught Barnes’ eye, the other man’s
attention caught by the ruckus they were making. He grinned, butterflies
suddenly alive in his stomach. He hoped Sam was wrong and that Barnes wouldn’t
dismiss him in the light of day. He held his breath until Barnes hitched one
corner of his mouth in some approximation of a smile before he turned back to
his paper.
*
Sam took him to see Frigga after they'd eaten. When they found her - tucked
away in the tiny kitchen at the back of the Mess - she was standing over a tub,
up to her elbows in sudsy water, dishes piled high to one side. Steve couldn't
believe there was no one helping her and when Sam explained that Steve wanted
to do just that, her face broke into a smile.
"Of course I'd appreciate the help." She exclaimed before turning to Steve.
"Lost all my extra hands to the big smoke already. They use the show as a means
of getting to the city without having to pay their way and then they take off.
You won't leave me high and dry, will you dear?"
Steve shook his head. "No, mam." He promised.
"And you," Frigga continued, attention back on Sam. "You've explained to him
that he won't earn as much as a labourer? He knows what the men will say about
him - to him?"
"Uh." Sam shrugged and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly
awkward.
Steve watched as Frigga's gaze hardened and she made a soft noise of
disapproval in the back of her throat.
"Steven - it is Steven, isn't it?" Steve nodded. Frigga smiled kindly. "Well,
Steven, kitchen pays less than labouring but it is kinder on the body." She
explained, her eyes darting to the raw skin of Steve's hands. "And the men,
they consider the kitchen to be a woman's place so they may..." She trailed off
awkwardly as though she didn't know how to finish.
Steve could guess though. He'd heard enough of what the men would say about him
back home. He just wasn't made for sports or rough housing with his weak lungs
and scrawny arms. At school he had always preferred to stay inside and draw
with the girls during break. The habit had earned him his fair share of
derogatory nicknames. "Little Stephanie Rogers!" Frankie Panozzo had crowed.
"The ugliest doll in the forth grade!" Steve had punched him for it and split
his lip but in the resulting scramble, Frankie had managed to break Steve's
nose for the first time. Steve winced at the memory.
"With all due respect, mam, I figure whatever I make is more than I had before
and it really ain't my business what people say about me behind my back." He
told Frigga.
She smiled and Steve was once again struck by the resemblance she shared with
his mother.
"Well, if you're certain, I will talk to Fury after the show this evening and
you can report to me first thing tomorrow."
Steve beamed and Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "Way to go Rogers. Only one
more day of shit shovellin' for you!" He crowed and then immediately: "Sorry,
mam" when both Steve and Frigga looked at him sharply.


*
Shovelling manure wasn’t any more enjoyable than it had been previously however
working in the menagerie rather than the train carriages meant the smell was
not quite as bad. Steve had forgone tying his handkerchief over his face in
favour for tying it around his right hand to cover the worst of his blisters.
As he worked, Steve listened to the band warming up next door in the Big Top
and hummed along to the tunes he knew. When he was younger, his mother had
often let him listen to the radio in the evening if he’d finished his
schoolwork. Then one Christmas, she’d bought him his very own radio for his
bedroom. Steve still had no idea how she’d managed to afford it. His father had
thought it a waste of money and, on more than once occasion, threatened to take
it back when he thought Steve was playing it to loudly. Despite that, when he
helped his father work on their beat up old car, his dad often encouraged him
to bring the small radio out so they could listen to the game together. Steve
righted himself and swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, rubbing at
his eyes with his bandaged palm when they began to burn.
"No luck on workin' the hooch tent then?"
Steve turned to find Barnes lighting a new cigar, hand cupped around the flame
of his match. The other man was dressed in his outfit from the parade, red
shirt and tight black slacks. He also had what looked to be a small tin resting
against his hip, slung on a strap across his chest like a satchel. Steve
swallowed again, tucking his homesickness away in favour of surreptitiously
admiring the bare triangle of Barnes' chest and enjoying the pleasant fluttery
feeling it gave him in his stomach.
"None." He replied. "One of the men told me over his dead body."
Barnes smiled at that, exhaling from the corner of his mouth. He kept his
distance and Steve didn't blame him. He'd only be working for a few hours but
he knew he must smell to the high heavens.
"Looks like you won't be catching the matinee today then." Barnes observed,
eyes dipping to the pile of manure that Steve still had to heft into the
wheelbarrow and move to the back of the lot. "Shame that."
Steve hummed in agreement. "Should catch some of the evening show though."
Barnes cocked an eyebrow.
"Maybe." Steve amended and smiled when Barnes smirked at that.
"If you do," Barnes said around the end of his cigar. "Make sure you catch the
beginning of the second half. Best part of the whole show."
Steve leant on the end of his shovel. "Oh?" He asked.
Barnes exhaled a long plume of smoke. "Yep. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!"
"And their exceptionally modest trainer as well?" Steve grinned.
Barnes shrugged. "Well, technically Baloo is part of Thor's act but they are on
directly after us so..." He dead panned.
Steve laughed outright at that. "I'll try my hardest but..." He swept a hand
around him. There was several piles of manure waiting and another two cages to
sweep out.
Barnes snickered and took a wide arc around the mess to approach the road
carriage where the big cats were.
"Hey, hey, hey." Barnes called to the sleeping cats, voice soft around the butt
of the cigar held between his teeth. The lionesses and young lion opened their
eyelids into thin slits, watching Bucky approach with disinterest. The tiger
however, rolled to its feet and approached the bars of the carriage. "Hey."
Barnes crooned drawing out the sound.
Khan reached the bars and butted them with his head, turning to rub his cheek
and whiskers along them. He followed the movement with his body, drawing his
himself across the bars from shoulder to flank. Then he turned and repeated the
motion along his other side. Steve had seen cats do the same thing to their
owners' legs.
Barnes was talking to the tiger again in the same low register he always seemed
to use around the cats but Steve could not make out exactly what the other man
was saying due to the loud rumble of Khan's purr. Barnes dipped his fingers
into the tin resting agains his hip and drew out a strap of raw meat. Khan's
purring deepened and Steve could see the way Barnes' cheeks hitched with a grin
as the tiger turned his full attention to what Barnes held between his fingers.
"That gets your attention, huh?" Barnes observed wryly. “Nothin’ but a pig with
stripes.”
He held the meat up to the cage and Steve watched in wonder as Khan took it
ever-so-gently from Barnes’ fingers.
Obviously keen not to miss out, the lions hefted themselves to their feet as
well and approached the front of the cage. Khan let out a low growl and widened
his stance, defending his spot directly in front of Barnes and the food. The
noise, so different from the happy rumble of his purr, set the hair on the back
of Steve’s neck on end.
The two lioness approached the bars to the tiger’s left, scenting the air.
Barnes fed the larger female first and then the other. Khan took little notice
of the proceedings, his head turned silently to the right, eyes racking Dante’s
movements as the lion approached the front of the cage in a wide arch. As the
young lion drew nearer, Khan’s ears flattened to his head and his enormous jaw
parted around a growl, lips pulling back to show his enormous teeth. Dante
dropped low to the floor of the cage and let out a growl in return, lips
pulling back into a snarl to answer Khan’s.
“Hey!” shouted Barnes, cigar clenched between the fingers of his right hand and
knocking the tin against the bars of the carriage which a clang with his left.
“Enough!”
The combination of his voice and the loud, echoing clang seemed to be enough to
break the two male cats out of the stalemate they had reached and Khan side
stepped to his left, allowing Dante to approach with little more than an
agitated flick of his tail and another long, disapproving sidewards glance.
Steve let out a breath that he had not realised his was holding.
Barnes did not feed Dante like he had the other cats and instead of handing the
meat to Dante, he placed it down on the edge of the cage for the young lion to
snatch up.
Barnes turned then and Steve hurried to push his shovel into the manure by his
feet, embarrassed that he had been caught staring yet again. From the corner of
his eye, he saw Barnes return the cigar to between his lips and take a deep
drag. Steve winced then as he hefted another pile of manure into his
wheelbarrow, the rough wooden handle of the shovel grating against blisters
that were beginning to open up on his uncovered palm.
“Here.” Barnes said and Steve turned back to find the other man offering him a
handkerchief.
“What?” Steve asked, thrown.
“For your hand.” Barnes explained and took a few steps closer, flicking the
handkerchief over as if to make it more enticing. It was a pale blue colour,
soft-looking and clean.
Steve shook his head despite the sting of his palm.
“I couldn’t.” he argued. The handkerchief looked far too high quality for Steve
to wreck by using it to protect his hands while shovelling shit.
“Yes you can.” Barnes countered, giving the handkerchief another flick. “I
insist.”
He stepped closer, careful of the mess Steve was working in and drew up when he
was a mere few feet away.
Steve bit his lip and held out his hand for the handkerchief. Barnes’ gaze
dropped to Steve’s outstretched hand and he winced as he took in the raw,
weeping mound blisters dotted across the skin of Steve’s palm. Instead of
handing him the handkerchief - like Steve had expected - Barnes returned the
cigar to the side of his mouth, stepped closer still and cradled Steve’s hand
with his own.
Steve tensed. Barnes’ hands weren’t smooth - he had done his own share of hard
labour - but his touch was gentle as he dabbed at the worst of the blisters
with a corner of the handkerchief. Steve flinched hard, hissing at the sting
and Barnes huffed out an amused breath through his nose. Steve held his breath
to keep from breathing in the smoke.
“You never did a hard days graft before comin’ here, didja?” he asked, but his
tone was more observant than mocking.
The evidence between them, festering away on the softest parts of Steve’s hand,
Steve knew he was in no position to lie. He shook his head.
“You were right.” he replied, embarrassed by how soft and low his voice was.
Barnes looked up at him, confusion tucking a crease between his eyebrows that
Steve wanted to smooth out with his fingertips. His face flushed hard at the
thought. Standing as close as they were, the difference in their heights was
also pronounced and Steve dropped his gaze away from Barnes face to the solid
expanse of bare chest at his eye line.
“When you said I wasn’t built for this sort of work.” he explained and then
tilted his pink face back and watched as realisation slid across the other
man’s face.
Barnes took his handkerchief away and folded it before laying it gently across
the worst blister, a raw red wound on at the base of Steve’s thumb and then
deftly tying it in place. Steve grit his teeth as the motion pulled at the raw
skin.
“It’ll get easier.” Barnes said then, turning Steve’s hand over in his own,
checking the handkerchief wouldn’t slip. “You won’t be shovellin’ shit
forever.”
Steve grinned. “Last day, actually.”
Barnes looked up and let go of Steve’s hand, wiping his own palms across the
back of his trousers. “Oh yeah?” he asked in a tone Steve couldn’t place.
“Decided to go home?”
Steve frowned. “No. I’m gonna help Frigga in the kitchens. I start tomorrow.”
Barnes’ eyebrows shot up and for an instant, Steve could read all the things
that Frigga had warned him that the men would say written in the surprised
lines of Barnes’ expression. He clenched his jaw. He knew it’d be awfully bad
manners to sock a fella after he’d just given you his hanky, but if Barnes said
anything -
“That’s great.” Barnes said quickly. “Frigga’s been drowning since the last lot
took off.” He offered Steve a small smile. “Honest work too but it’ll
definitely be easier on your hands.”
Steve smiled tentatively in return. “That’s what I’m hoping.” he admitted,
flexing his newly bound hand. He could still feel the ghost of Barnes touch. He
swallowed.
“Barnes!”
The voice caused them both to jump and it wasn’t until Barnes took a hasty step
backwards that Steve realised how close they’d been standing.
Fury was standing in the entrance to the big top. “Barnes!” he called again. “A
word?”
Barnes plucked the cigar from his mouth and nodded over his shoulder to Fury.
“Comin’, boss man.” he called back.
He turned back to Steve and shrugged. “Duty calls.”
Steve ducked his chin to hide the enormity of his grin. “I’d best get back to
it too if I hope to catch the show tonight.”
“Second half, straight after the interval.” Barnes told him again and smiled
when Steve laughed.
“I’ll do my best.” Steve promised and then watched as Barnes turned and walked
away, disappearing into the big tent.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Shh, don’t speak.” Barnes said, softer this time.
     Steve could feel the other man’s breath on his ear, so hot and so
     intimate that it felt like a brand.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
As the morning drew on, more and more people trickled into the lot and soon it
was too difficult for Steve to manoeuvre his stinking wheelbarrow through the
crowds, along the shortest route to where the manure was to be piled.
Instead he was forced to exit the menagerie from the back, trail around the
hooch tent, and then skirt the back of the stall tents. It made the journey
half as long again and by noon he was drenched in sweat and aching from the
tips of his toes to the top of his sunburnt scalp. He had also come to the
realisation that he would almost certainly miss the matinee and quite possibly
the evening’s performance as well. The revelation did little to improve his bad
mood.
“You look dead on your feet and it ain’t even lunch.” Sam greeted him when
Steve returned to the menagerie once more, wheelbarrow empty.
Steve grunted in reply and wiped the sweat from his brow along the sleeve of
his shirt. The action left a dark, greasy mark across the fabric and despite
the fact that it was his last clean shirt - Steve could not bring himself to
care.
“Frigga sent me from the kitchens.” Sam said then and held up a bundle of
material. “She said she couldn't have you keel over from exhaustion so she’s
packed you a lunch, you lucky beggar.”
On cue, Steve’s stomach gave a loud rumble and Sam grinned.
Steve crossed to where Sam was standing by the zebra’s carriage and took the
bundle from the other man, sighing happily when the soft scent of cold meat
wafted from within.
“Thank-you.” he told Sam. “Have you eaten?”
Sam nodded. “Frigga gave me a little something for agreein’ to see you fed. But
I will hide out here for a minute while you eat.” He produced a mangled looking
cigarette from behind his ears and placed it between his lips.
Sam sunk to the ground then, his back against the large wheel of the carriage
behind them. Steve realised that this was so he could not been seen from either
entrance into the menagerie. He grinned and levered himself down beside the
other man.
“You have somewhere you're meant to be?” he asked, carefully folding back the
hand towel in which Frigga had wrapped his lunch. Inside was a number of cold
cuts and a hunk of bread.
Sam laughed. “Always do. You don’t exactly get to clock out in this line of
work but they can do without me for a short while.” He lit the cigarette with a
match and took a deep drag, exhaling with a satisfied sigh. Steve turned his
head away and swallowed around the tickle in his throat.
“That’s a very fine bandage you got there.” Sam observed and when Steve looked
back, he found Sam eyeing Barnes’ handkerchief.
Steve bit his lip and clenched his fist around the hanky which was still tied
abut his palm. The morning’s work had rendered it filthy but it was still
obvious that it was finely made.
“Where did you come across that?” Sam prodded.
Steve popped a scrap of meat in his mouth and tried to appear nonchalant. After
what Sam had told him about performers and roustabouts, he felt a little silly
wearing Barnes’ hanky about his hand like some kind of token. Part of him
wanted to lie but Sam was waiting and he couldn’t think of any plausible
explanation quick enough.
“Barnes.” he muttered finally and took another bite of his lunch so he didn’t
have to look at Sam’s face.
Silence stretched between them for a few moments until finally, Steve couldn’t
bear it any longer and he glanced up at the other man’s face only to be met
with an expression of disbelief. When Steve met his gaze, Sam appeared to do
his best to school his expression into something more neutral and his mouth
shut with a click of his teeth.
Steve flushed and looked back at his lunch, suddenly not as hungry as he had
been.
“Well.” Sam said awkwardly. “He seems to have taken a shine to you after all.
Just - be careful, I guess.”
Steve frowned. “Why would I need to be careful?” he asked but Sam was already
levering himself to his feet.
“Ain’t my place to say.” was all the other man said before he turned and left,
leaving Steve to eat his lunch alone.
*
The milling crowd reached their peak an hour or so before the matinee began and
the din of the lot was unlike anything Steve had heard before. The sounds of
children shouting and yelling, the bells and whistles of the sideshows and the
yell of the stall holders calling to the crowds to try their foods and buy
their wares all mixed in with the seemingly ever presented cacophony of the
band. Even inside the menagerie, walled off from the outside by thick,
waterproof canvas, Steve’s ears rang from the noises of the busy lot.
Suddenly the music dipped in volume and a voice boomed above all others.
“Roll up! Roll up! Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages!”
Curious, Steve set his shovel against the side of the carriage he was cleaning
out. The carriage’s occupants - two small white ponies - had been unloaded into
the petting zoo for the morning along with the other child-friendly animals.
The menagerie man, a large hulking man with a penchant for cigars even more
acrid than Barnes’ and sideburns unlike any other man Steve had seen, had
explained that animals would be returned to their carriages when the spec began
to await their role in the show. “So get shovellin’ and don’t quit ’til your
done.” he’d advised Steve before leaving him to it.
The ponies carriage was the last that needed to be mucked out before the spec
and for that, Steve was grateful. He felt dead on his feet. Gingerly, he eased
himself down out of the carriage and crossed the menagerie to a gap in the
canvas. Steve couldn’t see much for the crowds but on his podium and clad in
his fine red jacket - Fury was hard to miss.
“Welcome to Marvel’s Circus!” Fury’s voice boomed. “Fun for the whole family!
See the amazing acrobats perform death-defying tricks on the high ropes! See he
strongman wrestle a grizzly bear!”
The crowds began to shuffle forward, towards the open mouth of the big top and
Steve desperately longed to follow them. He looked down at his hand, still
bound tight in Barnes’ handkerchief and tried to imagine how Barnes’ face would
look, illuminated with the glow of the big top lights. He shook his head,
dismissing the thought. If he didn’t get his work finished now, he wouldn’t be
able to see the show that night either. He set his jaw and went to retrieve his
shovel.
*
If working while the band had been warming up was distracting, working while
the show raged next door was almost impossible. Each collective gasp of the
crowd made Steve’s heart leap into his throat despite the fact he had no idea
what was going on. Steve was almost grateful when the menagerie man, Logan,
returned and began to order him around.
As the menagerie man, Logan was in charge of coordinating the animals during
the show. He and a handful of roustabouts (none of whom Steve knew) were
responsible for making sure the animals were where they needed to be to enter
the Big Top or to allow for the exit of other animals when they had finished.
Steve was responsible for making sure the animal’s carriages were mucked out
between when they vacated them to perform and when they returned to them
afterward. It was hot, smelly work. The lights from the Big Top as well as the
combined body heat of the crowd seemed to permeate through the walls and heat
the menagerie as well and soon, Steve was dripping with sweat and beginning to
feel light headed.
He clambered down from the carriage he had just finished sweeping out and leant
his forehead against the wood, willing his head to stop spinning. He had to get
the soiled straw out of the way before the act finished and the animals needed
to be reloaded. He couldn’t even remember what animals went in this carriage.
He swallowed
and tried to breathe through the tightness twisting in his chest. If he
panicked, he’d have an episode for sure.
“Woah there.” A hand clapped him on the shoulder and Steve had to cling to the
the carriage in front of him so that his knees didn’t buckle under the weight
of it.
“Jeez, Steve. You gotta sit down.” It was Sam.
“M’fine.” Steve managed. “Jus’ gotta catch m’breath.”
Sam scoffed. “Uh huh. And I’m the Queen of England. C’mon.” He slid his hand
around Steve’s back, holding him under his arms. “C’mon. You need some fresh
air. It’s stifling in here.” Gently, he coaxed Steve away from the carriage and
towards the menagerie opening.
“Riley!” Sam shouted then and Steve flinched away. “RIley! Grab Dum Dum and
Jones and see to this mess, will ya? Stevie’s down for the count.” From the
corner of his eye, he saw one of the men duck out between the canvas.
Steve’s vision danced. His feet looked like two blurry spots of shifting colour
as he tried to move them across the ground. He shut his eyes and groaned.
“That’s it.” Sam coaxed. “Just one foot in front of the other. Ain’t nothin’ to
it.”
“Are you askin’ me to dance?” Steve asked, confused.
He heard Sam snort beside him.
“I ain’t good at dancin’” Steve tried to explain. “I’d just step on your toes.”
Sam laughed again. “You’re steppin’ on your own toes at the moment.” he
observed but Steve kept his eyes resolutely shut, unwilling to battle with the
double vision that was making his head pound.
“Nearly there.” Sam told him and then, suddenly, blissfully cool air washed
over his face.
Steve tried to keep breathing normally but instinct took over and he gasped in
a lungful of the fresh, sweet air. And then immediately began coughing when it
caught in his lungs.
“Woah! Hey!” Sam cried. “Are you gonna puke?”
Steve shook his head, trying to swallow around the coughing. He sagged in Sam’s
hold, trying to lessen the tight sensation in his chest. “Ath’ma.” he wheezed.
“Ah hell.” Sam grunted. “Sit down.”
Steve let his legs fold underneath himself and sat, his hand curling in the
grass at his fingertips. The coughing had stopped but he still couldn’t get
enough air. Sam dropped to his knees beside him.
“C’mon Steve. You just gotta breathe.” Sam said.
Steve knew Sam was trying to sound reassuring but Steve could hear the worry in
his voice and, in his state, it only served to feed his own anxiety.
“What’s going on?” Steve heard another voice.
“Ain’t none of your business, Barnes.”
Surprised, Steve opened his eyes. He could see Barnes’ black boots standing a
few feet away. He shut his eyes again. The mortification he felt was definitely
secondary to his need to breathe but it was still there. If he hadn’t been at
least half-convinced that he was already dying, he would have wished it
outright.
“M’fine!” he gasped.
“He just needs to breathe.” Sam explained but his voice had gone an octave
higher with panic.
“Yeah, you look fine.” Barnes muttered, ignoring Sam.
Steve jumped when he felt a hand close around his arm and pull him backwards
out of the ball he’d curled himself into. His eyes flew open just as his back
hit something solid. Sam was in front of him, his expression a strange mix of
panic and awe.
“Lean back.” Barnes’ voice came from behind him and Steve realised that the
solid thing he was resting against was Barnes’ chest. He tensed immediately,
scrambling to sit forward but Barnes’ arms locked around him tight.
Steve suddenly felt claustrophobic, like Barnes’ arms were forcing the breath
out of his lungs. He clawed at the back of Barnes’ hands to get them off, to
get away. He couldn’t breathe.
“I said: lean back.” Barnes said again and his tone held no room for argument.
Steve allowed himself to lean back, wincing when he realised he was probably
covering Barnes’ costume with shit and grime. His whole body shuddered when he
tried to get enough air to apologise.
“Shh, don’t speak.” Barnes said, softer this time.
Steve could feel the other man’s breath on his ear, so hot and so intimate that
it felt like a brand. Steve didn’t think he’d ever forget how it felt. Barnes’
hand trailed down his chest and rested across his stomach and Steve watched as
Sam’s eyes widened even further and his friend’s head whipped from side to
side, as if to check that none else was watching.
“Now, breath with me.” Barnes told him and Steve shook his head, confused.
“Breathe when I breathe.” Barnes explained. “When you feel my chest move,
breath in and push yours out too. Ready? One.”
Steve felt Barnes’ chest lift against his back, heard the whoosh of air in his
ear as Barnes’ took a breath. He struggled to do the same.
“That’s it.” Barnes told him. “That’s good. Hold it.”
Steve coughed and began to wheeze again.
Barnes cursed. “That’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll try again. Ready? One.”
He repeated the breath and so did Steve. This time Barnes did not make him hold
the breath in his lungs for so long and he was able to exhale without coughing.
“That’s great.” Barnes encouraged. “Again. Right down to your stomach. Down
here.” He gave Steve’s stomach a soft pat and Steve almost jumped, suddenly
reminded that he was wrapped in Barnes’ arms. His second breath was still a
little shaky.
“Again.” Barnes said.
Steve didn’t know how long it went on - Barnes holding him and coaching him
through each breath with an inhale and exhale of his own - but slowly, it began
to get easier to breathe.
In an effort to distract himself from the heat against his back and the strong
hold of Barnes’ arms, Steve focused on Sam who sat on his knees opposite them.
As Steve’s breathing levelled out, Sam’s features lost the pinched look of
panic but he still glanced about once in a while to check no-one was around.
As his head cleared, Steve understood his friend’s paranoia. The position
Barnes had him in wouldn’t be the easiest to explain. Weren’t right to hold
another man, Steve knew. Not that Barnes was doing anything but saving his life
but people got funny about two fellas getting close in ways that didn’t make
sense to Steve.
Boys were allowed to wrestle, pin one another down, get in scraps where they
ended all pressed up together but they weren’t allowed to hug or be tender with
each other. Didn’t seem right. Especially not to Steve.
“Better?” Barnes’ voice pulled him from his thoughts and it took a moment for
Steve realise that he was breathing quite steadily all on his own.
“Yeah.” he rasped, swallowing around the lingering tightness of his throat. He
took another breath to test out his lungs, flooding with relief when it went in
and out again smooth. “Yeah, thanks.”
He noticed then that Barnes’ arms were still around him. He sat forward
carefully and pulled himself out of the other man’s hold. Now exposed, his back
felt chilled were it had been pressed against Barnes. Steve swallowed
nervously. Sam was still watching them. Behind him, Steve felt Barnes stand.
“How did you know that would work?” Sam asked Barnes, standing as well.
Steve turned and looked up at Barnes’ face for the first time since he’d
arrived. Barnes shrugged.
“My sister has asthma.” he explained. “Used to help her when it got bad.”
He offered Steve a hand which Steve took, climbing gingerly to his feet.
Standing brought him to eye level with Barnes’ chest and his stomach sank when
he saw the mess he’d made of the other man’s costume. The grime and muck that
had accumulated all over him throughout the day was now smeared across the
front of Barnes’ red shirt and down along his sleeves where he had held Steve
to him.
“I ruined your shirt.” he said.
Barnes looked down at himself as if he’d just noticed. “Huh.” he hummed. “Ain’t
no big thing. Don’t worry about it.”
Steve frowned. “But what about…” He was cut off by a loud cheer from the Big
Top.
“Aw, hell.” Barnes said suddenly. “That’s my cue.”
He pulled the bottom of his shirt out from his trousers and then hauled the
offending article off over his head in one fluent movement.
“Here.” he said and thrust the shirt into Steve’s hands. “Take care of this,
will ya? I gotta go on.”
He ducked through the canvas flaps of the menagerie before Steve could say a
word.
Steve turned to Sam, who looked just as bewildered as he felt. Turning back
around, he went to head after Barnes but Sam grabbed him by the wrist.
“You walk back in there, you’re gonna get hauled back into workin’. C’mon.
We’ll sneak through the performers entrance.”
Steve followed, well aware that Sam kept looking back to check on him. His
chest was still tight and his limbs felt weak but other than that and the ache
that seemed to have settle in his bones, he felt steady. Sam lead him around
past the rube entrance to a smaller tent which was tacked to the side of the
Big Top in a similar fashion to the menagerie.
“Keep you head low and your eyes to yourself. Technically, we ain’t allowed in
here.” Sam warned and then pushed Steve through the split in the canvas.
Steve did as he was told, only catching glimpses of what was going on in the
tent as they skirted around its perimeter. From what Steve could tell, the tent
a dressing area for the performers and during the five or so seconds it took he
and Sam to make it to the edge of the Big Top - Steve saw more naked flesh than
he’d seen outside of his own body in his entire life. His face felt like it was
on fire by the time he and Sam ducked through into the Big Top.
*
Stepping through the canvas into the Big Top was like stepping into another
world. Steve was momentarily dazzled by the lights and the heat before looking
up and taking in the sheer size of the tent. Grand stand style seating lined
the walls, every inch packed with people and the ring at the centre of it all
was awash with artificial lights.
Steve could see that the big cats were already pacing around inside the ring,
kept from the crowd by just a single layer of meshed wire that curved up about
four metres into the air around the ring’s circumference. He couldn’t see
Barnes.
He stumbled as Sam pulled him behind the grandstand.
“Okay?” Sam asked, glancing down at Steve’s chest.
Steve huffed. “I’m fine.” he protested despite how tight the closeness of the
air made his chest feel.
Sam gave him a sceptical look but dropped it. “We gotta stay outta sight.” he
explained in hushed tones which Steve could barely hear over the swell of the
band. “Ruins it for the masses if they see the grunt work behind the illusion.
And if the rubes ain't happy, Fury ain't happy. But if we duck under the
seating, we’ll be able to see your boy perform.”
Steve spluttered. “He aint…we aren’t…”
Sam just raised the same sceptical eyebrow and turned to lead the way.
They had to press themselves between the iron bones of the grandstand, weaving
their way through toward the front. Steve throat caught around a bout of
laughter when one of the rubes spilt their popcorn which overturned all over
Sam’s head and was only able to stop when the same struggling child knocked
over his drink and sticky, sweet lemonade cascaded down over them both.
“Hush up.” Sam scolded but he was smiling as most of the lemonade had ended up
on Steve.
The tune the band was playing began to swell and Sam caught one of Steve’s
wrists and hauled him forward. “Look here.” he instructed and Steve found that
he was looking out at the ring from between the legs of two rubes. He could see
most of the ring clearly, could see Khan and Dante pacing in wide circles
around one another while the lionesses moved between them. Barnes was still
nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly the music cut out with a crash of the cymbals. The lights dimmed and
there was a flash of bright light from the side of the ring, followed by a
plume of thick white smoke. The crowd above them went crazy. Khan roared and
Steve’s stomach flipped.
The smoke cleared and in its wake stood Barnes, chest bare - save for the the
strap of the meat tin slung across his shoulders - his arms spread wide and a
whip clutched in his left hand. The smile on his face was wide and dangerous
and his bare torso glistened with some sort of oil. He looked devastating. He
looked feral. He looked every bit as deadly as the four big cats.
Steve couldn’t look away.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry I was a bit tricksy with the chapter summary. Comments, con-
     crit and kudos more than welcome!
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Afterwards, Steve couldn’t seem to slow his heart rate down. He had
     seen Barnes interact with the big cats before but there had always
     been a protective barrier between them. During the show, Barnes was
     so close to them and completely outnumbered, vulnerable. Steve had
     watched the entire act with his heart in his mouth, gasping whenever
     one of the big cats got too close.
Chapter Notes
     Warnings for this chapter include some sexual content, size
     difference kink and mentions of what could be argued to be minors
     participating in non-consensual sexual activities. Proceed with
     caution.
     Also, unbeta-ed as real-life got in the way of my fic writing at
     little this week.
     Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Afterwards, Steve couldn’t seem to slow his heart rate down. He had seen Barnes
interact with the big cats before but there had always been a protective
barrier between them. During the show, Barnes was so close to them and
completely outnumbered, vulnerable. Steve had watched the entire act with his
heart in his mouth, gasping whenever one of the big cats got too close.
The finale of the act finished with Barnes sitting on a stool with the three
lions sitting on platforms behind him and Khan laying by his side with Barnes’
hand resting across his broad head like an armrest. Steve marvelled at Barnes’
ability to turn his back on the cats and trust them not to pounce. He cheered
along with the rest of the crowd when Barnes stood and dispersed the cats once
more, each doing a lap of the ring before disappearing out the enclosed run
into the menagerie.
Sam tugged on his hand. “C’mon. We gotta make tracks.” he urged.
Steve resisted for a moment, watching as Barnes dipped into a low bow before
leaving the ring to thunderous applause. When he could no longer see Barnes, he
let Sam lead him away, back through the grandstand and through a gap in the
canvas into the open lot.
“You’d best get yourself back and take it easy for the rest of the day.” Sam
suggested and Steve nodded, too worn out by the events of the day to even
attempt to argue. “Go on, I’ll make your excuses.”
Steve did hate feeling useless but in the aftermath of Barnes’ show, his attack
and three days of hard labour - he was suddenly so tired that his limbs felt
shaky. He dipped his head to Sam and turned back in the direction of their
carriage.
He was half-way across the lot when he realised that he was still holding
Barnes’ ruined shirt. He bit his lip, considering the garment and rubbing the
silky material between his fingers. He wondered what it felt like against
Barnes’ skin, against his chest, his nipples.
Steve flushed hot at the thought, swallowing hard.
As he reached he and Sam’s carriage, a warm gust of wind blew made him aware of
his own earthy scent. He wrinkled his nose in displeasure and placed Barnes’
shirt at the foot of his bed before stripping off his own.
In the corner of the carriage, opposite the end of Sam’s cot, they kept a
bucket of water which Sam fetched fresh every morning. Beside it sat two metal
mugs and Sam’s shaving kit. Steve dipped his mug into the water and drank
deeply from it before refilling it and tipping it through his hair as he hung
his head out of the carriage’s open door.
He used another mugful to douse his own filthy shirt, rubbing at the grimiest
parts of it with a corner of the soap Sam used for shaving, before rinsing it
with more water. His efforts did little to remove the grime from his shirt,
instead spreading it through the once white fabric and straining it a murky
brown. He sighed and hung the wet shirt over the foot of his cot.
Steve looked down at Barnes’ shirt where it lay on his cot. He felt bad for
having dirtied it, especially since he did not have the means to wash such fine
material without ruining it completely. He picked up the garment again, toying
with one of the large ornate buttons that lined the front. His mind jumped back
to the first time he’d seen Barnes in the shirt and the way the buttons had
glinted in the sun, the way Barnes’ muscled shoulders had pulled the material
tight across them.
Steve felt warm all over. He glanced over his shoulder, out through the open
carriage door. There was none around. They were all over the far end of the
lot, helping with the show. He sighed - he should be over helping as well,
earning his place. He pushed aside the cold spark of inadequacy he felt in
favour of the recklessness and latent adrenaline the was pulsing through him.
Watching Barnes under the lights had woken something in Steve that he had been
fighting to keep dormant for a long while. He guessed it was the general
exhaustion he felt and the chemistry that had seemed to spark up between he and
Barnes but his mind was alive with the sort of thoughts that he’d always been
too scared to admit to in confession on Sundays. He glanced over his shoulder
again and, noting that he was still alone, lifted Barnes’ shirt to his face and
inhaled deeply.
The scent of the other man, all musk and spice, literally made Steve’s knees
weak and he sat heavily on his cot, shirt still pressed to his nose. His mouth
flooded wet and he swallowed heavily, sighing when it made Barnes’ scent stick
in the back of his throat. It was almost as if Steve could taste the other man.
He bit his lip and, with his free hand, plucked at the front of his trousers,
easing the tight pull of the material away from his prick. He didn’t touch
himself though. He never did.
If he touched himself, with those perverted thoughts in his head - it made it
real. It meant that all the horrible names the children at school had ever
called him were true. He’d always known he was different and he’d figured out
early on that he couldn’t stop the thoughts (they snuck up on him) but - he
reasoned - if he never acted on them, then it was fine.
He licked his lips. And what had happened with Robert - that had been fine too.
Because he hadn’t had a choice. He’d been taken advantage of, that’s what his
mother had said. He was smaller and weaker and Robert had obviously overpowered
him and it wasn’t his fault. That’s what she’d told the school principal,
that’s what she’d told his father, that’s what she’d told Steve - even if she
hadn’t been able to look him in the eye when she’d said it.
However, what he hadn’t told her, was that he’d liked it.
He flushed with shame at the thought even as his blood flared hot. He’d hated
Robert - hated the way the other boy taunted him, the names he called him,
hated the way he tripped him on the way to class and pushed his books out of
his hands. He hated the way he’d never managed to land a punch on Robert’s
stupid face and how easy it was for Robert to sidestep and then shove Steve
into the dirt.
But he’d liked how much bigger Robert was. How solid the other boy was at only
fifteen. He’d liked it when Robert had cornered him in the lavatory and used
that bulk to crowd him against the wall between the urinals. He’d liked the way
Robert had used his strong hands to pull inelegantly at Steve’s trousers and
shirt and then his own, until Robert’s stiff prick had branded a hot line
across his stomach. He’d liked how big that was too.
Steve gnawed on his bottom lip, hands fisted in Barnes’ shirt and the sheets of
his cot respectively. He breathed in another deep lungful of Barnes’ scent and
decided that Barnes smelt infinitely better that Robert had. His prick ached
behind his trousers and he squirmed, trying to ignore it.
A warm gust of wind washed over Steve, reminding him that the door of the
carriage was still open. He opened his eyes and thought for a moment. Did he
dare continue or did he need to simply douse himself with another mugful go
cold water and sleep off the fever that had settled over him the second Barnes
had strode into the ring? He glanced at the shirt, bunched in his palm and made
up his mind.
He stood and hobbled awkwardly to the mouth of the carriage. Almost the
entirety of the wall opened up and the door was great sliding heavy beast of a
thing but Steve managed, muscles protesting, to pull it closed far enough that
his cot was out of the direct line of sight to any that may pass by. He
returned to his cot then and climbed onto it, hands and knees, gathering
Barnes’ shirt up as he stretched out along his front.
The press of the cot’s firm mattress against the front of his trousers was
torture and he breathed out harshly as his prick throbbed inside his briefs. He
reached up and grabbed his wash cloth from the metal headboard of his cot and,
lifting his hips, shucked it down the front of his trousers, under his briefs.
It wouldn’t do to mess them up and it would be hard to explain why he needed to
wash them when laundry wasn’t for another few days.
The terrycloth was rough against his sensitive skin but the friction was
blissful. Steve closed his eyes. This was how he’d done it at home. He’d lay on
his stomach with his aching prick trapped between his stomach and the mattress
then, if he was worked up enough, his hips seemed to move of their own accord.
He shifted his legs apart a little further and swallowed hard as the movement
caused his weight to settle a little more heavily on the heat between his legs.
Blindly, he sort out the soft material of Barnes’ shirt and drew it closer to
his face. He breathed in its heady scent again and gave a soft gasp as his hips
gave their first involuntary hitch. Steve wondered what it wound feel like if
he was stretched out on top of Barnes, his prick between their stomachs and
Barnes’ throat at his mouth. His senses would be followed with the other man’s
scent, with his taste. Steve shivered and his hips hitched again.
Robert had pressed him so hard against the wall that Steve had bruised all
along his back for a week afterwards. He thought about how strong Barnes’ arms
had been around him early, holding him steady as he struggled to breathe. His
chest ached at the memory, as did his prick. Barnes was definitely strong
enough to hold him down. Steve’s hips jumped again, delicious friction
simultaneously fuelling and easing the ache in his pants.
Steve could imagine Barnes’ standing where Robert had stood, could imagine
Barnes’ hands on him, pushing him back, holding him still, making him take it.
Steve hadn’t felt a hand on his stiff prick - not even his own - until Robert
had finished with a groan and then used his own spunk to coat his hand before
wrapping it around Steve’s aching cock and fisting it hard. In his mind now,
it’s Barnes’ hand wrapped around him, coaxing him - too fast, too hard -
towards his end.
His hips set an unsteady rhythm against the mattress. If he thought about it
too much, he had to stop. He couldn’t argue that it was involuntary if he
thought about going faster, thought about trying to roll his hips harder.
Luckily, Barnes’ had taken over his thoughts, occupied every corner of his
mind.
He thought of the hard line Barnes’ had made against his back and groaned
softly, picturing all that muscle stretched out along his back, shoving his
hips down harder into the cot with each roll of Barnes’ own. His mind snagged
on that thought and wouldn’t let go.
Barnes would cover him completely, hold him down just with the width of his
shoulders and the breadth of his chest. Steve wouldn’t have a choice except to
lay there and…and…
Steve finished with a choked off moan, biting down hard on the thin pillow
under his face. The cloth beneath him grew wet against his skin and he cringed
when his muscles finally released and he sagged into the mess he had made.
He lay completely still for a moment, emotions warring as they always did when
he allowed himself to let go like this, allowed the perverted thoughts to take
over. He swallowed down the guilt and the uneasiness in his stomach, trying not
to linger on the thoughts of Barnes’ that had filled his head only moments
before.
On trembling arms, he pushed himself up and retrieved the cloth from his
briefs, wincing at the smell that lingered. He climbed from his cot and
retrieved another mug of water from the bucket. His legs shook as he forced the
door of the carriage open and he had to sit while he washed out the cloth. He
couldn’t allow it to stain.
The warm breeze brought the noises from the Big Top across the lot and Steve
could hear the band playing and the crowd cheering. He wondered for an instant
what Barnes was doing - if he’d come looking for Steve after the show - but
quickly shook his head to dismiss the thought when his stomach rolled with
disgust at himself. He was sick.
Steve took a deep steadying breath and stood. He hung the wet cloth by his
shirt and climbed back onto the cot, doing his best to ignore the crumpled
sheets by burying himself under them. He lay his head on his pillow and watched
the flags of the stalls and tents fluttering in the distance until his eyelids
grew heavy and closed.
And if there were tears on his lashes, then there was none there to see.
*
When Steve woke - hours later - he was not alone though he did not realise it
at first.
He yawned and stretched, eyes coming open slowly. The first thing his sleep-
fogged brain noticed was that it was dark,well past twilight and the second was
the figure sitting in the open mouth of the carriage, smoking.
“Sam?” he asked as he sat up, his voice rough.
“Nope.” said the figure and Steve’s pulse skipped.
He reached over to the crate beside his bed and lit the oil lamp there.
Barnes took the cigar from between his lips and smiled at Steve over his
shoulder and Steve’s pulse skipped again. Barnes butted the cigar out on the
floor of the carriage and tucked it back in his pocket. He stood then, turning
to face Steve, and Steve was suddenly achingly aware that he was still
shirtless. He tugged the edge of his covers up around himself.
Barnes smirked. “You missed my show.” he said, sitting on the edge of Sam’s
cot. “Both of them in fact.”
Steve shook his head. “I caught the matinee.” he confessed and Barnes’ eyebrows
drew up. “Came back here to rest after.”
“What did you think?” Barnes asked.
Steve opened his mouth but found no words to accurately express how his pulse
raced at the mere memory of watching Barnes under the lights of the Big Top. He
shut it again when Barnes’ smirk blossomed into a grin.
“That good, huh?”
Steve could only nod dumbly and Barnes chuckled.
“Well, Fury damn near tore me a new one for going out half-naked.” Barnes said.
“Supposed to be a family show and all that.”
Barnes was dressed in his regular trousers and white shirt and his dark hair
was damp, curling loose around his temple and behind his ears. He looked softer
than Steve had ever seen him before.
“So I came to get my shirt back but…” Barnes inclined his head slightly and
Steve followed the other man’s meaningful glance.
Barnes shirt lay beside him in the cot, tucked under hand and where he’d been
laying whilst he slept. He’d been snuggling with Barnes’ damn shirt. He flushed
hot all over and scrambled to pull the shirt out from between his covers.
“Oh damn.” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I wash trying to work out how to wash it
and then I passed out.” He held out the shirt for Barnes but couldn’t quite
meet the other man’s eye.
When Barnes took the shirt back his fingers brushed Steve’s and Steve felt his
cheeks heat a little warmer.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t wash it.” he said again.
Barnes shrugged. “Ain’t no big thing. Frigga usually handles the costumes.
Woman’s a marvel.”
Steve smiled at that. She was.
“You feelin’ okay?” Barnes asked then and Steve was so caught off guard that he
met Barnes’ gaze.
“Your asthma.” Barnes explained when Steve drew blank. “Becky’s chest used to
play up after she had an attack, is all.”
Steve’s chest was aching but he was used to it. He’d be fine by the morning or
at least he hoped he would.
“It’s fine.” he said, wincing when his voice came out a little ragged.
Barnes let it go though. “Glad to hear it. Think you gave your friend quite a
scare.”
“Sam? Yeah. I guess I did.”
There was a beat of silence between them before Steve remembered himself.
“Thank-you.” he blurted, too quick and a little unclear. “Thank-you, I mean.
For earlier. You, uh, well, you sort of saved my life.”
Barnes blinked and sat up a little straighter, as if the thought had just
occurred to him. “Naw.” he began but then paused, as though remembering how far
gone Steve had been and Steve bit his lip at the idea that Barnes’ was thinking
about how Steve had felt in his arms.
“Well, maybe.” Barnes said. “But I’m just glad I was there.”
“Me too.” Steve admitted and could not help but return the smile that Barnes
graced him with.
He felt foolish, a second later, when Barnes’ smile dropped suddenly.
“There was another reason I came by.” Barnes said then and his tone made
Steve’s stomach twist tight.
Steve waited for Barnes to continue, not trusting his voice.
“Some coppers came round after the matinee. Said they were looking for
someone.”
Steve frowned, confused. Barnes studied him for a moment.
“Someone who looked an awful lot like you.” he explained and from his pocket
pulled a battered photograph, showing it to Steve.
Steve felt his jaw swing loose with shock. It was a picture of him, standing
stiff, dressed in a suit that was at least a size too big for him.
His mother had kept the photograph on the mantel above the tiny fire place in
their sitting room. She had thought he looked dashing in it.
“They had a couple with them.” Barnes told him and Steve’s gaze snapped from
the photograph back to Barnes, panic rising.
“Your parents.”
Chapter End Notes
     As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments more than welcome!
     If you like, you could also come hang with me on Tumblr.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls to Marvel’s Circus!
     Tonight we hope to shock and amaze you, dazzle and confound you,
     entertain and entice you with our show! We have trapeze artists,
     acrobats, contortionists and clowns! Jugglers, dare devils and freaks
     of all shapes and sizes! We have big cats! Elephants! Grizzly bears!
     Yes, we’ve got almost anything that could take your fancy! So put
     your arm around your dame and hold onto your hat because the show is
     about to begin!”
Chapter Notes
     I am so, so, so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Real life
     just got in the way this week.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Steve's chest clenched, panic flaring cold in his gut.
"My parents?" He asked, voice strained.
Barnes was watching him carefully and gave a small nod. Steve felt frozen, both
by the Barnes' news and the penetrative stare the other man had pinned on him.
He could not meet Barnes' gaze, not while he sat bare chested and dumbstruck.
Instead he watched the light of the oil lamp flicker on the carriage wall
behind Barnes. He almost wished the other man would leave.
Suddenly a thought struck him and the cold, uncomfortable feeling in his gut
clawed its way up into his chest, where it settled hot and sudden, seizing his
next breath tightly in his lungs.
"Did you tell them I was here?" He asked, panic making his voice high.
Barnes looked confused, his eyebrows drawing in close.
"Did you tell them?" Steve demanded.
"No." Barnes told him. "I ain't a rat."
Relief flowed through Steve like a cool water, starting in his chest and
trickling into his limbs. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heartbeat
race unevenly against his palm. He tried to ignore the way his other hand
trembled against the covers piled in his lap.
"Did anybody else tell them?" He asked.
Barnes shook his head. "Not that I know of." He said. "Smarmy bastards only
wanna talk to the performers, ya know? And not too many of them know your
face."
Steve took another steadying breath. "What did you tell 'em?"
"Said I hadn't ever seen your ugly mug before in my life." Barnes told him,
tone forced deliberately light. "Fury backed me up."
Steve's eyes snapped to Barnes face. "Fury?" He asked. Fury knew his face. "Why
-?"
"He owes me some favours." Barnes said but didn't elaborate.
Steve did not know how to respond.
Barnes filled the silence for him. "Way I see it, you left for a reason." He
told Steve. "And from what you told me, it wasn't one that could be reconciled
in a hurry. Now I don't pretend to understand why anyone would walk away from a
proper home and their family but I figure that whatever makes someone do
something like that - it's big, bigger than I care to be involved in."
Steve swallowed hard around the emotion building in his throat. He hadn’t
thought his parents would look for him. After the weeks of silence, his
mother’s sad eyes and his father’s misplaced anger, Steve had only thought he’d
be doing them a favour by leaving. He didn’t understand why they would try to
bring him home at all - not when they’d worked so hard to alienate him from it
in the first place.
And now, Barnes - someone he’d known for less than a week - was sat opposite
him, telling him he didn’t care what Steve had done that was bad enough to
estrange him from his own family. It took Steve a moment to wrap his mind
around the fact that the level of acceptance Barnes was offering him was more
than his own flesh and blood had done.
Then again, Barnes didn’t know what he had done or what he was. Steve sent up a
silent prayer to a God that he wasn’t sure was listening - not to a sinner like
him anyway - that Barnes never, ever found out.
Barnes was still watching him.
“Thank-you.” Steve said, mustering as much sincerity as he could into the
words. “Thank-you for not ratting me out. I can’t…they’re not…” he trailed off
as the lump of emotion in his throat shifted. “I can’t go home. I really…it’s
not my home anymore.”
Barnes shrugged. “This train has been my home since I was pink, fresh and
screamin’. It’s seen a lot of people come and go and I share it with some
unsavoury types. You seem a decent fella. It ain’t no hardship takin’ you in as
well.”
Steve tried to blink away the tears that sprung, burning, into the corners of
his eyes. When that failed to keep them at bay, he ducked his head and wiped at
his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. When he looked up again, Barnes was
watching the lamp, giving him some semblance of privacy as his emotions
momentarily overwhelmed him.
“That means a lot to me, Barnes.” he said quietly because, hell, he was already
crying - a little honesty wasn’t going to embarrass him more than he already
was.
Barnes shrugged again but didn’t look way from the lamp. “Ain’t no big thing.”
he muttered. “Just true.”
He stood suddenly and Steve had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze.
“You should get some more sleep.” Barnes told him. “You’re gonna have to be up
at the devil’s side of dawn if you’re working the kitchens tomorrow.”
Steve could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “No
more shit shovellin’.” he said, basking in the idea.
Barnes smiled as well and then turned and crossed to the carriage door which
was still half cracked. “G’night punk.” he said before levering himself out of
the carriage and heaving the door closed.
“Jerk!” Steve called back, smile blossoming into a grin.
It wasn’t until he’d rolled over and pulled the covers to his chin once more
that he realised that Barnes had taken the photograph with him.
*
The next morning, Steve woke to the most horrendous sound he had ever heard.
Loud, shrill and jarring it pierced through his dreams and startled him awake
so quickly that he felt dizzy.
“Jesus H. Christ himself.” Sam was muttering from his cot. “You better adapt
fast-like because I ain’t wakin’ up to that fuckin’ thing ever damn day.
Goddamn it. Take five fuckin’ years off my life, I swear…”
The noise was emanating from a rusted looking alarm clock that sat on the crate
between their cots. The hands on its face indicated that it was only a few
minutes past four o’clock in the morning and it took Steve three attempts to
shut it off and stop its skull-permeating trill.
“Can’t believe I thought it was a good idea.” Sam muttered under his blankets
when it was finally quiet enough to hear him. “Last time I do you any fuckin’
favours, Rogers. Get yo’ arse dressed and out so I can go back to sleep, can
you?”
Steve rubbed at his sleep-sore eyes. “Ain’t you usually up this at this time
anyway?”
“There’s a big difference between four-am and five-am,” Sam told him. “One I
intended to spend sleeping so get out.”
Steve huffed a laugh and dressed as quickly and quietly as he could. Sam was
already snoring again by the time he slipped out of the carriage door and into
the brisk early morning air. The lot was quiet and still. Smoke plumed from
some of the smaller tents but Steve saw no other sign of life as he made his
way to the Mess.
Frigga was waiting for him and greeted him with a smile.
“Good morning Steve. You’ve done well to be here so early.”
Steve smiled back. “Sam found us an alarm clock.” he admitted as he failed to
suppress a yawn.
Frigga laughed gently. “You’ll get used to the early mornings.” she promised.
She lead him through the dinning area of the Mess to a smaller tent behind the
serving station. The walls of the smaller tent were lined with two gas-fed
ovens, three stove tops piled high with huge steel pots and pans and two sinks
as well a number shelves that housed stacks upon stacks of plates, saucers and
tin mugs. Just from looking, Steve could tell there was a lion’s share of work
needed to make the place hum.
“Fully staffed, the kitchen holds six.” Frigga told him. “But I haven’t had six
permanent hands since Loki was small.” She shook her head. “Everybody wants to
eat but no-one wants to help.”
“How have you managed by yourself?” Steve asked, staring at the plates and
saucers and thinking about how many people lined the long tables in the Mess at
meal times.
“Fury usually ropes a few of the men into help.” Frigga told him. “But they
aren’t ever pleased to be doing so. Certain… connotations come with working in
the kitchens.” It was another warning. Steve could tell from the careful
inflection in her tone.
The skin on the back of Steve’s neck prickled uncomfortably as guilt-ridden
flashes of the night before flickered through his mind. He cleared his throat.
“You mentioned that. But I’m not really suited to the hard labour the rest of
the fellas do and I want to earn my way.” It hurt to admit but the smile she
graced him with worked to smooth the shame in his chest.
“The men don’t understand that we work just as hard in here.” she told him.
“Especially when we’re under-staffed. Here, let me show you how the ovens
work.”
*
Steve spent the next few hours fetching boxes from the carriage where Frigga
locked up the food stuff supplies, stirring the huge pots of porridge and
fetching wood for the kitchen’s two fires over which Frigga cooked the rustic
loaves of bread for lunch. By the time people started to wander into the Mess,
ready for their breakfast, Frigga had Steve slicing the vegetables for the
evening’s stew and he was enjoying the ripe scent of tomatoes as they split
open under his knife. It sure beat shovelling elephant dung.
“Steve!” Frigga called. “Can you please come and help me serve?”
Steve left the tomatoes and joined her. She had set up two of the large pots of
porridge either side of the bain-marie and was already ladling spoonfuls of it
onto the trays she was handed. Steve took up position behind the spare pot and
did the same. Most people gave him a smile as he handed their trays back, some
even murmured thanks. All of them looked tired. Steve could empathise. After
the long hours he had worked the day before and his attack, his muscles ached
in a way that was becoming almost normal for him and his eyes burned from lack
of sleep.
He was just smothering yet another yawn with the back of his hand when another
tray was handed to him. Steve looked up and Barnes smiled at him.
“Mornin’”
Steve bit his lip to keep his own smile at bay even as he felt his cheeks heat
and his heart rate skip a little faster. Barnes’ hair was still mused from
sleep and he was yet to shave but he looked good. Better - Steve thought - than
he had right to so early in the day.
“Mornin’.” Steve replied and slopped a ladle full of porridge into the centre
of Barnes’ tray.
Barnes did not move to take the tray back but instead raised an eyebrow at the
oats and then looked back up at Steve. “I’m a growing lad, doncha know.” he
said as his smile shifted into a smirk.
Steve gnawed on his lip harder, willing his smile away. “You and most of the
other fellas here.” he replied. “Frigga says everyone gets one spoonful.”
Barnes’ smirk shifted again as Barnes widened his eyes imploringly. “Please,
Steve.” he asked, voice soft. “Are you sure I couldn’t have just a teensy bit
more?”
Steve could not help but laugh. “You ain’t fooling anyone with those puppy-dog
eyes.” he told Barnes, snickering when Barnes’ expression grew even more
pronounced. “Take your grub and quit holdin’ up my line.”
He thrust the tray back at Barnes and the other man took it from, shoulders
drooping comically.
“Where’s the love, Rogers?” he asked, tone deliberately hurt. “You got no room
for love in that tiny chest of yours? Is that it?”
Steve narrowed his eyes. A few days ago, a jibe like that from Barnes would
have got his back up but now, he knew the other man was only teasing.
“That’s right.” he told Barnes. “Ain’t no room in there for nothin’ but my
black little heart and ruddy lungs.”
Barnes laughed quietly. “You’re a punk.” he told Steve and shuffled away to get
his coffee.
“Jerk.” Steve mumbled under his breath as he watched him go.
But the smile of Steve’s face could not be shifted, not even when Sam -
apparently still grumpy from their abrupt wakeup — told him he looked a ‘damned
fool’ smiling that hard at ‘sparrow’s fart of dawn’. Steve could only laugh and
then flush a little when he looked over at Barnes and found the other man
watching him as he sipped from his coffee.
Steve swallowed and turned back to his pot.
*
Steve spent the rest of the day learning just what Frigga had meant when she
told him they worked just as hard in the kitchen as the men did in the Lot.
Thankfully, it was a different kind of work - the most strenuous task Steve was
expected to do was collect multiple buckets of water to boil for the dishes,
which all had to be washed by hand - and despite his issues the day before, his
lungs managed fine.
Frigga played the radio as they worked and when the day begun too heat up just
before the lunchtime rush, she pinned open the sides of the kitchen tent and a
soft breeze blew through, swirling the music around Steve’s ears as he readied
the soup to serve. It was the most pleasant day Steve had experienced in a long
time.
As dusk fell and the Lot began to come to life in time for the evening’s show,
Frigga shooed him away.
“Working here almost a week and you haven’t even seen the spec. I can mange for
a few hours. Just make sure you are back in time for dinner.”
Steve just nodded and headed out, guilt sitting low in his stomach as he
neglected to mention that he had seen at least some of the show the day before.
Dum Dum was manning the entrance to menagerie and tipped his bowler to Steve as
he ducked through the split in the canvas.
“Evenin’, lad.” the big man greeted him.
“Evenin’.” Steve replied. “Not working the hooch tent tonight?”
Dum Dum threw his head back and laughed heartily. “No. That frog Dernier is as
stubborn as a mule. Won’t swap duties with anyone.”
Steve grinned, hiding his amusement with his hand as he pretended to scratch at
his chin.
“We’re all headin’ there after dinner though.” Dum Dum continued. “You should
come too.”
Steve flushed, hard. “Oh. I don’t know. I gotta help Friga clean up from
dinner.” he said before he realised how he sounded and hurried to correct
himself: “I mean, I’d love too, but I might be busy.”
Dum Dum nodded. “No rest for the wicked.” he told Steve with a wink. “We’ll
drop by the kitchens after dinner and see if you’re free at any rate.”
Steve flushed harder at the thought of Dum Dum telling Frigga that they were
dragging Steve off to watch the naked girls dance in the hooch tent. “Sounds
swell.” he said anyway but his voice was drowned out as the band clattered to
life in the Big Top beside them.
The show was starting. 

*
Steve slipped into the big top by the entrance that the animals came through,
ducking behind the seating as quickly as he was able. Rubes were already lining
the seats, the smell of their popcorn and salted nuts filling the heavy air
beneath the grand stand. Steve picked his way to the front carefully, dodging
spilt drinks and the waste left behind from the previous shows, until he found
a clear spot where he could balance on one of the steel cross bars and see out
between two sets of legs.
As the band roared to its crescendo, Fury walked into the ring. The set of his
shoulders and the long, authoritarian roll of his gait commanded attention. He
was dressed in his vibrant red suit jacket, black slacks and boots and a tall
top hat. As he reached the middle of the spec, the house lights dimmed and he
was lit by a single spot light.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls to Marvel’s Circus! Tonight we
hope to shock and amaze you, dazzle and confound you, entertain and entice you
with our show! We have trapeze artists, acrobats, contortionists and clowns!
Jugglers, dare devils and freaks of all shapes and sizes! We have big cats!
Elephants! Grizzly bears! Yes, we’ve got almost anything that could take your
fancy! So put your arm around your dame and hold onto your hat because the show
is about to begin!”
Steve started violently as suddenly two bodies flew past Fury, their feet
almost knocking off his top hat. Two more spotlights flared to life and
illuminated two trapeze artists already sailing back into the rafters of the
Big Top before they let go of their swings and flung themselves onto the next.
Steve craned his neck to see but he could only see glimpses of the performers
when they swung low enough for him to catch sight of them between the bodies
lining the seats. However, he could tell by each swell of music from the band
and each shuddering gasp from the crowd that their stunts were growing
increasingly shocking with each fall and catch.
He longed to sit amongst the rubes and be able to watch the show in its
entirety, not segmented into what he was able to see from between the seats.
Surely he could sit in the grandstand and lose himself in the crowd - no-one
would have to know. But then Steve looked down at himself, at his shirt that
was covered in spills from the kitchen and stains from earlier in the week. He
raised an arm and sniffed, wincing when he could smell himself. Who was he
kidding? There was no way he could sit amongst people who were dressed in their
bests for a night out and not stick out like a sore thumb. He sighed.
At the finales of their act, the trapeze artists dismounted in a series of
flips and turns and landed back to back in the centre of the ring. Steve
suddenly recognised the boy, Peter, and who he assumed was Wade. He remembered
them from his first day in the Mess. The pair took a bow and then flipped onto
their hands. walking in large wide circles around one another as the audience
clapped and cheered.
Wade then lowered his feet to the ground until his was completely bent over,
his stomach to the sky. Peter walked over to him, as steady on his hands as he
was on his feet and flipped up so that he landed with his feet on Wade’s
elongated shoulders. Steve winced, drawing in a sharp breath but Wade’s
expression did not change even as Peter moved to balance himself on one foot,
braced against Wade’s sternum. From there, the pair took turns into bending
themselves into an array of seemingly impossible poses, balancing on one
another just to make each pose all the more difficult. The crowd ooh-ed and
ahh-ed with each shift and burst into applause when Peter and Wade finally
found their feet again and took identical, low, sweeping bows.
As the made their way off, three clowns tumbled into the ring, done up in
mismated trousers and colourful suspenders. The faces of the two smaller clowns
were painted in exaggerated and comical approximations of how Steve had seen
some women do. Colourful eyelids, rouge, wide comical lips and ruby red noses.
The third wore a mask. They tumbled around and around, bumping into each other
and fighting ridiculously as the crowd snickered and whooped. Even Steve could
not help the smile the broke across his face as he watched them - particularly
when they seemed to attempt some of Peter and Wade’s more difficult
contortions, tying themselves in knots and falling over themselves and each
other repetitively.
Suddenly a woman entered the ring, pretending to scold the clowns. Steve
frowned. He had seen the redhead in the Mess but he did not know her name nor
what her part in the spec was. He watched her interaction with the clowns and
scoffed when the clowns seemed to challenge her to a juggling contest. The lead
clown took up three batons and juggled them effortlessly, one over the other,
up and under. The woman pretended to be unimpressed and caught the batons when
they were unceremoniously thrown to her, spinning them up into an even fancier
version of how the clown had juggled them.
The clown demanded them back and one of his peers threw in two more, much to
the crowd’s delight. Once again, the clown juggled them effortlessly before
giving them to the woman. Again, she out did him. The clown threw up his hands
and then conferenced with the other two clowns while the woman continued to
juggle, hooking the batons around her back and underneath her legs.
Finally, the lead clown motioned for the woman to throw the batons back which
she did. Once he was in possession of the batons again, the clown motioned to
the smallest clown who drew out a lighter and then - to Steve and the crowd’s
amazement - lit each end of the batons on fire before the lead clown begun to
spin them through the air once more.
The crowd went wild, assuming that he had won. But the woman motioned for the
flaming batons back, catching them and once again, upping what the clown had
been able to do. The fire spun through the air, whizzing past her face and
limbs as she showed off each trick that he had managed and more. Finally, she
threw one baton back to him and he yelped, leaping out of the way and dousing
the flaming stick with a squirt of water from a bottle which he had used
earlier to douse his comrades.
The next baton went to the smallest clown who juggled it comically between his
hands until it too was doused by the jug, resulting in the clown holding it to
also be soaked. The crowd howled with laughter, watching delightedly as the
red-haired woman threw a third flaming baton at the clowns and watched them
scramble as she continued to juggle the remaining two.
The clowns readied themselves then, water jug trained on the woman and their
hands up, waiting to catch the batons. However, the woman did not throw them.
Instead she brought the forth to her lips and swallowed the flames around it,
extinguishing them in her mouth.
Steve gasped and his hand that was not holding onto the rail where he sat flew
to cover his mouth as he watched, awed, as the woman repeated the motion with
the final baton. The two smaller clowns fled the ring, hands covering their
mouths and wailing in imagined pain. The crowd bust into another round of
applause as the lead clown and the red-haired woman faced off in the centre of
the spec.
Suddenly, the clown reached up and pulled off his mask as well as the over size
shirt and pants he’d worn, revealing a black leotard just like that which the
woman wore. The crowd fell silent. The woman took as step back as if shocked
and when she did, the two smaller clowns leapt from the unlit shadows and
grabbed her by her arms, pulling her back against a red board and securing her
in place with straps across her neck, waist, wrists and ankles.
She struggled as though she were trying to get away, pulling harder against her
binds as the man in the leotard stepped closer and took a box from one of his
minions. The man retreated then, opening the box and showing its contents to
the crowd. Steve swore. Knives. It was a box of knives.
The man stopped several long paces away from the board and took out the first
knife, twisting it so that the lights of the Big Top caught on its surface and
ran along its sharp edge. Then, suddenly, he flicked his wrist towards the
woman. There was a scream from somewhere in the crowd. The man turned to the
approximate direction of the noise, back to the woman on the board, and showed
the crowd the knife which was still safely in his hand. He had only pretended
to throw it.
Steve sighed with relief.
However, a second later the breath caught in his throat as the man, still
facing away from the woman, flicked the knife backwards with twitch of his
wrist. It sped through the air and buried itself, blade first, mere inches from
the red-haired woman’s neck. Steve almost feel off of his perch and he heard a
rube above him swear.
The next knife pierced the board just below the woman’s left armpit.
The next, the board between her thighs.
On and on it went until she was almost completely outlined by the black hilts
of the knives.
Steve felt dizzy. The crowd didn’t seem to know whether to cheer or yell in
alarm. Finally, the man in black was out of knives. He approached the woman and
touched her cheek in some sick caricature of a lover’s caress. Then he reached
behind the board to which she was attached, drew out an apple and sat it on top
of her head.
Steve could barely believe his eyes when the next two items that the man in
black retrieved were a bow and arrow. He wasn’t going to…He couldn’t…
Steve watched on in horror as the man crossed the spec until he was almost at
the other side of the ring before he turned again, put the arrow to the bow and
lined up his shot. Steve slammed his eyes shut, unable to watch. The crowd had
gone so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. It seemed like
an eternity before the awful silence was broken by the cheering of the crowd.
Steve open his eyes and looked. The apple was pierced through its centre with a
long white arrow and the woman was fine. He let out a shaky breath and slid
from his perch, needing his feet on the ground so that he could steady himself.
The rest of the show passed in much the same fashion - the riskier acts
interwoven with comedic relief, artfully planned so that the crowd could catch
their breath. The first act finished with an illusion act. A tall dark haired
man turned scarves into doves and doves into rabbits before he, himself,
disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. The crowd were spell bound and for a
moment after the act had finished, they remained silent as if they had
forgotten to cheer.
Fury returned to the ring then and advised the crowd that they take a moment in
order to prepare themselves for the second half of the show and Steve’s fingers
went tight around the support beam beside him.
Barnes was on next.
Chapter End Notes
     So ten points to anyone who can guess who the red-haired woman, the
     creepy clown/ marksman and the tall, dark magician are.
     Kudos, con-crit and comments are more than welcome! I apologise again
     for the tardiness of this chapter.
     Feel free to come whine to me about it on Tumblr!
     Next chapter: Barnes' act in detail and Steve's first encounter with
     the hooch tent.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     She rolled her hips against his lap and Steve’s breath left him in a
     whoosh. Carter leaned back and pressed another kiss to his cheek.
     “Unhook my bra.” she told him and he choked on the breath he was
     trying to get back.
     “What?!” he gasped.
     “My brassier.” she explained. “Unhook it.”
Chapter Notes
     Here it is! I apologise profusely for the lateness. The school term
     is finishing up and shit is hectic. Plus, I am about to head overseas
     for two weeks. Still - no excuses! I aim to have another instalment
     up before the weekend finishes.
     Enjoy!
     (Warning: the end of this chapter may be a little triggering for some
     as Steve is kissed with out his full consent.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The rubes grew restless during the interval and the grandstand above Steve’s
head creaked and groaned as they moved up and down the stairs. Over the top of
their chatter, the vendors shouted the prices of the treats they carried in
trays about their necks. Somewhere a child began to cry. Steve had to move
twice when the gaps he had found were filled by people sitting down.
However, it wasn’t long before the house lights dimmed and the crowd grew quiet
once more. Fury returned to the centre of the ring which was, Steve noted, now
lined with strange low platforms.
“Ladies and gentlemen, during our next act we ask you not to make any sudden
movements.”
Even from where he was, Steve could feel the energy ripple through the crowd.
“We ask you not to scream,” Fury continued.
The band started up, soft and slow, and Steve recognised the tune from the day
before, knew how the music would build before it began to.
Fury was striding across the ring towards the animal entrance and soon
disappeared from Steve’s line of sight.
“But please, welcome to the ring the king of the jungle, Dante!”
Steve flinched back as the young lion burst into the ring before slowing to a
rolling trot. The crowd gasped and ooh-ed.
“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed a feminine voice from above Steve.
The two lioness trotted out into the ring then, greeted by more awed cooing
from the crowd. They paced with Dante and Steve could see the people in the
front town lean back from the ring as the lions passed were they sat.
“And last but not least, please welcome - Khan!”
Steve heard the tiger before he saw him as Khan entered the a roar that echoed
through the Big Top and drowned out the band. The crowd sat stunned for a
moment before they answered Khan with a cheer of their own. The noise seemed to
spur the tiger on and he roared again as he reached the centre of the ring, his
teeth glinting in the lights that followed the cats as they moved about.
The band began to swell once more and Steve’s stomach flipped. This was Barnes’
entrance. The white smoke began to plume from the far side of the ring as it
had done the day before and Steve held his breath as the band reached its
crescendo with a crash of the cymbals and the lights went down, coaxing a few
distressed noises from the crowd as they momentarily lost sight of the big
cats.
Suddenly a spotlight hit the smoke and Barnes appeared, rising out of the smoke
just as Khan let out another thunderous roar. Barnes was shirtless once more
and his golden skin glowed under the lights. He snarled back at Khan and
cracked his whip through the air.
The cats immediately turned and began to follow one another counter-clockwise
around the ring as Barnes walked into the centre of it. He cracked his whip
again and the cats turned and walked the other way. The crowd cheered and
Barnes gave a shallow bow.
“Hup!” He yelled and Dante peeled off from the group and approached him.
Barnes held up a hand as the male lion approached him.
“Hup!” he yelled again and Dante clambered onto one of the metal platforms mere
feet from the centre of the ring where Barnes was standing.
Barnes threw the lion a scrap of meet from his tin which Dante plucked out of
the air with a lightening-quick snap of his powerful jaws.
Barnes called out again to the three cats still pacing the circumference of the
ring and this time the two lioness peeled off and approached. They took the
platforms to the left and right of where Barnes stood and he treated them the
same way he had Dante. When Barnes called again, Khan took the final platform
and earned his treat as well. Steve chewed his bottom lip, hyper aware that the
cats now surrounded Barnes and that - as Barnes’ attention was turned to Khan -
his back was to Dante, who Steve had gathered was the most volatile of the
four.
Barnes swung his whip through the air once more and brought it down with a
crack and Steve watched in amazement as all four cats shifted, pulling
themselves up onto their back haunches, their massive front paws raised into
the air. As Dante balanced, he let out a snarl and swatted at the air with one
of his massive paws.
Barnes spun round, flicking the end of the whip at Dante and the cat settled
once more. The crowd cheer as all four cats balanced on their hind quarters,
paws in the air as though they were waving. Steve swallowed around the anxiety
flaring in his stomach. Barnes did this every day, he reasoned with himself.
Steve had already seen the act. He knew that it would be fine.
Barnes cracked the whip again and the three lions dismounted and went to three
platforms around the edge of the ring while Khan lowered himself back into a
sitting position. Barnes approached him and Steve could tell by the way Barnes’
mouth moved that he was cooing at the tiger in the soft way he often did.
Khan sat still and the crowd watched with bated breath as Barnes drew level
with the tiger, well within an arms reach. Seated on the platform, Khan was
every bit as tall as Barnes was standing and like the night before, Steve was
struck by how small the other man really was in comparison to the beast sitting
in front of him. Barnes dipped his hand into the tin and drew out a scrap of
meat and the crowd gasped as he fed it straight to Khan, the big cat carefully
plucking it from Barnes’ fingers.
Barnes was beaming and after Khan had swallowed his treat, Barnes sunk his
hands into the rough of the big cats throat and scratched him behind his ears.
Khan leant forward and butted his head into the centre of Barnes’ bare chest.
“Holy cow.” a male voice exclaimed above Steve. “This fella is nuts.”
Barnes released Khan and stepped back.
“Hup!” he called again and Khan moved to the perimeter of the ring to take
position at his platform.
Steve’s breath came a little easier as the Barnes distanced himself from the
cats momentarily. He knew however that it would not be for long. The next time
Barnes cracked his whip, the cats dismounted their platforms and ran to the
next one, taking position of the cat that had sat to the left of them. This
continued until they sat back on their original platform.
The cats then approached Barnes once more and he lined them up. Barnes back was
to Steve, the cats facing him. When Barnes next lifted the whip, Steve was able
to watch the muscles in his shoulders shift. He knew then why Fury had been mad
at Barnes for going into the ring shirtless. There was nothing ‘family’ about
the way Barnes looked then, golden skin gleaming under the lights.
Barnes held the whip high as he motioned downwards with his right hand. The
cats stretched out onto their stomachs and then when he brought the whip down,
the lioness at the end of the line stood and leapt over each of the cats beside
her before laying down at the end of the line beside Khan. Then the other
lioness repeated the action, as did Dante.
Khan was so tall he was almost able to simply step over the other cats but when
he went to move across Dante, the lion reared back, snapping at the tiger. Khan
leapt backwards and swiped at Dante’s flank. Steve’s heart lurched. That wasn’t
part of the show.
Dante sprung around, snarling at Khan, teeth bared. Khan returned the sentiment
until Barnes cracked the whip again, shouting as he approached them. Khan
shrunk back and Dante kept snarling and the noise sent an uncomfortable shiver
down Steve’s spine. Eventually Dante did the same as Khan, moving away from
Barnes and settling. The crowd above Steve were murmuring but cheered when
Barnes bowed after Khan reached the end of the line and lay down. Adrenaline
burnt through Steve, tightening his chest and causing his pulse to race in his
ears.
The rest of the act went off without a hitch but Steve found his heart did not
slow until Barnes sent the cats out of the big top and took his final bow. He
left the Big Top as soon as Barnes left the ring, too shaken to enjoy the rest
of the show and wary of the time. While a majority of the circus hands, stall
holders and lot acts ate during the show, the performers and roustabouts that
helped with the spec ate late and their dinner was not served in the Mess until
after the show. Frigga had said she could manange but he had promised he would
be back to help and, he had to admit to himself, he had really only gone to see
Barnes’ act again anyway.
When he returned to the kitchens, Frigga took one look at his shell-shocked
face and chuckled before handing him a potato and a knife to peel it with.
*
From the kitchen, they could hear the swell of music and roar of the crowd as
the spec drew to a close as they readied the food to be served. Steve soon
found that the late dinner was a true sight to behold as many of the performers
came straight from the Big Top and ate in their costumes, turning the Mess into
a colourful mini-echo of the show.
Steve was serving when Barnes entered the tent, still shirtless and flanked by
a number of whistles and catcalls. Steve made himself focus on the line in
front of him, on making eye contact with each person who hand him their tray,
but he was acutely aware that Barnes had joined his line and was drawing closer
and closer with each person that Steve served.
“Evenin’.” Barnes greeted him as he reached the front of the line and Steve
nodded in return, not trusting his voice when he was faced with the smooth
expanse of Barnes’ bare chest.
He took Barnes’ tray and ladled a spoonful of the stew into his bowl and then,
remembering their interaction from that morning, stole a glance at Frigga
before ladling in another half a spoonful. Half the men had already eaten and
there was still more than enough to go around.
When he looked up, Barnes was grinning a little manically.
It was obvious that Barnes was still riding an adrenaline high from the show.
His movements were jerky, hurried and unfinished and the look in his eyes was
almost frantic. Steve understood completely. He felt like he didn’t fit right
in his skin just after watching Barnes’ act. He couldn’t imagine how it must
feel for Barnes who put himself so close to harms way, twice a day with
thousands of eyes watching his every move.
“Get out of my line.” he told Barnes, cheeks hot.
Barnes just grinned harder and gave a mock two fingered salute before stepping
out of the line.
*
Steve had almost forgotten that he had spoken to Dum Dum before the show. He
had definitely forgotten about agreeing to go to the hooch tent after dinner
and so, when Dum Dum, Sam, Gabe and Morita piled into the kitchen after the
late serving, Steve was up to his elbows in luke warm soapy water, helping
Frigga clean the dishes.
“Can I help you men?” Frigga asked.
Dum Dum swept his bowler off his head. “Yes, mam.” he told her. “We wanted to
introduce Steve here to the hooch tent tonight. Lad’s never been and it don’t
seem right.”
Steve cheeks flushed warm. He didn’t want Frigga to know that he was going to
the hooch tent. He stared hard at the bowl he was running a ragged soapy cloth
over and willed the other men to disappear.
“Is that so?” Frigga asked and Steve did not miss the amusement in her voice.
He turned and found all of them watching him. He flushed harder. “I don’t know
if I can, fellas.” he said, trying to sound casually. “I need to help out with
the dishes.
Frigga huffed out a laugh. “Honestly, you forget how long I have managed on my
own. Go! You have been more than a big enough help today.”
“But, I…” Steve began but he trailed off when he saw Morita lift an eyebrow.
Realising his defeat, Steve towelled off his hands and shucked out of the apron
he was wearing. He waved a little awkwardly to Frigga and wished her goodnight
before following Sam and his friends out of the Mess.
*
The hooch tent was set up towards the back of the lot, tucked away behind the
Big Top and the menagerie where no rube was likely to stumble upon it unless
they were looking. As they made their way over, Gabe pulled a flask from his
trousers and offered it around. When it came to Steve, he made the mistake of
sniffing whatever liquid was inside and the others hooted with laughter as his
face crumpled in disgust.
“That’s moonshine, lad.” Gabe told him. “You don’t sniff it!”
Steve flushed red and took a large swig from the flask. The liquid burnt down
his throat as he swallowed and he had to work hard not to start coughing. His
eyes watered with the effort. Sam clapped a hand over his shoulders.
“That’s my boy.” he teased and even Steve had to chuckle.
The moonshine tasted like sin but between the five of them, they finished the
flask before they reached the hooch tent and Steve’s chest felt warm from the
three swigs he had taken. He didn’t have a lot of experience with alcohol. His
father had let him have a single beer on special occasions but that was it.
He’d never seen his mother drink any type of alcohol and the only time he’d
seen his father drunk was after he’d found out about…
Steve shook his head to rid it of the thought just as they drew level with the
dark green tent that Steve had seen for the first time earlier that same day.
Steve could hear men’s laughter echoing from inside and the low hum and crackle
of a record player.
Sam let them in with a nod to Jackie who stood watch at the entrance of the
tent.
“It usually costs a pretty penny just to get in.” he explained to Steve in
hushed tones as they made for an empty pew to the left of the tent’s entrance.
“But we roustabouts get in for free. Jobs gotta have some perks.”
Steve nodded mutely and tried not to breathe in too deeply. The small tent was
filled with more than a handful of rubes and some familiar faces that he
recognised from the Mess and around the lot. More than half of the men were
smoking and the air inside the tent was heavy and threatened to seize up in
Steve’s lungs. He caught Sam eyeing him worriedly. He gave a subtle shake of
his head but Sam did not seem particularly reassured.
They had only just sat down when then heavy dark curtains at the back of the
tent entered and the most beautiful looking woman Steve had ever seen stepped
out from between them. She was tall, especially in the three inch heels she
wore, and slender in a way that belied a subtle kind of strength. Her brunette
hair was styled into an elegant bun and victory rolls lined her temple. Her
lips were bright red and her eyes lined with heavy black coal. She was wearing
a long black coat and two large flowers in her hair along with her red heels.
Steve swallowed hard as the men around him began to cat call and hoot. He
bristled at their boldness even as the woman began to smile.
Someone changed the needled on the record player and the song changed abruptly
to something slower and more soulful. The woman began to swing her hips in time
to the music and Steve felt his cheeks heat. He’d never seen anyone move like
that. The men around him whistled appreciatively. She flicked her eyes at them
and ran her tongue over her lips, playing with the lapels of her coat, easing
them apart.
Steve felt like his face was on fire but he could not pull his eyes away from
the slow heavy swing of her round hips. She turned then and his eyes slid down
the backs of her legs, following the seam on the back of her nylons. His gaze
snapped back up when the coat hit the ground around her feet. She had nothing
on underneath except for a brassier, garter belt and the skimpiest pair of
bloomers Steve had ever seen. They were so small they pulled tight across her
bottom with each roll and swing of her hips. Sam nudged him and Steve was
grateful for the excuse to turn away.
“Carter’s a real looker, doncha think?” Sam asked.
Steve nodded. “Does she…I mean, is she going to take-?”
His question was answered when the woman - Carter? - slid low and plucked one
stocking loose, folding almost in half as she rolled it down her thigh and calf
before sliding it off, taking her heel off with it. The motion meant her bottom
was pushed out into the air and the men in the tent hollered and made rude
gestures with their hands. Steve wanted to clobber them all but she just smiled
at them and bent over to slip the other stocking off, her behind aimed at the
other half of the room.
She turned back to face the men then and gave a shimmy of her shoulders. Her
ample breasts bounced in the confines of her brassier and the men feel about on
themselves.
“Oh mumma!” called a lout from the opposite side of the tent. “Come to daddy!”
Steve had to repress a shudder. The woman didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she
fetched a chair from behind the curtain and drew it to the centre of her small
stage.
“Oh hell.” Sam laughed. “We’re in for it now!”
Steve looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’ll see.” Sam replied cryptically.
Steve frowned harder. When he turned back to the stage, Carter was looking over
the men lining the seats, one index finger pressed to her lips as though she
was thinking quite deeply. The men all motioned to themselves, calling out to
her. She was choosing, Steve realised, picking someone to come and sit in the
chair.
“Carter!” Dum Dum called from beside Sam. “Over here, doll! We got some fresh
meat!”
Steve barely had time to register that Dum Dum was talking about him before
Carter’s eyes were on him and Sam and Morita were pushing him to his feet. The
way Carter’s painted lips broke into a smile made Steve’s pulse skip and his
hands itch for a pencil. She really was stunningly beautiful.
She held a hand out to him and his knees went a little weak. Sam pushed him
forward though and he caught her hand and let her draw him out of the crowd and
into the centre of the tent with her. The men around them groaned in
disappointment that they had not been picked.
She lead Steve to the chair and motioned for him to sit, which he did
gratefully, knees still a little steady.
“Go easy on him, doll!” a voice called from the crowd. “Looks like you could
snap him in half!”
Steve’s cheeks pinked and he dipped his chin, embarrassed. He knew how he must
look - small and scrawny like a child. She had either not heard the man or
chose to ignore him. Instead she stooped low and pressed a kiss to Steve’s warm
cheek.
“What’s you name, bub?” she breathed, so close Steve could smell her perfume.
“Steve.” he choked out.
“Okay Steve, here’s the deal. You sit on you hands and I show you a good time.
You touch me and I get Jackie to throw you out on you ear. Understand?” She had
an accent.
Steve swallowed and nodded.
She pulled back and grinned at him. “Good.” she said and then her hips began to
move once more.
Steve flushed and moved his hands from the top of his thighs to underneath
them. She rewarded him by swaying closer. She moved in a circle about him, the
skin of her outer thigh brushing against the sleeves of his shirt. Goosebumps
broke out on Steve’s arms despite the heat of the tent.
When she came to stand in front of him once more, turned her back to him and
gave their audience another shimmy of her shoulders before dropping back into
Steve’s lap gracefully. He jerked hard and almost pulled his hands from beneath
his thighs to catch her but held back at the last minute.
She rolled her hips against his lap and Steve’s breath left him in a whoosh.
Carter leaned back and pressed another kiss to his cheek.
“Unhook my bra.” she told him and he choked on the breath he was trying to get
back.
“What?!” he gasped.
“My brassier.” she explained. “Unhook it.”
She leant forward, all the while continuing to bounce and roll on his thighs.
He drew his hands out from beneath his legs and brought them to the clasp of
her brassier, fumbling it for a moment before it came loose. She folded her
arms across her front and winked at him surreptitiously over her shoulder
before turning back to the masses and pretending to be shocked. Steve jammed
his hand back under his legs.
Despite her act, she let her arms back down and let the brassier fall away.
Steve took another fast, unsteady breath. God, if he had another asthma attack
- here or all places - he would actually die of embarrassment if the lack of
oxygen didn’t do him in first.
He couldn’t see much from his position behind her but from the way the men
seemed to lose their collective minds, her breasts were just as spectacular as
the rest of her figure. She turned then and Steve could not help the way his
eyebrows climbed in shock. Her breast were lovely and her smile was wicked. She
was very close.
And moving closer. She straddled his hips and pressed her breast right up
against him. She was very warm and when her hips rolled again, Steve realised,
horrified, that he was hard beneath his slacks. The shame of it helped to
soften his prick a little but then she moved again and he was stiff as a board
once more.
“Sorry!” he told her, voice hushed, mortified. “Oh God. I’m so sorry!”
She beamed at him. “It’s not a problem, soldier. Just means I’m doing my job.”
Steve didn’t know what to say to that.
“Big finish.” she warned him, tilted his head back and lay her perfect red lips
over his own.
Steve made a soft noise of shock, hands flailing beside him as she suckled at
his bottom lip. It was his first kiss and she was half naked and he had an
erection and there was a tent full of men looking at them. This was not how he
had wanted his first kiss to go. This was not what it was supposed to be. He
jammed his eyes closed and wished that it would stop, that he would wake up and
realise it was just some very strange dream he was having. It wasn’t. He was
pinned just like Robert had pinned him and something else was being taken from
him, just like Robert had done. He was equal parts turned on and disgusted. His
stomach rolled at the sensation.
Carter must have felt him tense because she pulled back and when Steve opened
his eyes, he was mortified that his lashes were a little damp. He hoped she
didn’t realise - that the other men didn’t realise - but the way her eyes went
soft and pitying told him that she did. She pushed up and off of him and just
before she turned back to the audience, Steve saw her flirtatious mask slip
back on.
She made a low curtesy as the men whooped and hollered. Steve took some solace
in the fact that none of them seem to be watching him. He sniffed as delicately
as he could and had only just thought about trying to muster his limbs to move
when Carter turned to him and hauled him up by the front of his shirt. Steve
could tell by the way the men cheered that she was playing it up again, like
she wasn’t done with him but that what came next wasn’t for them to watch. At
least Steve hoped she was playing.
She dragged him up and towards the curtains at the back of the stage. Panicked,
he looked around blindly at the men lining the tent, trying to find Sam’s face
in the crowd.
Instead, he found Barnes'.
Chapter End Notes
     I am blown away by the response this fic has received and I am
     eternally grateful to those of you still reading.
     I'd love it if you came and hung out with me on Tumblr sometime too!
     :)
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam gave an exaggerate shrug. "Guess you and Barnes don't have a
     traditional relationship." There was a suggestive lilt to his tone
     that Steve didn't like.
     Steve finally found a shirt and shrugged on, angry. "I don't think I
     like what you're implying." He told Sam tightly.
Chapter Notes
     Hi all, I am posting this chapter from the departures lounge of the
     airport having finished typing it up this morning while waiting for
     my flight so I apologise in advance for lack of proof reading and any
     typos.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Carter dragged him behind the curtain and pushed him into another chair which
he collapsed into gratefully, just barely aware of another girl slipping out
past them to entertain the still cheering crowd. The air behind the curtain was
even heavier than it had been in the main area of the tent, the men’s cigarette
smoke mingling with a number of different perfumes and a scent that reminded
Steve of the hair salon his mother used to visit. He tried not to breath too
deeply but the short, hurried breaths that forced him to take did little to
curb his distress.
Carter was watching him, hips propped back against a low table that was
cultured with make-up, hair brushes and a large mirror. She hadn’t bothered to
scoop up her clothes and the only thing covering her modesty were her tiny
panties and the way she had folded her arms over her chest. Steve could still
see the dusky pink skin of her left nipple between her arms. He dropped his
gaze to his feet and concentrated on his breathing.
Carter said nothing for a long moment. Steve wanted the ground to open up and
swallow him.
“Well?” Carter prompted him finally.
Steve glanced back up at her, his forehead wrinkled with confusion.
“Well…?” he asked.
“Are you going to explain what just happened?” she asked him and finally,
finally reached for a dress that hung over the back of a chair by her dressing
table.
Steve blinked. His breath was coming a little easier now but his head was still
spinning though from the moonshine or the heady mix of cigarette smoke and
perfume, he didn’t know.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She slipped the dress over her head and fastened the tie around her waist. It
was still difficult for Steve to look at her, knowing she wore no brassier
beneath the garment but at least her nipples were no longer showing. She arched
an eyebrow at him but did not elaborate and Steve flushed under her silent
scrutiny.
He looked away.
“That was my first kiss.” he admitted and winced when he glanced back at her
and saw that her face had softened.
He didn’t want to be pitied. Or coddled. He never should have said anything. He
should’ve catcalled and hooted like the rest of the men, he thought fiercely.
He should’ve pressed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her back. But his
bravado flicked out as quickly as it had sparked to life and he mourned it with
a sigh.
“Please don’t look at me like that.” he said anyway but she seemed unable to
stop.
“Oh, bub. That isn’t any way to have your first kiss.” she told him.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I know that!” he told her, peeved. And then,
immediately: “Sorry.”
She shrugged and turned to pluck a cigarette from a fancy holder on her
dressing table, lighting it with an even fancier lighter once it was between
her lips. She took a drag and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror as
she exhaled.
“So what’s a kid like you doing in a hooch tent?” she asked and Steve bristled
again.
He didn’t like being called ‘kid’.
“I ain’t a kid.”
She laughed, though it was not unkind. “Please.” she implored. “You’re no more
than - what? 15? 16, at the most.”
Steve was so shocked by her accuracy that his mouth dropped open. “I - no!” he
tried but gave up when she turned to face him, pinning him with another
calculating look whilst she took another drag of her cigarette. “How did you
know?” he groused.
“A woman always does.” she told him cryptically.
Just then, Steve caught the canvas behind part and a figure slip into the
warmly lit gloom of the dressing tent.
“Steve?”
Steve sat up a little straighter. He knew that voice.
Barnes rounded Carter’s dressing table and moved further into the light. His
face was pinched and he barely spared Carter a glance as he approached Steve.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Steve’s cheeks warmed, half-flattered, half-mortified. Barnes was worried about
him. Barnes thought he had to worry about him. He managed to nod.
“He’s fine.” Carter said and Barnes threw a dark look over his shoulder at her.
Steve wanted to tell him off for being rude to a dame but he also wanted to run
his thumb over the worried crease between Barnes’ eyebrows. He blinked.
Obviously the moonshine hadn’t warn off.
“He is.” Carter insisted. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Steve frowned at that, annoyed despite how correct her conclusion was.
“I didn't realise you were his keeper anyway, Barnes.” Carter continued, taking
another drag on her cigarette.
“He’s not.” Steve insisted hotly just as Barnes said: “Well, someone has to
be.”
Steve turned his frown on Barnes who stared back at him blandly as though he
was willing Steve to correct the man who had saved his life just the day
before.
“Urgh.” Carter groaned and the rough noise sounded particularly out of place
coming from her perfectly made up lips. “Men.”
She stubbed out her cigarette in a silver ash tray by her mirror and waved her
hand at them. “Get out of my dressing room.” she told them. “I have to be back
on in five and I need to change.”
Steve followed Barnes out of the tent as quickly as his legs would carry him.
*
The cool night air was blissful after the stuffiness of the tent and Steve took
a long, slow breath before he mustered the courage to turn to Barnes. Even in
the near dark, he could see the quizzical expression on Barnes’ face but he
found he was in no mood to explain himself again.
“You ain’t my keeper.” he said instead.
Barnes laughed sharply. “Okay.” he said but his tone suggested he didn’t agree
in the slightest.
Steve narrowed his eyes and then turned to leave. He was a little charmed that
Barnes had come to find him, that the other man had been worried enough about
him that he had taken steps - which even Sam apparently hadn’t - to find Steve
and make sure he was alright. However outweighing the warmth that idea brought
to Steve’s gut, was the hot burn of the abject humiliation that Steve was still
working through.
“You gonna explain what happened in there?” Barnes asked.
“Nothing happened in there.” Steve snapped back.
Barnes held up his hands in a mock surrender and Steve flushed.
“It was nothing.” he said again, softer.
Barnes shrugged. “Didn’t seem like nothin’.” he observed and Steve sort of
wanted to take a swing at him just to shut him up.
He gave a long suffering sigh instead. “Why did you rush after me anyhow?” he
asked, trying to deflect, and felt a brief rush of satisfaction when Barnes
stalled for a long moment before answering.
“‘Cause I ain’t ever seen a fella look so terrified to be pressed up against a
beautiful dame.” Barnes said finally and Steve’s satisfaction turned cold and
settled heavily into the pit of his stomach. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t
going to have another attack.”
It seemed so logical when he put it like that but Barnes’ explanation did
nothing to soothe the irrational part of Steve’s brain that puffed up like an
angry cat every time someone implied he was somehow deficient because of his
ill health.
“Yeah, well, I’m fine.” he said hotly.
“Fine and as angry as a cut snake.” Barnes observed. “You a virgin or
somethin’?”
Steve was grateful that the darkness surrounding them probably meant that
Barnes was not able to see how red his face went. He wanted to protest but when
he opened his mouth, the words refused to come out and he shut it again,
looking away. His silence answered for him.
Barnes let out another sharp laugh and Steve was reminded of the first day they
met, when the only smile of Barnes’ he had known was the sharp, unfriendly tilt
of his mouth.
“Jeez punk.” Barnes said. “That’s rough. I’m amazed you didn’t poke a hole
through your slacks.”
Steve made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and turned away, keen to
leave behind the whole mess and find his bed. He had only managed a few, angry
strides when Barnes stopped him, his strong hand curling around Steve’s
shoulder.
Steve whipped around, seething that his personal space had been invaded without
his consent for the second time that night.
“What?” he spat.
Barnes held up his hands again though the jerkiness of the motion made Steve
think that - this time - the action was a product of surprise rather than
sarcasm.
“Hey.” Barnes said and his tone reminded Steve of how the other man spoke to
Khan.
It did placate Steve some that Barnes apparently took his anger as seriously as
he took the cats’.
“I’m sorry.” Barnes told him. “That was out of line.”
“You’re damn right it was.” Steve huffed, folding his arms across his chest.
Barnes rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepish. “I came after you to make sure
you were okay.” he explained. “But your lippy mouth sets me on edge, kid. You
get your hackles up and it gets me on the back foot straight away - I don’t
know why.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “So it’s my fault you’re a jerk?” he summarised.
“No!” Barnes said hurriedly. “But damn, punk. You sure know how to get under a
fella’s skin, ya know that?”
Steve huffed, confused. If he was perfectly honest, he didn’t know if that was
a good or a bad thing when it came to Barnes but there was no way he could
explain that to the other man.
“I’m fine.” he said eventually. “It was just a bit - overwhelming.”
What little light there was left caught in Barnes’ smile when he grinned. “I
hear that.” he said and Steve ducked his head, determined not to smile. “You
sure you’re alright though?”
Steve nodded, wishing Barnes would drop the subject. He could not think of any
way to explain why his reaction had been so overt without giving away
everything and risk losing the …thing that was developing between Barnes and
himself. After Robert had spread his own version of what had transpired between
them around school, the few friends Steve’d had deserted him. No-one wanted to
be associated with the shirt-lifter. He doubted Barnes would either.
Barnes was watching him carefully when Steve reemerged from his thoughts.
“Sorry,” Steve said hurriedly. “I’m just tired. Need to lay down before I fall
down and all that.”
It was an exaggeration. Though his day in the kitchens had been busy - it had
been kinder on his body than the hard labour of the days before and while he
was weary, he was not exhausted. However, Barnes nodded like he understood.
“You’ve got another early start tomorrow as well.” he conceded. “Gotta be there
to dish out my porridge after all.”
Steve rolled his eyes.
“You ain’t getting more than a scoop.” he told Barnes, trying and failing to
hide his grin when the other man slumped dramatically. “I never should have
encouraged you.”
Barnes chuckled as he straightened. “Yup. You’re stuck with me now.” he told
Steve.
Steve tucked his chin to his throat to hide the size of his grin. That, he
decided, did not sound so bad.
*
Barnes walked Steve back to his and Sam’s carriage, sending him to be with a
‘night, punk!’ and a cheeky, half-assed salute. Steve stood by the carriage
door and watched Barnes walk away until the other man’s silhouette was
swallowed by the encroaching dark, before climbing into the carriage and
lighting the oil lamp between the cots.
Steve was tucked in and dozing by the time Sam returned and rather than face
another uncomfortable conversation about what had happened in the hooch tent,
Steve feigned sleep until Sam settled down in his own cot and dimmed the lamp.
*
The next few weeks passed in a similar fashion. Steve woke early and helped
Frigga prepare and serve breakfast and lunch before ducking out to watch the
matinee show in the afternoons. He preferred it to the evening show because the
crowds weren’t as large and he could stay through to the end of the spec.
Barnes, after the second day, had unfortunately gone back to wearing his red
shirt during his performance but that did not mean Steve was anymore successful
at tearing his eyes away from the other man when he was in the ring.
Most nights, after the performers’ dinner in the evenings, Steve found himself
following Sam and other men to the hooch tent. Carter left him alone for the
most part but threw him a wink every now and then. When she did, Sam and the
men around him elbowed him playfully. The attention made Steve blush but he was
also thankful for the reputation it was earning him around the lot. Carter, it
turned out, was highly sought after but hardly gave any of the men the time of
day. Steve had barely spoken to her since his first night in the hooch tent but
she always had a smile ready for him when she caught his eye during her routine
and because of that, many of the men had assumed Steve was some kind of lady
killer. Steve recognised a favour when he saw one and so it was very easy to
smile back at Carter, even as the men hooted and hollered around him.
There were another two new big reasons why the hooch tent was so popular among
the men, rubes and roustabouts alike, and they both belonged to a new dancer,
Darcy Lewis. Darcy had come to the show with her main squeeze only to find him
trying to skip out during the interval with another dame. Given that Darcy had
followed the cad to New York to be a dancer in his variety show (and, she’d
hoped, his wife) she saw no point in staying once she had broken things off
with him - loudly and publicly - in front of the entire spec.
She had auditioned for Fury that same night and Steve served her in the line
the next day at breakfast. She did not, he noticed, get relegated to stink duty
but she was so lovely to him and so feisty with Sam, Barnes and the other men
that he could not begrudge her for it. Her rapier wit even gave Tony a run for
his money - a trait which further endeared her to Steve.
Steve hadn’t had much to do with Tony since they met the first day on the lot
when Tony had given Steve lip about wanting to join up but Tony was generally
either found tinkering with or repairing things around the lot or trailing
after Virginia ‘Oh, call me ‘Pepper’ Potts, the other main draw of the hooch
tent. Steve could not work out if Tony and Pepper were actually an item or if
Tony was just hoping that they would be. Regardless, given the amount of time
Steve now spent at the hooch tent and Tony’s relationship (whatever it may be)
with Pepper, they saw a lot more of each other - a notion which Steve found
particularly disappointing.
Sam insisted that Tony was a not bad sort of guy - more of an acquired taste
than anything else - but he still rubbed Steve the wrong way. Pepper, in
contrast, was lovely and very helpful. She filled Steve in on how the hooch
tent operated when he expressed his concern for her and the girls’ safety. The
way the men hooted and catcalled as the girls danced didn’t sit right with
Steve at all.
“And what’s to stop them grabbing at you when you don’t want them to?” he asked
Pepper and Darcy one morning as they sat, smoking by the kitchens.
Pepper’s laugh was just a pretty and elegant as the rest of her. “Oh Steve,”
she said. “There’s always plenty of our own boys about to keep an eye on the
rubes.”
Darcy nodded. “Even when we do private dances, there's someone looking out for
us. Scared the hell out of me the first time one of the joes got a bit handsy
and Sam burst through the side of the tent."
Steve frowned and scrubbed harder at a piece of dried porridge that clung
stubbornly to the bowl he was washing. "Don't seem right." He muttered. "That
they treat you ladys as such."
Darcy's eyebrows shot up and Pepper laughed her tinkling laugh again. "Steven
Rogers, they broke the mould when they made you."
"I can see why you caught Carter's interest." Darcy confirmed.
Steve flushed and turned back to his dishes.
 
Steve, it seemed, had also caught Barnes' interest.
Much to Steve's surprise and delight and Sam's bemusement, other man sought
Steve out often between Steve's kitchen duties and his own regarding the spec
and the big cats. Barnes would sit with Steve as he prepared meals or would
help him fetch water, all the while chatting easily about the cats or the show,
telling Steve anecdotes from his past or speaking at length about his dealings
with training the cats. Steve felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate so
freely, as he kept a careful restraint on how he spoke about his past and his
upbringing. The guilt he felt and the anxiety that sometimes twisted in his gut
when he thought Barnes may have caught his gaze lingering meant that they still
often sniped at one another. More often than not, it was Steve's own sharp
tongue that provoked Barnes but nearly just often Barnes' said something
thoughtless that made Steve's hackles rise.
Sam said they argued like an old married couple. Steve said he was a damned
fool that should mind his own business.
 
Three weeks into the shows stay in New York, there was a scheduled rest day.
"No shows! No rubes! Freedom!" Sam groaned happily into the mattress of his
cot.
He had been out with the men the night before, stumbled in three sheets to the
wind just as the sun began to peak out over the lot and woken Steve up with his
loud, jovial singing. As a result he had slept until after noon and had only
woken up once Steve had come back from lunch to change his soiled shirt.
"And you've wasted half of it in bed." Steve commented, frowning as he tried to
work the fresh stain out of his shirt.
Sam laughed happily and then groaned good-naturedly and clutch at his head.
"Wasted? Psh. I have been recovering. That Lewis girl wiped the dance floor
clean with me last night. I am recuperating. Whoo."
Steve chuckled as he poured some more water over his shirt to rinse out the
soup before stringing it up on the clothesline he'd fashioned for them. It hung
across the length of the carriage and was much more effective than trying to
layout their wet things across their beds or the one small chair in the corner.
"Made some time with Darcy, didja?"
Sam beamed at him. "She is some girl, Steve. Some girl."
Steve grinned at his friend's besotted tone. He thought then of how Darcy's
eyebrows had leapt in surprise when he'd called her a lady.
"You should take her out next time you get a chance. Wine and dine her. Treat
her like a lady." He told Sam. "She'd like that."
Sam nodded, still grinning. "Treat that woman like a damn princess if it'd mean
she'd be my queen."
Steve felt his own eyebrows leap in surprise and he wondered if Sam was still a
little tippled. Sam eased himself into a sitting position, groaning.
"How come you didn't come out, anyway?" He asked.
Steve shrugged. "Bars and dance halls don't really agree with me." He admitted.
"Smoke ain't good for my lungs and getting turned down by dames ain't good for
my ego." He chose not to mention that he often got turned away at the door
because he looked even younger than his age.
Sam made an understanding noise. "Shame though. Carter had to lower herself to
dance with Barnes, still they make quite the pair. Showed all of us up when the
band got goin'".
Steve gnawed at his bottom lip, trying to ignore the tightness that flared in
his gut at Sam's words. He wasn't jealous. That would be ridiculous.
"Barnes asked after you." Sam said then and when Steve looked up sharply, the
other man was watching him with kind eyes.
Steve felt heat rise on his neck, felt cold panic morph and merge with the
tightness already present in his gut. "Oh?" He mumbled, turning back to his
shirt.
"Got a soft spot for you, he does." Sam continued and Steve rummaged through
his things in an effort to find a new shirt and do his best to ignore the other
man. "I ain't ever seen him buddy up to anyone like he has done with you."
"I thought you said roustabouts and performers couldn't be friends." Steve
countered.
Sam gave an exaggerate shrug. "Guess you and Barnes don't have a traditional
relationship." There was a suggestive lilt to his tone that Steve didn't like.
Steve finally found a shirt and shrugged on, angry. "I don't think I like what
you're implying." He told Sam tightly.
The suggestive tilt of Sam's mouth dropped away and his face softened. "Steve -
" he began but was cut off by a louder: "Hey, punk!"
Steve turned to find Barnes bounding up it the open carriage door. The other
man looked good, decked out in light brown trousers and an off-white shirt. His
dark hair was wet and curling around his ears as though he had just bathed.
Steve could imagine how Barnes skin would smell, clean and warm and fresh. He
shook his head to dismiss the thought and shot a glare look at Sam as the other
man began to snigger.
"Hey, jerk." Steve replied as Barnes stopped by the door. He was suddenly,
achingly aware how the exchange between them sounded almost like an endearment
and his skin flushed warmer.
Barnes was all smiles, oblivious to the tension he had stumbled into.
"You got a moment?" He asked Steve after nodding to Sam. "Got something I wanna
show you."
Steve chewed on his lip. He didn't have anywhere to be until that afternoon
when he needed to return to the Mess to help Frigga with dinner.
"Yeah, I got a moment." He replied, steadfastly refusing to look at Sam.
The other man's knowing grin was so large, Steve could see it out the corner of
his eye.
Luckily Barnes only seemed to have eyes for him and did not acknowledge Sam's
behaviour. He tapped out a fast rhythm on the floor of the carriage, grin
turning slightly manic when Steve agreed.
Steve ignored the hand Barnes offered to help him down from carriage and jumped
down himself. He also ignored Sam's overly-jovial "Have fun fellas!" as he
started off across the lot.
Barnes was still grinning when he fell into step beside Steve. It was beginning
to grate on Steve's nerves a little.
"What's so important you gotta pull me away from my laundry?" He asked bluntly.
His sour mood did little to perturb Barnes. The other man turned and Steve was
faced with the full wattage of his electric smile.
"I'm taking you in with the cats."
Chapter End Notes
     I am going to the States for two weeks so I'm not sure when the next
     chapter will be. Hopefully I have time to write whilst flying.
     Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading! Kudos
     and comments more than welcome!
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Summary
     The blood was Delilah’s. Her fur was matted with it from shoulder to
     waist and as she tried to lift her head, Steve caught a glimpse at
     the open wound of her throat. His stomach rolled and his breath,
     already heavy from crossing the lot, caught in his chest.
Chapter Notes
     Hello! I am so, so sorry about the wait for this chapter! Holidays
     and then the transition back into real life and work got in the way.
     Please forgive me?
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Steve stopped so suddenly that it took Barnes another two steps before he
realised Steve was no longer beside him and turned back.
“You’re what?” Steve asked, sure that he must have heard wrong.
Barnes smirked. He always enjoyed being able to shock Steve. Over the weeks,
Steve’s tolerance had gone up but that didn’t mean that Barnes wasn’t
occasionally able to slip something past his guard. This one took the cake,
though.
“I’m taking you in with the cats.” Barnes repeated.
“You’re joking.” Steve retorted.
Barnes shook his head. “Nope.”
Steve scoffed. “No, you are.” he replied. “Because I ain’t going in.”
Barnes raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t realise you were such a yellow belly.” he
challenged and Steve huffed, trying not to bristle at the challenge in Barnes’
tone.
“I ain’t.” he argued. “I just ain’t crazy like you.”
Barnes laughed, a wild sound that Steve felt only gave more credence to his own
line of argument.
“C’mon Rogers.” Barnes said then and Steve could tell immediately that the
other man had switched tactics. 

“Don’t even try.” he warned as Barnes looked
at him imploring me. “You got the saddest puppy-dog eyes in the city - and I
don’t mean that in a good way!”
Barnes stuck out his bottom lip in response. Steve could not help but laugh.
“You can’t guilt me into this one.” he told the other man. “This isn’t extra
porridge at breakfast. This is a potential life or death situation.”
“There ain’t enough meat on you to entice them to bite ya.” Barnes jibbed and
Steve rolled his eyes.
Steve folded his arms across his chest, his chin lifting stubbornly. A small
thrill raced down his spine when Barnes heaved out an exasperated sigh.
“Come on, Steve.” Barnes implored. “It’ll only be Khan. He’ll be fine.”
Steve frowned. “I don’t understand. You tell me over and over that the cats are
dangerous and not to underestimate them but now you-“
“Barnes!”
They both swung round at the sound of Barnes’ name being shouted across the
lot.
It was Logan. He looked half-wild, windswept from racing across the lot and
eyes wide with panic.
“Where the fuck have you been?!” the tall man shouted but did not leave time
for Barnes to reply. “You gotta come now. Dante’s attacked Delilah.”
Steve’s stomach swopped low. Delilah was the younger and smaller of the two
lionesses.
Barnes swore beside him. “Is it bad?” he asked.
Logan nodded, chest heaving. “We had to tranq him.” he said. “He wouldn’t let
her go.”
Barnes swore again and took off past Logan, towards the menagerie. Logan
followed without so much a glance at Steve.
Steve hurried after them as fast as his shorter legs and asthma would allow.
*
From Logan’s reaction, Steve knew that whatever Barnes was about to find in the
menagerie was going to be bad but as he pushed his way through the crowd that
had gathered in the entrance of the tent, he began to realise he had
underestimated just how bad it could be.
The coppery scent of blood hung close in the still air of the tent and as Steve
ducked between two roustabouts that he didn’t recognise, he caught his first
glimpse of the gruesome scene. Khan and the remaining lioness, Sekhmet, were
crowded in the far corner of the cats road cage. The lioness, who Steve
realised with a jolt, was both Dante’s and Delilah’s mother was making small
distressed noises as she looked over both her adult cubs, sprawled across the
carriage floor.
The blood was Delilah’s. Her fur was matted with it from shoulder to waist and
as she tried to lift her head, Steve caught a glimpse at the open wound of her
throat. His stomach rolled and his breath, already heavy from crossing the lot,
caught in his chest.
Barnes was being physically held back by Logan and Gabe. Fury stood between
them and the carriage.
“Let me go!” Barnes shouted. “You bastards, let me go!” He pushed at Logan,
only to be caught and held back by Gabe’s strong arms
“Barnes!” Fury barked, trying to demand the other man’s attention but Barnes
would not be distracted from his struggle.
He got free of Gabe’s hold and Steve realised suddenly that he was trying to
get into the carriage with the cats. His heart ached for his friend.
Logan reached out and caught Barnes once more by the back of his shirt. Steve
watched in awe as Barnes spun, as graceful as any dancer, and socked the bigger
man straight across the jaw. Logan stumbled and Barnes, though unsteady from
being released so suddenly, hit the ground running.
Fury did not try to stop him and in a few moments, Barnes was heaving himself
onto the end of the carriage, his fingers fumbling with the lock and latch on
the cage. Steve’s legs started moving without conscious thought and by the time
Barnes had let himself into the carriage, Steve stood beside Fury, watching
with open-mouthed awe as Barnes threw himself to his knees beside Delilah’s
prone form without a second glance at the two other cats, still huddled in the
corner of the cage.
Steve watched as the blood soaked into the knees of Barnes’ trousers, wincing
when his friend’s hand slid from beneath him as he crawled closer to the
injured lion. Despite the distance between them, Steve could see the shine of
tears on Barnes’ face as he reached Delilah’s head and took in the extent of
the damage.
The rough, wet noise that Barnes made at the sight was echoed by the terrified
lioness in front of him and Steve’s heart broke as he watched Barnes extend a
hand out to smooth over her matted fur.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Barnes told her, voice rough and strained. “Hey, lady. Hey,
doll.”
Steve watched as Khan lowered himself onto his belly with a low whine. Sekhmet
gave another keening cry, but remained at Khan’s side.
Barnes lifted Delilah’s head gently into his lap, all the while petting her
giant ears and repeating his soft greeting to her over and over until his voice
choked off completely.
Steve was not sure how long he watched his friend as each painful moment that
slipped by seemed to last hours but eventually, the heavy rise and fall of
Delilah’s shoulders shallowed and then stopped all together.
“Delilah?” Barnes asked softly, peering down at her face and then a moment
later, sobbed and curled around her large head.
Steve tried to blink away the wetness clouding his own vision but was only
partially successful.
Beside him, Fury turned and approached the tent’s entrance.
“Show’s over.” Steve heard him say. “Get back to work.”
A hand clasped Steve’s shoulder and he looked up to find Gabe standing beside
him, face solemn.
“Go get your lad.” the taller man told him and Steve found he did not have the
will to fight the sentiment. “We gotta get him and Dante out before he wakes
up.”
For the first time, Steve’s attention caught on the other cat’s prone form. It
seemed unfair that his chest still rose and fell with deep, lumbering breaths
when he had stopped his sister’s from doing so. Steve slipped out of Gabe’s
hold and approached the carriage where Barnes was now rocking over Delilah’s
prone from, bent almost in half as he pressed his forehead to her still
shoulder.
Steve swallowed, not wanting to intrude on Barnes’ grief and hating the
necessity of doing so.
“Hey Barnes?” he said softly. “Gabe says you gotta get out before Dante wakes
up.”
Barnes only clutched Delilah’s body harder, fingers sinking deep into her
ruined fur. Steve drew up to the bars of the cage and tried again.
“Barnes?”
Given the situation, Steve felt wrong addressing Barnes by his last name. It
seemed too formal, too unfeeling. But Steve had never once called the other man
by his given name and it felt equally strange shaping his mouth around it.
“James?” he said quietly as he drew level with the bars of the cage.
Barnes’ only response was to turn his face away from Steve. Steve bit his lip.
He watched Khan and Sekhmet closely and when he was sure they were not about to
move, he extended his arm out between the bars of the cage and tentatively
rested his hand over Barnes ankle. Barnes’ trouser hem had ridden up and his
sock had fallen so Steve’s hand rested against strip of skin that was exposed.
“Please, James. They have to get her out before he wakes up.” he tried again
and this time, Barnes sniffed and drew his legs under himself.
Steve watched as the other man pressed a kiss to the fur behind Delilah’s ear
and then rose unsteadily to his feet. Khan rumbled out a growl which made Steve
retract his arm quickly. Barnes looked over at the tiger as though he was
seeing him for the first time, body going rigid as if he had only just realised
how much danger he was in. Khan murmured again but then eased his head onto the
ground between his massive paws. It was only his tail, which flicked back and
forth between the bars behind him, that gave away his anxiety.
Sekhmet did not move from Khan’s side but she did turn her face away from
Barnes, as though she was trying to look around him to where her cubs lay.
Barnes eased past them, putting as much room between himself and the two
agitated cats as possible before slipping out of the cage and securing the door
with shaking hands. He stumbled as he lowered himself down from the carriage
and Steve was quick to step in and catch the bigger man, helping him to right
himself again.
Barnes didn't meet his eye but he didn’t step away from Steve even once he was
back on his feet either. Instead, he leant into Steve, sagged down to rest
gently against Steve’s shoulder where it caught him under the arm. Steve
swallowed hard and tried hard to ignore the stickiness of the blood under his
hand where it rested against Barnes’ shirt. Pain was etched across every
handsome line of the taller man’s face and Steve watched, close up, as Barnes
squeezed his eyes shut, forcing more tears to leak out onto his cheeks.
“Barnes.” Fury said and when Barnes opened his eyes, they were already glassy
with fresh tears.
Steve wanted throw his arms around the other man’s neck and not let go until he
was out of tears but instead, settled for slinging his arm around Barnes’ waist
as though he was working harder to keep Banres upright than he actually was.
“Get out of here.” Fury told them. “We’ll get Dante into a solitary cage and
the others into a spare road coach. I’ll have the men clear out the incinerator
and while cremate her. That way we don’t have to leave her here once we move
on.”
Barnes took a deep, unsteady breath and nodded, but kept his eyes downcast.
Fury met Steve’s eye.
“Take him to his trailer and get him a stiff drink.” the Ringmaster ordered and
Steve nodded despite not knowing where Barnes’ trailer actually was.
Apparently satisfied, Fury turned and left. Steve watched the other man leave
before turning back to Barnes, only to find his friend watching as Sekhmet
sniffed cautiously at her daughter’s body. It was a heartbreaking sight. Even
more so when the older lioness bunted her head against Delilah’s as though
trying to rouse her from a doze.
Steve felt tears prick in the corners of his own eyes and he nudged Barnes,
trying to steal his attention away. It worked and Barnes’ eyes left the cage to
stare down at their feet once more.
“C’mon.” Steve said, voice rough with barely contained emotion.
He nudged Barnes again and, just as Fury returned with five other men, Steve
coaxed his friend out of the tent.
*
Barnes didn’t speak as they made their way across the lot and though he
continued to lean against Steve’s shoulder, he directed Steve with small nods
of his head and lead them to his trailer. Steve did not speak either for lack
of knowledge of what to say. He assumed that, for Barnes, losing Delilah was
like losing a pet. The only pet Steve had ever had, a mangy scruff of a dog
that Steve had named Charlie, had died when Steve was 10 - a short three years
after it had followed Steve and his mother home from the grocery.
Steve had been so distraught that he’d cried himself into an asthma attack -
twice. After that, his father had banned pets in their household. When Steve
thought about Charlie, his chest still ached with emotion so he could only
imagine what Barnes was going through having lost Delilah, whom he had worked
with and trained for years, so suddenly. On top that, Steve just knew that he
would somehow say the wrong thing and make the situation worse so he kept
quiet.
Barnes’ rooms were further along the length of the train than Steve had ever
had purpose to go and consisted of two consecutive carriages. The carriages
were painted a deep royal blue, made of sturdy well-crafted wood and left Steve
and Sam’s drafty one room carriage for dead.
Barnes let them into the second carriage and Steve tried not to boggle too much
as he hoisted himself up through the doorway after his friend. The carriage
contained a double cot which was piled with pillows and a mattress that looked
at least twice width of Steve’s. Two comfortable armchairs sat beside a small
table and record player took up the corner opposite the water closet.
Barnes crossed the carriage and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, toeing off
his boots. Steve bit his lip, aware that the blood on Barnes’ trousers was more
than likely staining his sheets. Barnes either did not notice or did not care.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly.
Barnes blinked away his thousand-yard stare and met Steve’s eye for the first
time since he had emerged from the cat’s cage. His eyes held the emotion he was
obviously working hard to suppress and it was a struggle for Steve, who felt he
should leave and let Barnes grieve privately, to keep Barnes’ gaze. Then,
Barnes gave a jerky twist to his head, a single shake. He wanted Steve to stay.
“Figure that -“ Barnes’ voice was rough and he stopped to clear his throat
noisily into the side of his fist. “Figure that if I start drinking alone - I
probably won’t stop. At least with you here, there’ll be someone to pry the
bottle from my fingers later.”
The grin Barnes forced onto his face was a broken wreck of a thing and when
Steve could not find the strength to return it, it immediately fell from
Barnes’ lips.
“Hooch is under the player, next to the records. Throw something on, will ya?”
Barnes said, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his right hand.
Steve did as he was told. He found a bottle of expensive looking whiskey under
the player and grabbed the first record in the stack beside it, carefully
sliding it out of its dust cover and laying it on the player before dropping
the needle to it. It crackled warmly before a softly tinkle of a piano started
up.
“I’ll never smile again…” Frank Sinatra crooned and Barnes gave a hollow laugh.
“Jeez, punk. You sure can pick ‘em.”
Steve flushed. “I’ll put something else on.” he said hurriedly but Barnes waved
a dismissive hand.
“Forget it. It’s fine. Or it will be once I get some of that whiskey in me.”
Steve bit his lip and crossed the carriage to hand Barnes the bottle. The other
man uncorked it an took a swig straight from the neck of the bottle, wincing as
it obviously burnt on the way down. Barnes then tilted the neck of the bottle
towards Steve.
“Not gonna let me drink alone, are ya?” he prompted when Steve didn’t
immediately take the bottle back from him
Steve shook his head and palmed the bottle back. He made the mistake of
inhaling before the bottle reached his lips and he coughed slightly at the
potency of the smell coming from the bottle. Barnes huffed.
“It ain’t for smellin’” he groused just as Steve worked up the nerve to raise
the bottle to his lips and take a long slug.
It burnt all the way down his throat before settling warm in his gut. He gave a
full bodied shiver and passed the bottle back. Barnes took another swig
immediately and then seemed to catch sight of his trousers and the mess they
were making of his bed spread.
“Ah, hell!” he cursed and stood.
He dumped the bottle on the small table between the armchairs and began to pull
at his clothes. His shirt went first. Barnes didn’t even bother with the
buttons, just pulled it up and over his head, causing his undershirt to bunch
up and for a brief moment, Steve was blessed with a tantalising glimpse of the
well defined muscles of Barnes’ stomach and chest.
Steve flushed and looked away. There were two framed pictures hanging on the
wall by the door and Steve stepped closed to get a better look. The first was a
shot of a woman cradling a sleeping baby wile a little boy clutched at her
skirts, warily eyeing the camera. Steve realised suddenly that the little boy
with the wary eyes and the mess of dark curls was Barnes, who couldn’t have
been more than four or five. He was awfully cute and despite everything, Steve
found himself smiling softly.
The second picture was Barnes as well, older and more recognisable, grinning
softly at the camera and cradling two lion cubs, one under each arm. Steve’s
smile dropped, knowing that the cubs were Dante and Delilah. He swallowed and
turned, not wanting Barnes to catch him looking at the picture and draw
attention to it.
Barnes was watching him. He was also wearing naught but his drawers, his ruined
trousers still clutched in his fist. Steve could not help the way his eyes
followed the lines of Barnes chest and stomach, down to the thick corded
muscles of his thighs. He swallowed and ripped his gaze away, hoping
desperately that Barnes was too lost in his grief to recognise the lingering
look for what it was.
Barnes, however, was not watching Steve’s face but rather the space over his
left shoulder - the photograph of himself and the cubs - and Steve would have
sighed with relief if it weren’t for the way Barnes expression crumpled. He
cleared his throat instead, wanting to say something to draw Barnes attention
but upon opening his mouth, finding he had nothing to say. He shut it again.
Thankfully, it was enough and Barnes seemed to come back to himself, realise he
was wearing nothing but his drawers and attempt to do something about it all at
once. He hauled a trunk from beneath his cot and from it retrieved a pair of
flannel sleeping pants, slipping them on before returning to his spot on the
bed. He made no move to put on a shirt and Steve felt his cheeks flush hot as
Barnes took another long swig from the bottle.
“Come keep a fella company.” Barnes said, patting the space beside him and
Steve moved, on stiff legs, to take residence on the other side of the bed.
Barnes handed the bottle to him and he took an obedient sip, much smaller than
the last, before handing it back. The last thing he needed was the alcohol to
loosen his tongue or steel away his ability to maintain control over his bodily
responses. Having Barnes so close, half-naked and on a bed seemed like
something out of one of Steve’s dreams - the ones that left him hard and aching
against the thin cot of his mattress and desperately hoping he had not mumbled
anything loud enough for Sam to hear before he woke.
Barnes seemed satisfied though, taking another pull from the bottle before
resting it between his thighs with a heat sigh.
“Do you - do you want to talk?” Steve asked tentatively.
Barnes shrugged. “Talkin’ ain’t gonna fix it.” he pointed out.
Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted to do right by his
friend - because Barnes was his friend, social conventions of the Big Top be
damned - but he had no experience with helping people cope with loss. He had no
idea what to say.
Barnes sighed again. “Shit.” he cursed. “What a mess.”
Steve nodded solemnly. Sinatra continued to croon in the background.
“I don’t know what to do now.” Barnes admitted softly - like he was revealing a
secret.
Steve swallowed and placed a cautious hand on the other man’s bare shoulder.
“You’ll work something out.” he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging
manner.
In honesty, Steve was having a hard time focusing on anything beside the warm
expanse of flesh under his hand. At best, he knew that made him a terrible
friend. At worst, an invert. He removed his hand just as Barnes turned his sad
eyes from the bottle to Steve’s face.
“Last time we lost a cat was because I shot it dead.”
Steve blinked. He hadn’t realised that.
“When we lost Lucifer, the cubs were still to young to perform. We only had
their mother and Khan in the ring each night.”
Barnes looked away and took another swig from the whiskey.
“Ticket sales dropped by more than half. We had to sell three carriages and two
specialty tents to cover Fury’s hospital bills and pay the men. It damn near
ruined us.”
Steve sat up a little straighter as he realised that Barnes wasn’t just
grieving but also worrying about his entire livelihood. Suddenly, the death
grip the other man had around the neck of the whiskey bottle made more sense.
“What happened wasn’t your fault.” he assured the other man. “Now or then.”
Barnes shrugged and took another drink. Steve could tell that he did not
believe him.
There was a heavy beat of silence before Barnes groaned and scrubbed his free
hand roughly across his face.
“This hooch is going straight to my head.” he said and Steve recognised it for
the dismissal it was.
He eyed the bottle surreptitiously as he stood. There wasn’t a lot left. Not
nearly enough for Barnes to do any real damage to himself - unless he had
another bottle stashed away. However, Steve wanted to give him the benefit of
the doubt.
“Don’t drink too much.” he told Barnes, trying to sound both stern and
supportive. “Everything will seem better tomorrow.”
Barnes scoffed and took another swig. “Yes, mother.” he spot back.
Steve gave him a flat and surprisingly, Barnes’ mouth twitched upwards. It
lasted just long enough for him to send Steve off with one of his trademark
salutes, bottle and all.
*
Steve was smiling as he let himself down from Barnes’ trailer but it did not
last. As he made his way down the line of the train, towards his own carriage,
he found himself wondering if he had actually managed to cheer Barnes up at
all. He doubted it but he didn’t know how to make it right - particularly if
Barnes was heaping his fears about ticket sales on top of his grief.
Sam was out when Steve returned to their trailer. Steve hauled himself in and
stood for a moment, just looking. It was hard not to compare the bare walls and
sparseness of their carriage to the extravagance of Barnes’ but he didn’t envy
the other man for a moment. Barnes’ courage and handwork had earned him his
spot in the show’s line-up and all the perks that went along with it.
Still, that didn’t mean his and Sam’s carriage couldn’t do without a tub up.
Painting was out. Steve didn’t even know if they were allowed and at any rate,
the fumes set his asthma off - something his parents had found out when they’d
tried to paint the apartment when Steve was twelve. Similarly, he doubted
whether wall paper would adhere to the uneven wood panelling of the walls.
In his parents’ apartment, the walls had been lined with photographs - another
impossibility - and…his drawings. Steve paused, biting his lip in
contemplation, suddenly realising what he could offer Barnes in an effort to
cheer him up.
Inspired, he pulled his suitcase from beneath his cot, ratting through his
clothes until he found the two graphite pencils he’d brought with him. His
sketchbook had been to big and too awkward to carry so he’d left it behind but
there were a stack of flyers on the overturned crate between his and Sam’s cot.
Sam had been roped into helping hand out flyers earlier in the week to
advertise the show. It was hot, boring work according to Sam and he and the
other men had packed it in after a couple of neighbourhoods so there were
plenty of flyers left over.
Steve scooped up the discard stack, climbed onto his bed and - with one pencil
tucked behind his ear and the other in his hand - began to draw.
Chapter End Notes
     So there you have it. Please drop me a line and let me know what you
     think! Con-crit and comments are ALWAYS welcome.
     OR you can swing by and hang out with me on tumblr and we can squee
     about these two goobers together.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Summary
     Steve had been pushing down and ignoring urges like the ones Barnes
     inspired within him for what felt like his whole life. But Barnes was
     so much more than the men Steve would sneak glances at when he took
     his father’s lunch down to the docks. So much more than Sarah
     O’Connor’s older brother that would pick her up from school every
     Friday afternoon.
     So much more. Just - so much more.
     And it was so much harder for Steve to ignore the flame in his gut
     that sparked bright every time he looked at Barnes and wanted.
Chapter Notes
     I am so sorry that this chapter took so long. Please don't hate me...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
By the time Steve had to return to the Mess to help Frigga prepare the evening
meal, he had the rough line work of his sketch done and was already more than a
little frustrated. His hand was unpractised and had cramped more than once
which made him dread finishing the shadowing of the piece. Even though it had
been less than a month since he had last drawn, he was rusty in a way that he
had never experienced before - even during times when he was unable to hold a
pencil for days on end because of one malay or another. He just wanted the
piece to be perfect - so good that it would help to raise Barnes’ spirits after
all that had happened.
He thought about Barnes and the piece all through the afternoon and was so
distracted that Frigga had to repeat her instructions a number of times. The
news of what had happened had obviously travelled fast though because every
time Steve shook himself out of his own thoughts and apologised for not having
heard what Frigga had said, she just gave him a small soft smile and repeated
herself.
Steve saw the same soft look from both Pepper and Darcy as they filed through
the line for their evening meal. Sam - who he hadn’t seen since that morning -
and the other roustabouts gave him solemn nods rather than jibe him about the
appearance or smell of the food as they usually did. Apparently, he and Barnes
spent so much time together that others now recognised them as a duo. The
thought mad his heart ache for Barnes, who - despite having such a long history
with the show - did not seem to have ever had a friend before.
After dinner and once the bulk of the washing up had been done, Frigga shooed
Steve away with a plate of leftovers.
“Grief doesn’t do much for appetite.” she told him. “But the boy needs to eat.”
Steve nodded and did not mention the half bottle of whiskey that Barnes had
sucked down on an empty stomach. He thanked her graciously and set out for
Barnes’ rooms.
Walking so far up the line still felt odd to Steve and the feeling was only
exacerbated by the fact that some of the other performers were also returning
to their carriages. The red head from the knife throwing act - Natasha, Barnes
had called - watched him with cool calculating eyes as he hurried by the open
mouth of her car but when he dared to glance back at her, he thought he
might’ve seen her smile.
There was no response when he knocked on Barnes’ carriage which did not
surprise Steve. If he himself had drank as much as Barnes - and on an empty
stomach - he’d be asleep on his feet. Still, he did not want to leave the food
out in the elements to spoil and, he reasoned, Barnes would certainly be
sleeping so heavily that Steve would not wake him if he simply put the food
down and left.
Decision made, Steve hauled the carriage door open just enough to squeeze
through and pulled himself up before fetching the plate he had left resting on
the lip of the car. The carriage was illuminated by the dim light of the lamp
by Barnes bedside and Barnes - as Steve had guessed - was strew across his bed,
still fully clothed and dirtying the covers with the mud on his boots. He was
also snoring softly.
The side of Steve’s mouth tugged upwards as he took in his friend’s sleeping
form. Barnes had never looked so unguarded, so young. Sleep smoothed out his
features in a way Steve had never seen before and hid the hardness that
sometimes crept into the corners of the other man’s blue eyes.
It wasn't until Steve moved to place the plate of food on the beside table that
he noticed the bottles, one empty and another only a quarter full, nestled next
to one another at the side of the bed. Steve felt the smile slip from his face
and he threw another worried glance over Barnes.
He didn’t know a lot about alcohol. It wasn’t something that had ever factored
heavily in his life except afterwards, when his father had locked himself in
his work shed and drank himself into a drunken, sloppy rage. Steve winced as
the memory of the sweetly rotten tang of rum on his father’s breath washed over
him.
“Ste’eb?”
Steve started at the sound and his eyes snapped back to find Barnes gazing at
him blearily.
“Hey.” he replied. “I brought you some dinner.”
Barnes smiled dopily and stretched, groaning when his joints popped.
“Al’ys lookin’ out f’me.” he mumbled and made a move to sit up, only to groan
and lay back down. “R’ms spinnin’” he admitted.
Steve huffed. “Of course it’s spinning. You drank the wrong side of an entire
bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach, you ninny.”
Barnes frowned and threw an arm across his eyes.
“I brought you some dinner.” Steve said then but Barnes just groaned again.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to tell Frigga you said that about her
cooking.” he warned.
From beneath his arm, Barnes’ lips curved upwards.
“Punk.” he breathed and Steve managed a smile in response.
“Jerk.” he replied.
Barnes smile grew wider and he removed the arm across his eyes to scrub at his
face. Steve could see the other man’s five o’clock shadow coming in around his
jaw.
“You should eat something.” Steve prodded.
“Yes, mother.” Barnes replied but the jibe held no bite. It was the second time
he’d said it to Steve in the one day.
He squinted up at Steve and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Barnes was
handsome. Noone could deny that - male or female. But sprawled out on his
sheets, limbs long, hair ruffled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and lips red
from too many swigs from the bottle; he was somehow beyond that.
Steve had been pushing down and ignoring urges like the ones Barnes inspired
within him for what felt like his whole life. But Barnes was so much more than
the men Steve would sneak glances at when he took his father’s lunch down to
the docks. So much more than Sarah O’Connor’s older brother that would pick her
up from school every Friday afternoon.
Just - so much more.
And it was so much harder for Steve to ignore the flame in his gut that sparked
bright every time he looked at Barnes and wanted.
With a start, Steve realised he had been staring at Barnes for a inordinate
amount of time. He flushed and looked away but not before realising Barnes had
been watching him too.
“I’m gonna go.” he said to his feet. “Leave you to sleep it off.”
Barnes only hummed but as Steve lowered himself from the carriage, he also
called out a soft thank-you.
“Good night, James.” Steve called back and grinned when the name made Barnes
sqwark.
“Good night, you punk.” echoed from the carriage as Steve pulled the door to.
*
Sam was back at their carriage when Steve returned and Steve had to work hard
to keep the disappointment from his face. He had wanted to finish his drawing
of Barnes but did not feel like he could with the other man around. Especially
not when the first question out of Sam’s mouth was:
“How’s your boy doin’?”
Steve shook his head. “He ain’t my anything.” he said, meaner than he meant to.
Sam held his hands up in surrender. “He’s your friend.” he amended.
Steve sighed. “Sorry.” he muttered as he crossed to his bunk and began to pull
at his laces. “Long day.”
Sam nodded and Steve remembered with a jolt that Sam had been the one men to
clean up in the menagerie.
“So how’s he doin’?” Sam repeated.
“He’s drunk.” Steve admitted and Sam nodded.
“Understandably.”
Steve pulled off his unlaced boots and tucked then under his coat. Sam was
watching him when he straightened up.
“How are you doin’?” Sam asked and Steve shrugged, not knowing how to answer.
“I -” he began but then stopped. “I haven’t ever seen that much blood.” he said
finally.
Sam nodded.
There was a beat of silence and Steve suddenly remembered something Barnes had
said.
“Barnes said last time, last time when -” Steve cleared his throat. “When
Lucifer…”
Sam nodded, urging Steve on.
“He said ticket sales dropped. Badly.” Steve concluded.
Sam sighed. “Yeah.” he breathed after a moment. “They did.”
Steve’s stomach dropped. “He thinks it’s his fault. Then and now. He’s worried
that -”
Sam was shaking his head. “It isn’t. It wasn’t. Things got -” he paused for a
moment, as if looking for the right word. “Bad last time. We didn’t eat more
than a single meal a day for about three weeks straight and people get pretty
testy when they’re hungry.”
Steve bit his lip.
“But it was - we’d seen worse. People were just glad that Fury made it. He’s
the best Ringleader we’ve had.”
Steve thought on that for a moment. “You’ve said that before.” he observed.
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“When I first arrived.” Steve explained. “You said Fury was ‘fairer’ than the
last Ringleader. What did you mean by that?”
Sam ran a hand over his face.
“Has anyone told you about Pierce?” he asked in a tone that made Steve sit up a
little straighter on his cot.
Steve shook his head and Sam took a deep breath, as though steadying himself.
“Pierce was Ringleader before Fury.” Sam clarified. “He was - well, he was
downright scum.”
Steve felt his eyes widen.
“He took the largest percentage of the alfalfa and paid his top acts just
enough to keep them around. Fed the animals before he fed the men. We only got
paid if there was enough let over. People were dispensable to him.” Sam said
all at once and Steve’s mind reeled as he tried to take in the information.
Sam swallowed and Steve watched his Adam’s apple bob.
“He used to red-light people.” Sam said then, softer.
Steve frowned in confusion and when Sam looked up, he laughed hollowly at the
expression on Steve’s face.
“You don’t know what red-lighting is, huh?”
Steve shook his head and Sam’s mouth formed a thin, unhappy line.
“When the money was tight - and it was almost always tight with him skimping
off the top - he didn’t have enough money to pay the men. Sometimes, people
spoke up. And sometimes, those people disappeared.”
Steve’s breath caught around a gasp.
“In the end, he’d only have to hear a whisper that someone had said something
and his henchmen would come for them in the night and by the time the train
stopped the next morning, they’d be gone.”
“He had them thrown from a moving train?” Steve cried.
“He had them murdered.” Sam corrected. “Let’s call it what it was.”
Steve swallowed hard.
“How many?”
Sam shook his head.
“Hard to say. I knew at least half a dozen of the men that disappeared. But
there were others. Countless others.”
“Why didn’t anyone stop him?” Steve demanded.
Sam snorted. “He was in charge. Made the decision whether we ate or went
hungry. Made the decision if we made it to the next stop or if we…didn’t.”
Steve felt sick. He knew enough of the crew to know that more than a quarter of
them were with the show when Fury had taken over, including Barnes.
“What happened to Pierce?” he asked.
Sam sighed, opened his mouth and then seemed to think better and closed it
again. Steve watched the other man wrestle with himself and felt his stomach
twist tight. By the time Sam seemed to come to terms with his answer, Steve
felt as though he already knew the answer.
“It was Barnes.”
Steve’s breath caught again.
“He killed him?”
Sam nodded, face grim.
“But he…” Steve paused, trying to work the numbers out in his head. “He was
only sixteen when Fury got hurt.”
Sam hung his head. “I know.”
“So he was - when…?” Steve trailed off.
“Just newly fifteen.”
Steve ran his hands through his hair to hide the fact that they had begun to
shake.
“Did he shoot him?” he asked, thinking of Lucifer and the men that had taught
Barnes to fire a gun.
Sam shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this.” he said then.
“What?” Steve asked.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been told before. Barnes had killed a man - a bad
man, but a man none the less.
“It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Sam tried to explain.
“Does everyone know?” Steve asked.
Sam’s mouth returned to the thin, unhappy line. He dipped his head once.
“So why didn’t-“ Steve began but then stopped. “Why-I mean, what-”
He felt shaken to his core, blindsided. He could not reconcile the man that had
cried over Delilah, who called Steve ‘punk’ and made it sound like a
endearment, who tried to scam seconds at every meal with his stupid pulp-dog
eyes, who had fast become the closest thing to a best friend that Steve had
ever had and who had looked so devastatingly handsome, sprawled drunkenly
across his bed was the same man who had-
Sam shook his head again, effectively silencing Steve’s broken questions and
his disjointed thought process.. “No disrespect but you don’t know all the
facts-”
“So tell me!” Steve demanded.
Sam’s jaw tightened, his mouth pursing harshly. “I’ve already said too much.”
he argued. “Believe me, Steve.”
Steve watched his friend for a long moment but Sam didn’t falter. His breath
left him at the realisation he was not going to get the answers he wanted - the
answers he needed - from Sam.
Sam deflated a moment after he had.
“Try not to think on it.” he suggested. “Barnes did us all a favour.
Seriously.”
Steve bit his lip and nodded. Sam seemed satisfied and lay down in his cot,
pulling out an old comic from beneath his pillow. Steve had seen Sam read it at
least twice before but he appreciated the effort that his friend dedicated to
making it seem as though he wasn’t watching him.
Steve lay down on his own cot and turned his back to Sam, staring hard at the
wall and trying to align his thoughts.
*
Later, after Sam had fallen asleep - his comic spread over his chest and his
boots still on - Steve fished out his half-finished sketch from beneath his
pillow and stared at the lines of Barnes’ face. He had drawn Barnes smiling -
an expression that Steve coveted and cherished - but suddenly Barnes looked
like a stranger and his smile seemed distorted and wrong.
Steve sighed and folded the picture in two, hiding Barnes’ smiling face from
view. He considered it for a second longer, wondering if he should tear into
pieces. He wanted to.
He sighed and instead, tucked the drawing back beneath his pillow.
Chapter End Notes
     Love it? Hate it? Please let me know.
     Or come hang out with me on Tumblr and squee about these goobers.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Steve.” Barnes said, a plaintive note in his voice. “Why did you
     leave?”
     Steve let out an unsteady breath.
     “Because I had to.”
Chapter Notes
     Once again, sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this instalment.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Barnes did not show up for breakfast in the morning. Steve helped Frigga serve
and then sat with Sam and the other men and ate his porridge and drank his
coffee in silence, unable to even plaster a smile across his face to ward off
Sam’s increasingly worried glances.
Inside, Steve was in knots and it seemed as though every inch of his mind was
taken over with trying to reconcile his friend and the man he thought he knew
with someone who was capable of the things Sam said Barnes had done. His months
with the show had shown him a slither of what life could be like when times
were tough and he knew that sometimes desperate times called for desperate
measures - but murder?
Steve swallowed, hard, trying to shift the uneasiness that had settled in his
gut.
Sam had said that Pierce was the worst kind of man - that he had killed others,
or at least, given the orders for them to be killed, that he was greedy and
didn’t provide for the people who were under his care but even when Steve tried
to focus on that element of it - he could not imagine Barnes killing someone.
Sure, Barnes looked tough and spoke rough but it had only taken Steve a matter
of weeks to see passed that to the man Barnes really was - the man who cried
when one of his charges died, who cradled Delilah’s head in his lap and talked
softly to her as she slipped away, who had a younger sister that he was
fiercely proud of, who always called Frigga ‘Ma’am’, who missed his own
adoptive mother and often spoke of her fondly.
The picture of Barnes that Steve had been building in his head, with every
small bit of information that he gleaned either from or about the other man,
had been dashed by Sam’s revelation - seemingly irrevocably shattered by the
truth of what Barnes was actually capable of.
Steve took a swig from his coffee and winced when he discovered it was luke
warm. When he looked up, he was surprised to find the table empty, the other
men having left and cleared their trays whilst he was lost inside his own head.
Sam watched him from the other side of the table.
“I never should have said nothin’.” The other man said wearily.
Steve flexed his jaw in an effort to keep it closed. There were others on the
tables around them and all Steve wanted to do was shout at Sam to tell him
more, to give him all the details, to try and help him understand why Barnes
had done what he did and why there hadn’t been any repercussions.
Sam watched him for a moment longer before glancing over both his shoulders to
make sure there was none else within earshot, before leaning across the table,
his features settling into a hard, stern look.
“You can sit there with a face like a slapped ass all you like but I warned you
about Barnes from the start.” Sam whispered heatedly. “I warned you and you
still trailed after him like a lost puppy so don’t act like the guy’s a saint
when I told you-”

The uneasiness is Steve’s stomach had begun to twist itself into something
darker, something hotter.
“You’re gonna wanna stop talkin’.” He told Sam and his voice was just as low,
had twice the edge and made Sam blink in surprise.
“What-?” Sam started.
“You don’t know him.” Steve said, trying hard to keep his voice down but not
entirely succeeding. “You don’t know him at all. Ain’t no one here does.”
Sam shook his head. “I’d wager you’re right. He’s been here since he was a baby
and he ain’t got a friend in the world. But there’s a reason for that.”
“It ain’t him.” Steve shot back. “He ain’t the reason.”
Sam scoffed. “He is.” he argued. “People are scared of him.”
“Because they don’t know him!” Steve retorted.
“No, kid.” Sam said and Steve’s anger flared hot at the nickname. “Because they
do. Because they know what happened and they know
what he’s capable of.”
“So tell me!” Steve begged. “Tell me so I can make up my own mind. Hell, you
said it yourself - you warned me off him! Tell me and I’ll stay away from him.”
Sam looked a little chagrin at that. “Now, that ain’t what I meant. We all have
things in our past that we wouldn’t want people to judge us on and -”
Steve made a harsh noise of frustration in his throat that was so loud it cut
Sam off and made two of the men on the table by theirs turn around and consider
Steve with matching bemused expressions. Steve flushed and turned his face
away.
Sam smiled at the men over his shoulder and did not turn back to Steve until
they had looked away again. When he spoke next, it was in an even quieter
whisper.
“Look, Steve, these last two months - Barnes ain’t been the same. He’s been -
nicer, friendlier. I’ve even seen him making an effort to talk to people
besides Fury and the menagerie men. Hell, he came out dancin’ with us all the
other night and I coulda sworn he was flirtin’ with Carter-”
Steve pointedly ignored the swopping sensation in his gut and continued to
stare down hard at the table.
“But he ain’t ever been like that before. There’s something in his head that’s
not right, you understand? He was twelve when Pierce arrived and he spent three
years working as a 24-hour man and not saying a word to anyone. Used to steal
the men’s pistols and shoot at cans until he ran out of ammo. Then he - well -
then after Pierce, Fury takes over and all of a sudden, Barnes is in with the
big cats. He starts talking again, gets on the Bill and starts giving orders.
Then he shoots Lucifer - straight between the eyes, mind - and people start to
realise there’s a trend. That the kid is fifteen and good at killing and that’s
just downright unsettling. Seeing him covered head to toe in blood yesterday
brought back a lot of bad memories for a lot of people and -”
Steve’s head whipped up at that.
“Why?” he demanded. “When else was he covered in blood?”
Sam frowned. “You know when.” he said, tone heavy with implication.
Steve swallowed. Pierce, his brain supplied, Barnes had been covered in blood
when he had killed Pierce. Which meant he’d been close. Close enough to wound
Pierce badly enough that he’d bled enough to cover Barnes with it.
Steve’s stomach rolled and he was on his feet before he registered moving.
*
He made it outside the Mess, slipping between a part in the canvas, before the
contents of his stomach reemerged with enough force to knock him to his knees.
He coughed and spluttered and winced as the acidic smell of vomit burnt along
his nasal passage and down the back of his throat.
“Ah, hell.” he heard Sam mutter behind him and then there was a warm hand
rubbing smoothing circles on his back.
Steve heaved again and winced some more as the bile caught in his throat and
made him cough. God, the last thing he needed was an asthma attack.
“I’m fine.” he muttered, pushing back into Sam’s hand and resting on his
haunches. “Sorry. I’m okay.”
“Yeah.” Sam said and it seemed to acknowledge Steve’s claim and justify his
reaction all at once.
Steve sighed. “Just caught me by surprise - the image of it.”
Sam helped him to his feet. “Then maybe now you can see why people are wary of
him?”
Steve considered his friend’s face for a long moment but all he found there was
a genuine concern that made him feel a little nauseous all over again. Sam
thought he was doing the right thing by trying to protect Steve but Steve was
still not convinced he needed protecting from Barnes - especially when he
thought about how Barnes had looked asleep and vulnerable on his bed the night
before.
“They’re wrong.” Steve said. “Sam, they are. He ain’t bad.”
Sam sighed.
“He’s not!” Steve said. “God knows he’s got an exterior on him like the wrong
side of a cactus but its only for show. And he - you said he did those things
because people were suffering. Hell, he saved Fury’s life!”
Sam was shaking his head as Steve spoke. “You ain’t gonna give up on him, are
ya?” he asked and Steve shut his mouth with a click.
He shook his head. “Don’t seem right to.” he said.
“Then you’re either a better or stupider man than me.” Sam said. “I haven’t
decided which yet.”
And despite everything, Steve grinned, chuckling a little helplessly when Sam
smiled back and cuffed him lightly on the back of his head.
*
Sam left to start his work after the fifth time Steve had promised that he was
okay, that they were okay, and that he would fess up to Frigga immediately if
he started to feel queasy again.
“I just don’t want my meat to be served with a side of pre-chewed vegetables
tonight, that’s all.” Sam joked but Steve was able to tell that there was
genuine concern underlying Sam’s jibes.
Sam knew a little of his poor health but Steve had not revealed the true extent
of his maladies. Even so, Sam had been a little more careful with him of late,
which Steve hated but also grudgingly appreciated.
“Might just make yours special.” he told Sam. “Meat and spit-gravy.”
Sam laughed. “Frigga would have your head.” he shot back and Steve had to
shrug, unable to deny what was a definite truth.
Despite the morning’s events, he returned to the kitchens with a smile on his
face. Frigga set him to work prepping for the evening’s meal and then set off
to fetch another lot of water to boil, leaving him alone to chop the
vegetables.
“Steve?”
Steve jumped at the unexpected voice and the knife slipped and hit his thumb,
nicking it. Steve swore and clamped his other hand around it as it began to
bleed. Barnes rushed over from the mouth of the tent, catching Steve by the
shoulders as he tried to curl over his wounded hand, pain throbbing up his arm.
“Shit, are you alright?” Barnes asked and Steve glared.
“No, I ain’t alright. What sort of eejit sneaks up on a guy while he’s wielding
a knife?!” he demanded.
He straightened up and uncurled his hand from around his thumb, glancing down
at the damage. It wasn’t a deep cut as far as he could tell but it stung like
hell.
Barnes huffed. “I dunno if cutting carrots counts as weilding.” He retorted
once he had also assessed the wound.
“Yeah, well, you sure count as an eejit.” Steve huffed, wincing as he lifted
his injured digit to his mouth and sucked away the excess blood.
He had expected Barnes to fire back another witty remark but the other man was
uncharacteristically silent and when Steve looked up, Barnes’ attention was
focused on Steve’s mouth. A second later, Barnes seemed to realise that Steve
was watching him and he jerked away, his hands leaving Steve’s shoulders and
his eyes skittering away across the floor.
Steve flushed a little and used the opportunity to catalogue how Barnes was
fairing. The other man did look a little rougher than usual. He hadn’t shaved
or changed his shirt from the day before and his eyes were sunken with a lack
of sleep.
“You look like shit.” Steve mumbled around his thumb and Barnes gave a short
humourless chuckle as he leant back against the island bench.
“I feel like shit.” he confessed. “Never seem to remember how awful I feel
after I’m done feelin’ good.”
Steve scoffed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, using his teeth and
free hand to tie it around his injured thumb. It wasn’t until he looked up and
caught Barnes smirking that he realised it was the one Barnes had given him
weeks previously. He bit his lip and turned away, awkwardly fumbling the knife
when he tried to pick it up once more.
Seeing Barnes - especially sleep-rumpled as he was - made it even harder to try
and align his friend with the person Sam had described. Steve desperately
wanted to the details of what had happened but there was not a chance in hell
he was going to ask Barnes outright.
“Steve?” Barnes said expectantly.
“Huh?” Steve turned, flushing again when he realised that he had been so lost
in thought that he had obviously missed something Barnes had said.
He flushed harder when he realised what Barnes was holding.
It was his unfinished drawing. The one of Barnes that he had hidden beneath his
pillow the night before.
“What - where did you get that?!” he choked out.
He abandoned the knife of the chopping block and reacher out to snatch the
drawing back but Barnes simply pulled it back out of his reach.
“Went to your carriage this morning and it was just laying on your bed.” Barnes
informed him. “You drew this?”
Steve face felt like it was on fire.
“Yeah,” he huffed. “What’s it to ya?”
“It’s me.” Barnes pointed out.
Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Would you unruffled for five seconds?” he demanded.
“I’m trying to tell you that this is damn good.” He shook the drawing for
emphasis and Steve deflated with a surprised whoosh of breath.
“What?”
“It’s good! It’s great in fact.”
“It’s not even finished.” Steve protested weakly.
Barnes scoffed. “It looks pretty damn polished to me.” He flicked the flyer
over and examined the sketch once more. “You didn’t tell me you could draw like
this.”
“It never came up.” Steve pointed out.
Barnes looked up from the sketch, frowning. “Yes, I did! That first morning by
Fury’s trailer. I asked you if you had a talent that Fury could use in the
show.”
Steve frowned in confusion. “What? I’m gonna set up an easel in the Big Top and
draw the audience?” he asked.
Barnes rolled his eyes. “No, you punk. But you could set up in a tent in the
lot and draw pictures for the rubes. Portraits, film stars, acts from the spec
- you know?”
“I ain’t that good! Noone’s gonna pay cash for that.” he protested but Barnes
would not be swayed.
“You are and they would.” he retorted. “That’s why I came to find you. I wanna
pitch the idea to Fury.”
Steve’s felt his eye bulge in surprise. “No!” he cried.
Barnes frowned, taken aback by Steve’s vehement reaction. “What? Why not?”
“Because -” Steve started but then ran short of words, unable to explain.
“Because - it’s, it’s just not, I’m not…” Steve trailed off as he realised that
the reasons running through his mind sound weak even to him.
He sighed. “At least let me finish the sketch before you show Fury.” he
bargained.
But Barnes shook his head, slipping the sketch back into his trouser pocket.
“Nuh-uh.” he told Steve. “This one is mine. You can do some more. Like a - a
portfolio!”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I ain’t got that sorta time.” he argued.
Barnes shrugged. “We leave for Boston the day after tomorrow. You’ll have
plenty of time to draw on the train.”
Steve froze. Boston - in two days. They were leaving. In two days.
Steve hadn’t ever been out of the state before.
Before running away, the longest time he had spent away from his own home was
comprised of a hellish week spent in the hospital when he was thirteen when he
had somehow managed to contract a chest and a sinus infection at the same time.
But his mother had stayed with him the entire time. Now there would be hundreds
of miles between them.
He swallowed hard around the lump that swelled suddenly in his throat. He had
been kept so busy since arriving at the show that he had barely had time to
think on how much he missed his parents - how much he missed his home. But now,
faced with the reality of leaving it so far behind - Steve felt suddenly and
completely overwhelmed.
Getting on the train in two days time meant leaving and with what little Steve
had managed to save - it also meant possibly not returning for a long while. It
meant that his decision to leave home did not only encompass the house he had
left behind, but also the city in which he had grown up. It meant leaving
behind every thing that was familiar and trading it in for a life that held no
fixed backdrop, no certainty.
Without even glancing towards the other man, Steve knew that Barnes was
watching him. He could feel the weight of the other man’s gaze on his face and
then on his shaking hands as he raised them to rub at the tears prickling in
the corners of his eyes.
“Alright?” Barnes asked and Steve shrugged.
“I didn’t realise that we left so soon.” Steve admitted softly. “I - uh -
haven’t ever been away from home this long. I’ve never even left the state.”
Barnes’ eyebrows shot up and Steve had to look away. He already felt enough of
a mook for allowing himself to get emotional, he did not need to watch Barnes
judge him for the life he had lead before joining the show.
“Must’ve been nice.” Barnes said and Steve’s looked up, surprised.
The expression of Barnes’ face was not one of judgement but something softer,
something almost wistful.
“I grew up with the show.” Barnes reminded him. “I’ve never had a place to call
home except the corner of a train carriage. Must’ve been nice to have some
place that was familiar.”
Steve nodded jerkily, a hard knot in his chest coming loose and falling away
once he realised that Barnes was not judging him for what he’d had but rather,
was sympathising with Steve for what he had lost.
“Yeah.” he choked out. “It was.”
Steve thought of his mother’s cooking and coming home to the smell of fresh
bread, of the sound of his father’s tuneless whistling and the scent of their
old, worn in sofa. He thought of sickly sweet lemonade in the Summer and cups
of hot soup in the Winter and
the hugs his mother gave him when he arrived home from school.
Then he remembered how those hugs had stopped after the truth had come out, how
his father’s whistling had turned into stony, unbearable silence, how evenings
spent snuggled on the sofa listening to the radio and turned into nights shut
away in his room avoiding his mother’s sad eyes and his father’s solemn frown.
Steve swallowed, cursing wetly when the tears in his eyes managed to spill
over. He wiped them away with the cuff of one sleeve as Barnes watched. His
thumb throbbed with the movement.
“Steve.” Barnes said, a plaintive note in his voice. “Why did you leave?”
Steve let out an unsteady breath.
“Because I had to.”
Chapter End Notes
     Love it? Hate it? Please let me know.
     You could also come hang with me on Tumblr as I spend most of my time
     there reblogging Stucky and whining about how adorkable these two
     are.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Summary
     “It wasn’t your fault.” he whispered, to both himself and Barnes.
     “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
Chapter Notes
     Okay:
     1. I am so incredibly sorry about how long this instalment took.
     2. This instalment has not been beta'ed and I apologise in advance
     for any typos.
     3. This instalment deals with some heavy stuff so WARNINGS for
     mentions of physical and sexual abuse, violence and homophobia.
     (Please let me know if you think anything else should be tagged.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
As the words left his mouth, Steve knew he had said too much. Barnes’ eyebrows
leapt upwards and his eyes sparked bright with interest. Steve bit his lip and
cursed himself inwardly, wishing he could pluck the words from the air and
swallow them back down his throat. He knew Barnes would never give up now - not
until he had the whole story out of Steve.
But Steve couldn’t tell him the whole story - not the truth of it anyway. If
Steve’s own parents hadn’t been able to understand, hadn’t been able to look at
their son again without seeing some dirty, tainted thing - what hope did he
have of keeping Barnes as a friend when the other man discovered what had
happened, what he was? His mind whirled - trying desperately to come up with
something to tell Barnes other than the truth that he could not - and as it
did, he considered how unfair it was for him to keep his own secrets when he
already knew so many of Barnes’.
Barnes was still watching him and Steve huffed, the expectation heavy in
Barnes’ gaze making his hackles rise. Especially because he could not come up
with a substantial sort of lie to spin when he had Barnes’ piercing blue eyes
trained on him.
Barnes smirked, amused as he often was by Steve’s surliness.
“What?” Steve groused, rubbing hastily at his eyes.
“You’re the only fella I know that can go from sad to stroppy in two seconds
flat.” Barnes explained.
Steve growled and pulled the collar of his shirt up to rub over his face. He
knew Barnes was right. He knew he had a temper but his mother had always told
him that anger was a secondary emotion, a delayed reaction that flared to life
in an attempt to cover up the real emotion beneath it. Steve huffed, thumbing
another set of tears away and wondered inanely who he would go to for advice
once he left his mother and old life behind.
“Well, you don’t half push my buttons, ya know?” he told Barnes. “I had to
leave home and I can’t go back. That’s all there is too it.”
Barnes’ smirk fell away. He assessed Steve silently for a long moment and Steve
was about to turn away, almost convinced Barnes was about to let it go when the
other man spoke again.
“Day you turned up here, you had creases in your trousers.” he said.
Steve felt his brow furrow in confusion. It seemed an odd sort of detail for
Barnes to remember about the day they met.
“Yeah, so?”
“Your shoes had been polished, too.” Barnes continued. “You looked very
proper.”
Steve glanced down at his stained shirt, torn trousers and hand-me-down work
boots and then back at Barnes.
“You got a point?” he asked.
Barnes nodded. “You turned up here looking like you were on your way to church
- and given it was a Sunday, I’d bet my last dime that’s where you’d have gone
had the urge to run away not possessed you instead.”
Steve looked away, shaken. He had been dressed in his Sunday best - the clothes
his mother had pressed and spread out for him the night before. He’d woken
early and dressed in the dark before pulling his ready-packed suitcase from
beneath his bed and sneaking out his bedroom window. He had made it to the
train station just as dawn had broken and had caught the very first train into
the city.
He had not even left a note.
“You had a home.” Barnes concluded. “That makes you different from almost every
other drifter and orphan-brat that blows through here. You had a home - and a
family, I’d wager - and you left it behind.”
Steve flexed his hands by his sides, emotions warring inside him, all trying to
bubble over at once. He bit his lip harshly in an effort to keep them at bay.
“What I want to know is why.”
Steve opened his eyes to find Barnes watching him intently. The other man
didn’t look annoyed or perturbed. In fact, he looked confused - concerned, even
- and Steve felt his resolve crack a little under the weight of Barnes’ gaze.
He looked away once more in an effort to shield himself from Barnes’ searching
eyes.
“I just had to.” he said once more but it the sentiment was beginning to sound
weak even in his own ears.
"You do something bad?" Barnes asked suddenly. 
Steve froze. 
"You on the run from the law?" Barnes asked. "Did you hurt someone? Did you
kill someone, huh Stevie?" Steve's head snapped up at the accusation and he
caught Barnes smirk. 
Steve's stomach swooped low when he realised that Barnes was teasing him. It
unsettled him that Barnes could joke about such things when he had - 
"Steve?" Barnes asked, concern creeping into his voice and Steve realised he
had been silent for a long while. 
Barnes was still smirking at him but his expression was less sure and it
wavered for a moment when Steve met his gaze, before slipping away completely
when Steve opened his mouth only to find he could not form the words. 
"Steve?" Barnes said again, serious. "Tell me you didn't-"
Steve shook his head vigorously, snapping out of it suddenly. "No! No. I didn't
...hurt anyone." He assured his friend. 
Barnes sighed in relief and Steve swallowed around the dryness of his mouth. He
wondered if Barnes would judge him if that was his crime, if Barnes would turn
him away, unaware that Steve knew about his own past. 
"Well then," Barnes said. "I don't see what could possibly be so bad that you
had to leave." 
Steve sighed, resignation settling heavy across his shoulders. He would have to
tell and he would have to spin it more convincingly than when his mother had
forced the truth from him. She had seen through Steve’s bluff, had known that
he had enjoyed it and had dirtied the front of his trousers despite how wrong
it was. She hadn’t been able to meet Steve’s eye afterwards. She hadn’t come to
him on the quiet nights when he knew she must’ve been able to year him crying
himself to sleep.
“You were right.” he said once he managed to find his voice once more. “I was
wearing my Sunday best when I arrived here. My ma had pressed them and lay them
out for me the night before - she’d even polished my shoes. She always thought
it was important to dress smart for Church, ya know? Respectful.”
When he paused to swallow down the tightness in his throat, Barnes nodded,
urging him on.
“We went to Church every Sunday, rain or shine. All three of us…” Steve trailed
off, unsure how to continue.
Barnes watched him, expectation radiating from him. Steve had never had a
friend like Barnes. He doubted he ever would again once his secret was out.
Would they make him leave the show? Where would he go? Maybe he had been a fool
to leave, maybe he should have stayed and borne the brunt of his parents’
disdain. Maybe that was God’s plan for him and this foray had only been to
tease him with what could have been - to show him what people like him didn’t
deserve.
Steve’s eyes prickled and he breathed out harshly, frustrated when he realised
the tears were back. Yes, he had been overwhelmed at the thought of leaving
behind his home and his family but the thought of losing Barnes, Sam, the show?
It almost undid him then and there.
Barnes’ forehead had creased with confusion and what Steve thought might’ve
been concern and he couldn’t bear it anymore.
“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind” Steve said, voice rough.
He watched Barnes’ eyes widen in surprise and let his own slip shut, tears
spilling over as they did so. He did not want to see the shift in Barnes’
expression from concern to disdain. “For it is an abomination.”
Silence descended over the tent, interrupted only by the sound of Steve’s wet
sniffling. After a long while, he opened his eyes and could just make out
Barnes’ blurry outline through his tears.
“You…” Barnes said but trailed off.
Steve shook his head though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. “There
was a boy. At school. He used to push me around. Call me names. I always tried
to stand up for myself but he was bigger. Stronger.” He drew in a breath. “One
day he - he cornered me in the boy’s lavatory and he, he pushed me up against
the wall.”
The more he spoke, the more Steve felt as though a dam had burst inside him.
Everything he’d been keeping inside - hadn’t even said out loud because there
had been so many people willing to take the words out of his mouth and twist
the scenario to fit there needs - came rushing out in a torrent of half-
garbled, emotion-wrecked words.
“I thought he was going to hit me - maybe break my nose. He’d been threatening
to. Said it’d pretty me up.” He scrubbed the back of his wrist across his face,
eyes locked on the space just above Barnes right shoulder. “But he didn’t. He
wanted something - something else.”
He took another deep breath, wincing when it shuddered into his lungs.
“And he took it. He held me down and he just-“
Steve cut himself off when he saw Barnes move out of the corner of his eye.
This was it. Barnes was going to walk out on him. Steve didn’t blame him. What
was he doing? Speaking of such a shameful act in such detail? He was probably
turning Barnes’ stomach. He was probably -
Steve’s thought process shuddered to an abrupt halt when he felt arms close
around him. He gasped and almost choked on the warm, clean smell of Barnes’
skin - something he had only caught whiffs of before, but now found himself
swaddled in as his friend enveloped him into a tight embrace.
“Wha-what are you doing?” he choked out, his face buried against Barnes’ chest,
his own arms hanging useless at his sides, paralysed by shock.
“Shut up.” Barnes bit out and Steve was taken back by how rough his friend’s
voice sounded - almost as if he were close to tears himself. “It wasn’t your
fault.”
The words shocked a small hurt noise from Steve’s throat as they touched some
unearthed, tender part of him. No-one had ever explicitly suggested that what
had happened had been his fault but it had been implied, Steve felt, in the way
he had been treated as a result of what had happened.
Sometimes he even thought that what had happened was a punishment for what he
was - that because he was an invert, an abomination - he automatically lost the
right to choose when his body was used by others. It made sense to him. Yes,
his body had reacted physically but afterwards he had felt like there was dirt
on his skin that would not come off - some sort of stain that announced to
everyone that he was a sinner and a pervert.
But as Barnes held him, the surety that Steve had condemned himself with began
to waver. He hadn’t asked for Robert to force himself upon him and even though
he’d been having perverse urges all his life, he had never acted on them and
often asked God for forgiveness. He had tried to be good. He had -
The sound of someone clearing their throat from the front of the tent made
Steve push away from Barnes as though he been electrocuted.
Frigga regarded them from the mouth of the tent and Steve watched as the
bemused expression on her face slipped to one of concern as she took in both
sets of red eyes and Steve’s damn cheeks.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, though her tone was soft with worry.
Steve opened his mouth, only to shut it when no words came forth.
“Steve didn’t realise the show was moving on so soon.” Barnes said and Steve
was impressed by how steady the other man’s voice was. “He’s feeling a bit
overwhelmed about leaving is all.”
The lie did not cover Barnes’ own glassy eyes but after a long moment of quiet,
during which Frigga regarded both of them, she gave a single nod of her head as
though she had accepted the explanation.
“And you’ve hurt your hand!” she exclaimed as she caught sight of Steve’s
wrapped finger. “Let me see.”
Steve mouthed a silent ‘thank-you’ over Frigga’s shoulder at Barnes as the
woman fussed with his finger, untying and retying his handkerchief after she
had examined it. Barnes did not respond but instead continued to watch Steve
with soft, sympathetic eyes.
Frigga sighed. “You might as well knock off.” she told Steve and then hushed
his cry of protest. “You can’t work with the food if you’re still bleeding and
this looks like it needs a proper bandage. I can manage the prep myself as long
as you're back tonight to help serve.”
“I’ve got bandages. I’ll get him sorted out.” Barnes supplied helpfully.
Frigga gave him a grateful smile and then hushed Steve again when he opened his
mouth to argue.
“Go, Steve.” she said though not unkindly and he dropped his head in
supplication when he realised she would not be swayed.
“C’mon punk.” Barnes said softly.
He cupped Steve’s elbow in his palm when Steve could not bring himself to
respond and lead him from the tent.
*
Barnes’ carriage smelt like stale whiskey and it was only when the smell hit
Steve’s nose that he remembered it had only been the day before that Barnes had
curled himself around a bottle and fallen asleep with Delilah’s blood still on
his hands. It seemed like an age ago to Steve. So much had happened since.
Barnes rifled through a small drawer in the top of his bureau for a moment
while Steve stood by the other man’s unmade bed and stared at the whiskey
bottles upon it. It was only when Barnes made a soft, pleased noise at the
discovery of the bandage he was searching for that Steve managed to tear his
gaze away from the bed.
He could remember the loose sprawl of Barnes’ long limbs across it like the
image had been seared onto his brain.
Barnes smiled a little ruefully. “I’d offer you a drink but I’m fresh out.”
Steve shrugged. “I think last night proved I ain’t much for drinking.”
Barnes continued to smile - a gentle, coaxing tilt of his lips - and he sat on
the bed, smoothing out the messy bed covers for Steve.
Steve swallowed and made no move towards the bed. Being in Barnes’ trailer made
him nervous, especially now that the other man not only knew about his past but
had not judged him for it. Steve had been so prepared to be turned away that he
did not know how to respond to the kindness Barnes had shown him. He did not
understand it. How could Barnes look at him, know that he knew, when not even
his own parents could?
“C’mon, gimme a look at your thumb.” Barnes coaxed. “You know Frigga will be
out for my blood if it ain’t wrapped by dinner.”
Steve perched awkwardly beside Barnes on the bed and let the other man draw his
injured hand close, biting his lip when the cut throbbed as Barnes undid the
handkerchief covering it.
“Huh.” Barnes said, inspecting the cut. “It seems to have stopped bleeding.”
Steve forced a sound of acknowledgement past his lips and tried to ignore the
coolness of Barnes’ fingertips against his hand. It was easier to dismiss the
sensation when Barnes began to wrap the cut as the pain forced itself to the
forefront of Steve’s mind, overtaking all other thoughts.
He grit his teeth against the throbbing and winced. Barnes chuckled.
“Must sting.” he observed as he neatly tucked the bandage back on itself and
released Steve’s hand.
Steve resisted the urge to shake the limb despite how it tingled where Barnes
had touched.
“It’s fine.” he said, unsurprised at how rough his voice still was.
He inspected the bandaging job Barnes had done so that he did not have to meet
the heavy gaze that he could feel on the side of his face.
“Steve.” Barnes said after a pause. “What you told me before -”
Steve froze, bracing himself for what he knew had been coming.
“Just know - I won’t tell anyone.” Barnes finished.
Steve’s head jerked up in shock, his eyes wide. “What?” he croaked.
Barnes blinked at him, obviously taken back by his reaction. “I- I won’t tell
anyone.” he repeated.
Steve felt his brow furrow and he considered Barnes for a long, quiet moment.
“Why?” he asked.
Barnes frowned back at him. “It ain’t my business?” he suggested.
“Finding out your friend is an invert ain’t your business?” Steve asked, unable
to keep the the disbelief from his voice.
“Being forced to do something you don’t wanna do don’t make you an invert.”
Barnes countered and Steve did not miss the sharpness
of his tone.
“Bull.” Steve muttered, dropping his gaze back to where his injured hand lay in
his lap.
He squeezed it into a fist, relishing the way the physical throb of it dulled
the emotional hurt pounding in his chest. He had only known Barnes for a
handful of weeks and yet the other man was willing to overlook the stain that
had tarnished Steve so thoroughly that his own parents couldn’t see past it. He
didn’t understand why but Barnes easy acceptance made his parents’ rejection
all the more hurtful.
“Is that why you ended up here?” Barnes asked quietly. “Did they send you away
after what happened?”
Steve shook his head because they hadn’t. Not really. They’d just made staying
seem worse than leaving.
“I left.” he explained. “I couldn’t stand the way they - couldn’t stand the
fact that my ma couldn’t even look me in the eye. That my father turned to the
bottle. I had already caused them so much trouble on account of my asthma and…”
Steve trailed off, unwilling to reveal the extent of his miladies. “I just -
they’re better off without me.”
Barnes shook his head. “I don’t pretend to understand.” he said. “My own ma
left me under a spec seat before I was old enough to sit up so I get that
parents aren't always what you need them to be but Steve - they came looking
for you.”
Steve winced as Barnes words dealt another emotional blow. “I know.” he said.
“I know but to what end? If I’d gone back with them, nothing would have
changed. It would have never gone back to the way it was. They’d still - treat
me different..”
When he looked up, Barnes was nodding. “Somethings shake people too deep.” he
said with such finality that Steve knew he was speaking about his own
experiences, knew he meant the way the other performers and show-folk tended to
give him a wide berth, didn’t speak to him unless Barnes spoke to them first.
It seemed incredibly cruel that Barnes, who was kind enough to overlook Steve’s
past and give him the benefit of the doubt, had been condemn so harshly by
others. Suddenly, Steve knew he had to reveal the fact that he knew Barnes’ own
dark past and that he didn’t care - that it hadn’t changed the way he thought
of his friend.
“I know about Pierce.” Steve admitted softly and Barnes’ eyes widened in shock.
“How?” the other man demanded, standing abruptly.
Steve did not want to mention Sam’s name. “Doesn’t matter.” he said instead.
“People talk, that’s all.”
Barnes sighed, ran a hand through his hair and then cursed colourfully under
his breath.
“It’s okay.” Steve said and then, when Barnes did not appear to have heard him,
repeated: “James, it’s okay.”
Barnes let out a harsh laugh at that though there was little humour in the
sound. “I killed someone.” he said quietly and his tone made Steve sit up a
little straighter, a chill running down his spine.
Barnes turned back to him. “I’m a murderer.”
Steve swallowed hard and shook his head slowly. “Pierce was a bad man-” he
tried to reason.
“So was the boy who molested you.” Barnes shot back. “You can't make excuses
for me and condemn yourself. It don't work like that.”
Steve felt his temper flare. “Pierce killed people.” he said, tone sharp.
Barnes let out another humourless laugh. “He did. And then I killed him so that
makes me a bad man too.”
Steve stood. “No, it doesn’t!” he shouted.
“Then you’re not an invert!” Barnes shouted back, eyes wild.
Steve was shocked into silence.
“You can’t blame yourself, Steve. Not for that. You can’t call yourself a
sinner and then overlook what I did.” Barnes continued, his voice returning to
a normal volume but retaining the hard edge of anger.
“It’s not the same!” Steve insisted.
“It’s exactly the same!” Barnes threw back.
Steve shook his head but Barnes was nodding, contradicting him.
“You think I killed Pierce because he was a bad man?” Barnes asked, voice cold.
“You think I killed him because he was red-lighting people?” He took a step
towards Steve and Steve flinched back instinctually.
Barnes sneered. “You don’t know shit.” he spat.
Steve watched with wide eyes as Barnes folded onto the bed, elbows to knees,
his head hung low enough to hide his face. Despite the anger that radiated from
him, Barnes looked so small and vulnerable that Steve found he could not take
exception to his friend’s harsh words. Sam had told him how isolated Barnes had
been since the incident with Pierce and Steve wondered if Barnes had ever
spoken to anyone about what happened or if he’d been bottling it up for years.
The thought of Barnes suffering in silence for so long made his chest ache.
Steve edged towards the bed, sitting gingerly beside Barnes and - emboldened
when Barnes did not react badly - reached out to lay his hand gently on Barnes
shoulder. Barnes tensed but did not move away.
“My adopted ma died when I was 13.” Barnes said after a moment. “Becky had
already left the show by then to live with her father - so it was just me. The
fellas watched out for me but I…”
Barnes lifted a hand and rubbed it over his face. Steve could not tell if he
was crying.
“Pierce brought the show out about six months after and he - at first he seemed
alright. Real personable, ya know? Real smooth talker.” Barnes stopped to clear
his throat. “He - ah - took a real shine to me.”
Steve’s stomach twisted unpleasantly and he hoped that he had jumped to the
wrong conclusion.
“He took me under his wing. Gave me special privileges. By the time he started
to…” Barnes trailed off, giving a short humourless chuckle. The sound made
Steve want to be sick. “Well, by then - I felt like I owed him. So I let him
and it continued and soon he had me believin’ all sorts of things, had me doing
all sorts of things.”
Barnes made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and Steve realised that
the hand he had laid on Barnes’ shoulder had fisted tight into the material of
the other man’s shirt. He did not let go.
“I slit his throat.” Barnes whispered and Steve flinched hard, fingers
clenching hard in Barnes’ shirt as though the connection was his grounding in
reality.
“He wanted…and I refused and he hit me - it wasn’t the first time - and he
threw me into his writing desk. I split my brow open and even though the blood
was everywhere, he just kept coming. I grabbed the closest thing - this letter
opener which he kept stupidly sharp - and I just…” Barnes breathed out, slow
and hard. “Slit his throat.”
When he finally looked up at Steve, his face was almost completely void of
colour, though his eyes were red and glassy with unshed tears. He did not look
a thing like the cool, slightly aloof man who had introduced Steve to Fury mere
weeks ago. That man had been a stranger. The man sitting before Steve now was
his friend and he looked as scared and frightened as Steve imagined he had been
at fifteen, alone and covered in Pierce’s blood.
Steve raised his other hand up to Barnes’ other shoulder and hauled him in,
pulling until Barnes’ tormented face was hidden in the curve of Steve’s
shoulder and throat and Steve was able to wrap his arms around the other man’s
broad shoulders.
Barnes went willingly, one hand clutching at the front of Steve’s shirt. He did
not cry but for a long time, he let Steve hold him while he breathed unsteadily
into the hard jut of Steve’s collarbone. Steve soothed a hand over Barnes’ back
and stared across the carriage at the photograph of Barnes’ hiding behind his
mother’s skirts.
“It wasn’t your fault.” he whispered, to both himself and Barnes. “It’s okay.
It wasn’t your fault.”
Chapter End Notes
     Comments and con-crit are more than welcome.
     Thanks!
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Summary
     “You got me too.” Barnes had said and Steve gave a watery laugh, his
     chest full to aching with an emotion that defied description.
     “Oh yeah? For how long, you jerk?” he challenged.
     Barnes grinned. “Until this train runs outta track, punk.” he said,
     as honest as Steve had ever heard him. “I’m with ya ’til the end of
     the line.”
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Twenty-four hours later, Steve sat in the dimly lit train carriage and mused
over how immensely things could change and shift in such a short period of
time. Barnes losing Delilah and confronting Steve about his past, and the
revelation of Barnes’ own past had all happened so quickly and yet they were
events that had undeniably caused a shift in Steve and Barnes’ friendship.
Steve glanced over at the other man. Barnes sat on his bed, darning a pair of
his socks, a torn shirt stretch across his lap and next in line for some
attention. Barnes, unaware that he was being watched, looked well at ease -
pulling pained exaggerated faces when he pricked his thumb or when the thread
did not cooperate - and it was hard for Steve to reconcile the picture he made
with the man Steve had held in almost the exact spot less than a day before.
*
After what had seemed like an age, Barnes had pulled away, scrubbing at his
pink face with the back of his sleeve and gracing Steve with a small, shaky
smile.
He had not wanted dinner and despite all of Steve’s cajoling - Barnes had
refused to accompany Steve back to the Mess for the evening meal. Frigga had
frowned when Steve had begun to put a plate together to take back to Barnes but
had only warned him not to make a habit of it. She had watched him all night
after he had returned from Barnes carriage, slightly dishevelled and teary-
eyed, and though she said nothing, her gaze asked many questions of Steve that
he was certain he could not answer.
Steve had returned to Barnes’ trailer to find Barnes dozing. He didn’t blame
him. After the string of emotionally fuelled days, Steve himself felt wrung out
and stretched thin, tired in a bone deep way that only emotional exhaustion
could bring about. He had meant to leave Barnes’ dinner for him and high tail
it back to his own carriage to sleep but as he had bent down to place the plate
on Barnes’ bedside table, Barnes had looped a gentle hand around his wrist.
“Fury stopped by.” he told Steve and Steve frowned as he tried to remember
seeing Fury at the evening meal. However, It was difficult to think clearly of
anything much when Barnes smiled up at him from where he was curled up a top
the mussed bedcovers and Steve could not bring a single cohesive thought to his
mind.
“I showed him your sketch.” Barnes said then and his hand went tight around
Steve’s wrist as though he knew Steve was going to try to run.
Steve had jerked back, affronted.
“Barnes!” he cried and Barnes had scoffed.
“All this and you still call me by my last name like I’m some kinda
acquaintance.” he muttered and Steve narrowed his eyes, temper flaring mean and
hot.
“You had no right!”
He attempted to pull his arm back but Barnes did not let go.
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Don’t blow your top. Ain’t like I did it for no
reason.”
Steve had tugged his arm back again and Barnes let go, using the momentum to
swing up and unfold his legs over the side of the bed. Steve rubbed at his
wrist, scowling.
“I don’t care why you did it. You shouldn’ta done it at all.”
Barnes rubbed a hand over his face as an exasperated noise echoed from his
throat.
“Wouldja just listen, you ninny?” he asked and then before Steve could speak
again, said: “Fury liked what he saw, okay? Wants to see more, in fact.”
Steve straightened, eyes flying wide in surprise, anger cooling as quickly as
it had sparked.
“What?”
Barnes had grinned smugly. “Seems to think you might be able to turn a bit of
coin with the rubes if you were willing.”
Steve frowned. “What?”
Barnes laughed. “Sit down before you fall down.” he had advised and when Steve
did not move, the taller man had stood and guided Steve to one of the armchairs
in the corner of the carriage.
Steve had sat heavily when his the back of his knees hit the chair, his mind
still caught on processing what Barnes had told him.
Fury thought his work was good enough to sell.
“But -” he started.
“No buts.” Barnes countered. “Fury wants you to do some more sketches, if you
haven’t already got some done…”
Steve shook his head. His sketchbook had been too awkward to carry so all of
his sketches had been left behind.
“…and put together a folio of sorts.” Barnes continued. “He’ll have a look
through it and if it’s a go - he’ll most likely set you up in a tent so you can
draw for the rubes before the spec.”
Steve frowned. “But Frigga needs my help in the kitchen.”
Barnes shrugged. “You can do both. Earn some extra coin on the side. Fury won’t
charge you much to rent a tent, not at first anyway.”
Steve nodded absently, mind still reeling. His art had always been just a way
of passing the time - something that he could use to occupy himself when he was
too weak or ill to get out of bed. There had been a few pieces that he had been
confident enough to show his parents but most of his work had never been seen
by anyone other than himself. He wondered if his parents would look through his
sketchbook now that he was gone.
“I don’t know.” he said softly, studying the callus on his right, middle finger
- a product of a pencil resting against it.
Barnes eased down onto his haunches in front of Steve, making it impossible for
him not to meet his eye.
“You’d be a fool not to.” he told Steve, his tone serious.
Steve huffed, his unease curling into a tight ball of agitation that sat high
in his chest.
“I haven’t got any supplies.” he argued. “Two measly pencils and no paper. How
am I supposed to sell pictures if I have nothing to make them with?”
Barnes rolled his eyes and waved the picture of himself in front of Steve’s
face. “Don’t seem like you need much to create something worth a second glance.
You get those pencils, I’ll scrounge up some more flyers and you’re in
business. All you need are enough sketches to show Fury. I don’t doubt he’ll
set you up once we hit Boston.”
Steve had winced, the reminder of the shows imminent departure from New York
hitting him deep in his gut.
Barnes seemed to realise his faux pas and reached out to rest his hand on
Steve’s knee. The warmth of Barnes wide palm soaking into the material of his
pants did little to ease Steve’s agitation.
“You maybe fighting against this drawing business ‘cause you’re having second
thoughts about coming with us to Boston?” Barnes asked softly.
Steve bit his lip, not trusting his voice to answer. The thought of leaving
made the nightmare of his parents’ disapproval crystallise and seem all too
real. Barnes shook his knee a little, drawing Steve back from the images of his
parent’s disappointed faces.
“Hey.” he said and Steve sniffed, blinking rapidly when his eyes began too burn
before giving up and closing them, trying to trap the tears inside. “I don’t
pretend to know how scary this must be. I ain’t ever had a home to leave ‘sides
this train. But -” he paused. “You got a
family here to, ya know?”
Steve gnawed on his bottom lip. In his mind his parents faces were replaced
with Sam’s, Frigga’s and Barnes’. He saw Peggy and Darcy laughing as they
clambered onto the Mess tables and performed high-kicks in their trousers and
too big shirts. Frigga’s warm smile. Dum Dum and the other men who had welcomed
him in despite his inability to really be ‘one of the lads’.
He breathed out some of the tension, opened his eyes, and saw Barnes.
Barnes with his gorgeous, tousled hair and his bright, defiant eyes. His
infuriating smirk. His sharp tongue.
Barnes who, over the past few weeks, had never been far from his side. Who told
the most amazing stories about his time with the show.
Who didn’t like the truth to get in the way of a good tale.
Who drank too much and didn’t cry when he should.
Who hadn’t judged Steve when his own parents had.
Barnes who seemed to be the friend Steve had been waiting for his whole life.
“You got me too.” Barnes had said and Steve gave a watery laugh, his chest full
to aching with an emotion that defied description.
“Oh yeah? For how long, you jerk?” he challenged.
Barnes grinned. “Until this train runs outta track, punk.” he said, as honest
as Steve had ever heard him. “I’m with ya ’til the end of the line.”
*
After that, Barnes had sent Steve to retrieve his pencils, promising that he
would have scrounged up some extra flyers by the time Steve returned.
“You can travel with me.” Barnes had declared. “I’ve got enough oil to run the
lamps all day and night for about a week - you can draw for as long as you
like!”
Steve had nodded even as his heart thudded hard and off kilter in his chest and
his eyes swept to the solitary bed across the carriage.
Steve huffed as even the memory of Barnes’ smile when he had agreed to travel
with him to Boston made his pulse kick up a notch and the back of his knees
feel warm. He frowned and tried to will the feeling - which he recognised but
refused to name - away.
He was lost so deep in thought that he did not see Darcy until he had all but
run into her as she lowered herself down from his and Sam’s carriage.
“Oh! Hi Steve!” she greeted him, her high cheek bones tinged pink.
“Hi Darcy.” he said as he took in the rest of her appearance.
Her hair was slipping out of the bun that it was pulled back into and her shirt
was creased. The trousers she wore were obviously too big for her, cinched at
the waist with a tatty black leather belt and rolled at the cuff a number of
times over. Furthermore, Steve realised with a jolt as he recognised the wonky
patch job on the left knee - they were Sam’s.
He felt his face go hot. “Oh. Um. Hi.” he said inanely as the facts lined up in
his head.
Darcy huffed out an awkward laugh and hitched at the belt higher about her
waist. “Hi.” she said and then giggled, her pretty face breaking into a wide
grin.
Steve could not help but grin in return.
“Sam about?” he asked as innocently as he could.
Darcy laughed harder and reached out to thump him lightly on the arm.
“Ain’t no worse than what you’ve been up to, I’m sure.” she shot back and then
danced past him before he had even had time to process
what she’d meant let alone reply.
He frowned after her despite the smile that still tugged at his lips, watching
as she sketched her arms into the air as she walked, steps light and quick.
What had she thought he’d been up to? Who did she think he’d been with? He
shook his head and turned back to the carriage, unwilling to think on it too
hard.
“Sam?” he called out. “You decent?”
A laugh echoed from within. “Ain’t nothin’ decent about what I’ve been doin’.”
Steve laughed and hauled himself up into the carriage. Blessedly, Sam was fully
dressed and sitting at the foot of his bed, a large smug grin stretched across
his face.
Steve just shook his head. “I don’t even wanna know.” he said.
Sam laughed. “You’re too young to hear the details anyway.” he teased.
Steve had scowled playfully and went to his own cot, rummaging under his pillow
until he found the two pencils. Holding them up for inspection, he frowned when
he found the the tip on one to be blunted.
“Whatcha got there?” Sam asked.
Steve jumped a little and turned back to his friend, resisting the urge to hide
the pencils behind his back.
“Just some pencils.” he replied, as casually as he could. “Barnes wants them
for something.”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Oh, does he now?” he asked and the inflection of his
tone made Steve’s cheeks heat. “Well, you better hurry back. We’re due to leave
soon.”
The heat across Steve’s cheeks flared. “Ah, actually.” he began, averting his
eyes when Sam met his gaze. “I’m travelling with Barnes to Boston.”
It was a long moment before Sam replied.
“Huh.” he said eloquently. “Well.”
“Yeah.” Steve interjected awkwardly. “I mean, he offered and…”
“No. Of course.” Sam cut in as he trailed off.
There had been a number of times when something in Sam’s tone suggested the
sort of implication Steve most feared - that he hadn’t been careful enough,
that he’d let the damnable feelings he had for Barnes shine through in the way
he looked at the other man, spoke about him, spoke to him. He feared that maybe
Sam knew, or thought he knew, and would eventually come to resent Steve for it.
And when he had looked up, risking a glance at Sam, he worried that he would
find the evidence that supported his fears painted into the expression of Sam’s
face, be it a frown or a sneer or just the smallest hint of judgement in his
eye.
Instead, his friend was smiling.
“Give my best to Barnes.” Sam said. “I’ve hardly seen him since you dragged him
out of the menagerie after - and well, what went down
can’t have been easy for him.”
Steve nodded slowly, still a little thrown.
“He’s lucky to have you.” Sam said and Steve bristled a little, hearing that
implication once more.
“He’s a good friend.” he countered.
Sam nodded, his smile widening into a grin. “Right.” he said. “And you’re a
good friend. That’s why he’s lucky to have you.”
Steve nodded again, staring hard at Sam and trying to read every nuance of the
other man’s expression. He could not see any element of judgement in his
friend’s face - only happiness and a hint of teasing mirth. He wondered if what
he saw was acceptance - but that was ridiculous, how could it be? - or simply a
product of easy ignorance.
He swallowed and forced smile to his face despite his concerns.
“I’m happy for you.” he said honestly. “You and Darcy, I mean.”
Sam had laughed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not half a happy as I am for
me, I betcha.” he grinned. “That girl is gonna be the death of me.”
Steve’s felt his smile morph into something more genuine. “Yeah, but what a way
to go, huh?” he teased and then laughed as Sam spluttered.
He made his escape as Sam continued splutter and chuckle in turn, pleased that
he could route such a reaction from his friend.
He was down and out of the carriage and headed back along the line of the train
when he heard Sam shout his name. Frowning, he turned back to find Sam slung
halfway out of the carriages open door.
“What?” he had called back.
“I’m happy for you too.” Sam shouted and Steve shook his head, not
understanding.
“For you and Barnes, I mean.” Sam finished and then swung back into the
carriage while Steve spluttered and whipped his head from side to side to make
sure there was no-one around to hear.
*
Despite himself, Steve had been grinning when he had arrived back at Barnes’
carriages. He did not fully understand Sam’s teasing - had the other man come
to the correct conclusion about Steve’s feelings for Barnes? Or was he just
happy that Steve and Barnes had found each other? - but he had come to the
conclusion that, at that particular moment in time, it did not matter.
“What’s got you grinnin’?” Barnes asked by way of hello.
He was sprawled across on of his arm chairs, a slightly ragged looking comic
laid across his lap. Steve shrugged and pulled the carriage door closed behind
himself.
“Got your stuff?” Barnes asked, nodding when Steve held up the pencils as proof
that he had.
Barnes stood then and went to the small chest of drawers the stood across from
his bed. Steve watched as Barnes opened the top left drawer and pawed through
the items of clothing stored there. Barnes had let out a soft triumphant noise
when he found what he was looking for. Steve stretched his neck to see what it
was that Barnes had been looking for, heart beat tripping when he saw what
Barnes extracted from the drawer.
“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Barnes said, turning the sketch book over in his
hands. “Loki had an extra one and let me buy it from him.”
Steve opened his mouth but found that he could not find any words. The
sketchbook was smaller than the one he had left behind but was beautifully
bound with a soft leather covering. When Barnes unwound the leather cord from
around it and parted its spine, Steve could see that the pages were thick,
robust paper and easily a high quality than anything he had ever drawn on.
“I can’t accept that.” he managed finally but his traitorous hands were already
reaching for it, desperate to feel the grain of the paper and the heft of the
book’s weight.
Barnes handed it over easily. “Seems like you already have.” he commented when
Steve drew his fingertips lightly over the opened page.
Steve threw him a weak glare before taking a deep, steadying breath and closing
the sketchbook and trying to hand it back.
“It’s too much.” he insisted. “I can’t.”
Barnes refused the book by crossing his arms and jamming his own hands under
his armpits.
“It is not and you damn right will.” he countered. “It’s supposed to be a gift,
you eejit. But if it’s gonna ruffle your feathers too much, you
can pay me back once you start turning coin with your drawings.”
Steve shook his head. “We don’t even know if Fury is gonna like my drawings.”
he protested.
Barnes scoffed. “Anyone with eyes is gonna like your drawings, Stevie.”
The nickname did not escape Steve’s attention but he refused to be derailed. He
stepped closer to Barnes and pressed the sketchbook against the other man’s
chest, trying to tuck the edge of the sketchbook under Barnes’ folded arms. He
huffed when Barnes refused to take it back.
“I can’t.” he insisted but Barnes only shook his head.
“Yes, you can. You’ll take it and you’ll be grateful ‘cause it’s my
understanding that that’s what you do when your friend gives you a gift.”
Steve let an small noise of aggravation slip from his lips and gave up, folding
the sketchbook into his own chest and holding it tightly.
Barnes smirked. “Good. That’s better. Now say ‘thank-you’.”
Steve rolled his eyes but could not help but grin as he thanked the other man.
“My pleasure.” Barnes replied, eyes twinkling. “Now sit down and draw.”
Steve forced a scowl onto his face but did as he was told.
*
Barnes stayed with him for the rest of the evening, puttering around his
carriage as Steve sketched and sketched. He had not realised how much he missed
drawing until he had begun and soon, once he had corrected small errors in
judgement and spacing - his work flowed from his hand onto the page as though
he had never stopped.
Additionally, where he - upon occasion - had once suffered to find inspiration
now, his mind was now filled to bursting with new faces and sights to depict
and capture. He drew Darcy and Pepper and Peggy, modestly dressed but they
teasing eyes and lilting smiles. He drew Sam, chest bare and gleaming after a
hard day work, and Frigga, a look of satisfaction on her face when she tasted
and found her stew to be perfectly seasoned.
He drew the tents of the lot, the crowed tables of the Mess, the spec. He drew
Fury in his fine red coat and Dum Dum in his bowler. He drew Natasha, the
redhead, and Clint, the man she trusted to throw knives at her.
He drew the elephants that had so fascinated him when he first arrived and the
acrobats and a clown juggling.
He drew Khan.
He drew Delilah. Alive and roaring.
And he drew Barnes.
The other man’s eyes emerged in the corner of the page that held Peggy’s
figure. His smile graced the margin of the page that Frigga appeared. The
folded hands that Steve had begun between drawing the lot and the Mess had
morphed into Barnes’ and the figure smoking against on the carriages in another
drawing undoubtedly possessed Barnes’ physique and jawline.
In fact, every time Steve did not focus his mind solely on his intended
subject, Barnes emerged on the page in front of him, causing Steve’s cheeks to
heat and his eyes to jump up from the page and find Barnes - wherever he was in
the carriage - to make sure the other man had not noticed.
But Barnes paid him no mind, passing the time by tidying or reading, giving
Steve the peace and quiet he liked when he drew seemingly on instinct. They did
not talk for what Steve knew must have been hours but he felt warmed and
steadied by Barnes constant presence.
He swallowed hard when his thoughts finally caught up with him and then jumped
badly when the carriage jerked beneath him. His eyes flew to find Barnes’
across the carriage. Barnes put down the sock he was darning and shifted the
waiting pile of clothes to the side.
“Wha-?” Steve begun.
“We’re leaving.” The other man explained. “The show is about to roll out.”
All of the warm contentment in Steve’s chest shattered and fell into the pit of
his stomach, jagged and instantly aching.
“But-!”
Barnes stood and approached the door of the carriage, pulling it open to the
fresh night air. Steve watched, frozen in his armchair, his sketchbook covering
his lap. Barnes leaned out of the doorway and waved his arm when a shout
carried down from further up the train.
He closed the door then and turned back to Steve.
“Do you still want to travel with me?” he asked and Steve nodded, the reality
of the situation dawning over him.
He was leaving.
Truly and actually leaving.
He had three shirts, two pairs of slacks, one pair of boots and a handful of
coins to his name and he was leaving.
Leaving his mother and his father and his home behind without any idea of when
or if he would return.
Suddenly, with startling clarity, his mother’s face came to mind. He wondered
if she was worried about him, if she cried as Steve did when he woke late at
night and realised the other’s absence in his life. He swallowed hard.
“Steve.” Barnes’ voice brought him back to the present.
Steve looked to the other man, who was now perched on the edge of his bed.
“Come and sit with me a while.” Barnes continued and when Steve made no motion
to move, he tilted his chin in a come-hither motion that fish-hooked through
the ache in the bottom of Steve’s gut.
Steve stood on shaky legs and, leaving his sketchbook behind on the armchair,
crossed to where Barnes sat. When he lowered himself to sit beside the other
man, the heavy weight of Barnes’ arm settled over his shoulders, the other
man’s hand grasping his upper arm tightly.
Steve blew out a long breath, relaxing a little into his friend’s firm hold and
shut his eyes.
The wheels of the carriage groaned against the rails beneath them and Steve’s
stomach lurched.
Barnes held him tighter.
“You’re gonna be okay.” Barnes murmured in a voice so soft that Steve almost
missed it.
He turned his face into Barnes’ shoulder in case the other man spoke again.
He did not.
Instead, he sat in heavy silence and held Steve as the train began to pull
away.
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter has been a long time coming and for that, I apologise.
     This is actually the third rewrite of this chapter and the only one I
     was even the slightest bit happy with but I hope it is worth the
     wait.
     In case it was not clear, the chapter begins just before the show
     leaves for Boston and then Steve reflects on the day that had passed
     before the narrative joins back up with the present.
     The romantic element of Steve and Bucky's relationship begins to
     develop from here on out which I'm sure most of you will be glad for.
     I have added a "slow burn" tag to the work for future reference.
     Haha.
     Con-crit and comments are more than welcome and as always, I'd love
     it if you felt inclined to come hangout with me on Tumblr.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Summary
     The other man shifted, disturbed by the movement of the mattress, and
     rolled to his side but did not wake. The arm thrown across Barnes’
     face stretched out across the mattress and into Steve’s personal
     space, almost as though Barnes were reaching out for him. Steve
     inched his own hand along the folds of the sheet beneath them until
     it rested a mere inch from Barnes’.
     A long while later, Steve fell asleep watching the gap between their
     fingertips and thinking about what it would be like to close it.
Chapter Notes
     Once again, I apologise for how long this chapter has taken. I have
     no excuses. I love you. Thank-you for putting up with me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was an entire day’s travel to Boston.
Steve slept the first night tucked up against the edge of Barnes’ bed, clinging
to the edge of the mattress, terrified that slumber might loosen his resolve
and he would wake curled into the beguiling warmth of Barnes’ body.
When he woke, early judging by the hands of Barnes’ alarm clock and stiff as a
board thanks to the awkward position he had slept in, he turned to find Barnes
flat on his back, sprawled across two thirds of the mattress, legs akimbo and
hands clasped loosely above his own head.
As he watched the easy rise and fall of Barnes’ chest, Steve was once again
struck by how young Barnes looked when he slept and the realisation of how much
weight that meant his friend carried with him each day. He wanted to reach out
and brush the dark strands of hair from Barnes’ brow, wanted to press the tip
of his forefinger to Barnes’ bottom lip to test if it was as soft as it looked,
he wanted to draw Barnes’ - again - just as he was in those few, private
moments.
But he did not, he could not, and all too soon, Barnes’ eyes flitted open -
another sight in itself - and Steve hastily shut his own to feign sleep as the
other man stretched, groaned and yawned beside him.
There was a beat of silence then and despite the erratic beating of Steve’s
heart, he tried to keep his breathing even, unsure whether Barnes knew he was
awake - or that he had been watching him sleep.
“Steve?” the other man whispered and Steve’s heart skipped.
There was another pause during which Steve knew that Barnes was waiting to see
if he would rouse. When he did not, the bed dipped and a moment later he heard
Barnes’ bare feet touch the ground and pad to the water closet.
The sounds of Barnes relieving himself made Steve blush and he turned his face
to hide into the pillow beneath his face to hide the flush he could feel on his
cheeks.
“Steve?” Barnes asked again, voice still a little more than a whisper, when he
emerged.
Steve didn’t move.
“Faker.” Barnes said. “No-one is that still when they sleep. You don’t even
look like you're breathing.”
Steve let out a rush of air that he didn’t realise he’d been holding and then
lifted his face to turn back to Barnes, cheeks still pink, expression sheepish.
“Mornin’” Barnes grinned and Steve dipped his head in response, not trusting
his voice.
Barnes looked deliciously rumpled, shirt open and loose over his under clothes,
his hair mused from its usual slicked back style as though he had run his
fingers through it when he’d woken up. In the dim golden light seeping into the
carriage, Barnes’ smile looked intimate, like a secret that perhaps
none else had seen before. The thought made Steve want to tuck his face back
into the pillows.
“Morning.” he mumbled back.
“We won’t hit Boston until late tonight.” Barnes explained. “So today’s our
own.”
To Steve’s delight, that meant spending the day as the previous had been spent
- he sketching, while Barnes puttered around, darning clothes and reading. The
time passed in companionable silence, inter spliced with brief, intimate spurts
of conversation. Steve found that Barnes seemed miraculously in tune to his
mood and whenever his thoughts turned towards home and the growing distance
between he and his parents, Barnes would ask him about his current sketch or
throw a just-darned item of clothing at him and ask if anything of his needed
mending.
At midday, Barnes hopped across to the carriage preceding them and retrieved
lunch for them which they ate sitting cross legged in the middle of Barnes bed.
“You get crumbs in my sheets and I’ll knock you flat.” Barnes warned as Steve
dusted said crumbs from his shirt front.
Steve smirked, set at ease by the slow morning and the lazy grin spread across
Barnes’ face. “Jeez, calm down.” he scolded, sweeping the crumbs off the side
of the mattress. “This is my side of the bed anyway.”
Barnes raised an eyebrow at that but only laughed when Steve’s cheeks went
pink.
Cheeks hot, Steve retaliated by throwing his crust at the other man, snorting
when it bounced off Barnes’ forehead.
*
Unfortunately, the good mood did not last and while Barnes actions and attitude
towards Steve’s company did not change, as the train drew nearer and nearer to
its final destination, Steve watched Barnes draw further and further into
himself.
He understood, chewing his lip and watching Barnes’ shadow as the other man hid
away in the privy to puff at the gnarled end of a shabby looking cigar. The
other man refused to smoke in the same room as Steve and his shoddy lungs and
while Steve was grateful for the gesture, its necessity grated on his nerves.
Boston would be the first show to be advertised without Delilah and Dante.
There had already been some backlash, Barnes had admitted, when the last two
shows in New York had been completed without the two lions. Some rubes had
demanded their money back. Fury hadn’t been happy.
Steve could tell Barnes was preparing himself for flack he was sure to cop if
the ticket sales in Boston didn’t live up to expectations. Barnes’ shadow moved
and Steve heard the latch of the small window - which Barnes’ had been blowing
the smoke out of - close. He quickly dropped his eyes back to his sketch pad.
Barnes was shirtless when he emerged back into the main cabin and he only
glanced briefly at Steve before rolling onto his side of the bed and slinging
his right arm over his eyes.
“You gonna be much longer?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
Barnes hummed. “We’ll be getting in at ass o’clock in the morning so it’s
probably best to get an early night.”
Steve nodded. “Okay, I’ll just finish this sketch.”
Barnes hummed again and made no other comment.
Steve watched the other man’s bare chest rise and fall a handful of times
before setting his pencil to his previously blank page and beginning to draw.
*
An hour later, he sat with a sketch in front of him that he was sure he would
have to destroy. Asleep and completely unaware of Steve’s inner turmoil, Barnes
remained sprawled half-naked on the bed, his arm thrown across his eyes and his
mouth open slightly, his plump lips caressing the soft puffs of breath that
made his pectoral muscles shift every few seconds.
Steve’s drawing caught it all; the intimacy, the secrecy of the moment -
everything. It looked - to Steve - like an artwork created by a lover and the
thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It made the backs of his knees damp
and his hands shake. He knew he should tear the page from his sketchpad and
burn it but ultimately, he found he could not.
Because while the sketch was a confession of the most heinous nature, it was
possibly the most beautiful thing Steve had ever drawn and he knew, deep down,
that it was because of the content, because of his sleeping muse and the
damnable feelings that flared to life in his gut whenever Barnes looked his
way.
Swallowing hard, Steve closed his sketchbook and carried it with him to the
bed. Unsure of what else to do, he slid the book beneath his pillow and then
lay his head upon it as he stretched out beside Barnes.
The other man shifted, disturbed by the movement of the mattress, and rolled to
his side but did not wake. The arm thrown across Barnes’ face stretched out
across the mattress and into Steve’s personal space, almost as though Barnes
were reaching out for him. Steve inched his own hand along the folds of the
sheet beneath them until it rested a mere inch from Barnes’.
A long while later, Steve fell asleep watching the gap between their fingertips
and thinking about what it would be like to close it.
*
The show arrived in Boston at approximately 3am in the morning - a fact that
Steve was made all to aware of when Barnes’ alarm clock blared to life only a
handful of hours later. He groaned and rolled towards the noise, hoping to shut
it off, only to find Barnes awake and sitting on the side of the bed, lacing
his boots.
“Rise and shine.” Barnes greeted him, smirking when Steve only groaned in
response. He stood from the bed and threw Steve’s jacket to him, chuckling when
Steve flailed beneath the piece of clothing. “I warned you to get an early
night.”
Steve’s mind caught on that, suddenly very much awake and hyper aware of the
sketchbook beneath his pillow and what it contained. He sat and thread his arms
through the sleeves of his jacket, unable to keep his unease from making his
movements slow and mechanical as he kept his eyes trained on the pillow where
his head had lay. Barnes noticed.
“You alright, punk?”
Steve flinched and jerked his gaze away from the pillow - he couldn’t tell if
his sketchbook was beneath it or not anyway. He nodded when he was meant with
Barnes’ expectant expression.
“I’m fine.” he said.
Barnes raised an eye brow. “Uh-huh.” he said sceptically.
His eyes moved between Steve and the pillow.
“You know, Frigga will be expecting you in the Mess but if you need more sleep
I can tell her you’re not feeling well or som’thin’…” Barnes trailed off as
Steve begun to shake his head.
“No, I’m fine.” he repeated and stood as if to prove it. “I’m just - still
waking up.”
Barnes regarded him for another long moment.
“Well, alright then.” he said finally. “Get your shoes on, Rogers. I’m gonna
want a hot breakfast after the next few hours.”
*
Barnes walked Steve to the Mess which - despite the ungodly hour - was already
standing, lanterns glowing warmly through the darkness.
“The men would’ve set it up first thing.” Barnes explained and Steve made a
mental note to give Sam, Dum Dum and the rest of the fellas a little extra
porridge for their efforts.
Frigga was waiting for him in the kitchen. As they entered the tent, she stood
from where she had been crouched in front of the stove, stoking the fire, and
Steve noted that while she looked a little tired, she still looked as regal and
formidable as she always did. He was sure he looked like something that he’d
once scrapped out the of the elephants’ train carriage.
“Morning.” she greeted them and Steve did not miss the way her eyes flitted
between their mutual states of untidiness.
Barnes dipped his head to her and clapped Steve once across the shoulders
before heading out.
Steve watched him go and then flushed when he caught himself trying to
calculate how many hours it would be until he saw the other man again. It was
getting harder to push those sinful thoughts away and when he turned back to
face Frigga’s smirk, dread settled low in his belly that perhaps he was doing a
very poor job at hiding his feelings.
Frigga said nothing of it though, instead ordering Steve to take over stoking
the stove while she began to prepare the ingredients for breakfast.
*
Steve saw Barnes again later when the other man blew through the Mess for
breakfast. While Barnes sometimes lingered so that he could eat his meal with
Steve, that morning he barely paused to inhale his porridge (an extra ladle and
all) and coffee before he disappeared out into the lot once more.
Steve tried not to mope and Dum Dum and the others did a good job at
distracting him as the sat and ate and regaled him with how they had spent
their days travel.
“And then this one,” Gabe snorted, whacking his hand off the back of Dum Dum’s
skull. “Goes to sit down, misses the damn crate and almost tips backwards out
the damn carriage door.”
The other men howled with laughter while Dum Dum has the good grace to look
sheepish.
“Lost by favourite bowler.” he muttered into the rim of his coffee mug which
sent the men - and Steve - into another fit of hilarity.
“Maybe you can win some green off Jackie.” Morita grinned. “Buy yourself
another one.”
Jackie laughed. “Not with thee vay ‘dis eejit plays cards.” He sat up a little
straighter and then, in a terrible impression of Dum Dum’s loud baritone
exclaimed: “Another shot hand. Can’t win, can’t I fellas?”
The sentiment was ruined by the exaggerated way the Frenchman grinned and
rubbed his hands together fiendishly. The men all fell about laughing once
more, even Dum Dum who tried to defend himself between loud guffaws that his
poker face was ‘better than all that Jacques, you damn frog!’.
*
Steve was still smiling come mid morning when Barnes slipped back into the
kitchen, face shining with sweat, shirt dark with grime and smelling like a
baboon’s armpit.
Frigga took one look at him and shooed him away from the food preparation area.
He grinned at her and hopped back into the tent’s doorway.
“Got a minute?” he asked Steve.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Any spare minute you got would be best spent in a
bath.” he replied.
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Punk. I been workin’.” he shot back.
Steve grinned. “I been working too, ya jerk. Making your meals.”
Barnes was positively vibrating with energy which seemed so at odds with his
work-wearied appearance that Steve’s curiosity was immediately piqued.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you’ll make some fella a great little housewife someday
Stevie but this is important.”
Both Steve and Frigga made indignant noises of protest at that and Barnes held
up his hands in surrender.
“Please.” Barnes said then and Steve’s stomach backflipped. “It’s a surprise.”
Steve looked to Frigga who feigned a put-upon sigh and pointed to the open tent
flap where Barnes’ stood.
“Go.” she told him. “But be back to help serve lunch.”
Steve grinned and did as he was told.
*

Barnes lead him across the lot, hurrying him along whenever Steve got
distracted by some sight or another. Many of the tents were up and the animals
were being to be unloaded from their train carriages and prepared for the
evening’s parade. Steve had just stopped to watch a man walk past with a monkey
perched on each shoulder and one curled around the brim of his hat when Barnes
let out an impatient sigh and grabbed his wrist, pulling him along.
“Jeez, Rogers, a month on and you’re still as bad as any rube I ever seen.” he
mumbled under his breath but Steve could only laugh and let himself be towed
along while trying not to think of how Barnes’ fore and middle finger pressed
against his wrist where his shirt cuff had rolled up.
Barnes pulled up in front of a blue and yellow striped tent that had seen
better days.
“What’s this?” Steve asked when Barnes turned to him expectantly.
“This,” Barnes grinned. “Is yours.”
Steve felt his eyes bug wide. “What?”
Barnes was smiling so hard, Steve thought his face might split in two. “It’s
yours. I squared it with Fury. No worries.”
“No worries.” Steve parroted back inanely.
Barnes stepped forward and pulled open the tent flap and tied it back,
revealing the interior. Steve stood, frozen and confused, until something
caught his attention inside. He stumbled forward then too, pulled in by the
sight of one of his sketches tacked to the back of the tent.
“That’s mine -” he began, words choking to a halt when he turned and saw that
the three interior walls of the tent were plastered with his sketches.
All the sketches that he had done in the sketch book Barnes had given him. His
heart jumped into his throat as the realisation of what Barnes had done - of
what Barnes had seen - dawned on him. He rounded on Barnes, panicked, eye
flitting about the walls for the sketch he should have destroyed.
It was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the small sketches of Barnes’ hands, eyes,
lips leapt out from the corners of the other pictures, drawn absentmindedly in
margins but just a damning. But Barnes didn’t seem to notice and he grinned
blithely back into the full force of Steve’s panic.
“You don’t hafta keep ‘em all o’course.” he said. “I just - thought they were
all great so I put them all up.”
No, you didn’t, Steve thought wildly. There’s one missing. There’s one -
Barnes must have seen it, he concluded. Must have seen it and destroyed it and
he was now giving Steve an out, not mentioning it. Obviously, the other man
wanted to pretend the sketch didn’t exist - wanted to try and ignore that his
new best friend was a pervert. Steve tried swallow around the sudden dryness in
his throat, rampant gratitude and some other sinister emotion warring high in
his chest.
Barnes’ grin had begun to dim as he waited for Steve’s reaction.
“It’s for you to draw in.” he explained unnecessarily. “When the rubes follow
the parade back or when they’re waiting around for the show - you can
charge ‘em for portraits or like - sketches of the spec, I dunno…” Barnes
trailed off.
Steve was still a mess of emotions; shock, gratitude, relief, and a hint of
anger that Barnes had gone behind his back to set the whole thing up when he
hadn’t ever agreed to it in the first place. He didn’t know if he could turn
sketches fast enough to make any sort of profit - hell, he didn’t know if his
sketches were good enough to sell in the first place. What if he drew someone
poorly and insulted them?
Barnes was still watching him, grin gone but eyes hopeful.
“I can’t believe you did all this.” Steve blurted, wincing when he realised how
accusatory it sounded. “Where did you even find this thing?”
The tent was definitely a little worse for wear. It smelt old and damp and
there were several patches of sunlight showing through patches and tears
around its walls. It was propped up by a number of mismatched poles, one of
which was a little shorter than the others, meaning one corner of the tent
dipped slightly.
Despite it wall, the tent seemed sturdy and did a fair enough job at keeping
the wind out. Steve could see himself set up with an easel and charcoal and a
model sat in front of him.
“I had to haul through one of the storage cars.” Barnes admitted. “I know it’s
a little shabby. But it’ll do for now and Fury won’t be able to charge you any
real sorta rent so whatever profit you make will be your own.”
It was beginning to dawn on Steve just how thoroughly Barnes had thought it all
through. He turned back to the other man.
“Thank you.” he said, trying to muster as much sincerity as he could.
It seemed to be enough as Barnes grinned, quick and warm before coughing
awkwardly and turning away, apparently to examine a sketch of the big top that
hung near by.
“It ain’t nothin’.” he shrugged.
“No, it’s something. Hell, it may well be the nicest thing anyone's ever done
for me.” Steve admitted, face growing warm.
Barnes threw him a quick glance and Steve noted the pleased, slightly
embarrassed quirk of Barnes’ lips. The other man cleared his throat again.
“Yeah well, I had to pay you back, didn’t I?” he prompted. “I mean, the way you
stepped up after - after - hell, you got me my meals and everything…” he
trailed off.
Steve shrugged and looked down at his feet. “I was just doin’ what any decent
friend would do.” he tried to reason.
Barnes nodded. “I know.” he admitted. “But I don’t got too many of those.”
Steve pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawed on it, flushing when
he risked a glance at Barnes only to find the other man watching him.
“Me either.” he said.
Barnes snorted. “Guess we’re lucky we got each other around then.”
Steve felt his face split with a grin. “You are definitely lucky to have me
around, Barnes.” he teased. “What with you smelling the way you do.”
Barnes’ eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in surprise, and the expression was
so comical that Steve could not help but laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Barnes said after he had managed to school his
expression.
Steve continued to do just that, unaware of the mischievous glint that had
flared to life in Barnes eyes.
“At least I don’t call a fella by his last name after I’ve spent the night in
his bed.” he said just as Steve was starting to get himself under control.
The surprised noise that choked out of Steve’s throat was mortifying and then
it was Barnes’ turn to laugh as Steve spluttered and turned a furious beet red.
“Well.” Steve managed finally. “Well, what am I supposed to call you then?”
Barnes shrugged, still grinning. “I dunno. Just seems a little formal that my
best pal calls me by my surname is all.”
Steve paused and looked to his feet once more, tucking his chin to his neck in
an effort to hide the goofy smile that spread across his face at being labelled
Barnes’ ‘best pal’.
“You said you didn’t go by ‘James’ though.” he reminded the other man. “So
that’s out.”
Barnes nodded. “I don’t care much for ‘Jimmy’ now that I’m grown either.”
Steve huffed, meeting Barnes gaze once more. “What’d you say your middle name
was?”
“You ain’t calling me ‘Buchanan’, punk.” Barnes answered. “No way, no how.”
“I’ll just call you ‘jerk’ if you keep up with that ‘punk’ shit.” Steve shot
back and smiled when Barnes’ eyebrows rose, as though he was impressed that
Steve had sworn.
“Buchanan.” Steve said again and Barnes narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“What’s your middle name then?” he asked.
“Ain’t tellin’.” Steve shot back. “Buchanan.”
“You punk.” Barnes snarled and Steve laughed.
“Okay.” he relented. “No more teasing my old pal Buchanan, I promise.”
Barnes made a menacing noise in the back of his throat and Steve held up his
hands, trying and failing to keep his laughter at bay.
“My old pal Bucky?” Steve tried.
Barnes snorted.
“Bucky?” he questioned and Steve nodded.
Barnes paused for a moment, apparently thinking it over.
Then he shrugged.
“It’s better’an ‘Buchanan’.”
Chapter End Notes
     You may also note that the story now has a definite number of
     chapters. I have gone through and re-planned each remaining chapter
     in detail in the hope that it will keep me motivated and on task to
     finish this story in a somewhat timely fashion.
     Please let me know what you think of this chapter/ the story in
     general by leaving some feedback here or popping over to my Tumblr to
     say 'hi!'.
     :)
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Summary
     The first time he had seen Barnes sitting at a dressing table while
     Natasha blotted pressed powder to his skin, Steve had nearly laughed
     himself sick.
     “Quit your hooting.” Barnes scolded. “It’s for the show.”
     “Yeah but make up, Buck?” Steve chortled.
     He did not miss the way Natasha’s eyebrows rose when she heard the
     nick name.
     Barnes rolled his eyes. “Natasha says it’ll stop my face getting
     washed out by the lights.”
     “Is that right?” Steve asked, pulling himself up to sit on the table
     which Barnes sat in front of, careful not to bump the mirror or any
     of the cosmetics strewn across the counter top. “You gonna put on
     some lipstick too?”
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: This chapter does contain material of an explicit nature.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When the parade returned from town that evening, bringing with it throngs of
rubes and billowing clouds of dust that irritated Steve’s lungs, it found Steve
propped up in front of his tent with his sketchbook in his lap and an empty
chair in front of him.
He had picked three of his sketches - a bust portrait of Peggy, a full figure
sketch of Barnes leaning against a train carriage and a full detailed sketch of
Khan - and pinned them up on the front of the tent with an monetary amount
under each. While Steve didn’t consider them his best work, he felt the
sketches did portray his range and would - he hoped - give customers an idea of
what they could ask for if they wanted a sketch done.
He was hesitant to let people into the tent to browse through his completed
sketches for a couple of reasons; one, because he felt ridiculous charging
people for work he considered mediocre at best and two, because he was worried
the sketches might get damaged or ruined by curious hands and dirty fingers. He
had laced the tent flap closed, a clear discouragement to any curious gilly and
their prying eyes.
Steve sighed as he watched people begin to peel away from the procession and
disperse through the lot. He didn’t know if he was ready for this and
apprehension sat low and hard in his gut.
A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see Barnes jogging down the
makeshift alley between the rows of tents, still in his show gear and windswept
from the parade.
“What are you doing here?” Steve blurted.
He hadn’t expected to see Barnes at all, knowing that the other man would have
to untack and water the horses and possibly move the cats out of their road
carriage after the parade.
Barnes pulled a face. “Where else would I be?” he asked. “It’s your opening
night.”
“But - you - the cats - the horses -“ Steve spluttered, his hands tightening
around the sketchbook in his lap.
The only thought that had calmed Steve’s nerves had been that even if things
did not go well - if his sketches weren’t popular - that at least everyone
(Barnes, Sam, Peggy…) would be busy with their own work and preparations. If
things didn’t work out, he could simply beg off that the gig just wasn’t for
him and sneak back to hide in the kitchen.
It would hurt, Steve knew, to fail at this - especially when Barnes’ scheme
gave him another way to earn his keep by doing something he loved - but at
least no one would be there to actually witness his ineptitude.
Except - apparently - Barnes.
Steve tried to swallow away the sensation of his pulse fluttering wildly in his
throat.
Luckily, Barnes was too busy inspecting the sketches pinned to the front of the
tent to notice Steve’s inner turmoil.
“Hey!” he exclaimed when he recognised himself leaning against the carriage in
the middle sketch. “Who’s this dashing fella?”
He threw a wide grin over his shoulder to Steve, who managed to return it
weakly.
Barnes straightened then and Steve watched as the other man’s head tipped to
the side, a soft crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Why’s the tent laced?” he asked.
Steve opened his mouth only to shut it when all that came out was a stuttered:
“Uh.”
Barnes turned to face him fully and Steve shrugged, giving up when his mind
couldn’t rally around a decent excuse.
“They ain’t good enough.” he muttered mutinously.
Barnes barked out a sharp incredulous noise that was almost a laugh.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” he muttered. “Marbles for eyes, rocks for brains, I
tell ya.”
He stalked over to the mouth of the tent where he knelt and began to pull at
the bottom knot of the tent lacing.
“You practically draw your hand raw and now you ain’t got the johnnies to show
‘em off. I crawled through that damn storage carriage for a reason, Rogers.”
Steve sat, torn between the pride swelling in his chest that Barnes thought his
sketches were good enough, the anxiety clutching at his throat that they really
weren't and the nagging anger bubbling in his gut that always seemed to spark
when Barnes told him what to do.
“Barnes -” he began and then stopped and corrected himself; “Bucky, I’m
serious. What if someone takes one without payin’? I can’t be out here drawin’
and in there keeping an eye on things.”
Barnes grinned then and Steve knew it was because he’d used the other man’s
newly forged nick name. The irritation in his stomach cooled and he found that
he had to fight the urge to return Barnes’ smile.
“I’ll stick around then.” Barnes said, folding the tent flap back on itself as
the last of the lacing came loose. “Keep an eye on ‘em for ya.”
Steve shook his head. “What about the cats? The horses?”
Barnes shrugged. “I threw some coin at Logan and the men to bed the kitties
down and water the horses. It’s fine.”
Steve knew then that Barnes had planned this as there had been no time for the
other man to hunt Logan down to arrange things with the cats. Barnes’ plan
would have had to be arranged and in place before the parade. He also knew that
Barnes had done this intentionally because it meant that Steve couldn’t argue,
that he couldn’t try to put off Barnes’ offer to help.
The realisation must of dawned on his face because Barnes’ grin slid into a
smirk.
“That’s right, Stevie.” He said. “I’ve got your number on this one.”
Steve felt his face flush hot and he opened his mouth to reply.
“Uh-uh.” Barnes tutted, cutting him off and motioning back over his shoulder
towards the ground’s gates and the approaching swarm of rubes. “We got
customers.”
*
Later that night, Steve walked back to his and Sam’s carriage while trying and
failing to hide the ridiculous smile that threatened to creep onto his face at
every second step, when the movement of his right leg caused the coins lacing
his pocket to jingle.
Barnes showed even less self-restraint, grinning and chuckling, shoving at
Steve’s shoulder every time the coins jingled, success making them both giddy.
Five people had brought sketches that Barnes had hung inside the tent - two
pictures of the Big Top, two of the big cats and one of Peggy, heels peaking
out from beneath a long line coat, a coy smile on her lips - and Steve done
four portraits, all of pretty girls and all commissioned by their dates.
All up, Steve had turned a pretty penny and each jingle of the coins in his
pocket was a merry reminder that people had thought his art was worth money and
a hopeful promise that he may be able to support himself.
Barnes bid him goodnight when they reached the carriage, a knowing smile
stretched across his face. Steve knew the other man wanted desperately to gloat
- to say ‘I told you so!’ - and that he was just waiting for Steve to give him
the opportunity.
Instead, Steve just grinned back pleasantly, knowing it would frustrate his
friend to no end.
“Goodnight.” he said, looking down at Barnes from where he stood in the open
door of the carriage.
“Sleep well.” Barnes said, stalling, his head tilted back to keep Steve’s eye.
Steve smirked. “Sweet dreams.”
Barnes expression soured slightly. “You too.”
And then, when Steve said nothing else, he turned to go. Steve waited until
Barnes was a ways off but still visible in residual glow of the Big Top lights.
“Hey Buck!” he called out then and watched as Barnes turned.
“Yeah?”
“You were right.” Steve called back. “This was a great idea.”
Barnes there up his hands, frustration evident. “Dammit, Steve!” he called back
but he was laughing. “I told you!”
Steve laughed too, giddy. “I couldn’ta done it without you.” he called.
“Yeah, yeah.” Barnes said, flapping a hand back at Steve. “Ain’t no big thing.”
Steve watched until Barnes disappeared from view before he hauled the carriage
door shut and readied himself for bed. He hid the coin he’d turned in one of
his more well worn pairs of socks and tucked them into the bottom of his
suitcase. He'd be able to buy a new pair now at any rate, he reasoned.
Maybe even another shirt.
And he’d pay Barnes back for the sketchbook.
And give Fury the rent for the tent and his space in the lot.
That night, Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face.
*
As it turned out, Steve’s portrait business wasn’t the only change Boston
brought to the show.
Two women, who Steve was later introduced to as Maria and Sharon, were hired to
help Frigga in the kitchen after they’d followed the parade back to the Lot
looking for work. Neither were Boston natives but both had experience working
in commercial kitchens and while Steve was sad that he was no longer needed, he
was glad Frigga finally had the kind of help that relieved some of the pressure
of her position.
Being made redundant from his kitchen duties also freed up more time for him to
sketch. Which he did. Often. And by the show’s third day in Boston, Steve had
even more sketches pinned to the inside of his tent than he’d started with.
It also meant Steve was able to attend the evening spec, once the rubes had
filed into the Big Top and there was no more business to be done with the
crowds. He no longer had to sneak in and watch from beneath the seating either
but rather used the performer’s entrance freely and sat at the edge of the
audience.
After the first night, Barnes was unable to help Steve at his stall due to his
own preparations for the show. But on the second night, Sam had shown up to
help out without Steve so much as asking. Steve had spent the whole evening
with a grin on his face, knowing that he was now surrounded by people who had
his back. Sam had even refused the coins Steve had tried to push his way after
the rubes had filtered away.
“Buy me a soda and we’ll call it even” was all the other man had said, shaking
his head when Steve had tried to protest. “Whaddya think friends are for
Rogers? Jeez.”
And so it didn’t take Steve long to fall into his new routine. He still woke
early and went to help Frigga light the stoves in the kitchens, sitting and
chatting with her and the other women while they prepared breakfast and tried
to shoo him away when he asked to help.
Barnes met him after breakfast and they spent the hour or so of free time they
had together before Barnes had to start preparing the cats for the show.
Steve found that he didn’t turn as much business before the noon show and could
usually manage the tent by himself during the day. He ate lunch with Sam and
the fellas and then took a plate to Barnes in his trailer and sketched while
Barnes puttered about.
Steve met with Sam in the evenings to open shop approximately two hours before
the evening spec started, just when the crowds began to roll in before dusk. He
was usually able to fit three or four portraits into that time as long as they
were singular pieces and the customers weren’t too picky. He usually sold two
or three sketches on top of that as well - the most popular being ones he’d
draw of the show and its acts or portraits of the hooch tent girls.
After the crowds filed into the Big Top, he and Sam closed up and Sam
disappeared off in the direction of the hooch tent - to see Darcy, Steve knew -
and Steve headed off to find Barnes.
The first time he had seen Barnes sitting at a dressing table while Natasha
blotted pressed powder to his skin, Steve had nearly laughed himself sick.
“Quit your hooting.” Barnes scolded. “It’s for the show.”
“Yeah but make up, Buck?” Steve chortled.
He did not miss the way Natasha’s eyebrows rose when she heard the nick name.
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Natasha says it’ll stop my face getting washed out by
the lights.”
“Is that right?” Steve asked, pulling himself up to sit on the table which
Barnes sat in front of, careful not to bump the mirror or any of the cosmetics
strewn across the counter top. “You gonna put on some lipstick too?”
Barnes huffed and flicked his knee, apparently unwilling to move while Natasha
continued her work.
“No. But I am going to put some eye shadow on him so that his eyes stand out
more.” Natasha said to Steve’s delight and Barnes’ horror.
The faces Barnes pulled while Natasha attempted to line his eyes set Steve off
again and he had to slide of the table and stand so that his laughter didn’t
upset the cosmetics or the mirror.
However, when Natasha stepped back to reveal her handiwork, Steve’s laughter
died in his throat as he took in the deep set of of Barnes’ dark eyes, offset
by the even darker darker shadow that lined them. Natasha had not just lined
his eyes with the powder but smeared it wide and heavy almost to the line of
Barnes’ eyebrow and across the top of his cheeks.
Steve straightened, watching as Barnes examined his face in the mirror, and
felt his cheeks pink when a jolt of heat zip through his stomach.
Barnes always looked a little wild when he was lit up by the lights of the Big
Top and surrounded by the cats, feeding of the nervous energy of the beasts and
crowd alike, but now - now he looked almost feral. The effect of the eye shadow
was not at all like the starlets that Steve had seen done up on film posters,
doe-eyed and coy. Instead, Barnes looked dangerous. Animalistic. Especially
when he apparently decided that he liked what he saw in the mirror and grinned,
sharp and sudden.
Steve froze as Barnes’ eye slid to his in the reflection of the mirror,
piercing and keen beneath the dark matte of the powder.
“Whaddya think?” Barns asked.
Steve opened his mouth. “Uh.”
Barnes raised an eyebrow.
“Um.” Steve said and he was almost thankful when Natasha sighed loudly and
stood from her stood, drawing Barnes attention away.
“Men.” she muttered as she swept the cosmetics from the table into her hands
and Steve would have wondered what she meant if his brain still was
caught on the way Barnes looked.
Barnes thanked her as she left, a sentiment that she met with a silent
meaningful gaze before disappearing into another dark corner of the performers’
tent.
Steve cleared his throat, suddenly released from the spell when he was no
longer pinned by Barnes’ gaze.
“I’m gonna go get a decent seat.” he said, voice cracking when Barnes turned
back to him. “Wanna make sure I can see.”
Barnes frowned and Steve knew he was busted.
Since they’d reached Boston, he’d stayed with Barnes until it was time for the
other man to go on. They generally spent the first act peeking around the
curtain to watch Natasha and Clint perform or in the menagerie where Steve
watched as Barnes made sure the big cats were ready to be lead out into the
spec.
Barnes sighed. “I look ridiculous.” he concluded.
It was Steve’s turn to frown. “What? No!”
Barnes rolled his eyes. “C’mon Steve.” he said. “I can tell you’re tryin’ yer
best not to laugh.”
Steve shook his head. “No! I ain’t laughin’, I -”
But Barnes had already grabbed a rag from the back of the chair and had turned
back to the mirror. “Hope this mess comes off easy.” he grumbled, before
spitting on the rag and lifting it to his face.
“No!” Steve said and before he realised he was moving, he had made a grab for
the rag.
He missed but Barnes lowered it as he reared back in shock so Steve counted it
as a win, despite the heat that rushed to his face.
“What the hell, Rogers?” Barnes asked.
“I ain’t laughin’.” Steve huffed. “I promise. I ain’t laughin’.”
Barnes studied him for a long, silent moment.
“You sure?” he asked, skeptic.
Steve flexed his jaw, clamping his mouth shut because he didn’t trust his voice
when Barnes’ eyes were on him, and nodded.
Barnes sighed and threw another unsure look over his reflection in the mirror.
“Whatever.” he muttered as he stood and brushed past Steve. “Let’s go see the
cats.”
Steve turned and caught his own slightly shell-shocked expression in the
mirror. He let out a sigh that took with it the remaining tightness in his
chest and then turned and followed in Barnes’ wake.
*
Steve sat in the crowd that night, unable to tear his eyes from Barnes as his
friend prowled around amongst the cats in the Big Top.
Steve usually went to find Barnes after his act to enjoy the wild flurry of
adrenalin-based energy that swept over his friend when the other man emerged
from under the stage lights and back into reality. After the spec, Barnes spoke
and grinned almost constantly. He teased Steve, both with words and clever
tricky hands that pulled at Steve’s hair and shirt, plucking at him when Barnes
thought Steve wasn’t paying him enough attention.
“And didja see, Stevie, when…?” he’d boast, or: “Didja hear ‘em shout?”
And Steve would beam and nod, batting away Barnes’ hands and laughing when
Barnes tried to reenact Khan’s roar or the way it had scared a lady in the
front row.
And, Steve grudgingly admitted, he had thought more than once about how it
might feel to cut Barnes off with a kiss; to cover Barnes’ grinning, cheeky
mouth with his own and feel Barnes’ smile press back into his.
He wanted to press his lips to Barnes’ and drink in his energy and enthusiasm
and life in and keep it safe for him in his own chest to make sure it never
went away. He had dreamt about it after their opening night in Boston and had
been haunted by the image since.
It was all he think about when he sat between customers at his tent and all he
could see in his mind’s eye when he tried to think of something to draw.
He felt like he was being eaten alive by the constant, gnawing, nagging want
that flared in his belly whenever Barnes looked his way and he felt sick to his
stomach whenever he allowed himself to acknowledge it.
So that night, when Khan gave his final roar and the lights dimmed, Steve did
not go to meet Barnes as he usually did - as he desperately wanted to - but
instead, stood, holding his coat awkwardly over the tented crotch of his pants
and slunk out into the night alone.
*
The next morning, he managed to avoid Barnes at breakfast by hiding in the
kitchen to eat with Frigga while Maria and Sharon served. Frigga said nothing
but Steve could tell by the glint in her eye that she knew something was amiss.
Steve ate sluggishly, his stomach protesting from lack of sleep and a surplus
of anxiety. He had spent the night alone in his and Sam’s carriage - as Sam had
not returned from visiting Darcy - and had tossed and turned for most of the
night, plague by guilt and revulsion that his own body’s response to his best
friend.
Worse still was the fact that he had not been able to shake the image of Barnes
- wild, mused and gleaming with sweat - from his mind. It seemed to be printed
on the backs of his eyelids, flashing to the forefront of his mind every time
he closed eyes and spurring on his body’s physical reaction and the guilt that
accompanied it.
Eventually, he had given in.
He had pulled out the rag he kept hidden beneath the mattress of his cot - the
one he used to protect his mattress and his under clothes when he couldn’t
control his urges. He’d rucked down his skivvies and turned onto his belly,
imagining Barnes’ broad hands on his hips positioning him thus.
Steve sandwiched the rag between his mattress and the rigid, sensitive skin of
his cock, sighing when the contact and friction made him flush warm all over.
He had tried for long, agonising moments to let his urges take over, to make
his hips move seemingly of their own violation, so that he could he could cling
to some semblance of innocence when the sun rose the next day.
But, for the first time since Steve had reached puberty, it was not enough.
He wanted the touch of skin against his cock, wanted something more than the
vivid pictures he concocted in his mind, want something that would properly
satisfy the ache between his legs and the tightness in his belly.
He wanted Barnes.
It shamed Steve to think of the noise that had escaped him when the thought had
forced itself to the forefront of his mind and refused to be ignored.
Cringing, he slid his hand beneath his hips and gasped aloud as his fingertips
brushed the side of his cock. Swallowing hard, he raised his hips a little and
took himself in hand, eyes popping open when he felt how large and hot his own
cock felt. He gripped the base gingerly, letting himself get accustom to the
sensation and tried not to think of the pastor from his old church who had told
him, in no uncertain terms, that touching oneself as
Steve was doing would lead to hairy, damning palms.
Stroking the curl of his fist over the length of his cock made him whimper,
made his hips twitch as they tried to force his cock back into the channel his
fingers created. He groaned softly when he realised that he could not get the
sensation back quick enough, not when his hand was cramped under the press of
his hips, his cock wedged beneath his stomach.
Steve flipped onto his back, sighing heatedly when it freed up the motion of
his hand. He bit his lip, glancing down his front and watching as the damp head
of his cock disappeared between his fingers, cheeks immediately heating at the
sight.
He had jammed his eyes shut then trying to will away the thought that his hand
was too small, too delicate, that it was not the hand he wanted to be wrapped
around his cock.
The hand he wanted was larger, broader. It was callused from hard work and yet
deft and able.
Steve bit back the groan that burbled in his throat when he thought of when
that hand had touched him, had cupped his shoulder, had carefully folded a
handkerchief around his bleeding finger, had smoothed his chest when his lungs
tried to fail him.
The stroke of his fist tightened and he whined as the skin of his palm dragged
over his cock. His thoughts caught on the last image to fill his mind - on the
way Barnes had held him the day of his asthma attack. He could barely recall
the sensation of the other man pressed against him - the memory stolen and
tainted by the panic that had pulsed through his body at the time.
But what he could remember made his cock twitch and his breathing shallow. He
whined as he sped up the roll of his wrist.
“That’s it,” Barnes had whispered, lips almost pressed to Steve’s ear. “That’s
it.”
Steve gasped as the memory flashed suddenly through his mind.
He could imagine Barnes with him now, could imagine the strength of the other
man’s arms as he held him, the roughness of his palm on his cock.
“That’s it,” Barnes would say. “That’s it, Stevie. Lean back. I got you.”
Steve cried out when his climax tore through him, Barnes’ imaginary voice still
echoing in his head. He clutched at the mattress with his free hand as the
tremors of his pleasure shook him, feeling unmoored by the intensity of it.
He had flinched when a pearl of his emission hit the underside of his chin,
cheeks flaring with heat when he opened his eyes to find himself streaked with
the damning evidence of his own lack of control.
Steve’s cheeks burnt anew when Frigga called his name and brought him back to
the present.
“You were a million miles away just now.” she observed kindly as she took
Steve’s empty bowl from him.
Steve winced when he suddenly realised he was stiff in his pants once again. He
tugged at his shirt front, pulling it down over his lap as he muttered out an
excuse about not having gotten much sleep.
Frigga hummed. “You could fit in a kip this morning, if you’re not meeting up
with James.”
The heat in Steve’s cheeks grew and he slid off his seat atop the counter and
onto shaky legs.
“That - might be a good idea. I might head back to my carriage.” he said and
left with a hasty goodbye.
He had little intention of going back to his carriage though, too worried what
he might lapse again if given too much privacy, and instead headed across the
lot to his tent. Thankfully, the embarrassment that still tinted his cheeks
worked wonders in aiding to diminish the stiffness in his trousers.
However, despite the lack of physical evidence of his perversion, Steve found
he could not meet anyone’s eye as he crossed the lot and instead tugged his cap
down further, nodding vaguely if anyone called out his name in greeting.
His tent would be safe, he reasoned, and he could lose himself in his
sketching. He needed to reproduce some of the pieces he had sold the day before
- a sketch of the train and one of the animal menagerie. Sketches that related
back to the show and the spec were very popular and so Steve had begun
recreating sketches that he’d sold in order to turn more coin. He didn't mind
it as no two sketches were identical and it gave him an excuse to work from
slightly different perspectives and ranges.
By the time Steve reached his tent, he was considering how he might sketch the
spec from the top of the tiered seating, how it would change the perspective
and the shadows. Maybe he could sneak into the Big Top and sketch while some of
the acts rehearsed before the show.
And, lost as he was in thought, he found he was entirely unprepared when he
rounded the corner of his tent to find someone waiting for him.
Chapter End Notes
     As always, concrit and comments more than welcome! Thank you for
     being so patient with me and my erratic updating schedule.
     If you would like, you can follow my Tumblrwhere I sometimes post
     about LLM and headcannons that I have of this 'verse.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Summary
     It was his lot in life - Steve thought as Peggy’s red lips stretched
     happily - to be surrounded by attractive brunets with wicked smiles.
Chapter Notes
     Once again, I am sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I was
     overseas and ever since have been digging myself out from under
     paperwork.
     This instalment is a teeny bit shorter than others but that's because
     I had to break this chapter into two halves.
     I will endeavour to have the second half up sometime over the
     weekend.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was his lot in life - Steve thought as Peggy’s red lips stretched happily -
to be surrounded by attractive brunets with wicked smiles.
“Mornin’, soldier.” Peggy greeted him and he dipped his head in return whilst
trying to regain control of his heart rate.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Steve shot her a dark look as he bent to unlace the tent, not missing the
gleeful sparkle in her eye. However, just as was the case with Barnes, his bad
temper only seemed to amuse her.
“What can I do for you, Peg?” he asked, straightening up.
Peggy’s grin settled into a smile. She cocked her head to the side and
considered him for a long moment. As usual, she looked gorgeous - her curves
clad in a long line coat, collar turned up against the chill of the morning,
cheeks pink and curls falling softly across her forehead.
“Darcy’s been helping you with the tent.” She said finally.
Steve frowned, confused. “Yes…” he said.
Peggy nodded. “She said as much. She said it’s been going well.”
Steve nodded, expression still pinched with confusion. “It has.” He confirmed.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank-you?” he replied.
Peggy was grinning at him again.
“Darcy also mentioned that you sell a lot of sketches of the girls and I.”
Panic seized Steve’s chest when he realised what Peggy was getting at.
“Oh hell, Peg. I’m so sorry. I should have asked to draw you – to use your
likeness –”
He was cut off by Peggy’s bubbling laugh.
“Steve, Steve! That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not?” Steve asked, still reeling.
Peggy shook her head. “No.” she confirmed. “I’ve come with a business
proposal.”
Steve said nothing, waiting for Peggy to continue. If her grin was anything to
go by, she was thoroughly enjoying keeping him waiting.
“I want you to draw me.” She explained finally.
Steve’s face relaxed as his confusion cleared. “Oh! Of course. I’d love for you
to pose for me. Then maybe I could do you justice-l”
“Naked.” Peggy concluded.
Steve felt his eyes widen in shock. “What?!”
Peggy nodded. “Think about it, Steve.” She urged. “You could sell them through
the hooch tent so as not to offend the
rubes. It’d be good business. You could double your coin.”
Steve blinked. “I – did you say naked?”
Peggy laughed again. “Yes, do try to keep up.”
“But – but –”
Peggy shushed him. “Think about it.” She urged. “Some of the other girls want
to pose too. The rubes will pay a pretty penny for blue pictures and we can
split the coin fifty-fifty. Everybody wins.”
Steve opened his mouth but shut it when words refused to form.
Peggy was smirking at him and there was something about the quirk of her lips
that was all too familiar for Steve’s liking - too knowing. It was as if she
already knew he would rise to the challenge she had set and the thought only
served to rankled Steve’s temper more.
He felt himself bristle, shoulders hunching as he opened his mouth to reply.
“Stevie!” a familiar voice called out and Steve whipped around just in time to
see Barnes emerge from between two tents on the opposite side of the walk way.
He did not miss the way Barnes’ wide smile dimmed slightly when the other man
caught sight of Peggy. It warmed Steve to know that he had gotten under Barnes
defences - that the other man felt comfortable enough to let his guard down
around Steve - but Steve’s chest ached when he was reminded of how carefully
Barnes constantly held himself around other people.
“There you are.” Barnes observed. He was still smiling but Steve did not miss
the careful, guarded look in his eyes as they flit over Peggy’s form. “Heya,
Carter.”
Peggy dipped her head. “Barnes.”
“I been looking all over for you.” Barnes said then as he turned to Steve. “You
disappeared last night after the spec.”
Steve’s cheeks flared once again with warmth, his guilt a vicious, rancid thing
in his gut. He looked down at his feet in an effort to hide his blush.
“Yeah, I - err - wasn’t feeling well. The dust, ya know?”
He felt even worse when Barnes started nodding immediately, accepting the lie.
Barnes knew that Steve didn’t like discussing his ailments - that he didn’t
like others knowing too much about how his body repeatedly tried to fail him.
Steve knew that Barnes was trying to cover for him in front of Peggy, going
along with Steve’s story - whether he believed it or not - so that Steve didn’t
have to explain in any sort of detail.
Steve’s heart clenched with a sudden, consuming wave of fondness for the other
man and he could not help the soft smile that bloomed across his face as he
looked up at his friend. His pulse skipped when Barnes smiled back.
Peggy cleared her throat pointedly, breaking the moment.
“So, what do you say, Steve?” she prompted.
“Say about what?” Barnes asked before Steve even had time to open his mouth.
Steve watched as Peggy’s face broke into the sharp grin that she and Barnes
seemed to share.
“Nothing” Steve said, cutting his eyes to Peggy.
She ignored his pointed look. “Just a little business venture I proposed.” she
grinned.
Steve held his breath, waiting for her to continue.
She did not.
“Think about it, Steve.” she told him instead before saying goodbye and
disappearing around the corner on his tent in a swirl of dark curls and a waft
of soft perfume.
Steve let himself relax, the tension seeping from his shoulders with a long
exhale.
He could think clearly without Peggy’s knowing eyes on him. He’d be able to
come up with a solid reason why he didn’t think it was a good idea - no matter
how many people it “benefitted”.
“What’s she talking about, Steve?” Barnes asked and Steve jumped guiltily.
“N-nothin’.” he said immediately.
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Sure seems like nothin’.”
Steve huffed, tension returning as quickly as it had left him.
“No really, Buck. It’s nothin’.” he assured his friend, a little unkindly. “Peg
had an idea of how to make some extra coin but I ain’t interested so it’s not
gonna happen, okay?”
Barnes’ eyebrows climbed towards his hair line and Steve wasn’t sure if it was
because of what he’d said or the anger that had somehow seeped into his tone.
He wasn’t angry with Barnes - not really.
“What was her idea? You gonna be takin’ a shift in the hooch tent?” Barnes
asked then, his expression softening into a playful smirk.
The question was so unexpected - so ridiculous - that Steve could not help but
snort, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as the unanticipated laughter
bubbled out of him.
Barnes grinned and stepped closer to sling his arm around Steve’s shoulders,
using his other hand to ruffle Steve’s hair.
“‘Cause ya know, I’m not sure you’re what the hooch rubes generally pay to
see.” he continued which started Steve off laughing all over again as he pushed
Barnes’ hand away from his hair.
“Maybe we could dress you up though.” Barnes said as though seriously
considering the idea.
He used his grip on Steve’s shoulder to turn Steve so that they stood face to
face and then looked Steve up and down, holding him still with a solid grip on
each of his shoulders.
Steve’s cheeks flushed under the scrutiny and he wiggled in Barnes’ grasp.
“Leggo, you mug.” he mumbled and Barnes laughed.
“No, I can see it now. A little baby blue dress. One of Carter’s brassieres on
underneath to give you some curves. You’d be the prettiest dame on the lot.”
Steve laughed again, pushing at Barnes’ hands until the other man let him go.
He tried not to think about how the touch of the other man’s hands lingered on
his skin - how he could still feel the impression of Barnes’ thumbs across his
collarbones - the same hands he had imagined touching him the night before when
he’d…
Steve’s laughter caught and died in his throat as he abruptly remembered why he
had been avoiding Barnes all morning. Peggy and her bizarre request had thrown
him, made him forget for a moment about the guilt coiling in his gut.
“Quit it.” he bit out, trying to ignore the way Barnes’ smile faltered at his
sudden change in tone.
Steve knew he wasn’t being fair to Barnes. Barnes wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t
the one who was sick. He didn’t deserve
to be treated badly when all he’d done was befriend Steve.
Steve sighed.
“She wants me to draw her.” he admitted, desperate to change his line of
thought. “Naked.”
Barnes reared back, seemingly as shocked as Steve had been when Peggy had first
suggested it.
“She says we could sell the sketches from the hooch tent. Make twice as much as
I’m making now. We’d split the profits.”
When Barnes said nothing, Steve was forced to meet his friend’s eye once more
in order to gauge the other man’s reaction. Barnes face was slack with shock
and he only managed to blink a few times when he met Steve’s gaze.
“But I ain’t gonna do it.” Steve reasoned. “It’s not right, is it? That sort of
thing?”
Barnes closed his mouth, his brow furrowing.
“No, I mean -” he began. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. Why you’d
be uncomfortable with it.”
Steve bristled. Rationally, he knew that Barnes was probably not doubting his
ability or professionalism as an artist or making insinuations about why he
might not want to see a beautiful woman naked, but his lack of sleep and the
guilt in his gut made him antsy.
“I meant ‘cause it’s sinful - selling that sort of thing.” he argued. “I got no
problem with drawing Peg. I draw her all the time.”
The frown lines marring Barnes handsome face deepened.
“Then do it.” he said after a long moment. “What’s the issue?”
Steve huffed. “My immortal soul.” he countered.
Barnes laughed harshly. “Rogers, if drawing some risqué sketches is the most
sinning you do while your here, you’re getting off easy.”
Steve hated it when Barnes spoke like that - spoke to him like Steve wasn’t a
permanent fixture, like he was going to leave - and the feeling was only
magnified by the voice in the back of Steve’s head that assured him he had
worse sins to consider, sins for which they’d make him leave - just like his
parents had done.
“Fine then.” he said. “I’ll go let Peg know that we’re on.”
Barnes’ eyes widened slightly. “Okay then.” he said slowly.
“Fine.” Steve said again and then turned to follow in the direction Peggy had
gone.
*
Which, he supposed, was how he ended up in Peggy’s trailer a handful of hours
later, knuckles white around the edge of his sketchbook as she disrobed behind
the folding partition in the corner.
He had purposefully skipped the midday spec which had meant that he’d been able
to fit in a couple of extra sketches.
The extra coins weighed heavily in his pocket - a constant nagging reminder
that Barnes would look out into the crowd and not see him there; that he would
not be there afterwards when his best friend tumbled back stage to tell him all
about the show.
Steve shook his head in an effort to clear the thought from his mind.
“Steve?” Peggy asked and Steve looked up to find she had emerged from behind
the partition, her modesty protected by a short silk robe.
She smiled gently and it held none of the mischief or sharpness of the smirk
she had wielded against him that morning.
“Where do you want me?” she asked.
Steve swallowed and his ears burnt as he motioned her towards the bed which was
outfitted with rich dark fabrics. He could already tell that her pale skin
would contrast against it beautifully, even if the thought of her naked skin
did make his face feel warmer.
Peggy moved to slip the robe from her shoulders.
“Don’t-” Steve said.
Peggy paused. “Ain’t nothing you haven’t already seen, solider.” she reminded
him.
Steve cleared his throat roughly. He felt as though his face would burst into
flames.
“Don’t take it all the way off.” he amended. “If you still have it over your
shoulders, you can - ah - part it at the front?”
Peggy smile widened. She nodded and Steve averted his gaze as she moved towards
the bed.
“Like this?” she asked a few moments later and Steve looked up to find her
stretched out on her side along the bed.
She was facing him, her hips tilted, her right leg draped over her left. She
had parted the front of her robe and her breasts nestled softly against one
another, framed by her right arm. Steve could see her nipples. They were almost
exactly the same colour as the crimson quilt beneath her.
He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat.
“That’s great.” he choked out and Peggy grinned. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.” she told him. “Will it matter if I fall asleep?”
The question startled a laugh from Steve.
“No. But I may need to wake you up in an hour so you can change positions.”
Peggy’s grin turned wicked.
“I am a girl who appreciates variety.” she quipped and Steve laughed again.
She wasn’t making fun of him, he could tell. She was trying to put him at ease.
Just as Barnes had done earlier that morning. Before Steve had lost his temper.
Steve bit his lip and opened his sketchbook, hooking his pencil from behind his
ear with his other hand. He took a seat on the chaise lounge across from the
bed, his sketchbook in his lap. He took a deep breath and rested the tip of his
pencil against the paper before he looked to Peggy once more.
“That’s an awfully serious face.” she remarked softly.
Steve hunched his shoulders defensively. “Shh.” he said. “Rest your head back
and stay just like that, okay?”
Thankfully, Peggy didn’t push. Instead, she rested her head against the pillows
as instructed and let him begin.
The scratch of his pencil against paper was the only sound in the room for a
long time.
*
Steve left Peggy’s trailer just before the evening spec was due to start, his
right hand cramping badly and his sketchbook full of drawings that made his
cheeks warm to think about.
He had insisted that the sketches should not be overtly explicit, an idea that
made Peggy tilt her head on the side and consider him as though he was
something strange.
The rubes pay to see a show, he’d reasoned. They liked the tease. Therefore,
there should be an element of that in the drawings if they were to appeal to
the general clientele of the hooch tent. Peggy hadn’t been able to argue -
hadn’t wanted too - after he’d shown her the first sketch of her sprawled out
across the bed, her robe draped seductively over her curves.
He had completed another five sketches of her - two of her laying on the bed,
one of her laying on the chaise lounge, one of her rolling a pair of silk
stocking over her calve muscle and one of her sitting in from of her bureau,
the curves of her breasts reflected in the mirror.
A month ago, he’d never have been able to get that sort of perspective right
and it thrilled him that his skill was developing. Even if he was honing it
drawing blue pictures.
His line of thought was cut short when a cheer erupted from the Big Top and he
stopped to look back at the imposing figure the tent made across the Lot.
He could still make Barnes’ act. He had time. He could go hide his sketchbook
under his mattress and go an watch the second half of the show.
It’d be the right thing to do - it would show Barnes that he was sorry without
him actually having to say it.
But it also meant that he’d have to watch Barnes under the stage lights, the
ones that made his skin gleam with sweat and his shirt cling to the muscles of
his shoulders and back. And afterwards, once Barnes came out of the ring to
find Steve waiting for him, Steve would have to endure the other man’s hot
hands all over him, pulling at his shirt, musing his hair, touching but never
touching enough.
He swallowed hard, torn, and looked back over his shoulder at the Big Top
before turning away and heading towards his trailer.
*
He made it ringside just as Fury began Barnes’ introduction. Khan and Sekhmet
were already pacing the perimeter of the spec and Steve kept his eyes trained
on them as he took his seat.
The tent lights dimmed and Barnes appeared, bathed in the light of a single
sharp spotlight, at the far end of the spec.
Khan roared, louder than the roar of the crowd surrounding him, and the show
began.
Chapter End Notes
     So, there you go. Please let me know what you think by either
     commenting here or heading on over to my Tumblr where I post about
     Stucky, Marvel, LOTR, Bagginshield, Sherlock, other nerdy things as
     well as my occasional head cannons for this story.
     As an additional author's note, I'm sure that those of you that have
     stuck by me despite my horrendously sporadic updating schedule will
     be pleased to know that the second half of this chapter sets into
     motion events that speed along the progression of Steve and Bucky's
     relationship so stay tuned!
     ...please?
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Summary
     But as he rounded the corner, the sight before him made him stop
     short.
     There were two men, as he had thought there would be. And they were
     locked together, hands grappling over clothes and skin.
     But, Steve realised with a jolt that shook him to his core, it was an
     act of passion, not violence.
     He could see, even in the darkness, the way their mouths were fused
     together, the way their hands grasped at each other, how they rocked
     together bolstered by the solid wall of the carriage.
     The picture they made was everything Steve had never let himself want
     and everything he knew he would never have.
Chapter Notes
     Lookit me, managing to update in a semi-reasonably time frame! :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Steve slipped back behind the heavy curtains just before the crowd leapt to
their feet to applaud the end of Barnes’ act. The heavy scent of incense and
perfume hit him as it always did and Steve wondered, not for the first time, at
how quickly the dense scent hanging in the air had come to be one of his
favourite things, barring the way it occasionally irritated his lungs.
“Didn’t think you’d made the spec.” Barnes said, stepping around Steve to
approach his dressing table.
Steve dodged around two small terriers being herded by one of the flop clowns
to follow him.
“Got lost in a sketch.” he replied, ignoring the coolness of Barnes’ tone and
hopping up onto his usual perch on the corner of the bureau.
Barnes flicked his gaze to Steve’s and Steve was caught by how intensely blue
the other man’s eyes were, outlined by the smear of
black kohl across Barnes eyelids and the tops of his cheeks.
“Sketching Carter?” Barnes asked and Steve had to look away as the heat rushed
to his face.
He hadn’t expected Barnes to ask. Earlier, he had told Barnes he was going to
find Peggy to agree to the proposal - not to draw her then an there - and his
cheeks burned now at the thought that Barnes knew he had spent the afternoon
locked away in Peggy’s trailer with her while she lounged across various pieces
of furniture in her birthday suit.
Barnes looked back to the mirror, beginning to wipe at the pseudo mask the make
up made across his face with a cloth from the dresser in front of him.
“I suppose you’re escorting her to the festivities tonight, then?” Barnes asked
and Steve frowned as he watched the material come away from Barnes’ skin,
stained black.
“What festivities?” Steve asked.
Barnes turned to him, cloth held almost to his face, the action arrested in
midair.
“Tonight’s our last night in Boston.” he said, slowly, as though Steve would
have trouble grasping such a difficult concept and
Steve could not help the scowl that spread across his face.
The last night on a lot was generally cause for celebration and posed proper
occasion to do so as the train ride to the next town provided the performers
and roustabouts with enough down time to rest their weary, often alcohol-sodden
selves.
Steve knew that the men would start to dismantle the Big Top as soon as the
final rube was ushered out of the entrance. They would then start on the
smaller tents lining the lot and finally, when all the tents were taken down
and the animals stored, the drinking and dancing would begin.
He realised with a jolt that both he and Barnes had missed the last night of
frivolities in favour of each other’s company, tucked away in Barnes’ trailer
as the train pulled out of New York.
“It didn’t come up.” Steve admitted and he did not miss the way Barnes seemed
to relax a little into his chair.
“So you’re going stag then?”
Steve frowned. “I wasn’t aware I needed a date.” he shot back.
Barnes chuckled which only served to further Steve’s theory that the other man
derived far too much pleasure from ruffling Steve’s feathers.
“Calm down, you mook.” Barnes grinned. “We can stag it together.”
Steve huffed. “I ain’t dancin’.” he stated bluntly. And then, when he
remembered the sharp bite of Barnes’ whiskey at the back of his throat, added:
“Or drinkin’.”
Barnes rubbed the last dark smudge of kohl from his face and then threw the
ruined cloth at Steve.
“I plan on doing enough of both for the two of us anyway.” he crowed as he
stood, hip checking Steve’s knees when Steve was not quick enough to follow.
“But first I need a wash and a new shirt.”
*
When they arrived back at the main lot, the Big Top had already been lowered
and Steve wondered at how small it looked, deflated against the ground, its
flags and banners already stripped away and rolled up for storage.
“I asked Sam to deal with your tent.” Barnes explained. “He’s gonna store it in
your carriage ’til next stop.”
“I should help him -” Steve begun but Barnes flapped a hand at him.
“It’s already done.” he explained. “We took it down this afternoon. I collected
your sketches too. They’re on your cot.”
Steve stared. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Barnes rolled his eyes as he hooked a fresh looking cigar from behind his ear
and placed it between his lips.
“Not all of us get to wile away the hours drawing beautiful dames in naught but
their skin.” he teased, the cigar dancing with each movement of his lips.
Steve flushed and found that he did not have a response as he watched Barnes
pat down his pockets for his matches and then light his cigar. Steve felt odd
when Barnes talked about Peggy, when the other man mentioned Steve spending
time with her. His stomach twisted and his heart race skipped in an unpleasant
way. It was a sensation that felt almost like guilt.
“There you are.” called a voice and Steve turned to find Darcy trotting towards
them.
She was still donned in the heavy make up and bold fabrics of the hooch tent
and Steve knew she must have only just finished her act as it was still
relatively early.
“Sam’s been lookin’ all over.” she told him, ignoring Barnes in the quiet way
that most did.
Steve did not doubt that Sam had told Darcy all about Barnes’ past as she had
regarded him with the same cool aloofness he had seen countless others use
around the taller man. He sometimes wondered if Barnes was as aware of it as he
was, if it bothered
the other man as much or if he was hardened to it.
“Darcy,” he said, fed up. “Have you met James?”
Darcy stood up a little straighter and from the corner of his eye, Steve saw
Barnes freeze, his cigar raised half way to his lips.
“Ah - no. I don’t think so.” Darcy said, managing to recover admirably after
only a few awkward moments of silence.
“James, this is Darcy Lewis. She’s the girl Sam won’t stop flapping his lip
about.” Steve grinned.
Of course, Barnes hadn’t ever talked to Sam long enough to have to listen to
one of his love sick sonnets about Darcy but the white lie was loaded with
flattery and worked to ease some of the stiffness in Darcy’s spine as she
extended her hand.
Barnes fumbled his cigar back between his lips and took her hand in his own.
“Pleasure’s mine, Miss Lewis.” Barnes said. “And I can certainly see why Sam is
so taken with you.”
Steve had to wipe a hand over his face to keep from laughing out loud. Darcy
certainly was stunning - that was undeniable - but
in an effort to sound charming, Barnes’ voice changed completely and Steve felt
as though his grin would split his face if it
reached much wider.
The flattery worked a treat though and Steve noticed, even in the failing
light, that the unnatural pink hue of Darcy’s rouged cheeks became a little
deeper at Barnes’ honeyed words.
“Well, at least it’s good he knows he’s batting above his average then.” she
said, shocking a genuine laugh from both Steve and Barnes.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” she told Barnes then as she released his hands.
“Sam’s been hounding me to find this one for a drink but your more than welcome
to join us.”
Steve beamed, pleased with himself that his cunning had paid off.
“That’d be swell.” Barnes said in the same honeyed tone from before which did
little to quell Steve’s self satisfied smirk. “Funnily enough, Steve was just
telling me today that he was going to ask you for a dance this evening.”
Steve’s smile dropped as Darcy’s face lit up. He turned to Barnes who was
smirking from ear-to-ear and nodded meaningfully in
Darcy’s direction just as she swept forward and pulled Steve into a hug.
“Steve, I’d love to dance with you tonight. You mook, why didn’t you say
something earlier? C’mon. Sam and the lads are waiting!”
Steve scowled at Barnes as he was tugged along by the very excited Darcy,
shaking his head as the other man just laughed and followed at a slightly more
leisurely pace.
*
Darcy took them towards the back of the lot where the rail swung round and
crowded the carriages up in a tight semi circle. A handful of the carriages
were open, spilling the soft light of their lanterns onto the worn grass in
front. They weren’t far along the line from Sam and Steve’s carriage and Steve
wagered a guess that the open trailers belonged to some of the other
roustabouts.
Two barrels had been rolled into the space and their innards glowed warm with
flames. People were gathered around them, enjoying the warmth, laughing and
joking, calling to one another as more and more people emerged from the
gathering darkness.
Steve recognised most of the faces he saw, either by name or by sight, but the
feeling did not set him at ease as with a sinking feeling, he began to realise
he had drawn Barnes into a crowd which was not his own.
With the exception of Steve and Barnes’ unlikely friendship, Steve had observed
that what Sam had told him early in the piece
about the social order within the show stood true. Performers and roustabouts
did not mix. Hell, even Sam and Darcy got sideways looks more for the fact that
she was a performer and he a labourer than they did for the fact that she was a
white woman dating a black man.
And that was despite the fact that the hooch girls seemed to fit into the
category of performer and working type, giving them some semblance of leeway
regarding who they mixed with. As though conjured by the thought, Steve noticed
Maria and Sharon were in the group of people gathered around the open mouth of
one of the carriage.
However, the group gathered were mainly labouring men. The sort of men who
Barnes paid to cut his firewood and clean up after the cats. The sort of men
who might take offence to one of the performers ‘slumming it’ with them out of
some sort of imagined pity. Steve’s mind began to race as he tried to figure
out a way to excuse Barnes and himself. But Darcy still had a hold of his wrist
and people’s heads were beginning to turn in their direction.
“Darcy! Steve!” Sam called as he leapt from one of the carriages, a bottle
clasped in his hand. “Finally, jeez, I - didn’t think I’d ever find you.”
Steve did not miss the way his friend’s voice caught when he noticed Barnes
behind them.
“Yeah, looks like you were looking real hard.” Darcy responded as Sam drew
close and she reached out with her free hand to flick
the base of the bottle in his hand.
Sam shrugged and Steve’s gut clenched as the conversation petered out.
“Steve’s asked me for a dance.” Darcy said after a few long silent moments and
Sam’s mouth fell open in surprise.
“Has he now?” he said right as Steve said: “Darcy, I don’t know…”
“Good, because I’m stealing first spot on Barnes’ dance card.” Peggy said as
she appeared beside Darcy.
Steve’s eyebrows leapt. Peggy was also still in her stage makeup and a plain
royal blue slip dress, her feet clad in solid heels that
made her almost as tall as Barnes himself.
Barnes looked just as surprised as Steve when Peggy tugged at his hand.
Somewhere, music began to play, bluesy and loud. The kind a fella could easily
spin his best girl to.
“C’mon Barnes,” Peggy said, red lips curling upwards. “Let’s show them how it’s
done.”
*
Steve hoped with all his heart that Sam married Darcy Lewis.
She had not laughed at him when he missed the steps of the dance, or scolded
him when he stood on her toes. She whispered the count to him when he lost
track of the music and graciously pulled them from the makeshift dance floor at
the first sign that his ruddy lungs were about to protest.
“Sit.” she told him sternly as he hauled himself onto the open lip of one of
the train carriages. “I’ll go find us some hooch.”
Steve spluttered in protest, attempting to slide onto his feet once more. “No,
I can go -”
Darcy laughed, though not unkindly. “Relax, Rogers. Besides, I’m the one with
the good connections.”
She winked at him before turning on her heel and heading to the carriage across
the way. Steve sighed, cursing his weak lungs
and his crooked back, and turned his head back to those who were still dancing.
His eye was immediately drawn to Barnes.
His friend was in the midst of it all, Peggy still on his arm, and together
they were quite literally dancing up a storm as the quick movements of their
feet kicked up the dust beneath them.
The other revellers had moved aside to give them room, some even pausing their
own dancing to hoot and holler as Barnes flipped Peggy, her dress swirling out
wide from her hips, giving the crowd a glimpse of her long smooth legs and the
soft curve of her behind where it met the top of her thigh.
Steve felt his cheeks heat and blessedly, Darcy chose that moment to return,
pressing a cool bottle into his hand. She clinked her own bottle to his with a
wink before hauling herself onto the space beside him.
Steve brought the mouth of the bottle up and sniffed it gingerly, wincing when
the pungent odour burnt the back of his throat.
“It ain’t for smellin’.” Darcy warned him and with startling clarity, the night
he spent with Barnes in his trailer, the other man drunk from whiskey and
grief, came rushing back to Steve.
He remembered sitting side by side with the other man, the heat that had
radiated from him, the smell of the whiskey on his breath.
He looked out to the crowd once more, his eyes resting on Barnes and Peggy,
dancing closer now, the current song slower than the last. His gut ached and
Steve furiously shoved away the thought that the feeling may be jealousy, cold
and fierce, brought on by the traitorous voice in the back of his skull that
told him he would never hold the other man as close as Peggy did.
He brought the bottle to lips and took a long, deep pull from it and attempted
to douse the ache with whiskey.
*
By the time Barnes stumbled from the makeshift dance floor, Steve’s cheeks were
warm for a different reason and the whiskey pumping through his system had him
leaning heavily against mouth of the carriage.
“Well,” Barnes pronounced, running his eyes over Steve, head to toe and back
again. “It certainly looks like you’re enjoying
yourself.”
Steve shrugged off Darcy’s laughter. “Darcy has better whiskey than you.” he
replied, swinging his half drunk bottle in front of himself.
Barnes chuckled. “Is that so?” he asked.
His cheeks were flushed and his brow damp from dancing. He had unbuttoned his
shirt cuffs and rolled them to his elbow and
Steve could not help but stare at the corded muscles of Barnes’ forearm as
Barnes reached out towards him.
“I’ve been dancin’ a heck of a long time.” Barnes said and Steve frowned.
“So?”
To his side, Darcy snorted.
“So I’m thirsty, Rogers.” Barnes explained.
Steve flushed when it occurred to him that Barnes was not reaching for him but
rather for his drink.
“Get your own.” he muttered, embarrassed.
With a start he realised that he had been leaning towards Barnes’ outstretched
hand and he pulled back suddenly, curling in on
himself and back around his bottle.
Barnes’ eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” he asked and Steve could only find it in himself to
grunt in reply.
Darcy had all but dissolved into giggles beside Steve, pawing at his arm and
hiccuping.
“What have you done to my woman, Rogers?” another voice demanded and Steve
squinted, trying to focus his eyes on Sam as the other man emerged from the
dancing crowd.
“I ain’t done nothin’.” he told him just as Darcy piped up with; “I am my own
damn woman, Samuel Wilson”.
The sassy bite of her tone mixed with the slight slur of her speech set Steve
giggling and once he began, he found he could not stop, the convulsions shaking
him so hard that he missed the look that Barnes and Sam shared.
“You damned soaks.” Sam cursed fondly. “The pair of you are three sheets to the
wind off half a serve of whiskey.”
Darcy giggled. “You ain’t one to talk, you -”
Sam growled playfully, cutting her off. “Shut your mouth, you lush. Some things
should stay between a man and his woman.”
“She’s her own damn woman, Samuel Wilson.” Steve cut in and Darcy howled with
laughter, listing sideways and knocking into his
shoulder.
Steve grinned wider when he heard the deep rumble of Barnes’ laugh as well and
he turned back to find the other man watching him.
“We should word Fury up.” Barnes said. “Get you two your own comedy act.”
Steve screwed up his nose at the idea. “Naw. I like drawin’.”
Barnes laughed again. “I know you do, Stevie.” he said and Steve could not help
the warmth that pooled in his belly at the intimate sound of the nickname on
Barnes’ lips. “You darn good at it too.”
Steve lifted his chin proudly. “Damn right.” he agreed before his modesty
caught up with him. “I mean, not as good as you are at
dancin’.” he amended.
Barnes shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching up, ruining the mask of
earnestness that had settled over his face. “Better.”
he argued.
“Noooo.” Steve complained, drawing the sound out and squinting in an effort to
make sure Barnes was not smirking at him.
“Were you watching me dance just now?” Barnes asked and Steve nodded hurriedly.
“You tore the place up!”
Barnes grinned at that. “I guess I do okay at that sort of thing. It’s awful
thirsty work though.”
Steve nodded again. Barnes’ face was flushed, sweat gleaming on his brow. Steve
licked his lips before he thought to stop
himself.
“A man could use a drink after dancin’ like that.” Barnes said and Steve found
himself nodding again.
A moment passed and Steve frowned when Barnes’ eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Steve.”
“What?”
“Give me some of your damn whiskey.”
Steve sat up a little straighter as he suddenly remembered the bottle in his
hand. He squinted down at it and swallowed around the numbness of his throat,
remembering how smooth it was when it went down.
He laughed. “No!” he replied. “This is the good stuff! Darcy got it for me.” he
said all at once, beaming when Darcy and Sam began to laugh uproariously beside
him.
Barnes made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat and lunged forward,
grabbing for the bottle. 

Steve squawked and flung himself backwards, sprawling into the open mouth of
the carriage, swinging his bottle up over his head. He giggled helplessly as
Barnes cursed at him, grinning up at the roof of the carriage. He took another
swig of his whiskey in celebration.
He almost choked when Barnes’ hands settled on his thighs.
“Give it.” Barnes growled and Steve found he could not reply, stuck on the warm
sensation of Barnes’ hands separated from his thighs by only the thin, worn
linen of his trousers.
“Steve!” Barnes said again and Steve gasped as the other man dug his fingers
into his legs as if to get his attention.
Shame rolled through Steve as the sensation shot straight to his cock and he
sat up quickly, trying to conceal the physical effect Barnes’ touch caused.
However the rush of sitting up so fast mixed with the whiskey caused his vision
to swim and he threw out his free hand desperately to catch himself, groaning.
“Ah, shit.” he heard Barnes mutter. “Stevie, you okay?”
The softness of the other man’s voice did not help the shameful response of
Steve’s body. He could imagine laying in Barnes’ arms as the other man
whispered to him just so.
He groaned again as his stomach rolled. He felt a cold sweat break out across
his top lip.
Barnes’ hands were on his shoulders now. The heat of them felt like brands
through the cotton of Steve’s shirt. He wanted to feel them on his skin.
“M’sick.” he groaned.
“Oh hell,” Steve heard Sam curse. “I better get him back to ours before he
hurls.”
Steve pushed at the hands on him, unsure whether they were Sam’s or Barnes’.
“No,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “M’not a child.”
“It’s okay, Steve. Whiskey is a helluva drink.” Darcy said and shame rolled
through Steve anew at the thought that she was seeing
him in such a state.
“I’ll take him.” Barnes said to Sam and Steve gasped when his thighs were
spread suddenly as Barnes hip-checked his way between them. “You owe Darcy a
dance after all.”
Steve pushed at Barnes’ shoulders, unadulterated fear twisting at his insides
as Barnes’ hands gathered him back towards the lip of the carriage and closer
to Barnes’ chest.
“Dammit Steve.” Barnes cursed, stepping back with the force of the shove. “I’m
trying to get you back on your feet.”
He stepped forward and pulled at Steve again, hard enough that Steve’s ass slid
from his seat on the carriage.
Steve cried out as he felt his equilibrium shift too suddenly, certain that he
was about to fall. But Barnes caught him, pressing him
back swiftly so that he was held between the solid expanse of Barnes’ front
against his own and the harsh lip of the carriage
against his back.
Steve choked on a whimper as the movement caused him to slide down the length
of Barnes’ front, his arousal unmistakable - pressed together so tightly as the
were. The hot sick pleasure of the friction caused Steve’s legs to weaken
beneath him and he had to grasp at Barnes’ rigid arms as he sunk to the ground
in order to stay upright.
The second he had his feet beneath him, he canted his hips away, trying to put
some distance between the solid heat of Barnes’ thigh and the traitorous own of
his stiff cock.
“Fuck.” he whispered, hot tears burning at the corners of his eyes, the foul
word foreign on his tongue.
He knew by the way Barnes tensed against him that the other man had felt it.
There was no way he couldn’t have, not when Steve had practically felt the rasp
of each button on Barnes’ shirt through his fly, the catch and pull of the
other man’s belt on his own.
Barnes’ grip on the backs of his forearms was like iron as the other man stood
frozen against him. Frozen in shock, Steve wagered. Soon the disgust would come
and he prepared himself to be flung away when Barnes’ finally realised what the
heat between Steve’s legs meant.
The moment did not come and eventually Steve pushed at Barnes’ arms himself.
“Leggo.”
The whispered demand seemed to rouse Barnes from whatever stupor had fallen
over him and he finally let go of Steve’s arms.
Steve hurriedly wiped at his eyes with his cuff, glancing to the side to find
that they were alone, Sam and Darcy having disappeared into the night.
He could not bring himself to look at Barnes. Not now that the other man knew.
He could not bare to see the look of disgust and contempt that he knew would be
lined across Barnes’ face. Not when he had already seen it on his father’s
face, on his mother’s face.
“C’mon.” Barnes said finally. “Let’s get you back.”
Confused, drunk and broken, Steve did not have the energy to argue.
*
They walked in silence, Barnes trailing just behind Steve’s peripheral vision,
and Steve was so caught up in his head that he was embarrassed by how long it
took him to realise they were headed for Barnes’ carriage and not his own.
He pulled up short at the thought, causing Barnes to knock into the back of
him.
“Steve?” Barnes asked softly.
“What-” Steve began but a sharp noise to their left cut him off.
It had sounded like a cry of pain, the sort a man has no choice to give when
the air is knocked out of him by a swift hit to the gut.
Steve had been hit by enough school bullies to have heard the sound a hundred
times. He stood stock still, listening for it again.
“Steve-” Barnes said, tone wary.
“Sh.” Steve said, just as the sound happened again.
He turned towards it, stumbling, still unsteady on his feet in his haste.
Barnes grabbed at his arm to pull him back but he would not be deterred. If
someone was being hurt, he was going stand up for them.
“Steve!” Barnes hissed again as Steve tore his arm from his grip. “What do you
think you’re doing?”
Steve ignored him. The sound was closer now, echoing out from between two
closed storage carriages, the dark space between a perfect place for an ambush,
for a fella to drag another into and shake him down.
Steve swallowed at the thought of what he might find as he rounded the corner
of the carriage, almost checking behind him to see if Barnes was still behind
him, to make sure he had back up. At least swinging his fists might prove to
Barnes he wasn’t a fairy.
But as he rounded the corner, the sight before him made him stop short.
There were two men, as he had thought there would be. And they were locked
together, hands grappling over clothes and skin.
But, Steve realised with a jolt that shook him to his core, it was an act of
passion, not violence.
He could see, even in the darkness, the way their mouths were fused together,
the way their hands grasped at each other, how they rocked together bolstered
by the solid wall of the carriage.
The picture they made was everything Steve had never let himself want and
everything he knew he would never have.
He stood frozen in shock, listening to their soft sighs and the wet sound of
their lips on one another until the smaller of the two -
Peter, Sam’s friend, Steve realised suddenly - bit the lip of the other man -
Wade - and the latter let out the same hurt sound that had drawn Steve to them.
Steve felt as though he was on fire, his skin prickling all over with the rush
of hot blood as that wounded sound buried itself into his brain. He swallowed,
hard and dry, his next breath coming rough into his lungs.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his own, soft and coaxing.
He looked back with wide eyes to find Barnes watching him - watching him watch
the other men who remained oblivious in their enjoyment of each other. He
wanted the ground to crack beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He wanted to
scream.
He opened him mouth to speak - to scream, he didn't know - but no sound came
out save the roughness of his own breath.
Barnes’ hand tightened around his own.
“C’mon.” Barnes whispered low, voice barely above a whisper.
But Steve’s feet refused to move.
“C’mon” Barnes whispered again and finally, Steve let himself be led away.
Chapter End Notes
     So there you have it. Steve is about to be forced to face some of his
     biggest demons.
     Please let me know what you think either by dropping me a line here
     or heading over to my Tumblr where I generally moon over these two
     dorks.
     Thanks for reading!
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Summary
     They walked in silence - deep, uncomfortable and oppressive silence -
     and Steve could not help but feel the merriment of the festivities
     behind them had taken on a mocking edge as the silence stretched and
     thickened between them.
Chapter Notes
     Here it is! Not so polished as I would like but you have all waited
     long enough for this chapter! Thank you all for the feedback and
     messages I have received for this story over the last four months. I
     am so overwhelmed that so many of you were so eager for it to
     continue. Much love to you all!
     WARNING: Mentions of past sexual abuse as well as internalised
     homophobia in this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
They walked in silence - deep, uncomfortable and oppressive silence - and Steve
could not help but feel the merriment of the festivities behind them had taken
on a mocking edge as the silence stretched and thickened between them.
The warmth of the whiskey in his gut had turned cold and he shivered
uncontrollably as he followed the rigid line of Barnes’ shoulders back down the
line of the train cars.
Barnes kept a steady pace, a few feet ahead of Steve, and didn’t look back once
- even when Steve lost his footing on the uneven ground and stumbled forwards.
As Steve righted himself, he was hit with a realisation.
“This isn’t they way to my carriage.” he said, tongue still loose from the
alcohol that had numbed it.
Barnes did turn then, though his posture nor his face softened.
“You are travelling with me.” he countered and there was nothing in his tone
that invited argument.
“But - ” Steve found himself saying anyway. “But.”
He could only just make out the arch of Barnes’ eyebrow in the failing light.
“But what, Steve?”
Steve’s mind reeled, filled to brimming with the memories of the sensation of
Barnes pressed tight against him, of the friction, of the hurt noise Wade had
made when he was bitten, of the sick lingering want that was cooling in the
base of his gut.
“They - they - it’s wrong.” He muttered, trying to encompass everything he felt
in that moment in words that failed to even form properly in his mouth.
“For God’s sake!” Barnes barked. “Just get inside.”
Steve blinked and realised with a jolt that they were standing by Barnes’
trailer.
“But -” he said again but was cut off when Barnes let loose a frustrated groan.
“Steve, we can’t talk about this outside. Any of it - okay?” He hissed. “Get
inside.”
Steve felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest and he clung to it, desperate
to feel something other than the confusion and hurt that seemed to glut his
chest and make it difficult to breathe.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” he countered.
Barnes paused before turning and unlocking the carriage door in sharp, jolting
movements.
Steve thought for a moment that the other man was fed up with him - ready to
leave him and shut himself away in his carriage and be done with the
ridiculousness of that evening and the sham that was the friendship they had
been nurturing.
Steve swallowed heavily at the thought, his anger immediately doused by the
cold realisation that Barnes had every right to walk away from him - to be
disgusted by him - to turn his back on him the way his parents had done.
Tears burnt in the corner of Steve’s eyes but his strangled call of the other
man’s name was drowned out by the squeal of the carriage door as Barnes heaved
it open. Steve’s stomach rolled as Barnes hauled himself into the carriage,
knowing that once the other man closed that door, he would be alone once more.
But Barnes turned then and while his face was still tight with anger, he knelt
and offered a hand to Steve.
Steve refused to let his knees give way beneath him though the surge of relief
through his system made them feel as though they would.
Barnes’ palm was cool and dry against his own as the other man clasped his hand
in his and hauled him into the carriage.
Steve’s stomach swooped at the sensation of being lifted and it took a long
moment for his legs to feel steady beneath him even as Barnes set a steadying
hand against his shoulder.
“Okay?” Barnes asked and Steve found he could not meet the other man’s eyes
even as he nodded.
“Okay.” Barnes said again and slid past Steve to heave the carriage door shut
once more.
The squeal of the metal seemed almost deafening however it was nothing compared
to the all consuming silence that followed. Eventually, Steve could not bear it
any longer and looked to his friend only to find Barnes still standing his his
hands curled around the handle of the door.
“Steve.” Barnes said but then seemed to lose the end of the thought.
Steve’s gut clenched at the possibility of what Barnes might say next.
“You gotta understand -” Barnes said then, haltingly. “You gotta know that it’s
- different.”
He turned and when he caught the look of confusion that pinched Steve’s brow,
he sighed.
“You chose this life.”
Steve’s confusion flashed hot. He had explained his situation to Barnes - that
he no longer had a home - and he thought the other man had understood.
Barnes - now apparently well versed in deciphering the subtle variations of
Steve’s expressions of annoyance - held up his hands in a pacifying manner.
“No, I mean - you had to leave. I know that.” He lowered his hands. “But you
chose to come here - to the spec.”
Steve considered his friend for a long moment before nodding.
“Some of us - “ Barnes stopped. “Most of us - those that aren’t roustabouts
anyway - didn’t choose the show. We were born to it.”
Barnes paused again, seeming to choke on a humourless laugh, and Steve
remembered the night Barnes had told his own story - that his friend had been
abandoned by the one person that was supposed to love him unconditionally -
that the circus was all that Barnes knew or had ever known.
“We’re here,” Barnes continued, “because someone didn’t love us enough to give
us another option. Because we have no family. Because we’re trying to make our
own.”
Steve did not miss the stiff way Barnes held himself as he spoke nor the way he
seemed to be looking at the vacant space over Steve’s left shoulder rather than
meeting his gaze.
“So when some lucky son’bitch finds someone else to love them…” Barnes trailed
off with a shake of his head. “Well, that’s - that’s…”
He didn’t finish. He looked down, blinking rapidly.
Steve’s chest seized with emotion, with the desire to go to his friend and hold
him, but everything about Barnes’ posture said that he did not want to be
touched. He looked like a trapped animal. The way Sehkmet had looked, trapped
in her cage with her two cubs prone before her - anxious and hurting. The way…
The way Barnes had looked when he had confessed to slitting Pierce’s throat
because of what the other man had done to him.
Barnes took a deep, fortifying breath. “What I’m trying to explain is that we
don’t - we don’t condemn people because the person who loves them is the wrong
gender.”
Steve felt as though the floor had given way beneath him.
“W-what?” he choked out.
“You heard.” Barnes replied.
“But -” Steve said. “But.”
His knees trembled. His skin felt as though it was shrinking, constricting him.
A wave of nausea swept over him.
“But it’s wrong.” he said, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.
Barnes gave another ugly laugh. “Why?” he asked.
Steve blinked. “Because it says so -”
“In the Bible?” Barnes asked.
Steve nodded.
“The Bible also says we shouldn’t shave or eat ham.” Barnes retorted and
Steve’s mouth shut so quickly that he heard his teeth click.
Finally, Barnes looked at him and the hurt, guarded look in his eyes almost
made Steve flinch away from his gaze.
“You don’t have to agree.” Barnes said then. “But those two -” he nodded
towards the door. “They aren’t hurtin’ anyone. They’re just finding some
comfort in each other. They - they love each other and they aren’t hurting
anyone by doing it.”
Steve opened his mouth and then shut it when no words came. He could not
believe what he was hearing.
“So people - know?” he asked finally, the realisation settling over him.
Barnes shook his head. “Not people. Not everyone. But some. It’s sort of the
Lot’s worse kept secret.”
“And -” Steve’s voice caught. “And they’re okay with it?”
“They know there are worse things in the world than finding someone to love.”
Barnes said in response.
As the words settled over Steve, he began to feel as though he had lost the
function of his senses. His vision and hearing - which were poor at the best of
times - seemed to collapse into a warped distortion. His skin prickled with
goosebumps and a cold sweat broke out on his top lip.
He had assumed - when he had told Barnes about why he had left home - that the
other man had not turned him away in disgust simply out of pity. Then Barnes
had told him about Pierce and Steve had assumed that his friend’s tolerance was
born from some twisted sense of solidarity - the understanding that these types
of things happened - could happen to anyone.
But now - now Barnes was standing in front of him and telling him that all the
perverted desires he felt - the ones he’d been taught were so heinous that they
could strip a child of their parents’ love - were acceptable and that he found
nothing wrong with them. Even after everything he’d been through - everything
he’d suffered through at the hands of Pierce.
Did that mean that Barnes had not been disgusted when he had felt the evidence
of Steve’s arousal pressed against him? Did it mean that Barnes himself was an
invert? Steve’s mind reeled as it was flooded with possibilities, all of which
seemed to be more unlikely than the last.
Barnes seemed to misinterpret his silence.
“Steve.” he began. “I can see how this might be difficult for you. Considering.
But those two - they love each other. They aren’t hurtin’ one another - or
anyone else. So even if you don’t agree, I gotta ask you don’t say nothin’ -
that you don’t rat them out.”
Steve still felt off kilter - left reeling again by Barnes’ uncharacteristic
rambling and by the assumption Barnes had made as to why it would be difficult
for Steve and not himself- and it took a moment before he fully realised what
Barnes had requested - what his friend feared Steve would do.
“No. I mean, I wouldn’t.” he managed finally. “Like, you said - they aren’t
hurtin’ anyone.”
Not like Robert.
Not like Pierce.
Barnes seemed to deflate all at once, the tension falling from his shoulders as
he exhaled a long sigh of relief.
Steve’s mind was still ablaze with questions but when he opened his mouth to
speak - he was cut off.
“I sorta figured you’d see reason.” Barnes said, smiling for the first time
since he had lead Steve away from the festivities. “I mean, you’re okay with
Wilson and Lewis and that ain’t exactly kosher.”
Steve frowned, thrown yet again. He wondered if there would ever come a time
when conversations with Barnes didn’t leave him feeling as though he was
constantly trying keep pace with the other man, as though he was following a
different course of discussion when Barnes was following another.
“What?”
Barnes pulled a face. “Wilson’s black.” he said, as though that explained
everything. Then, when the confusion on Steve’s face didn’t clear, he
continued: “Lewis is white.”
Clarity dawned over Steve. “People have a problem with that?”
Barnes laughed incredulously. “Not so much ‘round here, but yeah. Some do.
Surely you ain’t so blind you didn’t notice the looks they get?”
Steve had. Sometimes the other men threw dirty looks at Sam’s back when Darcy
walked by but he’d only thought they were jealous. Darcy was a real looker
after all and Sam was the lucky fella that had won her heart.
Barnes laughed again when Steve told him as much.
“You’re a good man, Steve.” his friend told him and Steve felt himself flush
but when he opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted once
more.
“One of the best.” Barnes said emphatically, silencing any argument. “First you
agree not to rat on those two fellas and then you tell me you hadn’t noticed
the colour of Wilson’s skin? That you don’t got a problem with Wilson and Lewis
being together when you got one awfully big reason not to like it?”
“Huh?” Steve felt his brow furrow once more. “What are you talking about?”
Barnes frowned back at him. “Lewis.” he said. “You’re sweet on her, ain’t you?
I mean, I was sure it was Carter that had caught your eye but after tonight, I
guess I was wrong.”
“You are wrong!” Steve fired back. “I don’t like Lew - Darcy!”
Barnes shook his head. “It’s okay, Steve. I ain’t gonna tattle.”
“There’s nothing to tell!” Steve cried. He could not believe how badly Barnes
had his wires crossed.
He wanted to sit down. He felt like his head was spinning. Barnes kept
surprising him - kept throwing him for a loop - and Steve was left feeling
exhausted as he tried to keep up. He looked longingly at one of the armchairs
to the side of Barnes’ dresser.
“Then…” Barnes said and his tone made Steve’s gaze snap back to his friend.
Barnes sounded like a man on the edge of a daunting realisation and Steve could
guess what it was. If Barnes had founded the ridiculous notion of Steve being
sweet on Darcy from the events of that one night - surely it wasn’t so much of
a leap for him to realise who it was that Steve was truly caught on.
“But you…” Barnes said then and Steve felt his stomach seize in fear.
Apparently lost for words, Barnes continued by waving an inelegant hand in
front of his own crotch.
Steve’s face felt as though it had burst into flames and he wished terribly
that the floor might give way beneath him and provide some sort of escape
route. Barnes’ own cheeks were tinged pink.
He could not risk Barnes finding out. Even if his friend was sympathetic to
Peter and Wade’s plight - being an invert sympathiser and being an invert were
two completely different demons. The forefront of Steve’s mind flooded images
of Barnes since they had met - with the experiences they had already shared.
His every day life now revolved around the man who stood in front of him.
Barnes was unequivocally the best and closest friend Steve had ever had - a
thought which was sobering and exciting all at once, and which cemented the
notion that Steve could not risk losing Barnes firmly in his mind.
“Yeah, well.” he floundered, trying to buy more time to think of a logical
excuse. “Jeez.”
Barnes was still watching him, head cocked like a bloodhound on a scent. The
sweat on Steve’s top lip had spread to his throat and chest. His shirt stuck to
him uncomfortably. His mind resolutely refused to provide a logical excuse.
“I -” he choked out. “I - um.”
Barnes seemed to take pity on him then. “Relax, Rogers. I ain’t seen you this
worked up since you first met Carter.”
Steve’s mind ground to a halt, clinging to the memory. The rich musk of the
hooch tent, the dim lights, Carter’s perfume and all that bare skin. Barnes’
teasing afterwards, the embarrassment he’d felt when he told Barnes’ the truth
- that his first kiss had been with a girl who was getting paid to do it and in
front of a crowd of salivating, hollering men.
“You’re a jerk.” he muttered, face aflame.
But then, he was struck with an idea.
“Why you gotta rile me so much about dames, huh?” he asked, looking down at his
shoes. “You know I ain’t had much to do with them before now.”
Steve still felt embarrassed - talking about this sort of thing always made him
so - but he finally felt as though he was on an even footing with Barnes.
Barnes said nothing and Steve didn’t dare look up. He was a ruddy liar at the
best of times - let alone when the person who arguably now knew him better than
anyone else in the world was staring him down.
“You gave me stick about Carter and now Darcy. I mean, she’s a looker. Just
‘cause I - ” he fumbled for the word. “-react to her don’t mean I got any
designs on my friend’s girl.”
Silence descended over them once more though Steve was almost sure he could
hear the hum of how quickly his heart was racing in his chest.
A heavy sense of guilt began to curdle in his gut. He was lying to Barnes -
again. Lying to protect the lie he was already living. He swallowed, overcome
by how suddenly the feeling enveloped him.
But Barnes seemed to buy it.
“I guess I did kind of jump to conclusions.” he said and the tone of his voice
gave Steve the strength to lift his head.
Barnes smiled tentatively as their gaze met and Steve felt the ground move
beneath his feet - a sensation that was explain a mere moment later when the
call of the train whistle echoed down the line. The train was moving on.
 
**
Later, Steve woke curled to one side of Barnes’ generous cot.
Once the train had rolled out from Boston, they had spent the evening in
companionable silence. Barnes leafed through one of his worn paper backs,
sprawled across the bed, while Steve curled into his favoured arm chair, his
sketchbook in his lap and tried to think of something to draw.
However, it had been impossible to do so when his mind was still caught on the
events of the evening. It seemed every time he looked to the white paper before
him, all he could see in his minds eye was how tightly Peter and Wade had been
pressed together between the carriages, the shy smile Barnes had given him, the
curve of the other man’s jaw.
He was so caught on the visions he knew he could not draw, that he failed to
notice the lamp by Barnes’ bed begin to dim, the oil running low. In fact, it
was not until Barnes gave a soft murmuring snore, that Steve was able to pull
himself from his thoughts long enough to realise that his friend had fallen
asleep with his paper back played across his chest.
As though waning in sympathy, Steve’s own body had chosen that moment to let
him know that he too was exhausted, his joints aching from sitting too long in
the one position, his eyes burning from staring too long at the same blank
page.
Wary of his creaking joints and careful not to wake Barnes, Steve had stood,
leaving his sketchbook behind on the armchair and crossed the gently swaying
carriage to the unoccupied side of the bed.
He had been struck once more with how the years seemed to melt from Barnes with
he slept. Steve reasoned that it was perhaps the vulnerability of the other
man’s sleep-slack face that did it. Like this, Barnes’ defences were all but
non existent and it warmed Steve that the other man trusted him enough to let
him witness it.
He had lowered himself onto the cot beside his friend and gently removed the
novel from beneath Barnes’ slack hands, setting it on his own bedside table
before resting his head down on the pillow. Curled on his side, he studied
Barnes’ handsome profile. The easy rise and fall of the other man’s chest was
the last thing he saw before his eyes drifted shut, weighed down by the
excitement of the evening and the sense of calm his bedmate exuded.
Now, he was not sure what had woken him, only that he was alone in the bed and
that the carriage was darker for the absence of the lamp from Barnes’ bedside
table. Steve frowned, sleep addled and confused.
As he sat up he realised that the only light source was coming from the open
door way of the privy, to the right of the bed. The elongated shadow thrown
across the floor and the bottom half of the wall indicated Barnes’ presence in
the lavatory as well.
Steve eased himself back onto the mattress, appeased and willing to let sleep
take him once more when he was sure that Barnes would return to bed.
But then he heard it.
A low, breathy moan - not so dissimilar from those which Wade had made earlier
that evening.
His eyes snapped open, fixating on the shadow of his friend which swayed and
danced across the floor of the carriage, rebounding up the wall with each sway
of the train on the track. With a jolt, he recognised the moment of the shadowy
figures arm and what the motion meant - what Barnes was doing.
He was touching himself - and if the next breathy noise was any indication, he
was close to his completion.
Steve’s entire body flushed hot, his cock hardening so quickly inside his
trousers that he felt dizzy with the sudden rush of blood southwards.
He swallowed thickly, wincing when the dry snick of his throat sounded too loud
in the otherwise quiet room - even to his own shoddy ears.
He strained to hear, drawing himself up so that his hearing was not further
muffled by the pillow beneath his head. When he sat forward, he realised he
could hear more than just the occasional pleasure-pain noise that escaped from
Barnes but also the slick sound of flesh on flesh.
Of Barnes’ hand on his cock.
It was all he could do not to gasp aloud when the soft wet noise was joined by
a whispered: “ah, fuck.”
Barnes’ voice sounded like nothing Steve had ever heard before and the
whispered profanity seem to crackle down his spin like lightening, making his
own cock jerk and throb helplessly beneath his fly.
He bit his lip as one traitorous hand moved to grip the rigid budge of his
erection and squeezed in a futile attempt to discourage the reaction.
But it was no use.
He could tell by the motion of Barnes’ shadow that the other man’s movements
were becoming wilder, faster. Soon, he thought he could hear every harsh breath
the other man released as he chased his pleasure selfishly. He wondered at how
loud Barnes’ was panting if he could hear it from across the room until he
realised that his own breathing mimicked that of his friend almost perfectly.
Steve bit down harder on his bottom lip and used all of his will power to
remove his hand from his crotch, rolling then onto his stomach to try and ease
the temptation.
He found though, unfortunately, that this only increased the amount of friction
against his cock and he could not help the hitch of his hips when Barnes gave
what sounded like a almost pained groan.
Steve jammed his eyes shut as he tried to will his traitorous body still, is
hand fisting in the sheets beside his bed. His whole body seemed to twitch with
the throb of his pulse along his cock. He could not think of a time when he had
been so aroused - so tempted to -
Closing his eyes seemed to only heighten his other senses and soon, Barnes'
ragged breathing and the slick of his hand seemed to be all Steve could hear,
the creaks and groans of the train dropping away and replaced with those that
made his blood run hot in his veins.
Barnes' tempo seemed to increase then, his panting dissolving into rough
pattern of “ah, ah, ah” as he neared his peak.
Steve’s grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles aching with the effort, as
he squirmed his hips away from the friction, the loss of which forced a low
whine from his throat.
“Oh, God.” Barnes gasped then, his voice choked with pleasure, and Steve’s eyes
flew open when the next word that sliced through the otherwise stillness of the
carriage was:
“Steve!”
Chapter End Notes
     There you have it. Please let me know what you think!
     Happy Holidays! xo
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Tell me, Barnes, did you rob him after you slit his throat?”
     Steve’s blood ran cold. He knew other people knew. He knew that Sam
     knew. He knew that Barnes’ past was one of the reasons the other man
     was ostracised by so many of the crew and by some of the other
     performers. But Steve had never heard anyone besides Sam speak of it,
     especially to Barnes’ face - despite the whispers that seemed to
     follow him constantly.
     “Did you rob him or did you already have enough from him paying you
     to f—”
     The voice was silenced by the sickening, unmistakably violent sound
     of flesh across flesh.
Chapter Notes
     I apologise profusely for the delay on this chapter. Real life is a
     bitch.
     Thank-you to those who are sill putting up with me and following this
     story.
     *WARNINGS: brief mentions of past sexual abuse and some non explicit
     physical violence.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Every muscle in Steve’s body felt frozen solid. His knuckles ached where they
fisted sheets. Sweat pooled in the small of his back and across the base of his
hair line.
He crushed his eyes closed and drew them open, expecting to wake from a dream.
But the softly lit decor of the carriage remained the same.
Barnes’ shadow loomed through the cracked door of the lavatory, still now, save
for the laboured rise and fall of his shoulders as the other man drew in great
gulping breaths.
Steve, even with his blighted hearing, could still make out the rasp of each
draw of air into the other man’s lungs. Though maybe, he thought wildly, it was
the sound of his own.
Regardless, the harried rasp made frantic duet with the thudding of his own
pulse which thundered in his veins.
A symphony that kept him hard and aching against the solid press of the cot
beneath his hips.
What little part of his mind that wasn’t ruled by his libido in those few
frantic moments warred between almost overwhelming disbelief and a tentative,
yet ecstatic joy. The two emotions seemed to tear him almost in half, clashing
and colliding - neither giving more than a little ground before the other raged
back.
Thus, Steve remained frozen until Barnes’ shadow flicked across the wall and
Steve heard the sound of water splashing as Barnes rinsed his hands with the
wash jug and bowl. The jug and bowl that they shared to freshen up of a
morning. Steve swallowed down against the broken sound that tried to escape his
throat. Surely - surely, he was dreaming.
He turned his head to the other side on the pillow, easing the awkward angle of
his neck, unwilling to watch Barnes walk back towards the bed for the fear of
giving himself away.
But there was no mistaking the way the mattress dipped when Barnes returned to
the bed for anything but reality. Steve had to concentrate on keeping his
breathing even and his shoulders steady as the other man settled beside him,
the cool air he let in tickling along the back of Steve’s sweat damp knees as
Barnes tossed and disturbed the covers.
After what seemed like an age, Barnes stilled with a sigh. Steve’s skin
prickled torturously as the other man’s body heat began to seep across the
covers.
And then, then Steve felt Barnes hand rest lightly between his shoulder blades,
blood hot despite material of Steve’s shirt between their skin. Unbidden, his
breath left him in a whoosh, seemingly forced out of his lungs by the smallest
pressure of Barnes’ hand against his back.
Barnes didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he remove his hand.
Instead, his fingers began to move slowly back and forth over the material of
Steve’s shirt and they continued until Barnes’ breathing even out and Steve
knew the other man was asleep by the way the weight of his hand grew across his
shoulder.
*
Barnes was gone the next morning when Steve managed to peel his eyes open. The
carriage stuffy in the mid-morning sun despite their locale and the time of
year and once he realised the other man was gone, Steve threw back the stifling
covers only to shiver when the air outside hit his skin.
He drew a hand across the covers opposite him, frowning when he found them cool
to touch. Barnes had obviously risen early but the fact that he had left
without waking
Steve was odd.
However, Steve couldn’t pretend he wasn’t grateful for the reprieve in his
friend’s company. The previous night seemed as though it had happened to
another person and for a few long bleary moments, Steve lay staring at the
ceiling of the carriage as he tried to piece together his reality.
He didn’t know how he would face his friend after what had happened - what he’d
heard, what he’d seen. Barnes was unaware - that he was sure of - but he
doubted he would be able to meet Barnes’ eye.
Steve sat up and rubbed the heels of his palms over his tired, aching eyes. He
had barely slept and had only drifted off for a few hours in the early dawn.
The rest of the night he had spent wide awake, overly aware of Barnes’ presence
beside him and his mind wrestling with what the events of the evening meant and
how he should react - or if he should react at all.
When he rose, he found fresh water in the jug and bowl Barnes kept by the
lavatory and the implication of it made Steve feel as though he were about to
swallow his tongue. Worse still, the splash of frigid water on his face did
little to relieve the warmth in his cheeks.
Using the lavatory was worse. He was very aware that he stood almost exactly
where Barnes had done the night before and he had to finish quickly before his
traitorous body could react in the way that would make it nearly impossible to
finish his morning’s ablutions.
Dressing made him feel more claustrophobic - more breathless - still. A heavier
shirt and trousers than those he’d slept in were necessary to protect him from
the chill creeping in beneath the carriage door but they felt rough and hot
against his skin. Not so soft as the thread of the shirt Barnes had run his
fingers over the night before and Steve hated them for that fact alone. He
rolled his shoulders as the scratch of heavy linen washed away the ghost of
Barnes’ touch, and frowned.
He jumped then when a loud rapping on the side of the carriage startled him
from his thoughts. He crossed the carriage and heaved the heavy door to the
side, revealing Sam’s cheerful face and a gust of cold air.
“Mornin’” his friend greeted, head craned back to meet Steve’s gaze as he stood
by the lip of the open carriage.
Steve felt his face heat anew. He’d not thought much on it in the past but now
- given the events of the night before, Peter and Wade and then Barnes - to be
found, only freshly dressed in Barnes’ carriage seemed to hold all sorts of
implications.
Sam seemed completely oblivious to Steve’s inner turmoil.
“You’ll want to get a move on.” he continued. “I came looking for you when I
saw your tent wasn’t up. I’ve got a moment now if you're finally up for the
day.”
Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, sheepish. “You don’t have to
do that, Sam.”
Sam laughed. “You’ve forgotten it’s parade day, haven’t you?” he asked.
Steve blinked. He had forgotten. The train had arrived in the smallest hours of
that morning which meant - with no shows for the day - the parade through town
would be at the top of the day’s agenda.
Every man and his dog would be rushing to move animals and hoist wagons and
pitch the tents of the traders and side shows. Barnes’ early departure suddenly
made all the more sense as did, Steve reckoned, his unwillingness to wake
Steve. By all accounts, Barnes would be a man to avoid today - what with the
stress of moving the big cats.
Sam must’ve seen the realisation break on Steve’s face. “You’ll certainly be
short of volunteers.” he wagered. “Especially now breakfast’s done and every
able man is up to his elbows in work. Come and I’ll help you set the tent now.”
Steve grateful smile dimmed as his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
Sam laughed and then pursed his lips and let out a low, impressed whistle.
“Jeez, it’s amazing you’ve even got an appetite after the amount of whiskey you
and my woman put away last night. I swear the little woman is still a tad
squiffy.”
Steve shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes.
“Here.” he muttered, digging a hand into his coat pocket. He drew out a small
brown roll wrapped in a handkerchief that Steve sincerely hoped was clean. “I
was saving this for me lunch but….” he trailed off as he tossed the roll to
Steve.
Steve barely managed to catch it, fumbling it between his hands before
squashing it somewhat desperately to his stomach to stop it falling to the
ground.
“I can’t take your lunch.” he protested but the argument was ruined by another
loud rumble from his stomach.
“You get any thinner, we’re gonna lose you when you turn side on.” Sam joked
but his voice was kind and Steve didn’t mind being teased by Sam.
Steve tucked the roll into the pocket of his own trousers and eased himself
down from the carriage. With Sam’s help, he hauled the door shut and they
started off towards the already bustling lot.
*
Setting the tent up took up the better part of what was left of the morning.
Steve tried to send Sam away several times, worried that his friend would be in
some kind of trouble for helping him when Steve was sure there were other, more
important jobs to be down.
“Will ya knock it off?” Sam finally said, exasperation clear in his tone and
his expression. “I’m a roustabout. My job is to get the Lot ready for the
rubes. Your tent -” at this he motioned dramatically to the tent they had spent
all morning heaving to its full height. “Is part of the Lot and just as worthy
of my time and sweat than any other here,
alright?”
Steve had no choice but to duck his head, feeling suitably chastised but more
than a little pleased.
“Thanks Sam.” he said.
Sam huffed, apparently embarrassed then by his outburst. “Yeah, well, don’t
mention it.”
Steve opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when the continuous buzz of
activity around them was drowned out by the sound of angry voices from just
outside the tent.
“ - Ringling have got twelve big cats and a hippotomus. Ain’t no rube going to
waste their green on us if we don’t up the stakes -“
Steve did not have time to place the voice before it was silenced by another,
more familiar one.
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t -” said Barnes angrily.
“Oh, you know.” assured the first voice. It was softer now but more
threatening. “I’m just not sure you care. We lose the crowds and we lose the
money. Do you remember how bad it got after Pierce?”
When Barnes didn’t reply, Steve swung his eyes to Sam. The other man was
watching the side of the tent where the voices seemed to be coming from. The
look on his face made Steve’s stomach twist.
It was obvious that the conversation was one that they were not meant to hear
but in that moment Sam looked like a man standing on the side of the railway
tracks, watching two trains barreling down the line at one another - doomed to
watch the carnage of them destroy each other when they finally collided.
“Then, I don’t suppose you would.” the first voice sneered and Steve felt the
back of his neck prickle, a wholly unpleasant sensation borne of the malice in
the unknown person’s voice.
“Tell me, Barnes, did you rob him after you slit his throat?”
Steve’s blood ran cold. He knew other people knew. He knew that Sam knew. He
knew that Barnes’ past was one of the reasons the other man was ostracised by
so many of the crew and by some of the other performers. But Steve had never
heard anyone besides Sam speak of it, especially to Barnes’ face - despite the
whispers that seemed to follow him constantly.
“Did you rob him or did you already have enough from him paying you to f—”
The voice was silenced by the sickening, unmistakably violent sound of flesh
across flesh. Steve was dimly aware of Sam sprinting from the tent but found
his own legs refused to cooperate for several long moments, frozen as he was
from a heady mixture of disgust and fury that seemed to burn white hot in his
veins. His clenched fists trembled by his sides.
A distressed shout of his name drew him back to the present and he followed
Sam’s path from the tent. As he rounded the corner, he was met with the sight
of Sam’s back, his muscles across his shoulders and neck straining as he held
back Barnes with Dum Dum’s help
Barnes seemed hell bent on being free of them, trying to claw his way over Dum
Dum - who stood in front of him - despite the fact that Sam held him back with
his arms twisted around Barnes’ shoulders from beneath his arm pits.
The way Barnes was forced to struggle in such bind would have almost been
comical if it weren’t for the expression on his face.
He looked murderous - as if all he wanted was to free himself of the men
holding him back so that he might have the pleasure of tearing Tony’s flesh
from his bones.
“You sonofa’bitch!” Tony was yelling from where he too was being restrained.
“You broke my fuckin’ nose!”
Steve did not doubt it as the lower half of Tony’s face was already painted
with blood, the heavy flow of it seeping from his decidedly misshapen nose and
across the shoulder of one of the men that was holding him back.
The only reply Barnes offered was to rally harder against the men holding him
back.
“Steve!” Sam shouted and Steve watched hopelessly as the grip Sam had on Barnes
slipped when the seams of the other man’s shirt began to give way. “Get him!”
Steve threw himself forward, seeking only to block Barnes’ path to Tony and
without considering his friend was almost a foot taller than him and had a
considerable weight advantage. He dug his heels into the dirt and threw his
hands up against Barnes’ chest. Barnes didn’t even seem to notice.
“Bucky!” he cried out, hoping to draw Barnes’ savage focus away from Tony.
“Rhodey’s dead because of you!” Tony shouted from behind Steve, muffled as
though someone was trying to smother him. “He’s dead because of you!”
The words made no sense to Steve but all at once the fight seemed to leave
Barnes and he went slack so suddenly that Sam stumbled under the combined
weight of
Barnes, Dum Dum and Steve. Steve fell to the ground with a painful thud as
Barnes slipped back and lost his footing. Stars danced across Steve’s vision as
his chin collided with something hard on the way down,
Someone had finally muffled Tony completely and while Steve could still hear
him yelling, he could no longer make out what he said. He looked up to find
Barnes watching him as Sam and Dum Dum hauled him up to stand, his expression
pained.
Steve could not help the pained hiss that escaped his lips as he used his
grazed palms to push himself upright. When he inspected the damage, he found
the cuts weren’t deep but they were bleeding and already crusted with a fair
amount of sand and dirt. The left knee of his trousers was also torn through
and Steve could feel the tell tale sting of another cut there as well. He wiped
the back of his hand across his mouth and discover his lip was split as well.
He made an agitated sound in the back of his throat.
“Steve.” Barnes said in a small voice but when Steve looked back to his friend,
Barnes had already pulled free of the other men a disappeared around the corner
of the tent.
“Bucky!” Steve called and was relieved neither Sam or Dum Dum tried to stop him
as he set off after the other man.
“Bucky!” he called again when he rounded the corner and found Barnes already a
fair way off, cutting a determined line through the general commotion of the
Lot on parade day.
Barnes made no indication of having heard him.
Jogging pulled at the graze on Steve’s knee and he was sure he attracted more
than a few strange looks as he hobbled after his friend.
“Bucky!”
Finally, Barnes turned and paused. Steve could not describe the expression on
the other man’s face. It was one of sorrow and hurt but beneath that burned the
residual fury that Barnes had aimed at Tony. A moment later, the expression was
gone - replaced with an alarming blank stare. Steve remembered it from when
they had first met.
He did not think he had seen it since.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked as he closed the distance between them.
Barnes’ face remained blank. “I’ve got places to be.”
Steve felt his face contort with a confused frown. “What the hell, Buck?” he
asked. “What -”
“Will you stop calling me that?” Barnes asked, his face animated suddenly with
agitation.
Steve flinched backwards. “But -”
“What do you want, Rogers? Some of us have things to do.”
Steve felt his hackles rise. He didn’t understand why Barnes’ anger was
suddenly directed towards him. He didn’t understand why Tony seemed to have it
in for Barnes or why Barnes had given in so suddenly when the moment before
he’d been spoiling for a fight. And who the hell was Rhodey?
He had thought Barnes had trusted him with the secrets of his past - just as
Steve had trusted the other man - but obviously he’d been wrong.
“Like breaking people’s noses, you mean?” he shot back.
Barnes sneered and stepped forward, onto the boundary of Steve’s personal
space.
“You got no idea.” he said quietly and Steve was suddenly aware that they had
drawn a small crowd. “You got no idea, Rogers. So just fuckin’ drop it,
alright?”
Steve blinked, surprised by the curse and the low, dangerous quality of Barnes’
tone.
“Oh yeah?” he asked but even he did not miss the way his voice trembled.
“Yeah.” Barnes sneered. “You got no idea about how this goes. You don’t belong
here. You don’t have an act, you don’t have a turn. You and I shouldn’t even be
friends. We’re not even in the same league. It ain’t as though your scribbles
are feeding half the damn train.”
Steve stepped back, hurt. Instantly he knew that he would have preferred for
Barnes to hit him - to take whatever insidious feeling was driving him to this
and take it out on Steve physically. Steve could deal with that, he could cope
with that. What he could not cope with was the slow way the pain of Barnes’
words spread from the centre of his chest, moving through his veins as though
the blood in them was freezing over, inch by inch.
It was hurt like he had not felt since he left home - since the last time his
father had avoided his gaze. Now, the thawing process - that had begun when
Barnes genuinely smiled at him for the first time - was undone in the long,
drawn out moments that the other man stood and watched the impact of his words
settle over Steve and bury
under his skin.
He watched as the harsh expression on Barnes’ face broke and fell away,
replaced with one of concern of regret and Steve wondered at how - for that one
horrible moment - it was as though his friend had been taken away and replaced,
only to be returned again once the damage was done.
“Steve?” Barnes asked but it sounded like his voice was coming from underwater
or from a tremendous distance away.
He took a step forward when Steve did not reply.
Steve took a step back, and then another when his knees shook and threatened to
give out beneath him.
Barnes’ right arm flinched as though he might reach forward for Steve and Steve
put another two steps between them so that the distance was too great for
Barnes to touch him. He felt as though he might crumble away under the touch of
Barnes’ hand.
Another step backwards and his back came into contact with someone else. He
looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Sam, his expression grim.
“Steve.” Sam said and the softness - the pity - in his voice made Steve’s
stomach roll.
He had been a fool to flout all the other man’s warnings - to ignore Sam when
he had tried to warn him away from Barnes. The other man - Steve noticed -
continued to advance on him, slow and cautious, as though Steve were one of the
big cats, cornered and dangerous.
In that moment, Steve wished he was.
He wished he had the power to lash out. He wished he had claws sharp enough to
shred through the uncertainty Barnes had cast over him, to claw out that hidden
part of Barnes that had made him speak to Steve like a stranger - like an
enemy. He wished he had the physical presence to command respect, the power
behind his limbs to make people wary - enough to make sure none ever looked at
him with pity in their eyes again.
He was tired of being made to feel small.
He was tired of being made to feel powerless.
He was tired of being made to feel that way by the people he loved.
And with that thought flayed across his mind, he turned on a dime and ran.
*
He ran until he reached the train. He had not been stopped so he knew neither
Sam nor Barnes had given chase - though he did not know whether to feel
relieved or dismayed about it.
Late in the day as it was, there were still a number of roustabouts at the
train, unloading gear and the last of the animals - those that went straight to
the menagerie
instead of on parade. A few of the working men threw Steve furtive glances as
he went by, clearly confused by what he was doing so far down the line.
Their eyes on him felt like intense sun, intense enough to blister skin and
Steve hunched his shoulders against their questioning gazes, willing himself
invisible. He ducked between two carriages, swooping under the link and pin in
the hope that he might conceal himself on the far side of the train.
He stumbled on the sloped side of the tracks, the stones giving way under his
feet, and rather than fight it - he slid to his knees, hissing when the gravel
pressed against the grazes on his palms and then choking out a sob when his
breath caught in his lungs.
“Oh, Steve.” said a voice from behind him and Steve turned, eyes wet, to find
Peggy watching him from between the carriage.
“I think you’d best come with me.” she said and Steve could not find the
strength within in to argue.
Chapter End Notes
     Again, apologies for the delay. I am endeavouring to ensure future
     updates are carried out in a more timely manner. However, if that is
     not the case, please come prod me on Tumblr.
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Summary
     Steve didn’t realise that he was crying again until Peggy dabbed at
     his cheeks with her kerchief. The corner of it brushed the split in
     his lip and he jerked back, away from the sting.
     Peggy was watching him closely, concern etched into the delicate
     lines of her face.
     “I don’t know what to do.” he admitted.
     “Yes, you do.” Peggy told him. “Just love him.”
Chapter Notes
     I cannot apologise enough for how long this update has taken me.
     Thank-you to those of you that are still reading and following this
     story. Updates will not be so few and far between from now on.
Peggy’s carriage was a thing of wonder. It was smaller than Barnes’ - a single
carriage, composed of a boudoir and small lavatory - but somehow, it was cozy
rather than cramped and sumptuous rather than cluttered.
Peggy had decorated with large swaths of material that hung from the roof and
while, Steve supposed, it served the practical function of keeping out the
wind, it also ensured that stepping into Peggy’s carriage was like stepping
into some sort of dream - away from the dust and dirt and stench of the Lot.
Steve felt too dirty to be allowed inside and sat perched on the very end of
Peggy’s chaise lounge when she told him to sit, worried the grime on his pants
would dirty it.
Peggy said nothing as she collected a small swath of towelling from the
lavatory and then filled a small bowl with hot water from the kettle resting a
top the pot bellied stove in the corner. Steve tried not to sniffle, more
ashamed of his tears now that there was no noise from the busy Lot to drown
them out.
He was surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve when Peggy turned
and caught him.
“Oh, lamb.” she murmured, her face soft with kindness. “You’ve had a day
already and it’s barely gone noon.”
Steve huffed and dropped his gaze to his lap, worried that if he looked at her
for a second more, he’d burst into tears once more.
When they had first met, Peggy had unerringly guessed his age - had known he
was just sixteen and barely ready to be braving the world on his own. She still
made him feel like that - as though all his secrets were laid bare, painted on
his skin and as easy to read as the words on the page of a book.
Except now, she was kind and playful where she had once been brash. She had
warmed to Steve - taken him under her wing in a way that made Steve thankful
each and every day. Besides Barnes and Sam, he supposed she had become one of
his closest friends.
He was still lost in his musings when she folded herself gracefully to her
knees in front of him, the soft rug that was strewn across the carriage floor
protecting her stockings from the wood.
“Hand.” she demanded, taking his right wrist in her hand and easing it from his
lap.
Steve could not help the hiss that escaped between his teeth when she pressed
the warm damp towelling to the abrasion on the heel of his palm.
“Shh.” Peggy murmured. “It’ll be okay.”
Steve choked on a fresh wave of emotion, cloying and hot in the back of his
throat. In that moment, he could not see how anything would be okay. Whatever
he and Barnes had been working towards seemed to be in ruins, torn apart by
Barnes’ sharp tongue and Steve’s own insecurities. He didn’t know where he was
to sleep - not when Barnes wanted him gone and Darcy had moved into his and
Sam’s carriage - and his hands were a mess, which meant he’d be lucky to turn
any coin that evening despite the influx of trade following the parade.
“Steve.” Peggy said gently and waited until Steve raised his head to meet her
eye.
She soothed the tears on his cheeks away with her thumb, using the other hand
to keep the warm towel pressed to the worst of the cuts on Steve’s right palm.
“It will be okay.” she said again.
Steve shook his head, feeling done in by the weight of the hopelessness
settling over his shoulders.
“He hates me.” he said, feeling as small as his voice sounded.
Peggy made an unhappy noise in her throat.
“That boy loves you.” she said with a certainty that made Steve sit up a little
straighter.
He did not think he would ever get used to people speaking so freely about two
men loving each other - not when he knew it was wrong, when he knew it was a
sin. His cheeks burned and he ducked his head to avoid the intensity of Peggy’s
gaze.
She rinsed the piece of towelling and began to dab at the graze on his hand,
working - Steve supposed - to clear out the dirt and gravel embedded in his
skin.
“He does.” Peggy continued. “But he just can’t get out of his own way.”
She made another unhappy noise and Steve echoed it with a pained grunt when she
worked lose a particularly stubborn stone.
“Did you know that I’ve been with the show almost as long as Barnes?” Peggy
asked then.
Steve looked up in surprise.
Peggy nodded. “After my mother died - God rest her soul - father came to the
show looking for work. It wasn’t ideal - keeping a daughter in the roustabout
carriages but for the most part, the men were well behaved and when I got a
little older, I bunked in with the girls who helped Frigga in the kitchen.”
Steve hissed again when Peggy moved her attentions to his left hand.
“A few years on and Father took up with one of the women performers - quite the
scandal. Especially because she was a performer and he was a roustabout but you
only had to look at them to know they’d found something special.”
“What did she do?” Steve found himself asking.
Peggy’s ruby red lips quirked to the side. “She worked in the hooch tent.”
Steve blinked and Peggy laughed, apparently delighted by the expression of
shock that bloomed across Steve’s face.
“I didn’t realise, of course. Not when I was young. But when my father was
injured - ”
“What happened to your father?” Steve asked in a rush before realising how
insensitive the question was.
Peggy’s mouth thinned into a serious line. “A road carriage slipped and his leg
got pinned between it and another. He survived for a few weeks but the
infection killed him in the end.”
Steve’s ached with the desire to hug Peggy, but she still hand hold of his left
hand and his right was still uncovered and raw.
“Oh Peggy.” he said instead. “I’m so sorry.”
Peggy gave a shaky smile. “Don’t be. Ancient history. But thank-you. Father
would have liked you, I think.”
She sniffed delicately and bent her head to focus back on Steve’s wounds. When
she spoke again, her voice was steady.
“Anyway, after father passed, Annie taught me everything she knew about
burlesque.”
She chuckled then. “Oh Steve, you should have seen me then. All elbows and
knees - not a graceful bone in my body. But she had the patience of a saint,
that woman.”
She finished cleaning Steve’s left hand and sat it palm up on his knee.
“We’ll let those air for a bit while I look at your knee.” she said. “Then I’ll
wrap them. You’ll draw tonight yet, don’t you worry.”
Steve wanted to protest - to say she had already done enough and that really,
he could manage himself - but he had a feeling that Peggy wouldn’t stand for
it. Instead, he sat as he was told and watched as Peggy stood and changed the
dirty water for a fresh bowl.
“The point is,” she began as she refilled the kettle. “I have known Barnes
since we were both scrawny little things - not that he was ever scrawny, he’s
always been beautiful - and I know him better than he would perhaps care to
admit.”
She came back to stand in front of Steve once more, casting a critical eye over
the tear in the knee of his trousers. It was a clean enough tear, one that
Steve would easily be able to sew if his hands were not cut to ribbons.
“Right.” Peggy said finitely. She set the fresh bowl of water and towel down on
her bedside table. “Trousers off.”
Steve almost choked. “What?” he asked, flushing.
Peggy smirked the same wicked grin she always did when she managed to shock
him. “I need to clean the graze on your knee - and probably mend that hole in
your trousers - and I can’t do either while you’ve still got them on. So -
off!”
Steve looked at her, and then at his hands, and then at his belt buckle. Peggy
sensed the dilemma.
“Stand up.” she said and Steve eased himself onto shaking legs.
He turned his head to the side when Peggy stepped close, her hands reaching for
his belt. As her delicate fingers slid the leather free of itself, Steve’s face
grew so hot that he felt that his flesh may melt from his bones. Thankfully, it
seemed his embarrassment worked wonders to dissuade any other sort of reaction
that a fella might have when a beautiful woman undid his trousers.
Peggy let Steve’s trousers fall to the ground and then knelt again to untie his
shoelaces easing his feet free so that he could step out of his trousers.
“Peggy.” he managed, sitting down suddenly when his knees trembled beneath him.
“This is too much.”
“Nonsense.” Peggy countered. “God knows you could do with a little looking
after. Especially with the morning you’ve had.”
Steve gnawed at his bottom lip as Peggy folded his trousers and lay them on the
bed beside him. He wanted desperately to ask if Peggy had witnessed Barnes’ and
Tony’s confrontation or if she’d only witnessed what came afterwards. He wanted
to ask her who Rhodey was and if Barnes really was responsible for his death.
Peggy, it seemed, could read his thoughts. “You needn’t worry about what Tony
said. There’s not an ounce of truth too it - just the irrationality of grief.”
She finished cleaning Steve’s knee and began to dry it with a fresh cloth.
“How much do you know about Pierce, Steve?” she asked after a long moment.
Steve held his breath. Too much, he wanted to say. He knew about what the man
had done to Barnes and the way that he had run the show. He knew about the red
lighting. But he did not wanted to give away any secrets that he felt were not
his to share.
“Do you know about what Pierce did to Barnes?” Peggy asked and Steve’s breath
left him in a whoosh.
He nodded, grateful for the delicate way Peggy chose her words.
Peggy had stopped her work and was watching Steve with a careful, guarded
expression. “So did everyone else.” she said softly and the words felt like an
anvil on Steve’s chest.
“Everyone knew?” he choked out.
Peggy nodded. “It went on for years.”
“Why didn’t anybody do anything?” Steve demanded, suddenly furious.
If everyone had known, why hadn’t anyone tried to rescue Barnes? Why hadn’t
they tried to stop Pierce? Peggy silence betrayed the horrible truth - that
there was no answer. That there was no reason beyond people’s own fear of
Pierce and their desire to save their own neck’s.
“Annie only told me later.” Peggy admitted and Steve’s anger abated slightly
when he realised Peggy had assumed it was directed at her.
“But the word around the Lot was that Barnes kept Pierce happy and if Pierce
was happy …” She trailed off as realisation, cold and nauseating, settle over
Steve.
“So he was the sacrificial lamb?” he asked, his blood cold in his veins.
Peggy nodded slowly.
“Rhodey was red-lighted just before Barnes killed Pierce.” she explained. “No
one can work out if Tony is mad because Barnes had started fighting back or
because he didn’t fight back soon enough. I don’t think he knows himself.”
Steve felt hollowed out and he let out a shaky breath as he tried once more to
reconcile what he had been told about his friend with the man he knew Barnes to
be.
Peggy’s hand on his uninjured knee brought him back to reality.
“Barnes pushes people away because he feels guilty. I found him - afterwards.
Bleeding and covered in Pierce’s blood. It was like he was in some sort of
trance. He kept babbling about the people he’d let down - about how he should
have been stronger and how he could have saved them. I think he still carries
that guilt around with him.”
Steve swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat. “I didn’t know.” he
managed to say. “I had no idea.”
Barnes’ behaviour - while inexcusable - began to make sense. He had pushed
Steve away because Steve had gotten too close and perhaps knew too much. Barnes
had told Steve the truth about Pierce after Steve had told him about why he’d
left home - an even trade. From Barnes’ point of view, they were both - Steve
saw now - broken things, fitting together because of the pieces that had been
taken from them.
But now, Barnes was worried that Steve would find out the whole truth - that he
had bartered himself off to Pierce for years - and would despise him for it. A
memory from the night Barnes had told him about Pierce came raging to the
forefront of Steve’s mind.
“You think I killed him because he was red-lighting people?” Barnes had said,
wild in his anger. “You don’t know shit.”
He hadn’t killed Pierce for red-lighting people. Steve doubted now if Barnes
had meant to kill Pierce at all.
Barnes had been trying to stop him, yes, but he’d bartered with the only chip
he had available - himself. He’d known that killing Pierce would mean worse
things for the Show. Less money, possible homelessness for the roustabouts and
acts that didn’t get picked up by another circus. Barnes hadn’t had any other
choice but to placate the other man in the only way he’d known how until he
couldn’t bare it anymore. And still he thought he’d let them all down.
Steve didn’t realise that he was crying again until Peggy dabbed at his cheeks
with her kerchief. The corner of it brushed the split in his lip and he jerked
back, away from the sting.
Peggy was watching him closely, concern etched into the delicate lines of her
face.
“I don’t know what to do.” he admitted.
“Yes, you do.” Peggy told him. “Just love him.”
*
Steve was back to his tent by the time the parade rolled into the Lot. Through
the dust, Steve watched the slow glide of the big cat’s road carriage as it
lead the throngs of rubes through the dusk and into the bright lights of the
Lot. He fancied that he could make out the line of Barnes’ shoulders atop the
carriage, stiff and straight. He watched until the carriage pulled in behind
the Big Top and disappeared.
He had left the tent open, all of his sketches on display. Sam had promised to
drop by as soon as his parade duties were done and keep an eye on the rubes
while Steve drew. But Steve could barely bring himself to care about the
potential loss of his sketches. They seemed so insignificant compared to the
events of the day. He ached to sprint across the Lot - his ruddy lungs be
damned - and find Barnes. He wanted to explain that he knew everything and that
he didn’t think less of Barnes for it - on the contrary, he wanted to tell
Barnes that Steve thought he was the bravest man he had ever known.
Steve’s cheeks heated at the thought and he jumped almost a mile into the air
when someone behind him coughed.
“These yours?” The rube said, waving his hat from side to side in a vain
attempt to clear some of the dust from it.
He inclined his chin towards the sketches Steve had displayed across the front
of his tent, each displaying the approximate price of a similar sketch.
“They are.” Steve replied. “Can I help you with something in particular?”
The man nodded. “I’d like a portrait done. For my sweetheart.”
Steve threw one more longing look towards the big top and then motioned for the
man to take a seat before opening to a fresh page in his sketch book.
It took a few long minutes to settle into feel of the pencil in his hand and
the pressure of it against the paper. He was lucky, he supposed, that the man
he was drawing was a decent model - not too fidgety or chatty - and that Sam
turned up before the larger part of the crowd reached Steve’s end of the Lot.
Sam helped out the few customers who were interested in some of the act
sketches displayed inside the tent which left Steve to try and get the man’s
likeness as perfect as it could be. It was always difficult, he mussed as he
filled in the shadows underneath the man’s collar, drawing someone that you did
not know well. It was difficult to get the lines of their face right when you
did not know the way it could change and shift with each nuance of expression;
each stretch of a smile, each curl of a frown.
Furthermore, the sting of the cuts on his hands did little to make his plight
any easier. Steve supposed he was just lucky the split in his lip had stopped
bleeding. He doubted that anyone would want their picture drawn by someone who
looked like he just been in a bar fight. The knock to his chin had also began
to throb and he wagered that, by the morning, he would have a humdinger of a
bruise there too.
Despite Steve’s grievances, the man seemed pleased with the finished portrait.
“That’s swell, that is.” he said graciously and reached into the pocket of his
trousers. “What do I owe you?” he asked Steve, finishing out a couple of coins
and a half smoked cigar.
Steve’s eyes caught on the cigar. The worn butt looked very similar to the type
Barnes’ enjoyed and his mind reeled with the beginnings of a plan.
“Got anymore of those cigars?” he asked the rube who looked momentarily taken
aback but soon nodded.
He then fished two cigars from his breast pocket and held them out for Steve to
inspect.
“Both for the portrait?” Steve asked and the man nodded.
“They’re not anything of quality.” he observed, handing the cigars over and
taking his sketch in return. “I fear you’re getting a rotten deal.”
Steve shook his head, his heart already a little lighter for the plan
formulating in his head. “No,” he said. “They’re just what I need.”
*
It took another hour or so until the crowd began to thin and by the time Sam
helped him pack up the remaining sketches and lace up the tent, Steve was wound
so tight that he felt like his bones were vibrating beneath his skin. Sam
watched him with an uneasy expression.
“Steve,” he said finally. “What happened with Barnes earlier, well - you know
you always got a place with me.”
Steve paused, his hands still curled around the tent lacings. He found that he
could not bring himself to look at his friend, embarrassed as he always was -
it seemed - to talk about Barnes with anyone who seemed to know how Steve felt
about the other man and by the level of sincerity in his friend’s voice.
“Thanks.” he mumbled. “I appreciate that.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam nod.
“He won’t be any sort of company tonight anyway.” the other man said and Steve
turned then, curious.
Sam saw his expression and shrugged. “He and Fury were having it out behind the
Top when I made my way over here.” he explained. “Seems Fury didn’t take to
kindly to the hooey this afternoon.”
“That wasn't Bucky’s fault!” Steve protested and while Sam arched an eyebrow at
the nickname, he said nothing of it.
“Says you.” he retorted. “Stark’s got a broken nose and a helluva bee in his
bonnet and it’s just drama the boss man doesn’t need.”
Steve wanted to tell Sam everything that Peggy had told him, wanted to set his
friend straight but a deep treacherous part of him doubted if Sam would even
listen when the other man had so often seemed to have it in for Barnes.
Instead, he bit his tongue and seethed, thanking Sam curtly when they were
done.
He ignored his friend’s expression and the pointed call of his name, turning on
his heel to start across the Lot. Barnes, he reasoned, would still be watering
down the horses from the parade and Steve would have a captive audience so that
he could say his piece. Barnes wouldn’t be able to eave until the horses were
watered, brushed and fed and he would have to listen to what Steve had to say.
Steve squared his shoulders and his stride found new purpose in the knowledge
that soon enough, he and Barnes would be set right. But when rounded the wide
curve of the Big Top, picking his way between the numerous road carriages,
Barnes was nowhere to be found.
Instead, a roustabout was brushing down the horses, whistling as he worked in
the dusk light.
“Where’s Barnes?” he asked brusquely.
The roustabout shrugged, seeming to take no notice of the absence of Steve’s
manners. He was not a man that Steve knew but he moved around the horses with
practiced ease. “Can’t be saying.” he said. “He was in a rush to get away,
that’s for sure.”
He finished brushing down the horses flank, smoothing the path with a sure
hand. He moved to the next horse while Steve muddled through the shock of
finding Barnes gone.
“Did he say where he was going?” Steve managed finally, his mind reeling in an
effort to keep up with the new information and reformulate his plan.
Maybe Barnes had simply gone back to his trailer. It would be harder, Steve
thought, to get Barnes to hear him out if the other man refused to let him in.
But he’d stand outside and shout what he had to say in front of the whole Lot
if that’s what it came to.
The roustabout shook his head blithely, taking a moment to settle the horse in
front of him before beginning to move its bridle.
“He set off in the direction of the gate.” he told Steve then. “With a look in
his eye said he was spoiling for a drink or a fight - whatever he found first.”
Steve spun around to look back towards the gate top the Lot. He could only just
make it out in the glow thrown from the lights of the Big Top. If Barnes had
gone off-Lot, there was a snowball’s chance in hell of Steve finding him.
Dejected, Steve left the other man and headed back towards the line of
carriages in the distance, his stomach a hollow pit of worry and his heart
heavy in his chest.
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