keepcruising | (no subject)

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.

Threaded | Flat

Steve is actually Bucky's third roommate; the first had been a quiet pudgy guy with glasses who only spent six months locked up before overpopulation and good behavior got him out on parole which, yeah, good for him. Barnes hated him with every fiber of his being, and he's pretty sure the guy'd been in for sexual assault on a minor. It was never proven, only whispered, and he's sure if it had come to light someone would have carved him up in the shower less than a week after he was set to be released. Guys like that don't last, they're the lowest of the low. Almost everyone in here has kids.

The second guy lasted almost a year. They had a strained relationship that started out rocky until Bucky choked him into unconsciousness, and when he woke Bucky hovered over him long enough to whisper about how the next time it happened he wouldn't stop until there wasn't a heartbeat left. In his defense, Rumlow's prior roommates all met an unfortunate fate after a few months of playing prison bitch until he got bored of them. Rumlow's in max now, and good goddamn riddance.

He's playing poker in a rec room when someone comes up to murmur to him about the sudden presence in his room, and he folds his hand immediately. Surrenders the few cigarettes he'd had left in his betting pool to the pot, because it's just easier to keep the peace than deal with a bunch of pissed off regulars the next time he wants to try and buy in.

He goes out of sheer concern. There's no small fear that if he leaves his shit unguarded and the new guy's a tweaker, something important to him might go missing. He needs to gauge how hard to lock his stuff down, needs to figure out if he's got to set some boundaries from the jump, and it's with the wariness of those first two guys etched into his brow that he surveys his new bunkie.

He watches silently with arms folded across his chest when he arrives, leaning against the open cell doorway and scrutinizing without drawing attention to himself. He takes in the set of this guy's shoulders, his countenance, his demeanor. He's ripped as hell, that could be problematic, but Rumlow had been as well. Didn't stop him then, wouldn't stop him now. There he'll stay, content to let minutes tick past without Steve realizing he's there and with no intention to speak a word until he eventually picks on the feeling of eyes at his back.