Call It What You Want: Home Series 1 (Trans!Steve and Pan!Bucky Summer AU)

Forty-Seven

"Ya know," Brock started, next to Steve.

Silently, Steve held his finger up to his lips to remind Brock to be quiet. The pair was up in the playhouse attached to the swing set. And Steve was beyond annoyed. After all, he had chosen that spot by himself, to be by himself. Of course, Brock had spotted Steve climbing up the ladder and had chosen to join him. For whatever reason.

Ignoring Steve's quiet warning, Brock stage whispered, "I'm starting to think that Bucky has a type."

Rolling his eyes, Steve glanced out the window of the playhouse and spotted Bucky on the deck, still counting. Ducking down again, Steve held his finger to his lips again and audibly shushed the arrogant brunet, "Shh."

"Oh, please," Brock scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sitting on the side of the window, Brock leaned his back against the wall and stretched out his legs. He informed, "I could start screaming bloody murder and Bucky would leave me alone."

Steve turned, sitting on the other side of the window. Stretching out his own legs, Steve glanced over at Brock, figuring that he was right. It was obvious that Bucky didn't care much for Brock. But Steve couldn't blame him. Brock was a dick, after all, and he didn't seem to be helping his case any either.

"He'd purposely ignore us," Brock continued. Picking at the skin around his thumb, Brock clarified, "He's going to make sure to find you last."

Steve's brows furrowed and he whispered, "Yeah? Why'd he do that?"

With furrowed brows -- with a furrowed face, in general -- Brock looked over at Steve to evaluate him. Steve tried to refrain from squirming, but under Brock's gaze, Steve felt uncomfortable. Once Brock faced the front again, Steve sighed in relief.

Until Brock said, "Because he wants alone time with you."

Duh.

Sure, Brock didn't say it, but it was clearly implied.

Steve rolled his eyes, "Yeah?"

"Yup," Brock confirmed. Peeking out the window once Bucky was done counting, Brock declared, "You could be hiding in plain sight and Bucky would purposely overlook you just so you two could be alone again. Because you fit his type."

"And what is Bucky's type exactly?" Steve asked, crossing his arms along his chest. A slight thrill that he was wearing Bucky's sweatshirt.

"Artistic. Petite," Brock answered. Steve snapped his gaze back to the muscular brunet. "I mean, he always does this."

Steve narrowed his eyes, "Does what?"

"This," Brock repeated, waving his arms around as though he was encompassing the whole night. He shrugged, "I mean, why did ya think I found you so quickly?"

Clenching his jaw, Steve didn't say anything. If Brock was going to start, he was going to let him finish.

"This is what Bucky does," Brock continued. A smirk forming on his smug face, "Takes a girl to the shed. Cozies up to her. Then, BOOM --" loudly, he clapped his hands, causing Steve to jump "-- or at least, that's what he's done with all the other girls."

Although Brock didn't say it, it was there. Hanging in the air and suffocating Steve. Facing the front, Steve understood what Brock was implying. That he was a girl. That no matter how much Steve had changed and was changing, he would always be seen as a girl.

Steve's throat felt tight, thick. The way that it often did when he was trying not to cry. And Steve wasn't going to cry. Not in front of Brock. Not in front of any of them, but especially not in front of Brock. Steve was positive that if the tears building in his eyes did manage to overflow, it would only make Brock feel right.

And Steve hated him. Brock was just like every other pigheaded guy back home. The guy that had teased Steve to flirt with him because they didn't know how to properly show their emotions. The guy that tagged along on a double date, only to be disappointed when he found Natasha brought Steve. The guy that groped Steve before he started transitioning. The guy that groped Steve once he had started transitioning. The guy that claimed Steve wasn't like all the other girls.

Sitting there, Steve couldn't help but wonder if Brock was right. After all, Steve didn't know Bucky the way Brock did. Steve only knew the early Monday mornings with thick lens glasses Bucky. Steve only knew staying home instead of going to the lake to do some summer reading Bucky. Steve only knew the constantly apologizing Bucky. Steve only knew the respectful Bucky. Only knew the gentle touches Bucky. Only knew the confirming of consent before kissing Bucky.

Sure, Steve might not have known Bucky for years. But Steve knew one thing: Brock didn't know Bucky at all.

"Gotcha!" Bucky exclaimed, popping into the playhouse.

Not expecting him, Brock screamed. Loudly and very high pitched, Steve would add. Startling Steve completely and causing him to accidentally thump his head on the playhouse wall. As Bucky muffled his laughter at Brock's scream, Steve rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head.

Of course, once Bucky realized that Steve was hurt, his expression shifted to one of concern and he ignored Brock to ask Steve, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Steve answered, wincing when he nodded.

Brock got up then. Too tall for the playhouse, he started awkwardly crawling and Steve immediately moved his legs up to his chest so Brock wouldn't crawl over him. Sitting on the top of the slide that was beside Steve, Brock gave Steve a pointed look. Almost as though he was trying to nonverbally remind Steve of what he said. Even though Steve was pretty sure that he'd never be able to forget those words or the insecurity that it stirred up inside of him.

Pushing himself down the slide, Steve cautiously peeked after him to find that just like Brock predicted, they were the last to be found. Conflicting issues were battling in Steve's small frame and he moved to face the front again. Still rubbing the back of his head as Bucky climbed into the playhouse.

Sitting down in front of Steve, Bucky leaned back against the wall. Stretching his legs out, Steve realized just how small the child clubhouse was. Bucky's outstretched legs were long and were beside Steve's, not touching them, just there. His ankles crossed, Bucky's feet rested next to Steve's knees.

"You okay?" Bucky asked again, gently tapping Steve's knee with his foot.

Still rubbing the back of his head, Steve said, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Gesturing out of the playhouse, Bucky questioned, "He didn't bother you too much, did he?"

"No," Steve slightly shook his head, "Mainly just talked a lot of shit."

"Yeah," Bucky scoffed, "That sounds like Brock."

Steve smiled to himself, knowing that Bucky wasn't what Brock tried to make him out to be. A bit bashfully, Steve averted his gaze and took the hand that was rubbing his head to tap Bucky's foot. Trying to bite back his grin, Steve softly announced, "You found me."

"Yup," Bucky agreed. Steve expected Bucky to move forward and kiss him. When he didn't, Steve peeked up and was met with Bucky just smiling at him. That slow grin that Steve knew was being tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Sincerely, Bucky confirmed, "I found you."