Chapter Text
Or, Bucky Barnes Is Definitely Not The Sane One.
(We're not sure there IS a sane one.)
Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island when Steve wandered in, looking for a mid-afternoon snack. There was a heap of black leather on the granite surface in front of him, and he was working vigorously at the lining with a needle and thread. It was just a touch too glossy to be Nat’s catsuit, and too big to be one of Bucky’s motorcycle jackets, which left only...
“Is that Nick Fury’s trenchcoat?” Steve asked, with open horror. He’d thought the therapist was making headway on Bucky’s latent self-destructive tendencies.
“Yep.” Bucky replied, tying a knot and snipping the thread away. He stood and shook out the coat.
It jingled.
Like a Christmas stocking.
“And you say I’m the reckless one,” Steve shook his head. “Well, it’s been nice knowing you, Buck. I hope Fury kills you quickly.”
“You are the reckless one. I’ll be wearing a parachute when I jump off the helicarrier to escape.”
Steve couldn’t argue with that.
He wondered if Bucky had a plan to evade the Quinjets after he jumped.
kingofmemes posted:
i may spend the rest of my life in boat jail, but at least the pirate king cant sneak up on me anymore.
worth it.
posted at 8:23, 3053 notes
Clint was napping on the common-room couch, blissfully ignorant to the absolute garbage coming out of the newscaster’s mouths on TV. Steve, on the other hand, was tapping furiously at his tablet on the opposite couch, his Letter to the Editor growing longer by the minute. Tony kept telling him to just not watch the news, but Steve liked to be informed. Besides, sometimes they interspersed the fury-inducing news coverage with cute stories about animals. Steve liked that.
The elevator doors whooshed open quietly, and Bucky ambled over to see what Steve was watching. Steve felt a slightly guilty tingle on the back of his neck; Bucky was half-convinced that Steve was going to have a stress-induced heart attack while getting worked up watching the news, even through Erskine had fixed his health problems. The super serum had cured a lot of Steve’s ills, but nothing on earth could trump Bucky’s I’m Concerned About Your Health, You Suicidal Idiot lectures. Or, these days, his I’m Concerned About Your Health, You Suicidal Idiot glares. He’d really mastered the art of the silent conversation.
Bucky’s gaze slid from the television toward Steve, who could feel the This Again, You Dumbass? glare building. He hunched his shoulders a bit. But instead, Bucky’s gaze caught on Clint’s outflung arm. He had one of his legs hooked over the back of the couch, but had somehow twisted to lie face-down, and had managed to ruck his stained white tee up to his armpits in the process.
For a long moment, Bucky stared at the sprawled archer while Steve held his breath, waiting to see if he’d dodged a (hopefully) metaphorical bullet. It escaped in a relieved sigh as an ominous light appeared in Bucky’s eyes and a smirk lifted his mouth. It was an expression Steve was all too familiar with.
Bucky darted silently out of the room, reappearing moments later with large slip of paper. He balanced it on the back of the couch, then dashed towards the kitchen. Steve heard the sink turn on, and sat, poised, waiting to see what mayhem was about to begin.
Bucky returned with a pair of washcloths: one damp, one dry. Steve watched as he knelt beside Clint’s couch and peeled a layer of plastic off the paper slip. With surgical precision, he laid the paper against the exposed small of Clint’s back, then layered the damp washcloth over it, and then settled back to wait. Steve had seen him defuse bombs with less delicacy.
(To be fair, Bucky’s usual method of ‘defusing’ bombs involved putting them somewhere where no one would be hurt by the detonation and then shooting them so they exploded. But still.)
Bucky glanced over at Steve, who was by now thoroughly distracted from the news. Steve raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. Bucky smirked.
Bucky lifted the washcloth away from Clint’s back, then peeled the soaked paper away. He patted gently at the damp skin with the dry washcloth, and Clint snorted and twitched in his sleep, but didn’t rouse.
With a final smirk, Bucky slipped away with the evidence of his crime, and Steve craned his neck to see his handiwork.
There appeared to be an elaborate purple butterfly inked at the small of Clint’s back.
Down the hallway, Bucky slammed a door loudly. Clint jerked awake and tumbled off the couch.
“Whaddisit? Whaz’happenin’?” he slurred drowsily.
“Nothing, Clint.” Steve answered, and smiled. Clint snorted muzzily and fell back asleep, face buried in the rug.
kingofmemes posted:
purple really is your color, buddy.
Posted at 2:30 pm 3729 notes
“You ever think maybe Tony gets lonely down in his lab by himself all the time?” Bucky mused as he braced the heavy bag for Steve. Steve snorted noncommittally in reply, focused on the rhythm of his fists. After a few minutes, he glanced up at Bucky and caught sight of the curl at the corner of his mouth. Steve froze.
“Buck. What’d you do.”
“Why so accusatory, Stevie? I’m as pure as the driven snow. ‘S why they called me Winter.” He shot Steve a suspiciously bright smile.
“They called you Winter because of your strong resemblance to an icicle and you know it. What’d you do to Tony, Buck.”
It wasn’t a question. Steve was using his Captain America Voice. He knew it wouldn’t work--it was only a pale shadow of his Ma’s Do As I Say voice, and Bucky had been defying that tone to smuggle Steve sweets for about a century. Predictably, Bucky wrinkled his nose at Steve.
“Watch who you’re calling an icicle, Rocket Pop. And you know Tony and I are buddies now.”
“I know you and Tony seem to be in an ongoing competition to see who can be the bigger asshole to each other.”
“Language, Stevie! ‘Sides, I was being helpful. Now his lab’s a little less lonely.”
“Oh no.”
“D’ya think Tony likes cats, Steve? I think he will.”
In the brief silence that ensued as Steve considered the multitude ways this would go poorly, a loud metallic clatter filtered up from the floor below, as though some heavy metal object had just toppled over. It was promptly followed by a familiar voice yelping “What the fuck is that?!” in an embarrassingly high pitch, and the distinctive sound of a cat yowling.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you think to tell Tony about the cat you stuck in his lab, Buck?”
The overly-bright grin was back. “May have forgotten that bit, Stevie. Whoopsie.”
A muffled explosion sounded below.
Steve sighed.
kingofmemes posted:
no, @dick-shaped-tower, i dont think ‘fucky barnes’ is a good name for a cat.
besides, he already responds to ‘mr stank.’
posted at 4:53 PM, 6482 notes
“You’re the worst person, Buck.” Steve announced, while Bucky slid jalapenos into Thor’s sandwich.
“No, that’s Sam.”
“Sam’s a war hero.”
“Still the worst though.” Bucky gave the sandwich a dissatisfied frown.
Steve crossed his arms. “What did Thor ever do to you?”
“He called my hair ‘limp.’ Limp, Stevie.”
Steve considered the severity of the insult.
“There’s wasabi paste on the top shelf. Thor’ll probably be back in about two minutes.”
“Thanks, Steve!”
kingofmemes posted:
fun fact: milk will soothe your mouth if you eat something too spicy, but if you dump a whole gallon on your face, your hair is gonna look stupid.
real stupid.
posted at 12:03 PM, 4729 notes
Steve rested his elbows back against a chunk of rubble, trying to shift some weight off his aching feet. It’d been a rough day. A doombot attack had been compounded by the unexpected arrival of the Wrecking Crew, and while the whole thing had been wrapped up quite neatly for a good half hour now, the Avengers usually waited for Dr. Banner to de-Hulk before trying to get him on the Quinjet. Nat’s lullaby hadn’t worked, but instead of going on a smashing spree, the Hulk had plopped down on an overturned police car and was idly turning cinderblocks into powder. The Winter Soldier had wandered over to watch a few minutes ago.
“Oh no.”
Steve glanced at Tony, who had shucked the Iron Man suit several minutes ago and started poking at the insides with a screwdriver. Now, the tool was limp in his hand, and his horrified gaze was directed at the Hulk. Steve turned to look.
“Are they...about to have a thumb war?” Steve wished he sounded more surprised.
Across the road, Bucky and the Hulk finished the rhyming chant and began to battle. Immediately, there was a metallic crunch, a soprano squawk, and a bellow of triumph from the large, green victor.
Tony ran his hands through his hair. “Well. Guess I get to field-test that new prototype arm a little sooner than I planned.”
kingofmemes posted:
i may only have one finger left, but at least it’s the middle one.
self expression is very important.
posted at 3:46 PM, 5682 notes
Steve panted as they started their sixteenth lap of Central Park. “You haven’t pranked Nat yet, Bucky.”
Bucky shot him a glower. “I don’t want to die, Steve.”
Steve said nothing. Bucky made a good point.
kingofmemes posted:
there’s a line between stupid and suicidal, and that’s where i live.
posted at 6:32 AM, 8529 notes
It wasn’t unusual for heads to turn as Steve passed. It’d taken him a while to get used to being what Dum-Dum called “A prime specimen of American Manhood, assuming American Manhood is really in to tights.” But these days it wasn’t something he noticed much.
He was noticing it now, because heads weren’t just turning--eyes were going wide, mouths dropping open. Was there something on his face? He’d just gotten out of the gym shower, he should be perfectly clean.
Steve hitched his duffel a little higher on his shoulder, darting into the elevator and punching the button for the residential floor. He tried not to make eye contact with the shocked-looking people outside as the glossy doors slipped shut.
And then he caught sight of his reflection in the doors.
Steve was pretty sure his hair wasn’t always that...blue.
He dug in his gym bag and popped the cap on his shampoo. Sure enough, it was dyed blue.
The elevator doors opened on the residential floor. Bucky stood beyond them, cell phone camera upraised and shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Steve rolled his eyes, then propped his hands on his hips, Star-Spangled Show style, and smiled toothily into the camera.
“Admit it, Buck, I make it look good.”
“Never said you didn’t. You’re an incredibly good looking smurf.”
“Thanks. That’s so kind of you. So genuine. Jerk.”
“Punk.”
“So what did I do to deserve this spectacular new look?”
“This is revenge for making me fish your unconscious ass out of a dumpster after you messed with the tracksuit mafia last week. You gotta spend less time with Matt and Clint. I think they’re contagious.”
“They got in a lucky hit!” Steve protested.
“Only because you weren’t wearing your helmet. I figured if your hair was bright blue you’d be more inclined to cover it up.”
Steve snorted. “Shows what you know. Hey, you think Nat has red dye and bleach? I wanna do stripes.”
“If you ask nicely, I bet she could even do stars.”
kingofmemes posted:
who’s strong and brave, has to shave the american flag?
posted at 9:51 PM, 6829 notes
Author’s Note: No cats were harmed in the making of this fic. Some genius billionaire playboy philanthropists may have been.