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Steve had never seen himself going to prison. For some reason he'd thought that doing the right thing had been some kind of shield he could throw around to protect himself. It's not even that he'd wanted to avoid consequence so much as that he'd never thought through exactly how far the right thing and the law might stray from each other.

None of that really matters, anyway, because the trial is over and Steve is looking at a minimum of two years in minimum security prison. This is his life for the next two years. It puts college on hold and it may stick with him for the rest of his life and he still doesn't think he did a damn thing wrong, but that doesn't make the prospect of being in prison any less daunting. His sentence would have been worse if the judge hadn't had a soft spot for veterans, too. Steve had hated letting his lawyer play that card, but he hadn't had much of a choice.

He's got muscles, at least. As he's going through the intake process, he notices most of the men are smaller than him and a few of them eye him warily. He says nothing to anyone unless he's supposed to, leaving the chatter to a skinny man with a face tattoo and whoever he can manage to pull answers from.

There's a pile of clothes and sheets and toiletries in his arms and as they're led in, the group is split up among the blocks. Steve is in C block, he's told, and his cell mate will be a man named Barnes. It all means nothing to Steve, but he remembers the details, anyway. Everything looks the same in here and he wonders what kind of criminal he'll be sharing a cell with. Enough of the men in here come from unwinnable situations. It's not something Steve would look down his nose at. His neighborhood wasn't exactly a safe suburban haven, either, and he could have easily fallen in with a bad crowd or made the wrong decision and wound up in their shoes. He doesn't let himself forget that. Most of them are minor drug offenders or small time thieves, maybe a few bigger offenders moved here for years of good behavior.

When he finally gets to his cell, the top bunk is made and there are a few personal items strewn about. Steve puts his pile on the bottom bunk and starts to unfold his bedding. He resists the urge to dig through Barnes' things to learn more about him.

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It's one word, but Steve hears the gentle echo through the vent. He hasn't been in here long enough to be going crazy and hearing things quite yet. Bucky's nearby. That's good. Well, he hopes it's good. He'd hate to think he'd made anything worse for Bucky. He just can't handle the idea of walking away and leaving anyone outnumbered like that, especially not someone he'd like to think of as a friend.

He pushes himself up off of the cot and moves to the floor, sitting next to the vent with his back to the wall. If he makes too much noise, the guards will come check on them. Maybe they'll move Steve.

Instead he just sits and listens for a moment, but when he doesn't hear anything else, he bends and ducks his head down towards the vent.

"Bucky?" His voice is just above a whisper. He hopes it won't carry any further than it has to to get to Bucky. Maybe he's next door, just on the other side of this wall. Maybe they can keep each other sane in here.

Mostly, Steve just wants to know if Bucky is okay. He'd been in one piece before, but a lot of things can happen in... however much time it's been. He can't even say.

Quiet as it is, it still startles the absolute shit out of him. The quiet whisper of your own name in an empty room when you're starting to have a mini freak-out about your mental state will make even the best of men jump. It's only been ten fucking minutes, though, and there's no way he's going out of his mind so quick. Eyes flicker toward the source, the vent on the wall, and he moves to drop down beside it.

There's a little grunt that follows the action. Hardass though he may be, getting dropped on your back will leave anyone a bit sore. A beat later, though, and his back's against the wall next to the vent so he can murmur in turn.

"Steve." Obviously, he saw the face in the cell next door and it's not god damn santa clause. "You okay?"

The sound of Bucky's voice fills Steve with relief. He doesn't know why. He'd already heard Bucky, but somehow it doesn't seem real until he hears his name on Bucky's lips. He slouches a little against the wall, relaxing minutely on the cold floor.

"I'm fine." He isn't even lying. All he's got is a few scrapes and bruises and most of them are self-inflicted from hitting the other men himself. He wouldn't mind being able to bandage his scraped up knuckles, but he'll survive. It's easier to be worried about Bucky, who'd been surrounded by guys at one point and had taken a few drops and blows from what Steve could tell. Not to mention whatever else could have happened between then and now.

"Are you? Okay, I mean." He doesn't know what he'll do if Bucky isn't, if Steve hadn't done enough to keep him safe. He has to think Bucky would have done the same for him, regardless of what he'd said when they met. Bucky's a decent person. Steve knows that.

"M'Fine," He says, and though he sounds tired it's the god's honest truth. Completely and totally fine, thanks to Steve's intervention. He's good, but he's no six guys at a time good. He might've gotten in a few lucky shots, but eventually, he'd have been overwhelmed by four or five while the sixth guy whaled him into submission. Hard to say when they'd have stopped, but surely he'd be in the infirmary instead of SHU.

He heaves out a sigh, flickering eyes down to the vent as though it's Steve himself. "You shouldn't have done that. Fucked yourself a little, you know that right?"

Which is an apology, even if the word 'sorry' isn't used. He's not worth the trouble, honestly.

Bucky sure as hell doesn't sound fine, but Steve won't push it for now. It's easier to talk without a wall between them, anyway. Here, he isn't sure who might be able to listen in.

"I know." He gets that. He understands that being locked in here isn't a reward and that they keep track of these things, but he can't let Bucky take a beating just to save his own skin. That's not who Steve is and it's not who he wants to be.

"I'm not great at doing what I'm supposed to do." Which he thinks should be obvious because of where they are. "And If you thought I was just going to walk away, you're crazier than I thought."

The teasing is gentle, but it's there. Steve can't quite help it and he smiles a little at the easy words. Right now, he's okay and Bucky's okay and they can worry about the rest later when it comes.

Despite himself a breathy chuckle escapes his throat, a tired sound that's almost more dry than amused — but it still counts. A little shake to the head, some shifting can be heard from his side of the wall, just himself bringing a knee up to rest his elbow on it. Just his head thumping back softly against the concrete behind him.

"Thank you," He says finally, earnestly. He might not have apologized in so many words, but gratitude he feels the need to share. It means, of course, that Bucky owes him one. That's how these things work, a debt is paid with a debt. If he didn't already like Steve maybe he'd be more frustrated by that fact, but as it stands Steve's earned himself a more or less permanent form of backup. "Though frankly we'll probably both be outta our damn minds by the time Tuesday rolls around again. Hope you're up to date on word games or you've got a vivid imagination and you like your own hand."

Because there's nothing, not a god damn thing to do here. Eat when they provide food. Sleep more than any human really ought to sleep. Think, and masturbate. That's it. That's an entire week of their lives.

"I do have a good imagination." It's meant as a joke, but a moment later he realizes that he's basically just told Bucky he'll be masturbating in here. He'd worry about that crossing a line, but frankly he's already gotten pretty close to masturbating in a room with Bucky and he's pretty sure being in prison is a free pass on that as long as he makes sure Bucky is sleeping first.

"You're welcome, Buck. I wasn't gonna leave you there to God-knows-what by yourself." No, he's already pretty sure he's got a decent read on Bucky and a decent read on Alex, too. If Alex wants to target Steve, too, then let him. It will mean less heat on Bucky and Steve can take care of himself just fine.

"What was he talking about, anyway? What does he think you owe him?"

It does get his eyebrows creeping up — not that he's judging, it's just that now he's imaging Steve in there jerking off, and well, it's all kind of a feedback loop isn't it? Catch him listening out for breathy sounds and soft moans later, for skin on skin and... It's abruptly abundantly clear that his own imagination's not so bad itself. Wellp, that's one way to pass an hour tonight.

Speaking of dicks, though.

He heaves a sigh, audible even through the metal grating that separates them. He'd been hoping to keep his sordid history under wraps, but he supposes having taken a punch for him Steve probably deserves the story.

"Alex was here years before me," He starts, an uncomfortable twist to his lips. Settle in, pal, you're in for some story time. "When I first got here I wasn't... doing so good. He sold me this whole... thing about protection, helping me integrate, taking care of my sister on the outside with a little it of cash in exchange for favors."

Because apparently there was a time when Bucky could be bought. Back before he knew exactly what it was he was in for. Back when he was still green.

"Started out... not so bad. Keeping people off his back, sneaking contraband, whatever, but he's... There was this scrawny tweaker kid that spit in his face once, I'm not even sure what for. Alex has a whole hell of a lot of pride, a reputation, he couldn't let it slide, so one night after lights out he got me and a couple other guys to hold him down. I figured he was just gonna pull some macho shit, threaten him, maybe rough him up a little for the crowd so he could get his power back y'know, but he started... Taking the guy's clothes off like he was gonna... and that was it. I'm- no. I couldn't do it. I knocked him out flat on his ass with his dick still out in front of his crew and a couple witnesses."

And there's the truth of it, probably one of the biggest regrets he has in the last five or so years. Not that he knocked Alex out, but that he let himself get suckered into being a god damn weapon for Pierce in the first place. Let himself be manipulated like that.

"He thinks I owe him the same as that kid did. Thinks I've got some kind of leg up over him in the eyes of the population. He wants me to bend over and- I don't know, lick his shoes or suck him off or something, whatever the hell guys like that are after."

Prisons, man. They're all about smokes and sex. Really return people to their animal urges.

"Jesus." It's like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. That goes far and beyond anything he could have thought of. And Bucky had told him to walk away like that would be preferable to Steve getting in a fight. It only strengthens Steve's resolve to watch Bucky's back. This goes so far beyond bullying that Steve's not sure what to do other than feel so angry.

His fingers find their way to the grate over the vent. "I'm not going to let that happen."

He speaks with the sort of authority one might expect from a boss or even a politician, making promises to a constituent who's been hurt by some loophole that he has the power to close. It's the conviction of a man who can't see anything less than the best outcome from this and who truly believes that he has the power to make it so.

Steve isn't stupid. He knows that he's a prisoner the same as Bucky. He has very little power, but he can watch Bucky's back and he can make sure Alex can't get the upper hand on either of them. After that fight, he can't imagine Alex will be able to get too many people interested in fighting either of them for a while, at least, and Steve doesn't really care to be intimidating as a rule, but he knows that he can be and if it will keep Bucky safe, he'll use that a little.

"That was a good thing you did for that kid." It's no less than what Steve would have done, but Steve doesn't expect everyone to be quite as reckless as he is.

And he is reckless when he's got a good reason for it. Bucky must know that now, too.

Such is the prison life. A soft huff escapes him at Steve's tone and conviction, and part of him wants to say this isn't your fight, Steve. Wants to argue, or discredit him, but the fact of the matter is he'd really held his own back there. Between the two of them they did enough damage to probably buy themselves at least a second thought from any more hired goons — Alex's price would have to shoot way up to sway someone, or he'll have to wait for a few new sorry suckers to convince.

Or change his tactics, which is an even icier possibility.

One that Bucky doesn't want to dwell on too hard.

So instead he purses his lips, allows a moment of quiet to pass, and then murmurs, "A good thing would've been never holding him down in the first place."

Not allowing himself to be caught up and intimidated into being a thug for the first few months of his stay here. He's only fortunate that he got himself out before any real damage was done. Alex is his only real enemy, but he's a big one.

"I don't see you holding anyone down now." Hell, he's pretty sure he saw Bucky checking on one of the guys he hit. That's not the actions of a cold-blooded man. Neither of them had been fighting because they'd wanted to fight. It had been self-defense. Well, on Bucky's part, anyway.

"Would you do something like that now?"

The thing is he already knows the answer. He knows Bucky wouldn't and he has to believe that people can change and learn or what's the point of this huge prison system, anyway? Aren't they being rehabilitated? He knows the system is pretty broken, but that's the point of it and he has to think that at least some of the men in here aren't bad people. Most people are capable of good. It's a core belief Steve clings to. He has to think that most of them do what they think is right unless it doesn't feel like an option.

It's not like Steve doesn't belong here, either. Circumstances be damned, he broke the law, even if the guy had had it coming. He's not bitter about the outcome, even if he knows he'd do it all over again.

"Might hold you down for your own damn good," he challenges flatly, because it's easier than saying no. Of course he wouldn't, no matter how much easier it might make his life. Giving into Alex's wishes, doing his penance, falling in line. It'd save him the fear of a future shanking in the showers, and yet here he is.

Another moment passes, and Bucky's leg slides down from it's elevated position to something flat. He hesitates on his question, but ultimately after sharing his own personal demons he thinks he's maybe earned the right to ask, "Why are you here, Steve?"

He doesn't mean SHU. He means prison. Steve seems like a good person, a god damn boy scout. A moral and honest man with good intentions and good humor. How does a man like that wind up in jail?

Steve almost says he'd like to see Bucky try. The problem is that he thinks maybe he would like to see Bucky try. Maybe he'd even let him and that's a dangerous thought, because Bucky's done nothing to imply that he's want that and Steve's not going to risk alienating the closest friend he thinks he's got in here.

"'Cause you watched me knock out two or three guys." He smiles, but he doesn't let the sarcastic answer hang too long. Bucky had told him about his nightmares and Steve hadn't wanted to share his own, but this is something he can share.

"My downstairs neighbors had a lot of domestic disputes. Guy got real good at talking the cops out of his apartment when I called them. Got to the point where he convinced them my calls were me using the police to harass him." He sighs. Even thinking about it makes him so angry. "So one night they were screaming at each other again and I heard a crash and I just had enough, so I went downstairs and busted their door in and he--"

Steve has to stop for a moment. Christ, he can still see it all so vividly like it was just this morning.

"He had his hands around her neck. You know... once an abuser chokes their victim, statistically they're a lot more likely to wind up killing them. I just saw red and I knew I had to save her. I guess I hit him harder than I realized, because now he's in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The kicker is that she testified against me at my trial and the calls to the police were used against me, too. They managed to spin this whole narrative about me being obsessed with her."

If there's a little laugh at the end like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, it's only because it is. He doesn't even like women.

"Jesus Christ," is all he can manage, eyebrows up and lips parted. On the one hand, yeah, Barnes can see about fifteen ways Steve could've handled the situation better — audio records of the abuse, for starters. On the other hand, though, he can't say he wouldn't maybe have done the same exact thing in Steve's shoes, and...

Christ, he's in a wheelchair for life.

Well, if anybody on the planet deserves it...

But it's not his place to absolve or condemn Steve's actions, and he's sure his opinion on the matter in either direction is unwanted. He keeps the rest of his insightful commentary to himself, and can only shake his head as he processes it.

Wow.

"And now you get to do the same damn thing on the inside," Beating up Alex's goons to defend Bucky's honor. How about that. Dark as it is, he sounds more than a little amused. "They're just gonna put you in progressively smaller boxes."

"If I have to let people get hurt to earn my freedom, it ain't worth having." It's as simple as that to Steve. Not everything is black and white to him, but this sure as hell is. When he sees a right and a wrong path, there's no choice to be made. He does the right thing.

He could no more walk away from Bucky surrounded by those guys than anyone else who was about to be hurt by someone else. The fact that Bucky has been nothing but kind to him and that they live in a cell together just makes it all the more personal.

"So what's a guy like you doing in here, Bucky?"

Reaching across the little cell, he grabs the little pillow off the bed so he can prop it under his back. He slouches down against the wall, getting as comfortable as he can be because at least they can talk if he sits down here.

"Second-degree kidnapping," He sighs, like he's quoting scripture. The official title for what he did simplified to three ominous-sounding words, like he's some kind of fucking monster or something. "Would've been first degree since she was under eighteen, but my lawyer got it talked down."

The difference between twenty to life and one to eight years. He still sends the guy Christmas cards - as though his legal fees weren't enough in and of themselves.

"My sister Rebecca's a lot younger than me. She lived with our father and his new girlfriend, it... Wasn't a great place for her. For any of us, but I shipped out before the drinking got too bad." He shouldn't have left her there alone. She was just old enough to be of sound mind, but not old enough in the eyes of the law. Should've had her file for independence, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. "Things got bad for her one night, and she called me. I was still pretty messed up after my discharge. Wasn't thinking about the consequences, I just... picked her up and we took off. He called the cops. Taking a minor across state lines... Would've been an automatic felony."

His father pressed charges. Rebecca moved back in with him for another eight months, and moved back out the day she turned eighteen. No job, no money, no way to support herself. Working for Alex in exchange for sending her enough cash to get by seemed like the right move those first few months. And there it is, his story, stupid as it may be.

Steve is quiet for a minute. They really are two peas in a pod, aren't they?

"Bucky..." His voice is soft and maybe this place wants them to be hardened around the edges, but Steve can't help the empathy and he can't help being soft after that. He never had any siblings, but he thinks he would have done the same in Bucky's shoes.

Part of him wants to ask about Bucky's sister. He wants to know if she's doing okay, but if she isn't, the question will hurt Bucky and Steve doesn't have it in him to do that right now, not when they're both stuck in these shoeboxes feeling raw and exposed to each other.

It's a good thing they'll both have some time to build their armors back up. They'll need it with Alex out there sniffing for weaknesses. Bullies never change. Steve knows what to expect from him.

"You might have to teach me one of those word games." His voice is thick, but he knows they probably both need a change in the topic before it gets worse. Any more personal and they might pull down some walls they can't replace so easily.

Again, there are thousands of better and more appropriate ways to have handled things. Filing for custody, calling the cops, calling CPS, any official channel, but the thing is... He knew they wouldn't grant him custody of her. They'd dredge up the PTSD diagnoses, the fact that he lived in a one bedroom apartment, his income too inadequate to cover two people. Up and snatching up his sister in the middle of the school year and driving to the other side of the country was a terrible, stupid, impulsive decision.

And here he is.

They couldn't have just waited out eight more months?

He barks out an unexpected chuckle at the sudden shift in topic, murmurs, "Appreciate that, by the way."

And follows up with a joke of his own, "I spy something white."

It's the fucking walls.

Steve's problem-solving style is very simple and direct. The idea of figuring out the legal way to do something when he could just do it doesn't even occur to him most of the time and even if it does, he'll find a way to talk himself out of it. It's just how he operates. Direct and to the point.

"A different game, asshole." But he's smiling now despite it all. He's found some sort of kindred spirit in here in Bucky and that's more than worth the trouble. Even outside of prison, Steve just doesn't meet many people he feels like that about. Maybe they've made some mistakes, but they've made them for pretty similar reasons.

He shifts, moving to lie on the ground with his head by the grate, but he yawns before he can manage to speak again.

"What about 20 questions?"

Somehow, he takes being called an asshole as a personal victory, and it gets him grinning like a god damn idiot despite himself. With the expression on his face comes a sort of mirth in his chest, a lightness that coasts over the open wounds like a balm. The cracked and corrugated places within his chest feel filled up as though with helium, and god help him if SHU hasn't made him feel better than he has in months.

Oh, fuck.

He's got it.

Feelings, or at least the stirrings of them. Christ almighty, this is prison, Barnes, not a college dorm. It's got to be a proximity thing, got to be that Steve's good looking and relatively new in a place with the same old faces.

...but if they met on the street and had coffee, arguably he wouldn't kick Steve out of bed for eating crackers.

The yawn is contagious, and in an unconscious mirror, he snatches the pillow from his cot. Settles down with his scalp next to the grate, sprawled on the floor like it's a duvet instead of concrete. He doesn't mind, he's slept on the ground for years.

"Pass, I hate that game." He says dismissively, a little closer than before, eight or so inches off from Steve's ear. "Spend a few years abroad, a few years in prison, you don't even know who's a celebrity anymore. Two truths and a lie?

"No way. I'm a terrible liar. I always lose that game."

Steve can't remember the last time he smiled this much. He can't help it. Bucky makes him feel a little lighter, like maybe things like hope can survive even in a place like this. There are monsters everywhere, but there are good men, too. There's Bucky with his carefully-guarded kindness and his wicked humor refusing to let this place break him.

He's used to being part of a team, but he's also used to feeling lonely in a crowd. People like Steve, but they don't get close to him. Maybe he doesn't let them. Maybe he's scared of losing more people. He doesn't really know.

What he does know is that Bucky terrifies him a little, but he also sends a thrill up Steve's spine. Steve thinks he might be worth clamping down on those instincts to push people away and soldier on. Even if they just soldier on together, that could be okay. Maybe letting Bucky in wouldn't be so bad. They're already halfway there, anyway.

"Fallin' asleep on me, soldier?" His own voice is practically dripping with sleep as he shifts around to get comfortable on the concrete. Sure, there's a cot, but he can hear Bucky better from here.

"Me? Never," He answers flatly, dryly, but he does in fact allow his eyes to close. It's not so bad, really, with someone in speaking distance. Granted he'll probably go stir-crazy by day three regardless, but having someone to drag him out of his own head cuts the pain of SHU in half.

Cuts it to a third with it being Steve, probably.

"How 'bout you just tell me about where you're from," He suggests instead, too lazy to search through his mind's collection of group counseling icebreaker games.

"Brooklyn? You don't want to hear about Brooklyn." His voice is equal parts amused and tired. It's been a hell of a day. He's just glad that Bucky's still in one piece. They both are and they're in this together. Maybe the cells might drive them a little crazy, but they're safe in here. Steve's not really worried about his own safety, though. He's a lot more focused on Bucky's and how he's going to keep Bucky safe going forward.

Maybe it's a little forward to start thinking like he's Bucky security detail without bothering to see what Bucky wants, but Steve's got a one-track mind and he doesn't ask permission to keep people safe. Clearly he doesn't or he wouldn't be in prison, but it's not something he's looking to change about himself.

There's an incredulous silence from the other cell, followed by a scuffling, and then a disbelieving laugh.

"Are you shitting me?" He scoffs, head rolling on concrete toward the vent like he can stare it into submission. "All this god damn time you've been my bunkie and you didn't bother mentioning you were from god damn Brooklyn?"

Maybe it's that his accent's been schooled out to something neutral, or maybe it's the tendency to keep conversations about what's happening on the inside rather than the painful reminders of the outside. Pasts that got them there in the first place, futures that may never be, the uncertainty of the world. Somehow, someway, it's never come up. "I'm from Red Hook."

And that settles it.

He's a goner.

Steve's light little chuckle echoes through the vent like he's shifted just a little closer to it. Neither of them have really talked much about themselves. They've talked a little about serving in the military, but that's different. They haven't talked much about who they are, before and after the military. It seems to be pretty common in here. Who wants to talk about everything they miss or the circumstances that got them stuck in here, right?

"It never came up, but for what it's worth, I'm from Red Hook, too."

He can't help the sleepy smile he throws at the grate.

"Now I'm definitely not going to tell you about it."

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(TW: choking, abuse)

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