Chapter Text
The first time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he’s furious and chases him across rooftops, but too shocked to do anything but stare as the shield slams into him.
He finds the abandoned base with Natasha and almost throws up.
--
The second time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he’s stunned by the soft grey-blue of his eyes and impressed with his prowess, but too angry to back down from this fight.
Zola’s words do echo in his head, the entire way.
--
The third time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he’s pulling a heavy metal beam off him with a bullet in his stomach, then dodging punches.
“You’re just a victim of Hydra,” Steve tells him, “I won’t fight you.”
“You’re my mission,” The Winter Soldier snarls at him.
--
The fourth time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he and Sam are engaged in a staring contest over his hospital bed.
“Oh, uh, hi, Soldier,” he greets, hesitantly.
The Winter Soldier stares at him.
He drinks the glass that The Winter Soldier has been not-subtly pushing towards him - any further and it would topple off the table, and turns when he hears the slight scrape of Sam’s chair across the floor.
“Sorry dude,” Sam says, “but he’s creepy.”
“He can hear you,” Steve says.
“He doesn’t care about his own dignity,” Sam sniffs self-righteously, “he only cares when I insult you. Watch.”
“Sam,” Steve starts.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Sam snaps.
The Winter Soldier growls, deep.
“Told ya,” Sam pushes his chair further.
Steve gapes.
--
The fifth time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he bodily throws himself in Steve’s direction.
Steve shrieks.
The Winter Soldier lands just short of Steve’s feet, and glares at him.
“You scared me,” Steve scolds. He cradles his coffee mug.
The Winter Soldier swipes his coffee, and snaps something at him in Russian, before downing the drink.
“You spoke english to me, before. Can’t you keep doing that?”
The Soldier mutters something, and hands the mug back.
It’s empty.
The Winter Soldier: You just recovered. Protection Detail. No caffeine.
The Winter Soldier: Idiot.
--
The s- okay, Steve doesn’t know. The Winter Soldier hasn’t left Steve’s side.
“Hey, buddy,” Steve nudges him, “how do you like your eggs?”
The Winter Soldier blinks at him, bearily.
“It’s three-fucking-am in the morning,” Tony groans, “why are you awake?”
“Language,” Steve says, absent-mindedly, then, “why are you awake?”
“Science,” Tony dismisses his question.
“I’m awake to see if the Soldier will actually follow me everywhere,” Steve tells him.
“He followed you up 43 flights of stairs for you to break into my kitchen to cook eggs at ass-o-clock at night,” Tony tells him, taking a prepared plate of eggs, “I’m sure that’s conclusive.”
“Maybe I’ll keep doing this to see how long he can take it,” Steve muses.
The Winter Soldier narrows his eyes at Steve, who grins.
--
The fifth time he sits in front of Tony at 3am, Pepper’s there, too.
“Steve,” she greets sleepily, nudging Tony before she heads to the bedroom.
“Just got in from her flight,” Tony says in explanation, “hows your late night cooking session?”
In response, The Winter Soldier throws an egg. It hits Steve on the face.
“I think we’re doing good,” Steve tells Tony.
“You’re an asshole,” Tony says. He sounds impressed.
The Winter Soldier groans, and throws another egg. Steve reaches over to pat him on the head.
--
The thirteenth time he sits in front of Tony at 3am, The Winter Soldier has abandoned all sense of personal space and has crawled into and started dozing in Steve’s arms.
It’s hard to make eggs like this.
The Winter Soldier is warm, and in all honestly, a pretty nice but heavy cuddle-buddy.
“He made me piggy-back him up at floor 73,” Steve says accusingly.
“You asked for it, honestly,” Tony yawns.
--
Steve is out with Natasha when she corners him with questions.
“How’s the Soldier?” She asks.
“I told him that you would be capable of defending both of us and that he should just stay at the tower and take a nap,” Steve tells her.
Natasha hums as she checks herself out in the mirror, “and do you think he is?”
“I saw him tailing us 6 blocks down,” Steve admits. “I think you should go with the previous dress. The cut’s better.”
Natasha thinks for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, “this one makes me look fat.”
“Fat, but still pretty,” Steve teases, then, “can we pick some stuff out for The Soldier, too?”
“Sure,” Natasha says as she re-enters the fitting room, “he seems pretty comfortable wearing your clothes, I’d say.”
“Maybe,” Steve thinks he’s blushing slightly, “I think he’s hoarding my sweaters.”
“I bed he’s wearing one right now,” she emerges in the dark dress and spins.
“So gorgeous,” Steve sighs.
“Will you fuck me?” Natasha asks, distractedly.
“Sure,” Steve shrugs, “at least let me buy you dinner first.”
Natasha grins, “I don’t think the Soldier would like that.”
Steve looks down, flushed. “Yeah, well.”
“He seems pretty enamoured with you, what do you think about it?” Natasha waves the sales assistant down, “I want to wear this right now. Get me the check.”
“He’s okay, I guess. I mean,” Steve shrugs.
He’s cute, he doesn’t say, but he bets Natasha already knows.
“Steve,” Natasha turns to look up at him, “he gave you a hickey when you were naked in the shower. I’m surprised he didn’t just sit on your exposed dick and started humping your leg.”
“Natasha!” Steve exclaims, scandalized.
“Steven,” she sighs, “you could’ve just told me I’ve been setting you up with the wrong gender.”
“I’m bisexual,” Steve mutters, petulantly.
--
The Winter Soldier glares at him from one end of the couch.
“I saw you tailing us,” Steve accuses.
The Winter Soldier scoffs.
“You heard our conversation,” Steve sighs, “I got you some clothes.”
The Winter Soldier mutters something in Russian.
“Yeah, fine, keep being like that,” Steve huffs at him, “I’ll put the clothes in my room, because you don’t wear anything that’s not out of my closet.”
The Soldier looks down at Steve’s stretched sweater and looks back up, almost guilty.
“Keep it,” Steve sighs, “and all the other six, too. One for each day of the week.”
He looks kinda cute in them, anyways.
The Winter Soldier: Fuck me.
--
The Winter Soldier jumps over the upturned table and lunges at Clint.
Clint shrieks.
“Goddammit,” Tony curses.
Bruce looks unruffled, stepping away from the splintered wood and poking into his salad.
Natasha saves the bowl of mashed potatoes and hops onto the counter.
Steve grabs Pepper by the waist and hoists her onto the counter next to Natasha, passing her a plate of pasta before throwing himself bodily at The Winter Soldier and tackling him into the floor.
Clint barely dodges the speeding tangle of super soldier as he crashes into the couch.
The Winter Soldier growls and spits out a tirade of angry Russian, now underneath maybe 200 pounds of Steve Rogers.
Steve keeps him pinned, and drops his chin lightly onto The Winter Soldier’s head, one hand wrapped around said assassin’s torso and the other flipping the bird to Clint behind his back.
The Winter Soldier relaxes under his grip, but only slightly.
“Clint,” Steve scolds.
“Sorry,” Clint apologizes. It sounds muffled.
The Winter Soldier mutters something under his breath.
“No murder,” Steve sighs, and lays on top of the growling - in Bruce’s words, angry duckling.
It’s kinda nice.
“Oh my god,” Sam says.
The Winter Soldier: (just a long string of swears, Get creative.)
The Winter Soldier: Lucky you’re cute, Steve.
--
Steve’s crying.
The Soldier is shivering in a ball on his lap, lightly dozing.
Steve runs a hand in his hair.
“Hey, Jarvis?” He whispers.
“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis whispers back.
“Can you,” he hesitates, “help me search something?”
“Of course,” Jarvis whispers, “if we are to keep at this volume, I suggest a pair of earphones?”
Steve reaches for one.
“Can you…” Steve sighs, “do a facial recognition search for me? Of, uh, the Soldier, and of people who went missing in the war?”
Jarvis hums in his ear for a moment.
“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th regiment,” Jarvis tells him, “MIA and supposed KIA in the battle of Azzano.”
“Holy shit,” Steve curses.
The Winter Soldier shifts, and cries out.
--
Steve wakes up again, in the hospital bed.
It’s Natasha instead of Sam by his side, and The Winter Soldier on the other.
The Winter Soldier is sniffing into his blanket, tucked under his arm. Natasha is glaring.
“Nat,” he reprimands, he tries to sit up but The Winter Soldier presses his weight down.
“He almost killed you,Steve,” Natasha snaps.
The Winter Soldier sinks further into the sheets.
He’s terrified.
“It was my fault,” Steve tells her. “Azzano.”
The Winter Soldier says something in Russian. He sniffles.
The Winter Soldier: No, it wasn’t.
--
The Winter Soldier says something in Russian - it’s the same word, he repeats the word for everything he does - and plops down on his lap.
“This is okay,” Steve tells him.
The WInter Soldier huffs, and slides in between Steve’s arms.
“Greetings, Soldier of Winter,” Thor says, “I am Thor of Asgard. I am pleased to make your acquaintance!”
The Winter Soldier squints slightly at Thor and blinks.
“I heard you have chosen the Captain to be your shield mate!” Thor continues, oblivious, “A fine choice. May the nights be long and pleasurable!”
Oh dear god.
Long pleasurable nights?
If Steve didn’t know what shield mate meant, well, he could take a pretty wild guess.
He flushes deeply.
The Winter Soldier blinks at him, slightly confused.
“It’s not like that,” Steve starts. “We’re just… friends.”
The Winter Soldier huffs, and does an incredibly athletic and acrobatic display before kicking Steve face-first into the coffee table, before vaulting away.
Ouch.
“You should apologize, for putting your shield mate down like that, Captain,” Thor scolds, “It’s not right.”
Steve stares after The Winter Soldier.
“I will, Thor,” Steve tells him.
He stalks the Tower, but The Winter Soldier is nowhere to be found.
Steve feels oddly empty.
And cold.
Was it always this lonely in the Tower?
He gives up, past midnight, and shuffles into his bed.
Which is way to large and empty for his taste.
He doesn’t fall asleep, which is why he hears the soft padding of feet on his carpet.
The Winter Soldier is standing, wide-eyed, at the doorway.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Steve whispers softly, knowing that The WInter Soldier could hear him anyways.
The Winter Soldier stares.
“But we’re really not like that, are we?” Steve asks.
The WInter Soldier looks sad.
Oh dear.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Steve murmurs.
The Winter Soldier nods, slightly, and Steve’s heart aches.
He feels a rush of air and the wind knocked out of him when The Winter Soldier all but leaps into his arms.
Steve pulls him in and holds him tight.
There’s a nice warm feeling settling at the bottom of his stomach as The Winter Soldier curls up and drops his forehead onto Steve’s shoulder.
“Hey there,” Steve murmurs.
The Winter Soldier sniffles.
Steve presses his lips to his hair.
He does hear Natasha step in, in the morning, but The Winter Soldier is pressed tightly to Steve’s chest and so Steve doesn’t move until she leaves, and even then it’s just to pull a blanket over their shoulders and cuddle again.
--
“It’s nice to see that you two have reunited,” Thor says happily, “a lovers’ quarrel cannot last longer than a night in bed, yes?”
The Winter Soldier stares at Steve.
“Yeah, Thor, you’re right,” Steve tells him.
The Winter Soldier hops onto Steve’s lap and burrows himself there.
That’s nice.
Steve wraps an arm around his stomach and another reaching for the spoon, but it get slapped away.
The Winter Soldier huffs and turns to feed him.
“That’s so domestic,” Tony sighs.
Steve’s ears are burning. He presses a kiss to The Winter Soldier’s temple.
Natasha says something to The Winter Soldier.
The Winter Soldier says something back, curling protectively around his pot of food.
Natasha has a strange look on her face as she replies.
Clint looks between them.
The Winter Soldier tells her something again, and sits back into Steve.
Natasha looks sad, and content.
“Oh Steve,” Clint sighs.
Natasha: How are you, Soldier?
The Winter Soldier: Remember I told you that love was for children?
Natasha: I was young then.
The Winter Soldier: I think I was wrong.
--
“James,” The Winter Soldier says one day, out of the blue. He’s sitting on the foot of Steve’s bed.
“Hm?” Steve looks up, his fingers on The Winter Soldier’s hair.
“My name,” James says, voice slow and hesitant.
In english.
Steve feels his heart flutter.
“Oh,” he says, “ok then. James?”
James blinks at him, and says something in Russian.
“Are we back to Russian then,” Steve grins, and tugs James into his arms.
James grins at him.
James: I like the way you say my name.
--
The fifty-sixth time he sits in front of Tony at 3am, James is the one cooking eggs.
“This,” Tony gestures to the room at large, “I’m not okay with this.”
“It is pretty shoddy decorating,” Steve agrees.
“You know, Capsicle, you’re not as funny as you think you are,” Tony tells him, huffing, “you have your own kitchen, you know. It’s on the floor I gave you. I pay people money to keep your kitchen stocked and pretty. I pay people a lot of money, to keep your kitchen stocked and pretty. Money that's going to waste because you use mine instead of yours. You don't like wasting money, do you? Depression-era upbringing and all.”
“It’s a thing to come to your kitchen to cook now,” Steve says, "our thing."
“What, a sex thing?” Tony demands, “because that’s a weird kink, man. All those times you came up here? Was that some 1940s-esque foreplay?”
James looks tired as he slides onto Steve’s lap with the frying pan in his metal arm, but manages to shoot Tony a lewd grin, anyways.
Tony gets up to leave.