Archive of Our Own

Getting off the plane at National wasn't much of an event. Clint had a couple of briefcases with diplomatic immunity, and his luggage turned up on the carousel within ten minutes of disembarking. The mission in Europe had been so deep cover, he had had to fly commercial. Despite that, Clint was a little bit worried that the thing he had recovered was meaningless and SHIELD had been fooled. There should have been someone waiting for him at the airport, but no one waved him over. Annoyed, he pulled out his old phone and turned it on. Dialing Natasha's number got him a recorded message: "We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."

Clint frowned, but that wasn't unusual. Spies and assassins went through cell phones like underwear. He tried to reach the Triskelion, but he got the same message. "What the fuck?" he mouthed at the phone. "Oookay."

Someone at the Hub actually picked up. "Need something? We're kind of tied up here."

"Yeah, this is Agent Barton. Why can't I reach the Triskelion?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then, "Do you live under a rock?"

"When I have to. What did I miss?"

"SHIELD was infiltrated by HYDRA."

"What? When?"

"Since the beginning. Project Insight was their way of killing off twenty million people who might stand in HYDRA's way. You were probably on the list, Hawk. Fury was, and now he's dead. Cap and Widow took out the Insight helicarriers. Look, you need to lie low. If you're in DC, you're gonna have HYDRA and the US military on your ass. Most of us are being court-martialed. They let a few of us man the Hub to keep tabs on what HYDRA agents are doing, but it's not pretty. Phil's team took off before the army could nail 'em, and a lot of us high-tailed it, I didn't, but anyway, stay low for a bit. I have to go."

"Wait," Clint said. "Black Widow?"

"She was testifying on Capitol Hill last I heard. After that, I don't know. Sorry, man."

"And Phil's team? Who—"

"I gotta go!" She hung up, and Clint was left staring at his phone in shock.

"To hell with this," he grumbled, picking up his bags. He took the metro to Alexandria, intending to go to his apartment, but the man in the corner of his train car wasn't very subtle with his staring, so Clint led the stalker to a secluded alley and dropped his bags quite suddenly, spinning around and kicking the pistol out of his hand. He slammed the man against the wall. "Why are you following me?" he growled.

"I'm with the US military," the man said coldly.

"No, you're not," Clint snapped.

"Yes, I am. I'm here to take you in for conspiracy to destroy the spy agency SHIELD."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Okay first, you're not with the military. I can tell. Whoever sent you after me is even dumber than you are. And second, I knew fuck all about this whole HYDRA crap until twenty minutes ago."

"You expect me to believe that Black Widow's lover knew nothing about the attack she and Captain America carried out against SHIELD?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're with HYDRA?"

"You make a move against me, and you're committing treason."

Clint considered it for ten seconds. Then he punched him in the head, knocking him out cold. He bought a day pass from the metro and took the red line to Silver Spring. A short hike took him to his other other DC area apartment, which he hadn't mentioned to SHIELD. He slipped into the building, which was so old there were no security cameras. The fourth floor was silent, as usual. Very few people lived here, which was why Clint had liked it so much. He slipped the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, staying alert as he entered, in case his spot had been compromised. He closed the door behind him, and just as he noticed the window lock was notched, like someone had dug into it with a knife, he was tackled to the floor. Something cool and metallic settled around his throat. Clint shoved his knee upward, driving into the attacker's stomach. There was a cry of pain, and Clint's throat was free as the person shrank backward, clutching their stomach. Clint made a grab for his sidearm, but the attacker seized it first and threw it across the room.

Whoever it was, they were a hell of a lot stronger than Clint. He barely had time to sit up before they were on top of him again, metal-clad hand around his throat again.

"Stop it," the man—probably a man—snarled. "Stop, I don't want to fight."

"You attacked me!"

"You came in here."

"This is my apartment," Clint retorted.

"Oh. I thought—I thought no one lived here."

"Normally, no one does."

"Are you HYDRA?"

Clint glared. "Maybe I should be asking the questions. And can we turn on a light? When there's a guy on top of me with his hand around my throat, I like to be able to gaze into his eyes."

The man leaned down. Clint could taste his breath. It was foul. "Are you HYDRA?" he repeated coldly. For someone with such a cold tone, he had a surprisingly sultry voice.

"No," Clint growled. "I'm not."

"Who are you?"

"You should've asked my name before we ended up here—ack, okay, stop squeezing. Clint Barton."

The hand released and the man sat up. "Hawkeye," he said softly.

"Yeah." Clint rubbed his neck.

"You're an Avenger."

"Yeah. Can I turn on a light?"

The man did not respond, but he did stand up, releasing Clint, who flipped on the light switch. He took in the back of the invader. Filthy T-shirt, ratty, ill-fitted jeans, and oh, a metal arm. Clint drew in a breath. "I know who you are," he said quietly, backing up to retrieve his gun.

"Do you?" the man asked, sounding utterly lost. He turned around, and Clint froze.

"What the fuck?" he whispered. "How? The Winter Soldier is you?" He stared for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Actually, that explains a lot more than it doesn't. Uh, just to clarify, you are Bucky Barnes, right? The Howling Commandos dude?"

The Winter Soldier swallowed and looked down. "I don't know," he said finally. "I get…flashes. Memories, but they don't…they don't fit together right. I'm missing pieces."

"I see. Sort of." Clint noticed something metallic leaning against the ratty couch. "What is that?" he asked, skirting the coffee table to get a better look. He raised his gun immediately upon seeing the concentric blue and red circles. "Where did you get that?" he snapped.

"I pulled it out of the river. After I pulled him out." His eyes were big and sad, and Clint felt his stupid secret agent heart break into little pieces. Natasha would kill him for letting his guard down like this.

"Cap?" Clint asked, lowering the gun.

"Yes."

"Okay so…if he knows…and you know…what the hell are you doing here?"

"I can't," Bucky said quickly. "I can't see him. He's…I can't. I don't, they did things to me, I lost everything, I'm not him, not who he wants, I just—I can't. Please don't tell him."

Clint nodded slowly. "Red Room?"

Bucky shrank back. Something about his demeanor reminded Clint of a spooked rabbit.

"Yeah. You're not the first one I've met. I also know a little about what it's like to have your mind invaded. Your own will taken out and someone else's put in." Bucky's back was against the wall now, and Clint shouldn't let this guy near him, hell, if SHIELD knew how close he was to the Winter Soldier, they would order him to take the assassin out. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time Clint had made a different call. That SHIELD no longer existed just made the decision easier. "You want to crash here while you figure things out? I got soup. And a bath." Bucky didn't look at him, but Clint didn't miss how his eyes darted to the door. "Look, I won't tell Steve you're here. At least let me feed you."

Bucky's internal battle was playing clearly across his face, but finally basic needs won out. He nodded, saying, "Thank you."

Clint holstered his gun. "No problem. Uh, but, I do have a condition. You smell like you haven't showered in seventy years. Go do that while I heat up some soup." He opened the cabinet and started pulling down cans.

"Oh. Um." Bucky shuffled awkwardly.

"What?"

"I…it's been…I can't remember."

"How to shower? Jesus, man." Clint closed the cabinet. "Sorry, nothing against you. I'm sorry they did this to you. I'll run a bath. Is your arm waterproof?"

"Uh, yes."

"Cool." Bucky stood awkwardly in the living room while Clint ran a bath. "Bubbles or no bubbles?" Clint called to him.

"Bubbles?" Bucky asked, confused.

"Bubbles it is." Bubbles were always the answer, Clint thought. The world always seemed nicer after a bubble bath. He poured a capful in, and then added an extra half-capful for good measure. The other reason he had chosen this apartment was because of the lovely, deep bathtub. "All right, it's done," Clint said at long last.

Bucky shuffled in. "What…exactly—"

"Get naked, get in."

"I know that."

"And we'll take it from there." Clint left to give Bucky some privacy.

For a minute, the world pressed in on Bucky, but he closed his eyes and forced it all out. There was a task to be done, and he could do it. At least Hawkeye seemed safe. Safe enough for the moment. And if not, Bucky could probably destroy Hawkeye before he did too much damage. Feeling somewhat reassured by that, Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. The mirror over the sink reflected his shoulder scars, and he looked away before he did something rash. Breaking Clint's belongings was not the way to gain his trust. He continued undressing, hating the vulnerability. But goddamn, he was hungry, and Clint wasn't wrong about him smelling terrible. Tentatively he lowered a foot into the bubbles. The water was hot, which soothed him. Far away from the ice. Bucky climbed the rest of the way in the bath and slid down into the water, leaving only his head above the bubbles.

"You ready, Starbucks?"

"That's not my name."

"Whatever." Clint opened the door. "First things first. You gotta wash your hair. It's disgusting."

Bucky tried not to look cornered. "I…yes."

Clint's gaze softened. "You want me to?"

No. Not safe. Makes you too vulnerable. "No." Trust someone. Avenger. Steve's teammate. Safe. Kind. No such thing. Everyone has ulterior motives. An ex-SHIELD Agent surely does. Barton, Clint. Hawkeye. Partner of Romanoff, Natasha. Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Red Room graduate.

Her lover.

He understands.

"Yes."

"I can be gentle." Clint left and returned quickly with a plastic tumbler from the kitchen. "Close your eyes."

Bucky looked up at him, eyes unsure.

"Just for a couple seconds."

He could have killed you before. He is Captain America's friend. Captain America is your friend. He closed his eyes. He heard water splashing, and then hot water was pouring over his hair, falling down his face. Exposed. Susceptible. Compromised.

"You can open your eyes." Clint's voice was soothing and kind. "Okay, this is the part where my fingers go all over your head. That sounded really…weird. But anyway. You don't have to be self-conscious. I'm like the chillest superhero you'll ever meet."

"Okay." Open your eyes. Stay alert. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut. I don't want to. I want to hide. I want to let him protect me. I don't want to fight anymore. There was the click of a cap, and gentle fingers were massaging Bucky's head, working in the shampoo. It had been so long since he had been touched with anything resembling kindness. His eyes burned, and his throat ached. He swallowed, forcing back the…tears. They were tears, but he couldn't let Hawkeye see them. Warm water poured over his head again, rinsing it.

"You okay?"

Not trusting his voice, Bucky nodded tightly. His body was still tense, but he didn't want Clint to stop. This time after the bottle was opened, Clint's palms rubbed the stuff through his hair. After half a minute, he rinsed it again, several times.

"And that's done. I think you can take care of the rest. You can open your eyes, you know." Bucky obeyed. Clint pointed. "Soap's there, scrubber's there, make sure you get your armpits. And your balls, if you want to get laid. Uh, not that I'm offering. I mean not that I wouldn't. I mean—I'm gonna shut up now." Bucky nodded, and Clint dried his hands and left. He returned a minute later with a towel and clean clothes. "You can wear these; I think we're close enough in size. There's a clean razor and shaving cream here if you want to shave. I'll heat up dinner for us. Don't be too long. Uh, not that that's an order."

The water was already cooling, although not too much yet, so Bucky cleaned his body quickly and rinsed off. Bubbles, he was already thinking, were a nice invention. They were soft and undemanding. As he climbed out of the tub, he shivered. Cold air. Cold body. Cold. Cold. Cold. He grabbed the towel and dried himself hastily, donning Clint's jeans and T-shirt. The razor sat on the counter, but Bucky didn't have the energy to attempt to shave. He felt stupid for needing help bathing, for god's sake. Bucky knew how to take a fucking bath. At least, he remembered now.

The smell of sodium-laden canned soup wafted into the bathroom, and the pit in Bucky's stomach became immediately apparent. Barefoot, he made his way to the kitchen, where Clint was ladling hot soup into bowls. He held one out. "Salty as hell New England clam chowder?"

"It's food."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

Bucky turned the thousand yard stare on him.

"Okay then." Clint sat down at the table to eat. Bucky followed suit. "But logistically speaking I'm not sure how we're gonna do this thing. You're welcome to hang out here but I gotta be honest, I don't know what I can do for you. I know I promised I wouldn't call Steve and I won't, but like, maybe you could."

"I can't."

"Okay but the thing is, I'm not equipped for this. You wanna talk, awesome, I can do that, I can feed you, I can give you a bed and a shower, and I can hug you as much as you want, but when you have a nightmare and flip shit on me or if there's a trigger in your head we don't know about, I'm for sure not your best option. I know it's worse for you, I know, and I'm sorry, but I got shit of my own to do, and a super-soldier who loves you would be really handy to have around, I have to say."

"I shot him."

"Um."

"In the gut."

"Jesus. He's okay, right? I mean, he's Steve."

"Yes." Bucky stared into bowl of soup. "He's alive."

"Oh, you know what else I'm not your best option for? Fixing that arm if it starts fucking up."

"Okay."

"But Tony Stark is."

"No."

"Okay, whatever."

"I can go."

Clint put his head in his hands. "I'd really rather you didn't. Look, it's not like I can't take you out if I need to—maybe—it's just that I don't want to, and if I'm not prepared to kill, it's gonna make things that much harder. I'm just trying to be straight with you here. The last person I bailed from the Red Room nearly killed me in her sleep a couple times and that was after containment and deprogramming and psychiatric sessions with SHIELD. And she's tough as hell but not stronger than me. What I'm saying is it's going to take a lot of time and work."

"I'll go." Having finished his soup, Bucky stood and made for the door. "You can give him the shield back."

"Wait," Clint pleaded, grabbing his arm. Bucky automatically spun and threw him across the room. Clint crashed into the table, trying to roll and distribute the impact properly.

Bucky stared, feeling sick. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I—"

"'sokay, I'm—ow—fine." Clint slid off the table.

"No, I'm a danger to you. I have to go, I can't be near people, I'm—I'm a monster."

"No, you're not." Clint approached Bucky carefully. "You're just a little lost."

Bucky shook his head, backing away. "No, no, no, I'm a freak, I'm a murderer, I'm evil, I…" His babbling stopped as Clint put a kind hand on his shoulder.

"You're not any of those things," he said gently. "It's going to be okay."

"It can't," Bucky said, shaking his head fearfully. "It can't. It can't."

"It will. Come here." Clint drew Bucky into his arms. Bucky didn't push him away, but he stood stiffly with his arms at his sides. "Nat and I both had to face what we did under someone else's influence, but we didn't do it alone, and you don't have to either. I won't let you."

And suddenly he was lost, collapsing against Hawkeye, weeping into his shoulder. Bucky's knees gave out and he sank down, wrapping his arms around Clint's waist. "No," he sobbed. "No, no, no, no…."

"I know," Clint soothed. "I know." He laid a careful palm on Bucky's head, petting his hair softly. "We'll figure it out."

"I need to call Tony." Clint reached over to the end table to get his phone while trying not to disturb Bucky, who was lying curled up, head pillowed on Clint's lap, eyes red and puffy, on the couch. "I won't tell him about you. If you're sure."

"Don't."

"Fine." Clint rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Bucky as he dialed Tony's number. "Come on, pick up the phone, come on."

"Who the hell is this?"

"It's nice to know you remember me, Stark."

"Five, four, three—"

"Hawkeye, Tony! It's Clint."

"Oh. Okay. Right. I guess I knew you'd turn up sooner or later. Now that your precious SHIELD is down, everyone wants Stark to bail them out. I've got Hill in HR already." He sighed. "What do you want?"

"You're so sweet, Tony! I'm just looking for Natasha. And Steve."

"No," Bucky growled.

"Relax," Clint hissed at him. "He's my friend. I'm still clear on your thing."

"Who is that?" Tony asked.

"My one night stand," Clint countered quickly. "Cap and Nat. Where can I find them?"

"Why does this feel sketchy as hell?"

"What in the world is sketchy about me trying to find my girlfriend?"

"What isn't sketchy about your one night stand's problem with Cap?"

"What's your problem? I'm an Avenger too, here. If you know where the love of my fucking life is, I'd really like to see her."

"Mmm…tell you what. Tell me where you are and I'll pick you up, and the guy you're cheating on Black Widow with who's afraid of Cap too in a helicopter. And I'll call the star-spangled man with a plan and Spiderface."

"We are going to have a very serious talk about your trust issues, Stark."

"But not now."

Clint groaned and hung up. "He's a pain in the ass. Ugh. I really…I really need to find Natasha. It's kind of a big deal to me."

Bucky tensed. "I shot her."

"Yeah, I know."

"How?"

"Gut shot with those slugs? Tends to leave a mark."

"No, I—I…when?"

"You shot her more recently?"

"In the shoulder. I'm sorry."

"Jesus."

"She's okay."

"She usually is. Who the fuck set you on her?"

"Pierce."

"Alexander Pierce?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck me sideways. This sucks ass. I hate everything. Fury's dead, Nat's in the wind, Tony's being a jerk, Pierce was rotten, and I am alone." Clint dropped his head back against the couch. "Well, not alone."

"Worse than alone," Bucky mumbled.

"Nah. Sure I can't change your mind? Tony offered us a ride to his Tower, and if I don't take it, he won't find Nat for me."

"You go and I will leave."

"That's…not an option. One, because I couldn't look Steve in the eye and tell him I abandoned you, and two, I—no offense—am not leaving you unsupervised. Not for awhile."

"I can't see him," Bucky repeated. "I can't."

Clint nodded. "Okay. Why?"

"I told you."

"Yeah, yeah, expectations, fear of disappointing him, whatever. What's the real reason?"

"Just that."

"Barnes. Tell me."

"I…I might kill him. He's still my mission."

"Oh, jeez. Is that all? We can work with that."

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not, you big baby. Tony Stark has loaded his tower with so many defensive systems it's not funny. And Steve is jacked. Granted, he doesn't have the metal arm, but unlike some people, he can probably hold his own against you."

"I'm not going."

"Ugh, fine. You're impossible." But he placed a hand on Bucky's head and stroked his temple until Bucky fell asleep.

The coffee started to lose its effect by the third day, but Clint was too nervous to sleep with the Winter Soldier in his apartment. Bucky spent a lot of time sitting by the window and staring. Clint let him sleep in his bed, since he wasn't planning on sleeping himself, wincing when Bucky cried out in his sleep. The only thing Clint felt safe doing, however, was standing in the doorway and repeating Bucky's name until he woke up. This was usually followed by Bucky crying and Clint holding him. He was happy to do that, at least. Clint knew the power of a kind touch.

By noon of the third day, however, Clint put his foot down. "Either I call Tony back and he hauls us out of here or you call Tony and he gets you Cap's cell number. But I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. I'm too fragile and I'm really, really tired. And I'm just one dude."

"Then let me leave."

"I could not possibly stop you if you decided to but you haven't yet, which I'm guessing is either because you like my company or you really do want to see Steve and you're just mad conflicted about everything. Let me make it easy for you. Give me the okay to call Tony and get us somewhere the military can't touch us. That's the other thing, you know, the military getting hold of you would be the absolute worst. Tony can keep us safe. Please."

"You talk a lot."

"You don't talk enough."

Bucky put his head down on the table next to the bowl of—sadly—cold Chef Boyardee ravioli. He mumbled something, but Clint couldn't interpret it.

"What?"

"Do it." He sounded so defeated.

"Thank you." Clint made the call.

"What the hell was worth waiting two days for, Barton, and by the way, you look terrible."

"I haven't slept in three days," Clint said, fumbling with the seat belt until Bucky took pity on him and buckled it for him as the chopper lifted off. "Thanks for getting us."

"Yeah, who's us, though?"

"Boyfriend on the side," Clint said easily, knowing perfectly well that Tony wouldn't buy it. "Don't want to make the poor kid a target too."

"Right, yeah, that's believable."

Clint yawned widely. "I'm vouching for him. Where's Nat?"

"Crashing at the Tower for a few days."

"And you didn't tell her I called?" Clint demanded. "What the fuck, Tony?"

"She didn't ask."

"You're an asshole."

"She actually showed up like ten minutes before I left. Don't get your panties in a twist. Hey, strong and silent, what's your name?"

"You look like your father." Bucky blinked in surprise, as if he hadn't said the words intentionally.

Tony leaned back in his seat. "Aw, fuck. That's how it is?"

"Uh." Clint cocked his head. "What?"

"I know the relevant details," Tony said. "Steve told me about his poor not dead BFF. But I can't say I expected you to show up with the guy first. And I feel like an idiot for not noticing the one glove."

"I barely remember your father," Bucky said, bewildered. "I don't know where that came from."

"Somehow I bet you knew him better than I did," Tony said, shrugging. "Aw, look at the sleepy birdie."

Bucky glanced to the side, where Clint was sleeping against his shoulder. "Is your tower safe?"

"Safe as houses. Safer, actually."

"From me, I mean."

"I've actually been working on Hulk-proofing it. You're small potatoes." The relief in Bucky's eyes softened Tony's heart just a little bit. "Uh, so, Rogers was there yesterday but he and Falcon took off this morning. I can call them though."

"Can you not?"

"Nope. JARVIS, let Cap know I've got Hawk and Barnes and we're on our way home."

"No one listens to me," Bucky sighed.

"Don't worry, after I'm done ignoring your feelings, you'll have Steve fawning over you and doing everything you want, because that's how Steve rolls. 'I have to find him, Tony, I can't leave Bucky all alone, Bucky's my best friend, Bucky saved my life eight bajillion times, I'd be dead if it weren't for Bucky, I worship the ground he walks on, Bucky rescues kittens and puppies in his spare time, Bucky this, Bucky that, Bucky Bucky Bucky.' Dude's a broken record." Tony shook his head. "Were you guys a thing or something?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah, you know, doing the diddly, hearts in your eyes?" Bucky's obvious failure to comprehend made Tony sigh. "Oh come on, were you lovers?" he clarified.

Bucky frowned. "I…I don't know."

Tony winced. "Oh Christ. That's fucking awful. What am I even supposed to say to that?"

"The less you say, the less I have to talk."

"Oh, I get it. Okay, but I'm actually very bad at shutting up. It's kind of my thing. Talking, that is."

Bucky rolled his eyes and took off his glove, trying not to shift too much. Hawkeye needed the sleep. Tony's eyes bulged as he pulled off the left sleeve of his jacket.

"Oh my GOD oh my god that is so cool. And fucking old. What the hell, is this from the '40s or something?"

Bucky glared at him. "Yes, you moron."

"And it hasn't been upgraded?"

"Not very much."

"May I?"

"Does it matter what I say? You're going to."

"God yes." Tony unbuckled and practically leapt across the floor of the chopper to get his hands on Bucky's arm. "I am going to make this so much cooler."

Natasha was waiting on the roof when they landed, but Clint was completely out, so Bucky had to carry him into the lounge and dump him on a couch.

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded. "And what the hell are you doing here?"

"He hasn't slept in four days, and I'm only here because he's pushy."

She glared at him. "Steve may be an idiot, but I'm still pissed that you shot me. Twice." She pointed to a chair. "Sit. Stay. Give me your weapons."

"You don't actually have to do that," Tony said, carrying the shield into the lounge. "I had JARVIS set up defenses in case Old Man Winter has nefarious motives. So don't pull anything unless you want ten elephant tranq darts in your face."

"Good," Bucky said as he sat down anyway, and Tony hopped up onto the arm of the chair to poke at the cybernetic arm.

"Okay first, that star is really tacky."

"Your face is tacky," slurred Barton from the couch. Natasha lifted his head and situated her lap under it. He hummed contentedly and snuggled up to her. "Missed you."

"I see you brought home another stray Soviet assassin."

"You guys are so cute, what'm I supposed to do?"

"Sleep, you big dumbass," Natasha said fondly, stroking his temple.

"Mmkay."

"Anyway," Tony said loudly, "as I was saying, that star. Tacky as fuck. How about an eagle? A tiger?"

"'Cause that's not tacky at all," Nat said. "How about a kitten?"

"How is a kitten cool?"

"You must be a very sad person."

"Can you just stop?" Bucky growled.

"Of course, I'm being a terrible host to my dangerous supersoldier assassin guest who tried to kill Steve multiple times."

"That's not helping, Tony," admonished Natasha. "Offer the nice man who shot me twice a drink."

"You guys are fucking mean," Clint muttered. "I'm calling Pepper. JARVIS, call Pepper."

"I'm sorry, sir, what shall I tell Miss Potts?"

"To get up here and make Tony and Nat be nice. 'm too sleepy."

"JARVIS, stop," Tony warned.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I can't do that."

"I'll be nice, I'll be nice! Jeez, disrespect, in my own house."

"I think it's our house," Natasha corrected.

"I think so too." Everyone glanced at the door to see Bruce. "Hi, you're new. Oh, hey, you brought the shield. Oh. You're—oh." He held out his hand for Bucky to shake. "Nice to meet you."

Bucky inspected the hand for a full five seconds.

"Uh, it's not a trap. It's a greeting that people do. Shake hands?"

Bucky finally took the hand and shook it quickly, withdrawing a second later. "You're the Hulk. The Avenger."

"There are a few of us here. There's even a big A on the side of the building."

"We should have a reunion tour," Tony said. "Call up Goldilocks. He can bring Adopted too, and you can throw him around a bit if you want."

"That was classy," Nat said. "Loki's dead."

"Shit, really? I didn't even know that. Well, given that he tried to take over Earth with an army of aliens and fucked up New York and also threw me out a window, I'm just not that cut up about it."

"He was under a spell like me," Clint said, yawning and wrapping his arms around Natasha's waist. "Eyes. Blue. Didn't realize it at the time. Became really obvious when I thought about it later."

"Who?" Bucky asked.

"Norse god of mischief," Clint answered. "Seems like there's a lot of this mind-control thing going around. We should get T-shirts."

"Who?"

"Loki, me, you, Nat, Selvig, uh…there's gotta be more, can't think, too sleepy."

"You have a bed downstairs, Clint," Nat reminded.

"But I have a Nat upstairs."

"You sap."

"Mmm."

"Uh, so," Bruce said, valiantly attempting to pretend the world was normal, "would you like a drink, uh, Mr.—Sergeant?"

A deer in the headlights probably looked less confused than Bucky did now. It was a small decision to make, but Bruce was expecting him to make it. Because he actually cared about what Bucky wanted. Clint had, and Clint did, but Bucky and Clint had fought first, and Clint easily made decisions for Bucky. Not that he wasn't grateful. It was easier, really, to just let Clint pick out dinner and tell him when to shower and when to sleep, because it took so much energy to even exist these days. Bucky felt trapped, like there was a lot of his old self trying to claw its way to the surface while the Winter Soldier sat on him like a cat and refused to let him stand.

But he did want a drink. A vivid memory of lighter fluid-tasting vodka mixed with cheap orange juice forced its way past the barriers.

"This is disgusting. How do you even drink this?"

A skinny boy grinned at him. "I'm sorry your majesty doesn't like it. I'll be sure to get the imported stuff next time."

"Shut up, ya punk." He grabbed the cup and chugged it, grimacing at the taste. "I can't believe people drink this stuff for fun."

"Congratulations, you just had your first screwdriver."

"Steve, you are a hooligan and you're corrupting my pure, innocent body."

"I'm an artist. It comes with the territory."

"You all right?"

Bucky blinked. "Yes. I want…a screwdriver. Or…something better."

"Might I suggest a Sea Breeze, sir?" The pleasant English voice of JARVIS reminded him of someone else, but he couldn't recall at the moment.

"Kinda early to be drinking," muttered Tony.

Bruce and Natasha raised their eyebrows at him. "Not in Russia," she said. "And you're one to talk."

"What's a Sea Breeze?" Bucky asked.

"Vodka, cranberry juice, grapefruit juice."

"Okay."

"I got it," Bruce said, opening the refrigerator.

Sam Wilson yelled at Steve Rogers no fewer than eight times for speeding on the way back to Avengers Tower. "Are you trying to get us killed, you idiot? Look, I get that you're indestructible, but I am not a juiced up World War II hero, I just fly sometimes."

Steve didn't even bother parking the car properly; he just threw the car into park in front of the elevator and slammed his palm on the reader. The doors opened in ten seconds, and Steve ran in, Sam at his heels.

"Where to, sir?" JARVIS asked.

"Where is Bucky?" Steve demanded.

"The lounge, sir. On the top floor."

"Take us there."

"Right away, sir."

Whatever Steve was expecting to see when the elevator doors opened, it wasn't Bucky curled up in an armchair, sipping a fruity cocktail while Bruce stood between him and Tony, shaking a finger at the engineer.

"Hey," Steve said, unnecessarily, really, since Bucky's eyes had focused on him the moment he had appeared.

Bucky swallowed. "Hi." He set down the drink and stood up, reaching between the armchair and the couch. "I found this." He held the shield out, and Steve took it, hefting it automatically.

"Still looking out for me, huh?" he said.

Bucky didn't reply, looking away uncomfortably instead. Steve sagged a little, but he recovered quickly. "What are you drinking?"

"It's…better than that lighter fluid screwdriver you gave me the first time."

"Oh my god." Steve laughed. "I had forgotten that."

"Yeah. Me too." He looked back at Steve, who had quirked a gentle smile. "I forgot a lot of things. I'm not—I'm not the same."

"Neither am I," Steve replied. "I'm just so happy to see you again, Buck."

"I was gonna wait. 'Til I was better."

"But—" Steve frowned. "You don't have to. I mean, 'better' is kind of a vague goal. And never mind that, rather, you and me, we're not alone anymore. We're together again. Everything in between, well, I'm not going to say it doesn't matter, because I know it does, but, it's just, this is how it's supposed to be."

"I could kill you in my sleep."

"Don't underestimate me," Steve said lightly.

Bucky glared at him. "You're a fucking moron. You got no sense of self-preservation."

"Never needed to. I always had you."

"Jesus." Bucky took a step toward Steve. "I should get out of here. I could have triggers in here, I don't know what all they…." He trailed off as Steve took his hands. "And nightmares, I might not even…. I'm a weapon. I'm not a person anymore."

"I refuse to believe that. If you're not a person, why come here?"

"Barton's pushy."

Steve glanced at the corner sofa where Clint was still sleeping on Natasha. "Then why not kill him?"

"He's not my mission."

"Well," Steve said, squeezing Bucky's hands, "you're mine."

Bucky's breath caught. His eyes burned horribly, and his throat hurt. He could only manage a "Ungh" into Steve's shoulder as he threw his arms around him and held on tight.

"We'll make it," Steve whispered in his ear as his arms came up to embrace Bucky.

Across the room, Clint jerked awake. "Oh, hey, Cap, we got, er, he got, your shield—I found your boyfriend. And gave him a bath."

"You what?"

Bucky actually started laughing into Steve's chest at Steve's response. "Don't ask."

"He likes me," Clint said smugly. "It's because I'm likeable. I made him laugh. I think I win at life."

"He shot me," Natasha muttered.

"I know, honey, I love you too." Clint kissed her abdomen. "I'm going for a world record of reclaimed Soviet assassins liking me."

"Go back to sleep until you have something useful to say."

"'m useful. I save people 'n' facilitate true love. You shut up." But he was asleep again in seconds.

"I like him," Bucky mumbled against Steve. "I need so much help, Steve."

"You know you'll have it."

"I know."

"You gonna be okay?"

Bucky drew back to meet Steve's eyes. "I think…I think we'll make it."