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Everybody has been so accustomed to identifying Steve with this blond cherub, that it's weird to put one's mind to the fact he actually shaves in the morning.
One day, he doesn't. They're on the back of the plane headed towards some classified coordinates; Clint and Nat exchange some covert wiggling of eyebrows about the blond stub covering Steve's face. Finally Clint speaks.
“So... Bad night?”
Steve looks at him, candid. “Oh. Not at all.”
They all know what he's up to the night before being deployed for a mission. Maybe this time it was particularly rough and late-night... They don't really care. (Actually, they do. They all think it's wonderful that Steve and Bucky have each other now.) If it wasn't for the unshaven business. It's just sort of funny, because Steve is always meticulous about shaving, taking his sweet time with the old-timey razor and cream.
“What's up with the - ...” Clint motions to his jaw area. They're approaching the target. Steve gets up. He flashes a radiant smile.
“I didn't shave!” and straight-up jumps off the back of the plane.
Clint and Nat are used to his style of one-liners; they just shrug at each other.
***
Bucky isn't exactly the talking type. He's improving, but it's a slow process. When Steve is not around – and when Bucky is not following him wherever he goes, which is rare – his voice is never heard. He doesn't interact much, and when he does is purely through various levels of chilling glares. He has discovered the internet and he just sits at the counter, high up on the stool, glaring at the screen.
One afternoon, Pepper drops by the kitchen to get herself a drink – lots and lots of olives, she has been dealing with way too much shit from Tony all morning – and walks past Bucky slouching over his laptop, headphones on. He hasn't cut his hair ever since they brought him in, which means they are now basically at his shoulders. Paired with the completely random way he puts together his outfits, he looks like he stumbled in from some artsy corner of 2014 Brooklyn. For some reason he picks pants that are consistently too tight, and borrowed oversized sweaters that cover his metal arm completely and slide off his shoulder – but nobody has said anything about it, because it's a big step on its own that he can dress himself. He's sort of a blank slate now, he's rediscovering all the things he likes. Steve Rogers, combat boots and smudged eyeliner are some of those.
She glances over, unsure if it's a good idea to try to get words out of him. Fuck it, she thinks – she's been able to deal with Iron Man and managed not to get shot or crushed or – well, she did get genetically modified, there's that. At least it's something they have in common.
“Hey. What're you watching?” she pops.
Bucky glares at her from above the screen. After a long second, he turns the laptop around.
It's Youtube. More precisely, a hairstyling tutorial. Dutch braiding, if Pepper's not mistaking. She nods, without missing a beat. She considers the video as she sips her drink.
“You're gonna need at least a straightening iron to get anywhere close to that result.” she says, ice cubes clinking when she gestures at the screen with her glass. Bucky glances quickly back and forth Pepper and the video. Pepper would swear his glare became more concerned.
***
After a week, the curiosity over Steve's facial hair has shifted more towards disbelief and mild shock. He keeps not shaving. He has grown a remarkable amount of beard – the serum might have something to do with it. It's an unkept mess the color of good amber ale. Tony has been the one cracking jokes about it, but they're mostly pop-culture based, and Steve hasn't picked up on any of them yet. When they hold SHIELD meetings, he scratches and strokes his beard while debriefing, and people just sort of trail off thinking how the hell that came to happen. It goes up his cheekbones and down his neck – making more than one of them wonder how that is combining with the absolute absence of chest hair on the Captain.
“Someone's got to put an end to this – it's distracting. Unfair. Upsetting. I have other things to think about other than Golden Boy's facial hair” bursts out Tony, one day they are all lounging and conversing.
Nat's phone chimes. Instagram update. It's an off-centered selfie from @CapSteveRogers. It says it's taken somewhere in Central Park, but really all you can see are two pairs of blue eyes amidst a blonde and black fluff.
“For once, I agree.” says Nat, passing the phone along. Clint and Sam go on giggling for the rest of the day.
***
Turns out Thor is super good at braiding. They find out at practice, when the shirtless god excuses himself for a minute to compose his hair in a battle-fitting manner. He comes back with a very tight four-strands French braid. He waves at a super excited Jane, who's collecting data with Bruce on the upper level – she's showing off a perfectly executed milkmaid braid.
“...And you call me Legolas” Clint smirks at Tony next to him. They both fire at the targets, three arrows and an energy blast crushing in. Natasha and Pepper compliment Thor on his skills, and for being so apt at such delicate activity. He is surprised, because why would braiding be an exclusively feminine thing, when both men and women have hair? Not to mention that the primary use for such skill is in hunting and battle; one needs to always be ready to improvise a weapon. And that applies to anybody. Nat explains there's a regional social norm in the Midgardian western world that uses short hair as a male distinctive gender trait.
“The Frost Soldier appears to be unaware of this norm you speak of” he says, waving his hammer in the direction of Bucky, who's sitting on a bench away from the others, busy recalibrating his bionic arm. All he ever does to his hair is tying them into a half ponytail, but somehow the unruly strands are always in front of his eyes. He peers through them, brooding at them.
“If it's useful for battle, I'm sure he will be interested. Perhaps you could show him something simple to start.” suggests Pepper, encouraging Bucky with her gaze.
“I'll be happy to oblige” agrees Thor, even though Bucky shuffles uncomfortably in his seat as the Asgardian marches towards him. Pepper and Nat begin their fighting practice, which is frankly scary and kind of brutal – red glowing flashes and death blows are not held back in the slighest. In the background, they can hear Thor going “...outer strand, and under; again on the other side...”
Half an hour later, Thor and Bucky are punching each other into the floor – each one sporting a very pretty and very practical norse braid.
It's only after Bucky is finished with Thor that Steve comes in to practice, ready to parkour his way through the next level monkey bars Tony and Bruce set up for him. Everybody busy themselves with something, since they know what always happens when Steve and Bucky haven't seen each other for more than two hours, and they don't wanna stare. Steve casually drags a hot and sweaty Bucky around the corner – ten seconds later there's a wet pop, and they can all hear clearly:
“...You're fucking scratchy. You should shave that.”
“Oh come on, you always have that five-o-clock and I never complain”
“I don't like blades. On my own throat.” Bucky is definitely pulling a victim stunt here, because really knives are the last thing he's ever gonna be afraid of. But it always works on Steve. “Plus... don't even try to deny that you liked it when I burned my way up your stomach last night...” the teasing tone in Bucky's whisper makes everyone loudly shift back to whatever they were doing, everyone clearing their throats. There's a muffled smooching.
“I don't know, it's just nice to look different, now that I can. Remember when I tried to grow it in '42?”
“Yeah. It was pathetic. Anyways. You're not coming anywhere near my-” swift, Tony BLASTS a target at random, effectively covering any rated R content “-with that mouth of yours before you tidy all that up.”
“Ugh. Alright. You're such a jerk.”
“Fucking punk.” More smooching.
They both reemerge, Bucky heads to the showers and Steve, in all his beardy glory, begins his practice.
***
Later that afternoon, Tony is in his laboratory working at solving a glitch in the remote control of his latest suit model; Bruce is helping Peter figuring out how to enhance the web chemical compound for strength and flexibility. Steve appears around the corner of the doorframe, peeking in.
“You're either in or you're out, fella”
Steve take a series of long, awkward steps inside. He needs to talk to Tony, evidently. “It wasn't intended as an invitation, really.” Steve comes up to Tony's post. “But hey – you're here! What can we do for you to let you leave as fast as possible? There are, you know, sciencey things going on, I wouldn't want to impose on your cultural shock”
Steve gives him the ''I get it, you can just quit it now'” look. “Actually, I had a question for you.”
“Shoot”
“Well – uhm – I was wondering... you seems pretty good at... you know” Steve gestures at his own face, and Tony swears he's about to ask about fondue again. “Ehm, the beard. Thing.” he finishes off clearing his throat. Peter stares at him from above the brim of his glasses – he truly feels like he could laugh himself to tears just by looking at the combination of Cap's beard and flannel shirt, but he must remember to be a patriot. Tony rubs his eyes quickly before pushing away the lamp.
“Jarvis”
“Yes Sir.”
“Make sure we update Steve's supplies, add a precision electric men's razor.”
“It will be in Mr Rogers' room by the end of the day, Sir.”
Tony looks at Steve dead in the eyes. “Plug it into the wall, and for the love of everything sacred don't draw any inspiration from me.”
Steve thanks and tip-toes away, secretly pleased. Bruce and Peter are still smirking at Tony.
“There's only one of me. And I'm definitely not and example.” he scoffs.
***
Bucky is sitting cross-legged on the fluffy carpet in the leisure living room: he's got a mirror propped up, his laptop, and a bag of black hairties. He carefully considers the gifts Natasha and Maria brought him from their mall trip: in one hand, a flat iron of a very pretty cobalt color; in the other, a sleek bottle of “heat protecting serum”.
“You rub it into the ends after you dry your hair, and before straitening them with the flat iron. It helps condition the hair and seal the shafts.” Maria explained at a glaring Bucky.
“Don't make the sections bigger than an inch or it won't really work” closes Natasha, and they trot away towards the next mission.
Methodically, Bucky plugs in the iron and googles a quick tutorial to follow along as he goes to work on his own hair. He parts it, squeezes some serum on his right palm and rubs it in. He combs again and starts straightening. Turns out the metal hand comes in handy, since he can't get burned from the hair coming out super hot, unlike the girl in the video – she has long blond perfect hair and jokes a lot about the hazard of working at being pretty. It's not until halfway through his head that Bucky notices Steve sitting in the background. He's propped up on a stool, sketchbook in hand: he observes Bucky and draws the curve of his back slouching beneath the stolen sweater. Bucky doesn't say anything.
He's done. His hair are perfectly straight and silky smooth like never before – even before the war, he hadn't discovered long hair yet. They seem even longer like this. Steve is sketching like crazy in the background, eager to render this new form of Bucky in his very personal record of adoration. Bucky is used to it – Steve has been drawing him since forever, and his sketchbook was one of the reasons they realized there was something going on between them beyond a simple friendship.
Bucky starts dividing into strands, like Thor showed him, but as he tries to braid, it turns out the metal hand is pretty useless: it has no grip whatsoever, and the hair get caught in between the plating. With a low grunt, Bucky lets his hair go.
“Steve.” he says, turning around. “Come here.” Steve practically sprints, sliding next to him on the carpet. “It's not working very well” Bucky says, lifting his metal hand in between them. “But you've got your artist fingers that could be useful.”
Steve grins, and Bucky smirks back, because they both know his fingers come in handy in many other settings too. Bucky makes a mental note of taking full advantage of not having his hair in his face, when he will have Steve in bed later. Steve takes a look to the videos, and starts braiding.
Sam is going for a few laps around the tower, wind whooshing in his ears; he planes across the living room's window, and he needs a double take. He thought he just saw the two most fearsome supersoldiers on the planet grooming each other, and he's basically a hundred percent done for the day.
***
The next morning Steve shows up with an impeccably trimmed beard that frames his features. It's different, but awesome. Tony is relieved that he didn't make any weird choices there – and honestly, a bit in awe too, because Steve is pulling that off so well, they all even forgive his disastrous transitional state.
“It really makes your eyes pop” Coulson tells him, and everyone within ten feet blushes with second-hand embarrassment.
Natasha tells Steve he should wear those thick frame glasses they use for undercover more often, and Clint fist-bumps her under the table.
***
Tony and Pepper are sitting on a nicely shaded bench along the side of the locally grown hipstery fair that's going on in the park. Ice cream in hand, they watch the others going back and forth the booths, mingling with the crowd. It's nice to be out like that – the superhero and the CEO don't usually have much time to just lounge together. Pepper scoots closer as Tony flops his arm around her. Nat and Clint are engaged into an apparently very interesting conversation as they just strolls around. Steve and Bucky are checking out some scented soap, Peter is shuffling through a bin of comic books besides Mary Jane – who looks remarkably like a red-haired Emma Stone. (Who's Emma Stone anyway?) She mouths “come here, Tiger” and pulls him for a kiss that is definitely too hot for a family friendly environment. Bucky unconsciously picks up on the air of intimacy and slips his metal hand into Steve's butt pocket, as they listen to the soap lady.
“Look at that. It's making me cry.” bursts Tony. Steve is sporting his glasses, his old brown leather jacket over a flannel shirt and those pathetic pleated pants from the 40s; Bucky's got a tousled dutch braided mohawk, multiple dangling crystals necklaces, two layers of slouchy tank tops and an oversized cardigan over skinny gray jeans and Doc Martens. They smile at each other like there's nothing else in the world but them. “They're a complete trainwreck.”
“Would those be tears of joy, frustration, or... jealousy?” Pepper asks, an intensely smug look on her face as she stuffs her mouth with more ice cream. Tony turns around to look at her with that fake shocked look he does so well.
“You've been reading fanfiction again, haven't you? I'm baffled. Outraged. Also why would you want to read about hot gay sex between your boyfriend and a ninety years old dork?” Pepper giggles, her eyes wrinkling adorably. “The internet is a dangerous place and I'm telling Jarvis to put up a firewall.”
“Uhm, not on my 12% of the wifi, thanks.”
They snuggle even closer as they savor the moment, the Avengers assembled for something that doesn't have to do with an imminent threat over humanity. Steve and Bucky entwine their fingers absentmindedly as they blend with the intensely hipster crowd at the vintage records booth; the clerk, half his head shaved and a tshirt advertising some obscure band, greets them like they get it.
So Tony thinks, looking at Bucky getting excited over a vintage record from '39 he just found, Steve smiling and gifting it to him, and Thor in the distance playing frisbee with Jane, a labrador and a bunch of kids, and Bruce reading a book under a tree, and Nat showing Clint brass knuckles, and Sam posing for pictures with kids, and Coulson and Maria laughing at an Hydra meme on her phone – he thinks, maybe they're all a trainwreck. But at least they're all together on the same one.
The Avenging Trainwreck. Hearth's Mighties Dorks. The Super Secret Boyband. The Idiots Initiative.
The weirdest, most fucked up and unexpected family they could ever hope for.