Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Bucky. Bucky. Buuuuucckkkyyyyyyy. Buckaroo. Bucky Bear-”

“What, Clint?” Bucky Barnes gives up on studying for now and turns around in his chair to glare at his roommate. Sadly, his TerminatorGlareTM doesn’t work on the human disaster that is Clint Barton, who’s bouncing on his bed like a hyper child on Christmas morning.

“So you know how the theatre department is putting on a production of Hamilton?” Clint asks excitedly.

Bucky wants to answer that yes, of course he knows, because that’s all Clint’s been talking about for the last two weeks, but before he can answer, Clint barrels on.
“So I auditioned for Hamilton himself, because, you know--” As he isn’t a theater kid and has never seen or listened to Hamilton, Bucky does not, in fact, know, but whatever “---but I was expecting to get a smaller role, like John Laurens or something, but then I saw Nat today--she’s the director and caster and she’s also the girl in my Russian class I was telling you about--and she told me I got the part!”

Most people, when presented with this kind of announcement, will say something at least vaguely congratulatory, but as Bucky was not most people, he crossed his arms, spun his chair back towards his p-set, and said, “You’ve been spending way too much time with Stark, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

Clint pouts, then laughs, finally hopping off the bed. “Nah, I just had a bunch of coffee today. Anyway, you know how you were telling me about your friend from high school? Steve Rogers right?” So Nat was saying something about the costume designer for the musical, and she says it’s some guy named Steve Rogers.”

Bucky faintly notices that Clint is still talking, but he doesn't care. There is no doubt that it’s his Steve. He’s always talked about one day being a costume designer for a Broadway play, and Hamilton is one of his favourite musicals. After The Incident, while Steve’s lack of communication has definitely been hurtful, Bucky has understood. Steve needs time, and space. But to know that they’re on the same campus? At the same time? And Steve hasn’t said anything, not even a “Yes, I’m alive and well”? That stings. A lot. Yes, it’s possible that Steve doesn’t know he’s here either. Hopefully that’s true, because the alternative would absolutely kill him.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky snaps out of his thoughts to see Clint frowning at him.

“Yeah, sorry.” Bucky rubs his head. “You were saying?”

Clint’s still frowning, but he resumes his story (read: monologue.) “I was saying, Tony’s original assistant was too busy with photography or something, so Nat was asking me if I knew anyone that could help Tony with set building, and I volunteered you!”

It takes a while for Bucky to process Clint’s words, and when he does, it takes all his self control not to throttle Clint. “You did what?!”

Clint looks way too smug for someone who’s about to be thrown out a window. “The set and costume designers work together, so I figured you’d like that you’d get to be with Steve. You start tomorrow by the way.”

Bucky turns back to his p-sets to channel his murderous tendencies somewhere other than a human being. Granted, this is a teeny bit his fault for not telling Clint the full story of what happened with him and Steve, but still.
“Can’t you tell this director lady that I can’t do this anymore?’ He asks, a bit desperately.

Clint’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No way. You try telling Nat that you can't do it. Best case scenario, she says do it anyway. Worst case…”
He shudders, but again, as he’s a theater kid, Bucky has no way of knowing whether it’s genuine or just for show. Either way, it seems like he was stuck doing this thing. One more thing before his fate is sealed…”How long will I be doing this for?”

Clint grins. “Opening night is in three months.”

Forget about throwing Clint out of the window; Bucky is this close to throwing himself out of the window. Three months stuck with someone who clearly hates him enough to have reached out a single time in months. How bad can this really be, he tries to reassure himself.

The answer: It could be fine. But it could also be very, very bad indeed.

Chapter Text

Bucky silently follows the woman he now knows is Natasha Romanoff as she gives him a tour of Georgetown University’s performing arts center. So far he’s seen two rehearsal rooms, the nicest bathrooms he’s ever been in in a university, an impressively  well stocked snack room, and…

“Here’s the workshop,” Natasha says, opening the last door in the hallway. And whoa--Bucky’s never been much of an artsy type, but this room with paint buckets and sheets of plywood inspires him so much he starts to think this job might not be so bad. Natasha shows him the area where Steve normally works (he called in sick today, thank goodness), and it’s so clean and organized and so Steve Bucky misses him like crazy.

“Do you have any questions?” Natasha asks, and something about the tone of her voice makes him see why half the school is afraid of her.

“Yeah, um, what are we building exactly...like, are there instructions or do we just do whatever we want…”

The look she gives him could be compared to the look one would give a puppy who has just wrapped its leash around a tree: Like, cute, but absolutely stupid.

“Tony will tell you,” she says, then she’s off.

He has approximately 6.43 seconds of peace before Tony bursts through the door yelling, “Hey Terminator!” and it’s time to get to work.

Bucky’s job is mostly just measuring beams of wood and handing them to Tony to be cut. (He’s pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be talking and using your phone while using a saw, but what does he know.) Tony’s non-stop chattering actually isn’t so bad for once, and after a while Bucky starts to really enjoy what he’s doing. 

After 45 minutes or so, the door swings open and a guy walks in. “Hey man, it’s break,” he says to Tony. Then he pivots and sees Bucky. “And you must be the new guy. Sam Wilson,” the guy says with a grin, and honestly, Bucky thinks he’s just seen some of the best cheekbones in human history. Objectively, of course. 

“Bucky Barnes,” he answers, and if anything Sam grins even wider.

“What kind of name is Bucky? That sounds like my little cousin’s stuffed bear!”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you, pal,” Bucky laughs. “It’s from my middle name, Buchanan.”

“Buchanan? Oh man, what’s your first name then, Bizarro? Bazooka?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and flips him off, but before he can formulate a proper response, Tony cuts in. 

“Okay lovebirds, let’s go, I actually want to see people on my break.”

“See people?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Yeah, I usually come and get him when we--like, all the actors--have our break, so he can ‘mingle’ as he says it.” Sam explains.

They walk down the hallway and turn into the snack room, and wow, it’s just as loud as one would expect a room full of theater kids to be. There are people everywhere, but Sam and Tony make a beeline straight for a group chatting in the back corner. Clint is with them, so Bucky fist-bumps him and waits to be introduced to everyone else. 

“Hey Sam, hey Tony, and ooh, new guy,” a girl with deep brown skin and turquoise glasses grins at him.

Sam laughs. “Hey Em.” He turns to Bucky. “If only Nat and Steve were here, then we’d have the full squad. Anyway, that’s Emory, she’s a freshman and she somehow got Aaron Burr, I have no clue how she did that--” Emory bows fake-modestly and Sam turns to a tall buff blond dude (Bucky totally doesn’t mistake him for Steve) “--That’s Thor, he wouldn’t hurt a fly but if you steal his poptarts, all bets are off--” Sam points at a skinny guy with dark hair falling half over his face “--and that’s Loki-”

“But we call him Reindeer Games,” Tony adds cheerfully.

“You call him Reindeer Games,” Clint grumbles. “I call him a pain in the ass.”

Sam winces. “Please guys, can you not--”

“Oh it’s all Barton, don’t try roping me into this too,” Loki says, not even looking up from picking at his fingernails.

While Tony looks slightly amused at the conversation, Sam looks like he’s heard the same thing too many times and is sick of it. Trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere that has been created, and also wanting to head out, Bucky turns to Tony. “We should probably be heading back to the workshop. What time is it by the way?”

“Showtime!” Clint sings with a shit-eating grin on his face, and Bucky braces himself for the song that will inevitably follow.

“Like I said,” Emory adds.

“Showtime, showtime!”

“Yo, I’m John Laurens…” Thor starts rapping, and he’s not sure but Bucky think Sam is beat-boxing along.

Loki, who Bucky was sure would stay silent, joins along after Thor’s done with, “Oui oui mon ami je m’appelle Lafayette…”

By the end they’re all laughing, and Bucky makes a mental note to himself to listen to a few Hamilton songs when he gets back to his dorm. When Natasha comes to tell them they should head back to the rehearsal room with the rest of the cast, Bucky has already exchanged number with everyone, and they’ve invited him to go out with them this weekend.

An hour and a half later, Bucky heads back to his dorm feeling light and happy (or as light and happy as someone like Bucky can be.) Even the thought of all the homework that awaits him or the prospect of seeing Steve next time doesn’t dim his mood. As they get ready for bed, Bucky finally remembers the question that’s been on the edge of his memory all evening. 

“Hey, what’s up with you and Loki?” he asks.

Clint grimaces. “Oh that. We got into some trouble last year together, nothing major but…” He shrugs. “So you’re a Hamilton fan now, are you?”

Bucky frowns at the obvious subject change, but he lets it be (well, for now at least) and climbs into bed. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Clint acts way more excited than the situation truly deserves in Bucky’s opinion, pumping his fist and letting out a whoop. “Yessss! I’ve converted the musical-hater! I can do anything! I am inevit-”

Bucky throws a pillow at him to get him to shut up, smiling when he hears the telltale yelp when the projectile hits its mark.

Clint’s head pops back up soon enough though. “But I was right, you do like doing it.”

As much as he hates agreeing with Clint, this time the guy might actually be right. He does like doing this new job.

Well. For now, at least.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Bucky’s heading to a nearby cafe after his World History class when he gets a text from an unknown number. 

hey bucky this is sam. you ok to talk?

Yeah just heading to a coffee shop. 

Bucky texts Sam the address of Shield Coffee & Co., and he’s just gotten comfy in one of the back booths with a large cappuccino when he sees Sam’s figure walk through the doors. He waits while Sam orders a decaf and a chocolate croissant. When Sam finally slides into the booth across from him, Bucky waits for Sam to start.

“So I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a Psych major,” Sam say around a mouthful of croissant.

Bucky frowns and nods, wondering where this is going. 

“That means that people think I’m their therapist (which I’m not--that’s not even the type of psychology that I’m studying), and they tell things.

Still extremely confused, Bucky takes another sip of his latte.

“One of the people who tells me things is your buddy Steve.”

Bucky perks up at that, but he almost instantly slumps back down, annoyed. “Get to the point, Sam. Some of us actually have homework they could be doing.”

He half-smiles. “Fair. Okay, the other day when Steve found out you were the new assistant set designer, he told me--I’m paraphrasing--’Bucky must not know I’m also working on this play, since he hates me after what I did to him’ “.

Sam’s eyes crinkle at Bucky’s shocked expression. “I’m guessing you’re shocked because you were thinking that Steve hates you after what you did to him.”

For all his insistence that he’s not a therapist, Sam is acting quite like one. Bucky half expects him to ask ‘how does that make you feel?’

“Yeah,” he says to Sam’s question.

He nods, finishes him decaf in one gulp, and stands up. “Sorry, I gotta go, I have class in like four minutes. But seriously dude, I don’t know the full story with you and Steve, but I know there’s some serious miscommunication on both. See you tomorrow.” Sam fistbumps him and heads out. 

Bucky groans loudly and thunks his head on the table, drawing curious stares from people at nearby tables, but he doesn’t care. There’s no way he can do  his homework now after that bombshell Sam just dropped. How could Steve think Bucky is mad at him for something that was totally Bucky’s fault? That doesn't even make sense. Curse you, Stevie, he thinks.

The next day, Bucky heads to the workshop with Clint in tow. Technically, Clint doesn’t even have rehearsal today, but he’s here because “I’m bored and I like seeing Nat direct, cause when she directs she’s in her element and she gets all passionate and fierce and it’s so cool to watch.” 

Personally, Bucky thinks he’s mainly coming to see him and Steve reunite, but who cares.

They finally arrive at the workshop, and Bucky looks up to say hi to Tony... act normal Barnes, he tells himself. Because Steve is right there, staring at him with those annoyingly pretty baby blue eyes. He can literally feel Tony and Clint smirking at him from off to the side, but he resists the urge to turn around and glare at them. Why isn’t a guidebook of what you should say in situations like this? He decides to act like nothing has ever happened between them.

“Hey Steve,” he says, shoving his hands in his jeans pocket to hide his nervousness. 

Steve looks relieved for some reason. “Hi Bucky, how are you?”

Fuck this. Bucky can’t do this, can’t casually exchange pleasantries like they’ve actually talked in the last two years, like nothing has ever happened between them.

“We should probably talk,” he says.

Steve nods. “Yeah, uh, there’s an empty rehearsal room we could use…”

They both ignore Tony’s whistle and Clint’s snickers and walk down the hallway to the empty room. An awkward silence falls. Steve shifts from one foot to another until Bucky speaks up.

“So, Sam told me you think I’m mad at you.”

Steve grimaces. “Bucky, I’m really sorry. I know I should have apologised sooner, and I totally get that you’re mad at me.”

Bucky has to take a few seconds to process that. “How could I be mad at you? I’m the one who ignored you and acted like a total dick. I’m sorry.”

“But...I was the one who kissed you when I totally shouldn’t have.”

“Steve. I actually didn’t mind the kiss. I’m literally anything but straight.”

Steve blinks. “Oh.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Yeah.”

“Then why did you avoid me afterward?”

“I...I just didn’t want anybody to know. I definitely wasn’t going to come out to my parents, and our school wasn’t exactly the most progressive.”

Steve smiles wryly. “This feels like some completely twisted Shakespearean tragedy.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Well, we friends again?”

Something in Steve’s face softens. “Till the end of the line, Buck.”

Those words lodge a lump in his throat, and he looks away, never more grateful for his resting bitch face. “You’re a sap, punk.”

Steve sticks out his tongue. “Jerk.”

They laugh, and everything feels like it’s back to normal. Bucky didn’t realise how much he missed his best friend till he got him back.

They hang out in the, catching up on everything that’s happened in the last almost two years. Steve tells the tale of his failed piercing , and Bucky tells the story of how he met Clint (it involved a dumpster, two dogs, and a toy bow and arrow.) Soon enough, a whole hour has gone by and they reluctantly agree to head back to the workshop. 

(Honestly, Bucky’s surprised Tony and/or Clint haven’t burst in yet, but he’s not about to jinx himself.) 

When they reenter the workshop, Bucky scans the room to see who’s here--for it’s not just Tony and Clint--and holy shit, is the whole squad here?

Yet, its is; Sam looks satisfied, Thor looks generally happy, Clint’s smug, Tony’s winking at them, Emory’s grinning like a Cheshire cat, Loki looks amused but also looks like he’s scheming, and Natasha’s smirking at them both.

Bucky glares at all of them. “I hate you all so much right now.”

“We love you too, Bucky,” Emory answers, throwing him a kiss. 

Bucky flips her off, another question popping into his head, but Steve beats him to the punch. “How are you guys even here? You’re not even supposed to know about me and Bucky.”

Sam and Clint at least have the decency to look ashamed.

Bucky groans. “Thanks guys. And here I was thinking we were friends. Next thing I know, you guys will be placing bets on--seriously?!”

He gapes as everyone hands various amounts of money to Natasha, who doesn’t look the teeniest bit sorry. And that’s when he realises, he’s only known them for a week and a half (excluding Steve and Clint, of course), but they already feel like family.

Chapter Text

Bucky has to admit: he’s undeniably attracted to Sam Wilson. Like, how could he not be? The guy has an amazing smile, impressive cheekbones, a great personality, and is frankly pretty funny when he's not complaining about not being a therapist. (Okay, even that is semi-entertaining.)

They’ve met up in a coffee shop twice a week for the last three weeks, and every meeting is hell on Bucky’s self-control. He’s talked about his crush to Emory--she’s now his go to for relationship advice--and she’s told him to just go for it.

So now he’s in the coffee shop, waiting for Sam to arrive. When he does, it’s with a huge grin on his face, and Bucky relaxes. Sam orders his usual then slides into the booth. 

“Okay Bucky, I’ve never talked about this with you, but I can’t keep this in anymore,” Sam says.

Bucky feels his heartbeat pick up. But why--he has no idea what Sam is about to say.

“Just promise you won’t laugh, okay?”

He nods slowly.

Sam leans across the table. “So I’ve had a crush on Steve ever since he joined, and I’ve been talking with Loki about it, so today I think I'm gonna ask him out!”

Bucky has never seen Sam so excited. He’s the level-headed one in the squad, never one to make impulsive, unplanned actions. That thought kills Bucky even more, the thought that Sam’s thought this through many times, before deciding that yes, he would ask Steve out and unintentionally break Bucky’s heart.

Bucky forces a smile, grateful that his TerminatorReputation TM won’t make it seem weird that he’s not overly enthusiastic. “Awesome, Sam. Good luck. And remember, you’re a great guy. If Steve says no, his loss.”

He can’t believe he's saying words of encouragement while his heart slowly sinks lower and lower, through the Earth’s crust and across its core. (Is that a bit dramatic? Yes. But he’s been spending all his time with actors, so sue him.)

Sam smiles. “Thanks, man. I’ll try and remember that.”

Clint doesn’t know when Nat stops being ‘Nat the legendary, fierce, intelligent, beautiful, and slightly terrifying director lady’ and starts being just ‘Nat’. Oh wait, now he knows: it’s when she enters his dorm at 11 pm--uninvited and unannounced, kicks off her shoes at the door, and curls up on the beanbag he has at the foot of his bed.

Clint stares with his mouth slightly open at the figure on his beanbag. Nat must register his stare on the back of her head, because she sits up and explains, “My boyfriend went on a murderous rampage again, I locked myself out of my dorm, and your room was the closests.”

“How do you know where my dorm is?” Clint asks, and yes, he knows that’s not the question he should be asking, but Nat’s presence makes his brain stop working--if it ever did work. 

Nat waves her hand around in the air. “People.” 

(Later, he’ll find out that “people” just means she called Thor, who told Jane, who then asked her friend Darcy who works at Student Affairs for a list of everyone in the squad’s dorm locations, Darcy gladly passed on the list to Nat, and the rest is history.)

There’s silence for a moment, and another question pops into Clint’s head. “So what’s up with your boyfriend?” he asks, then realizing how that sounds, quickly backtracks. “I mean, you mentioned he was murderous, so how is he murderous--like, he doesn’t murder people, does he?”

Come on, Barton. He’s normally much smoother than this.

But instead of making fun of his sudden inability to make sense, Nat just smiles. “No, not people, just raccoons.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Well, not just raccoons, he also murders general city wildlife too. But most of the time it’s raccoons.”

Clint blinks, wondering if he misheard. Raccoons? What in the world… “Why are you still dating this guy?” He blurts out, instantly regretting his words.

Nat’s smile turns into something a bit more...not exactly sad, but slightly resigned. “I like that he’s not scared of me.”

Clint blinks again. Well. In his opinion, that seems like a dumb reason to date someone, but then again he’s not exactly the leading expert of great dating habits (cough cough--Jess.)

Instead, he goes back to the raccoon murdering part. “Why does he murder raccoons anyway?”

Nat smirks slightly. “It’s a long story, but the short answer is it’s because of severe anger management issues, the ability to hold grudges forever, and a raccoon named Rocket.”

Nat is an amazing storyteller, Clint soon finds out. The story about Grant (Nat’s boyfriend’s name and now one of Clint’s least favourite names) and his progress to Official Raccoon Killer TM is a naturally very interesting one, but the way she tells it makes it even more captivating. When she gets to the part where Rocket--Grant’s first victim--dies, Clint definitely doesn’t feel a tear coming to his eye.

When she gets to the end, she rolls over to face him (Clint can’t remember when she moved from the beanbag to his bed) and says, “Your turn. Tell me a story.”

Clint looks away, suddenly self-conscious. His life isn’t all shiny and interesting like most people. Who would want to hear a story about the life of some stupid kid from Nowhere, Iowa? Then he remembers: The way he grew up is a way that most kids would only read in books. So he starts telling a story about a boy who spent most of his teen years in a circus. He’s not sure whether Nat actually believes this story is real, but it doesn’t matter because she’s laughing and exclaiming and “Seriously?!”-ing in all the right places.

When he’s done, they’re both worn out from laughing and talking, and somehow they’ve scooted even closer together over the course of his tale, and Clint has to tell himself not to tense up. It’s just--Nat might like him, she might really like him,  but once she finds out what a mess he actually is, all that will-

Nat pokes him, hard , and he lets out an indignant yelp. “Hey. Stop over-thinking things.”

How does she know... Clint is so flustered by the fact that she somehow managed to know when he was overthinking things makes him forget to deny that he was overthinking things in the first place.  (Though, in his defense, he wasn’t overthinking, he was just thinking. )

Nat pokes him again, even harder. “Stop thinking, then.”

So he does, and they lie in comfortable silence together, staring up at the ceiling, and after a while Clint’s eyelids start feeling heavy, and just before he goes to sleep he thinks, why haven’t I done this before, this is awesome. 

Because it is. But awesome things generally don’t last that long, do they?

As he climbs into bed, Bucky tells himself for the 54th time not to take a picture of Clint and Natasha sleeping together if he doesn’t want to get castrated. Their babies would be adorable, he thinks. They’d either be blue-eyed redheads, or maybe blond with green eyes. Either way, they’d know practically six languages and be flexible and fearless. And they’d be extremely dramatic and sarcastic, even at a young age...now that he thinks about it, their babies would be terrifying.

He’s about to set his alarm when he gets a text. It’s from Steve.

Hey Buck. You’d never guess what happened today. :):) :) :)

Bucky knows exactly what happened, but he types back with a sinking heart, 

what happened

Sam asked me out! :D :D :D

Bucky tells himself the pang he feels is just because of his crush on Sam. But there’s another emotion underneath, too. But as he doesn’t want to do a complex psychoanalysis of his feelings, he shoves it out of his mind and waits for Steve to finish typing.

And guess what?

I said yes!

Chapter Text

Sitting in his posh apartment, eating ridiculously expensive chocolate, Loki’s never been prouder of all that he’s accomplished. Yes, maybe it wasn’t all accomplished by legal and morally okay means, but no one really cares about that stuff.

That’s when he hears excessive knocking on his door. Loki looks up, then looks back at his chocolate, and keeps eating. The knocking only increases. He groans, sets the food down, and sulks over. He opens it to see the one and only Emory Jackson. 

“What are you doing here?” He sneers, looking at the girl. 

“Yeah, nice to see you too,” Emory laughs, completely unfazed. Then, without warning, she marches into his apartment.

“What are you doing?” Loki demands, following her.

“Oooh, chocolate,” She says, grabbing the very expensive chocolate, and pops one into her mouth,

“Emory!” Loki snaps. 

She looks up, a disgusted look on her face, “This tastes like shit. Pure shit.”

“It tastes like money, now give it back,” He says, snatching it out of her hand, “Why are you even here?”

“A friend of mine is coming to town for a little bit, and she needs a place to stay.”

“And you thought I would let a hobo into my house?” Loki sneers.

Emory laughs again. He’s forgotten how annoying she is. “Shuri isn’t a hobo. She’s going to Yale.”

Loki raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, “So I’m suddenly going to love her because she goes to a school that makes you into a smart hobo?”

“Her parents are really rich. She’s going to become a smart not -hobo.”

“I don’t care,” Loki says shortly, trying to shoo the girl out of his house, but she keeps dodging out of the way.

“Listen, my dorm mate does not like Shuri--I don’t know why though--and no one else has room. She’s super smart, she’ll help you with your grades as long as you’ll have her. I know you're failing at science.”

Loki glares at Emory, because exploiting his weak spot is low and annoying , but he actually could use the help. “You know what, fine. But if she makes this place a dump and destroys something, I will make you pay . Now go.”

Emory thankfully does so, but not without giving him a tight hug which he can’t help but relax into. “See you Loki.”

Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He vaguely remembers Tony telling what this is going to be, but Bucky quickly zoned out, choosing instead to saw mindlessly back and forth, (semi) effectively distracting him from his thoughts. 

That is, until he realises Tony has turned off the saw, and is now dragging him by the arm out of the workshop. “Hey! What’s that for?” He exclaims, easily yanking his arm out of Tony’s grip.

Tony puts his hands on his hips. “Well, you’re too busy moping around to actually do a good job, and also people moping distracts me from creating things, so I figured we can slide in one rehearsal, which means that you won’t mope anymore, and I can go back to being a genius.”

Bucky blinks, his brain working fifty percent slower than normal. “Natasha won’t kill us?”

Tony grins. “Nope!”

So Bucky follows him all the way to the rehearsal room, where it seems a scene has just ended. He and Tony quietly sit down in a corner and observe what’s going on.

“Good job Clint, Sam, Loki, Thor, and Emory. Everyone needs to act way drunker, but overall it’s good. We’ll do the next scene, Emory, stay on-stage of course.” Natasha waits for everyone to get settled, then turns to Emory. 

“Okay, remember: You have four measures before the song starts so use it. Ready?” 

Emory nods, and Natasha grabs her phone and starts the music. 

“Theodosia writes me a letter every day,” Emory starts, and her voice is so smooth and low Bucky is instantly transfixed. “Keepin’ the bed warm while her husband is away…”

Next to him, Tony is smiling self-satisfiedly while tapping away at his phone. 

“Love doesn’t discriminate, between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes and we keep living anyway, we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes, and if there’s a reason I’m by her side when so many have tried…” She keeps singing.

Bucky knows it’s ridiculous, but something in those lyrics legitimately touches something in him. (Shit, he’s becoming a hopeless romantic. The world is clearly ending.) Something must show on his face, because Tony stops coding for a second--at least, that’s what Bucky assumes he’s doing--and frowns at him, clearly uneasy. 

“You know, I know you have history with Steve, but if he can’t, um,” Tony whispers, looking so uncomfortable Bucky wants to put him out of his misery. “You know, realise how, uh, great you are, then you should find another guy?” Tony winces. “I mean, Sam’s very cool soo...Wait, was that offensive?”

Instead of answering, Bucky reflects on how sad his life is that Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed romantically illiterate, is giving him advice. Then something else clicks. “Wait, why are you saying Steve? I don’t like Steve, he’s my best friend.”

Tony shuffles in his seat. “I mean, the way you guys were looking at each other when you reunited or whatever, but hey, I don’t know!”

Bucky brushes Tony off and they quickly leave the rehearsal room, since they haven’t exactly been whispering and Natasha is starting to give them looks.

Even after he leaves the center, he thinks. A lot. (No Clint, it didn’t hurt his brain.) He thinks about what if…what if he misunderstood...what if he didn’t realize...what if...

To be honest he only ponders in his life for about 7 minutes before realizing he has a quiz the next day and pulls up SparkNotes on his phone to start cramming. Then 10 minutes after that, he remembers he has a picture of Clint sleeping while drooling all over his pillow, his mouth wide open, and sends it to the group chat. 

Because, you know. That’s Bucky Barnes for you.

Chapter Text

Clint’s no longer surprised when he sees Nat walk into his dorm with no warning. She’s been doing that semi-regularly, each time for different reasons, but every visit ends with them on his bed, trading stories, and gossiping about random people. He raises his eyebrows and smirks slightly at her. “What is the reason for this visit, mademoiselle?” 

Nat rolls her eyes and--wait for it--curls up on his beanbag. (Clint thinks he might give it to her as an ‘end of school year’ present.) “Your French is atrocious,” she says, and she’s curled up so tightly Clint can’t see her face, but he can perfectly imagine her eye roll. “And I can come just to see you, you know.”

She just wanted- “Oh,” is all Clint can say. “Um. Okay. That’s cool. You can do that any time.”

He hears her mutter something before she sits up, grabs his shoulders, and yes it’s such a cliche but it’s totally true that he has no idea who leaned in first. All he knows is that he’s kissing Natasha Romanoff--the one who he’s ridiculously attracted to--on the floor of his room and it’s amazing.

All Clint’s senses go into hyperdrive. Nat’s hair smells like cucumber and he can practically taste popcorn on her lips. “Are you…” he asks between kisses, but he doesn’t know how he would finish it. Maybe... are you sure about this?

“Clint,” Nat stares at him for a second with her piercing green eyes, which are beautiful and absolutely mesmerizing. “Stop. Thinking.”

Which, he soon realises as Nat kisses him even harder, is not very hard at all.

“Love fucking sucks,” Bucky says out loud, staring at the ceiling. (Clint’s out with Nate, so he has the room to mope himself.) Because it does.  He hasn't managed a proper TerminatorGlare TM in days, and according to Clint, his tough guy aura is nonexistent. But what else is he supposed to think about? Set building? (Nope, too many memories and plus, he and Tony have already finished the set.) School? (He does have a few essays due, but that’s inconsequential.) 

Bucky is this close to facepalming onto his desk--face-desking?--when he hears a knock on the door. He can’t formulate a proper threat to ward off whoever’s knocking, so he heaves himself up and opens the door. And shit--it’s Steve. 

Steve takes one look at Bucky’s face and frowns concernedly. “You alright Buck?”

Well. Yes, maybe he’s been avoiding Sam and Steve a little bit, and he might have been “moping”, but he’s a hundred percent fine, which is what he tells Steve, who just looks at him. “Really? Because Clint has told me otherwise.”

Curse you, Clint, Bucky thinks then crosses his arms. “Don’t listen to half the things Clint says, I’m fine. Go hang out with Sam or something.” Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. Now he gets to see a range of emotions play out on Steve’s face. 

First there’s guilt commanding the stage, then it’s followed by annoyance and embarrassment tussle it out, followed by--is that worry?--which is chased out by some emotion Bucky can’t name. Finally Steve sighs, rubbing his face with his palm.  “Actually, I wanted to ask you for advice.”

It’s so far from what Bucky was expecting that he momentarily freezes. Once he unfreezes, he tells Steve to sit down and spill the tea, all the while thinking about how this will affect him. (Hey, he never said he wasn’t a selfish asshole!)

Steve opens and closes his mouth several times before speaking. “Sam thinks I talk too much about you.”

Again. Cue Bucky freezing. He doesn’t trust his voice to not betray him, so he nods for Steve to continue.

“He’s probably right, but,” Steve sighs. “You’re my best friend, and before the play we hadn’t talked in so long, and I really missed you. I do like Sam but…”

Crap crap crap crap craaaap. What’s Bucky supposed to say? He ignores his heart beating way faster than should be humanly possible and clears his throat. “Maybe just try talking to him, like explaining everything? Communication and everything…” He winces internally (god, he’s worse than Tony), but Steve still looks uncertain so he adds, “For what it’s worth, I really missed you too, punk.”

Steve smiles and hugs Bucky tightly. “Punk.”

In normal circumstances, Bucky would make a joke about how they’re as sappy as a My Little Pony episode, but Steve’s hug has upped his heartbeat from ‘inhumanly fast to ‘so fast he can practically hear it’, and--has he mentioned how blue Steve’s eyes are?--and also he’s close enough that Bucky can see five tiny freckles on Steve’s nose, and---Bucky inhales sharply, because--Steve. Is. Kissing. Him.

He knows he should pull away-- think of Sam --but it’s so perfect that how could he possibly say no to this?

They break apart, neither of them meeting the other’s eyes because that would mean acknowledging what they’ve just done, when Bucky ignores all the voices in his head and kisses Steve, and the latter--oh, Steve, why--Steve kisses back.

The things you do in college, am I right?

“Guys, it’s just a picture, we don’t need to prank him,” Sam tries to reason as they walk down the hallway to Bucky and Clint’s dorm. 

“It is always the time for pranking,” Clint and Nat say together, both of them purposely pitching their voices lower because they know it creeps Sam out. 

True to form, Sam shudders. “Stop it, creepy evil twins.”

“I’m evil twin number one,” Nat says immediately.

“Hey!” Clint exclaims, but the other two shush him, Sam’s hand on the doorknob of Clint and Bucky’s dorm. 

“Everyone got their glitter bombs?”

Clint nods, practically vibrating with excitement. (Sam swears the guy lives off pranking.) Nat counts down from three, and on one Sam flings open the door and--stops cold. Because right there, against the far wall, are Steve and Bucky undeniably making out.

Chapter Text

Loki has to say: Shuri is no doubt the most annoying human he’s ever encountered. 

Case in point: The first time he meets her, he’s just come back from a full day of classes, and he’s in the middle of disabling his third alarm--you never know what kind of crazy hobos will try to break in--when a girl dressed in jeans and a white lab coat comes careening  out of his kitchen.

“You were supposed to be having a ‘meeting with Kal’ from four to five,” she says, lifting up her lab goggles to peer at him. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, don’t worry.”

How the heck did she hack his calendar!, Loki thinks furiously. What’s the point of having a hacker on demand if they can’t stop annoying smart hobos from hacking into his calendar, breaking into his apartment, and doing bloody science experiments in his kitchen. “I don’t know who you are, but get out of my house now,” he manages to grit out.

“I’m Shuri aaaand,” she cocks her head and crosses her arms, “Nope!”

What did he do to deserve being stuck with this infuriating girl! They stare at each other for a moment before Loki hears the sound of shattering glass and a sweet, chemically smell fills the air. 

He steps instinctively backwards and covers his nose. ”What was that?”

Shuri raises an eyebrow, her face perfectly blank, ”That is what happens when a metal carbonate mixed with hydrochloric acid and a near-neutral pH solution with proteases is combined.”

From the teeny smirk she’s trying to hide, Loki can tell she gave him that overly complex explanation on purpose. “Well, is it dangerous?”

“Do you feel dizzy, short of breath, nauseous, see black spots in front of your eyes?” Shuri asks.

“No…?” Loki--who’s extremely concerned, but he’s hiding it well--frowns.

She claps. “Good! That means it won’t immediately kill you. Don’t worry, colonizer. If you die during the night, I’ll take good care of your apartment.” She smiles at him before putting her goggles on and sliding back into the kitchen.

Loki grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and makes a mental note to kill Emory next time he sees her, because there is no way he’s surviving the next couple of weeks.

Sam definitely should have seen this coming. And to be honest, he did kinda see this coming. Anyone with at least one working eye could see that Steve and Bucky had chemistry. (I mean, you know it’s bad when Tony Stark sees it.) But, he’d thought that, despite all evidence to the contrary, Steve liked him back. And he did, didn’t he? Steve didn’t have to say yes, when Sam asked him out and yet he did. Too bad their relationship didn’t last for more than a few weeks before Steve went and cheated on him.

For a Psych student, Sam is clearly rubbish at reading people. Steve Rogers might be a lot of things, but he’s the type of guy that apologises when he does something wrong. 

Stev kissed Bucky? Okay. The relationship can’t be saved? That’s fine. But can Sam at least get an apology or explanation? Apparently not.

Sam sighs, takes a piping hot sip of his--is this his sixth frappuccino? He doesn’t even like frappuccinos for goodness sakes--before opening Netflix and watching The Fault in Our Stars . 

(And if he cries a little while watching, nobody needs to know.)

you totally fucked up dude

sams watching TFIOS for the 4th time in a row

The delivery of those texts is Clint through and through, but Bucky can’t even think about smiling because the guy is sadly, very, very right. That doesn’t stop him from taking out his frustration, guilt, and self-hate onto the guy.

Well steve’s not talking to me, sam avoids me every time i try to apologize, and my own roommate is ignoring me so trust me when i say i don’t need anymore guilt tripping.

There’s a pause, then:

Im not ignoring you im hanging out w/nat

Bucky rolls his eyes and turns off his phone. (Yes, he’s slightly jealous--deal with it.) He has more important stuff to deal with anyway. Spring break starts tomorrow, but since the performance falls a few days after break ends, none of them can go home. (Though that's not a big deal anyway; Sam and Thor are the only ones who go home anyway, Thor because his dad will stop paying for his education if he doesn’t, Sam because the Wilsons will literally kidnap him.)

Bucky’s phone chimes. 

Nat: I assume all of you have figured we’re not leaving for break. So I thought we could all stay in Loki’s flat.

Unlike Steve, who’s insistment on proper grammar is just dorky (and adorable), Natasha’s makes you feel like you should be typing properly as well. His phone chimes again.

Nat: Sam, Steve, Bucky: No backing out.

Emory: But Shuri’s already staying with him

Nat: Then we'll pack in tighter.

Loki: don’t I get a say in all of this?!?!?!?!?!?

Nat: No.

Clint: y are you doing this

Bucky: yah what he said

Nat: It’s a cast bonding activity.

Bucky: without 2/3s of the cast?

Emory: Details are clearly unimportant

Sam: i really don’t think this is a good idea

Thor: For once, I have to agree with the bird boy

Steve: I REALLY DON'T LIKE THIS.

Steve: ALSO, CAN SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO GET OFF ALL CAPS?

Loki: do you villains realize this is MY APARTMENT YOUR TAKING OVER?!?!?!?!?

Tony: wait whats going on

The usual banter effectively distracts Bucky, and he starts to relax and tell himself this won’t be so bad. Except for the fact that spring break is two. Whole. Fucking. Weeks. Long.

Bucky: natasha I’m not doing this for 2 weeks

Nat: Okay, it’s only for a couple of days.

Bucky sighs. Spring break here we go.

Chapter Text

Steve was more than a little unsettled at how easy it was to hurt someone. In the short span of twenty four hours, he managed to hurt Sam, hurt Bucky, and he hadn’t hurt Nat, but she was definitely disappointed. 

He stops packing his bags for his backpack to check his phone for new messages, and, when there are none, tells himself this spring break thing is actually happening. It’s probably going to be one of the worst breaks he’s ever had. Loki--as much as Steve tries to find the best in everyone--is a spoiled, rude, manipulative butthole. (Steve doesn’t know how him and Thor are even related. Personally, he thinks Odin must have given Loki preferential treatment.)

By the time he pulls himself out of his thoughts, he’s already at his Metro stop. He walks out of the station, blinking in the harsh bright light of the sun as he tries to figure out where he’s going. Despite all his motivational self talk, the ball of nervousness in his stomach is growing with every step. That nervousness isn’t abated when he looks up ahead and sees Loki’s apartment building surrounded by 1) a fire truck, 2) four unmarked black sudans, and 3) two vans from the Department of Homeland Security and the NIH, respectively.

Steve speeds up, and as he gets closer, he can overhear a conversation between two people standing outside, one a girl he can’t recognize, the other unmistakably Loki. 

“Don’t blame it on me, colonizer. You were the one who said ‘Add more of that powdered stuff!’ “

“How was I supposed to know it was fucking mercury!” He hears Loki answer.

“Aha! So you admit you weren’t listening to my explanation,” The girl retorts.

“It’s not my fault your explanation was-”

“What’s going on?” Steve interrupts.

They both turn to face him, the girl with an inquisitive look on her face, Loki with a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

(Steve makes a mental note to tell Bucky that Loki can get flustered, before remembering that he’s not currently speaking with Bucky.)

The girl answers his question. “There was a bit of an explosion-”

“A bit?” Loki looks furious. “What do you mean, ‘a bit’? My kitchen is ruined !”

Sensing the conversation is about to dissolve into bickering again, Steve cutts in. “Why are all those people here?”

She shrugs. “Loki is a scientifically illiterate boy, so he messed up our concoction, and it turned out to be very, very toxic.”

Well okay then. Just as he’s about to ask another question a man in a black suit comes up and pulls them away to talk to them. Feeling out of his element, Steve looks around...and sees the rest of the squad heading right toward him. As they get closer, he can see that they all look confused (except for Natasha, of course). 

“What’s going on?” Sam asks immediately.

‘Loki put too much mercury into an experiment Shuri was showing him,” Natasha answers, not looking up from her phone. No one questions the information.

“Okay, hold on,” Clint butts in. “I’ve met Shuri one time and even I know she and Loki would destroy something and/or kill each other if they met. Who the heck decided that they should room together? That’s the end of the world waiting to happen.”

Steve is enough of a gentleman not to point out how Emory is suddenly not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Bucky doesn’t get nervous. Ever. (No, he’s not counting that fourth grade spelling bee.) Nervous is just not on his list of emotions. Apprehension? Sure. Nervousness? Nope. 

However, it’s hard to deny that the feeling curling around in his chest is anything but. The feeling only grows when Natasha leads him, Steve, and Sam into Loki’s third bedroom and locks the door. 

(Bucky’s not sure whether to be more surprised that Loki has a room that locks from the outside, or that he has a three fucking bedroom apartment in the heart of DC.)

There’s silence for a moment, then another moment, and he wonders how this situation could get any more awkward when Steve, being the predictable Gryffinpuff that he is, speaks up.

“Sam, I’m really sorry, it was very assholey of me to do that, you’re a great guy and I hope you’ll find someone who won’t be a shitty asshole like I was.”

Bucky braces himself for Sam’s response, but it never comes. The guy is staring at Steve with his mouth hanging open. “Is this really the same guy who said ‘Language!’ to Tony for saying 'Damn it!' last rehearsal?”

Steve looks caught between blushing furiously and defending himself, and Bucky and Sam burst out laughing simultaneously. But even with the tension somewhat diffused, there’s still much to be said.

“Sam,” he starts, then, wondering why he can’t manage a single sentence, remembers Clint and Tony have stolen his remaining braincells. “Fuck.”

“No thank you,” Sam quipps, and Bucky glares at him. 

“I’m sorry, there’s no excuse for it, I was being selfish, and you don’t deserve it at all.” He can safely say all his nervousness is gone, but it’s replaced by a hot itchy feeling that spreads all over his body until he feels ready to slide out of his skin and dash away. 

(He’s not going to lie; apologies make him uncomfortable.)(To be completely honest, emotions in general make him uncomfortable.)

Sam seems to chew on this for a while before he sighs. “I’m not going to lie, it hurt. It still kinda hurts. The apology helps. Also you guys clearly had history, and like, a bunch of sexual tension, and since I actually did like Steve, I kinda purposely overlooked that.” He pauses. “I’m not pretending everything is fine, but we’re cool, I guess.”

Steve looks like he’s not sure whether to beat himself up some more or hug Sam (and possibly Bucky), so before he can make a choice, Bucky stands up and bangs on the door. “Hey Natasha! We’re done!”

Meanwhile…

THE MAKE SHURKI HAPPEN GROUP CHAT

Nat, Clint, Thor, Tony

Nat: So. The boys are working their feelings out, and Loki and Shuri are being disciplined by Detective Coulson. Ready for the plan?

Thor: Yes I’ll go and get Loki

Clint: wait what r we doing about shuri

Nat: Nothing. 

Clint: ???? america explain

Natasha ignores his text. 

Nat: Remember, we need to be out of the house from 7:30 onwards for this to work. Also Tony, have you got your thing set up yet?

Tony: yep. how dare you question my timeliness, red

Another ignored text.

Nat: Clint, you got something planned for Bucky and Steve?

Clint: yep. NAT WILL YOU mARYY ME

Nat: Then we’re good to go. Good luck everyone. And sure.

Loki’s suspicious. Very suspicious, actually. First, Thor gets him (very high quality, might he add) ale, and they actually have a conversation, like they're in middle school again, though Loki can't exactly say what they were talking about. Second, the whole squad had disappeared off somewhere by 7:30, leaving him and Shuri alone. 

Speaking of Shuri: She hasn’t appeared out of her bedroom all evening long. Despite the fact that he doesn’t particularly want to see her either, the action makes him feel slightly lonely. 

He’s sprawled gracefully across his couch, busy scrolling through his Tumblr feed when Shuri comes careening out of wherever she was, wearing not a lab coat, but a black bodysuit-looking outfit.

“What is that?” Loki frowns at his phone. “What are you doing?”

Shuri smiles mysteriously. “Well, colonizer, I’m only in DC for a few more days and I want to have some proper fun in the wonderful city that is the capital of this wonderful country.”

Loki ignores her sarcasm and narrows his eyes. Something about her tone makes him instantly on guard. “What do you mean, ‘have some fun’?

Her smile gets even bigger. “Did you know there’s a weapon smuggling ring who’s headquarters is only 6 minutes from here?”

Shit. He doesn’t even know exactly what she’s planning to do and something about her smile makes him want to pull on his own bodysuit (don’t ask) and follow her out.

Which he does. Curse you, Shuri.

It’s actually pretty fun. There’s only a few people in the building; between him and Shuri they manage to knock everyone out in a matter of minutes. (Loki doesn’t ask where she got her fighting skills from, and thankfully, neither does she.)

Loki brings up all the boxes of weapons from the basement while Shuri writes the names of the leaders of the ring and all their other headquarters on a piece of paper. Then they call the police anonymously and get the hell out of there.

They end up in a small, deserted park. Even with the adrenaline running through him, it’s still sometime around two pm and Loki’s thoughts feel sluggish, like they’re moving through mud. Shuri turns toward him and he doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed how attractive her smile is. 

“Enough fun for you?” Loki manages, raising his eyebrows.

“The night has only begun, colonizer,” she replies with a glint in her eye. “So, no.”

(They totally don’t rob an ice cream shop, then, sleep-deprived and on a sugar high, kiss for some time on the roof of Loki’s apartment building. Because.)

THE MAKE SHURKI HAPPEN GROUP CHAT

Nat, Clint, Thor, Tony

Clint: so what hapened did the plan work

Tony: not exactly

Nat: Tony. What happened, did the plan work?

Tony: short answer no

Tony: long answer the camera i set up on the roof showed them making out

Tony: intensely

Clint: thats a win

Clint: ish

Nat: Have you met them? Tomorrow they’ll be denying that anything ever happened and they’ll be annoying each other even more than before. The plan failed and now I have to make a new one.

Clint: thats so sad alexa play despacito

Clint smirks when he sees Nat roll her eyes at his vine reference. He won't lie; he partly did it just because he knows how much she hates vines. 

(He can practically hear Sam despairing about healthy relationships, but whatever.)

Because he's bored--and Nat's head is on his legs so he physically can't move--he starts messing with his contacts settings. A few minutes pass, and Clint--oh, Clint, why--realises he's managed to add Loki to their Shurki group chat 

"Shit shit shiiiit," he murmurs, then texts the exact same thing.

Clint: SHIT SHIT SHIT

Tony: wHaT dId YoU dO fuck even im not that dumb

Loki: What is this chat?

Nat: Clint, I will personally execute you.

Loki: … I highly resent this

Nat: Sure, tell yourself that lie.

Thor: Well, a couple days ago you said that Shuri was the smartest, prettiest, most, and I’m quoting here, badass devil I have ever met. I want to marry her. 

Loki: I DID NO SUCH THING

Tony: we have witnesses. and a highly biased jury, so youre guilty

Nat: I also took screenshots of this entire chat.

Loki: YOU PEASANTS ARE EVIL

Clint: what a mood

Chapter Text

Clint lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Opening night is tomorrow, and he knows he should be asleep so he's somewhat functional tomorrow, but he can't.

His brain keeps ping-ponging from random images (like Thor's face when Clint accidentally stole his Poptarts), to random sentences (Tony once told him that muons were subatomic particles that exist for two millionths of a second), to, unsurprisingly, concerns about the performance (he always forgets his blocking in My Shot, and he hasn't completely memorized The World Was Wide Enough.)

This isn’t unusual either. Even on nights where he doesn’t have a major performance the next day, Clint still finds sleep damn near impossible. Unless he’s anywhere but his bedroom, he might as well just not even try to sleep. (Internally, he knows it’s from too many years of having to sleep with one eye open for various reasons, but dwelling on that too long makes him depressed.)

That’s when he hears his dorm door open. He’s not some kind of super spy, but his ‘alternative’ upbringing left him with enough instincts to regulate his breathing and assess whether the ruler next to his bed could be used for stabbing someone. 

“Clint, it’s me, don’t stab me if you want all your body parts intact.”

Clint tenses at the sound, then relaxes, recognizing the voice. “Jesus Nat, you scared me.”

“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes,” she answers lightly, and now he can see her silhouette as she sits on the side of his bed, graceful as ever as to not wake Bucky up.

“Why are you here, it’s basically midnight and we have a performance tomorrow--uh, today actually,” Clint asks, then quickly adds, “Not that I don’t want to see you or anything.” 

He doesn’t bother asking how she got in.

Nat shrugs. “I’m here because-” there’s the slightest hesitation in her voice“-I figured you wouldn’t be sleeping, and I’ve been wanting to show you this for a while so might as well do it now.”

”I need to get dressed, right? Let me put on my sweatpants-uh, I’ll change I’m the closet-“ Clint cuts himself off.

In the dark, Nat smirks slightly. “I wouldn’t mind a show,” she says, and yep, into the closet he goes before she can see the impressive blush on his face.

Nat leads him to a pickup truck illegally parked outside his dorm. Clint hops in and they’re off.  The scenery changes from busy city to quiet suburban to straight up country in a matter of minutes. (He’s serious; they’ve been travelling for less than a half hour and they’re surrounded by farmland.)(Nat says that’s just how Maryland is, but he’s suspicious that she’s somehow manipulating the landscape for her own purposes.)

“Clint. We’re here.”

Clint snaps to attention as he tries to take in his surroundings. They’re parked on the side of a small gravel car path, right next to a large cornfield with trees bordering it. It looks—well, for lack of better words it looks like Iowa. Which means-

“You did this on purpose,” Clint states, looking at her.

Nat smirks slightly. “This isn’t all,” she answers, turning on the flashlight on her phone and handing it to him (oh yeah, can’t forget it’s about 1 in the morning), before reaching inside the truck and pulling out a thick picnic blanket. “Okay, let’s go.”

It’s very dark, is all Clint can think as they pick their way through the corn stalks. Nat’s phone only lights approximately 3 inches in front of them, which results in tripping over the corn (or the ground, if you’re Clint), accidentally destroying the corn (it’s for the greater good, okay?), and in one memorable occasion, not seeing the person ahead of you stop, so you run into them, and somehow you end up kissing in a cornfield, which Clint’s always wanted to do for some reason.

Somehow, they pass the line of trees bordering the field to see a wide open grassy area. Granted, out of the corner of his eye he can see the bright lights of the highway they came in on, but it’s nonetheless perfect.

“Come on,” Nat tugs his arm and pulls him down onto the blanket next to her.

The night sky minus the light pollution of the city is a bit mesmerising, and Clint feels a sudden wave of gratitude for her. “Thanks Nat,” he whispers, and it’s thAnks for a lot more than just showing him this place. He thinks she understands, because she scoots closer to him, pressing the side of her body up against his. (It’s nice, he’s not gonna lie, but now every inch of his body is hyper focused on the contact and it’s very distracting.)

They stare up at the sky in silence for a while, then something catches Clint’s eye. “Hey Nat, I think that’s the North Star or whatever that super bright star is!” He exclaims, pointing at the light like a toddler who’s just seen a runaway balloon.

“That’s a plane, идиот,” Nat sighs.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he mumbled back. 

“Asshole,” she retorts affectionately, because as soft as Nat might be once you get to know her, it’ll still take nothing short of a life changing disaster for Natasha Romanoff to display her affections with conventional kind words. 

(Also it means he can make up the meanings of everything she says. He likes to think this ‘asshole’ means ‘I like that you’re my idiot’ or something along those lines. Whatever, he’s tired.)

ALEXANDER HAMILTON @ GEORGETOWN PERFORMING ARTS CENTER

Article and photographs by Peter Parker

Hamilton fans in the DC area were overjoyed to learn that Georgetown University would be putting on a performance of the musical Hamilton. Some people expressed concerns that the actors-in-training would ruin the musical for them. But they have not been disappointed.

Opening night was a rousing success, thanks to the extremely talented cast starring Clint Barton (Alexander Hamilton), Emory Jackson (Aaron Burr), Loki Odinson ( Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson)  , Peggy Carter (Eliza Schuyler), Sam Wilson (John Laurens/Phillip Hamilton), and Thor Odinson (Hercules Mulligan/James Madison).

It was also a success thanks to the spectacular set made by Tony Stark and James Barnes, and the intricate costumes created by Steve Rogers.

But what truly made the performance stand out wasn't the amazing singing, dancing, and acting, but rather the moments where the cast inserted their own bits of personality into the show.

For example, during The Reynolds Pamphlet, a song in which Burr, Jefferson, and James Madison are gloating about Hamilton's apparent downfall, Loki Odinson began breakdancing, which received cheers from the mostly college aged audience.

(In an interview with the show's formidable director, Natasha Romanoff, she confirmed that that was not in the original choreography.)

Another ad-lib moment was in both Cabinet Battle songs.  (For readers who haven't been following GU drama, an incident occurred last year in which Loki Odinson was accused of manipulating/blackmailing Clint Barton to do a series of legally dubious activities. All charges have been dropped, but there's still a heated rivalry between them.) The songs are set up like a rap battle, so they replaced several lines in the song with side comments aimed at the other.

These moments (and others) are exactly why the majority of the audience loved this version of Hamilton. Others said that only when they ignored these "impurities", could they enjoy the show.

However, practically every one said that they would tell a friend to watch the numerous other performances taking place during the next week. So don't 'wait for it' as Burr would say, but go and get your tickets now.

THE SQUAD GROUP CHAT

Emory: Guysssss the Parker kid wrote an article about the show and he mentioned Loki breakdancing

Emory: The fan girls will be arriving in masses

Tony: do u think we could put his face on r posters to get more people

Clint: definitly 

Clint: we could even sell vip tickets were you get to meet him

Emory: Yasss if we do that I might have enough money to actually eat lunch

Tony: at least u eat breakfast

Clint: imagine being able to eat more than one meal a day

Emory: #collegelifestyle

Sam: ...I want to cry you guys need so much help

Sam: Also Tony you're a fucking billionaire already I'm pretty sure you could eat gold for every meal without even denting your savings

Tony: gold tastes bad i dont recomend 0/10

Sam: These are the people I'm choosing to hang out with. Wtf am I doing with my life

Loki: Who knows what peasants do with their lives

Loki: also NO YOU MAY FUCKING NOT MARKET MY FACE FOR THE SHOW IT'S A VIOLATION OF MY FUNDAMENTAL RIGHTS AND I WILL SUE YOU DOWN TO YOUR VERY SOUL UNTIL THERE'S NOTHING LEFT BUT BONES

Clint: bold of you to assume i have a soul

Emory: Bold of you to assume I have bones

Tony: bold of you to assume i exist #AI and VR have merged so nothing u see can be taken at face value

Chapter Text

Bucky's not panicking, thank you very much. He's just... slightly apprehensive about the current situation. And Clint cackling away on his bed is not helping things either.

"Clint, stop laughing, this is serious!" He snaps, panicking even more as calm as ever. "Does this shirt make me look like a hipster, yes or no?"

Clint looks like he very much wants to go on another round of cackling, but instead he sits up and points at one of the many shirts spread out on Bucky's bed. "Wear that one, it shows off your arms and kinda matches your eyes. Wear it with one of your many black skinny jeans. Grab a zip up hoodie in case it gets colder later. Put your hair up in a loose bun, and consider some eyeliner." With that, he lays back down, unconcerned.

Bucky's so taken off guard that he actually listens to Clint without questioning him (chill out, it won't happen again.) It's only when he gets to the hair part that he starts to freak out again. “How in the world do I do a bun?” He glares at his phone as if it’s its fault that the WikiHow article didn’t have enough pictures.

“How did you even survive two years in college without knowing how to do a bun?” Clint mutters, standing up and gathering Bucky’s hair in an elastic. 

“How did you survive two years of college without knowing how to tie your shoes?” He retorts back, but Clint ignores his venom and answers, “Velcro.”

He waits impatiently until Clint’s done with his hair, then pulls on his shoes and heads out the door. 

Five minutes later, he’s picking up Steve from his dorm, ignoring the fact that their shoulders are practically touching because have you seen Steve’s arms.

Fifteen minutes later:

“I’m not lost, okay? I don’t get lost. Ever,” Bucky speeds up a little as if to prove his point.

“I know Buck. How about you take this left coming up? I’m pretty sure-”

“It’s not my fault things have changed since the last time we were in Northwest DC.”

“...Alexandria. We’re in Alexandria, which is in Virginia. ”

“That’s what I meant.”

“ Left, I said left, not - okay, that’s fine, we can take the next one-”

“I’ve been trained to know my exact coordinates at all times. I’m completely oriented in my geographical and if these stupid streets won’t cooperate-”

“I’m serious - Bucky, traffic lights are not meant to be sped through-”

Thirty minutes later, they give up on finding the restaurant they were planning to go to, instead pulling over on a road somewhere in Virginia and making out the car because why not.

AT THE SAME TIME

Shuri @ Everyone: [image of steve and bucky kissing in a car on the side of a highway] a fresh hot cup of starbucks for anyone who wants it :)

Sam: 

Shuri: :)

Sam:

Shuri: :)

Sam: if it weren’t for the laws of the land

Loki admits, he—very slightly—misses the temporary friendship he and Shuri had, however many nights ago it was. 

(“Talk to her,” Emory had insisted. “You guys like each other, just say it.”

“I said I miss her friendship, not that I want to date her,” He had retorted frostily, and she had uncharacteristically let the matter drop.)

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it anyway. He’s worn out from the performance—and talking with the mind numbingly boring members of the cast. Loki’s pretty sure he should go to sleep—but then again, sleep is for the weak and uninspired and he might as well get a head start on his homework.

“Keep telling yourself that, coloniser,” a now familiar voice snorts from out of nowhere. 

Loki reacts without quite thinking. “What? Do you have an implant in my brain, reading all my thoughts or something?“ 

Can she even do that? He thinks. And why is she staring at me like that, it’s unsettling and it makes me nervous .

Shuri pauses. “This is bloody hilarious, and I want to film it very badly. Are you aware that you’re thinking out loud?” 

Her lips are pressed together in an attempt to restrain her laughter, and it’s vaguely attractive. How had he not noticed she has amazing cheekbones?

“Thank you, coloniser,” Shuri looks vaguely pleased and more than a little amused. 

Loki blinks, then realises he must have said that out loud as well. He’s about to furiously protest his previous comment when he hears what sounds like muffled grunting. “What was that?” 

Shuri rolls her eyes, then looks up at the ceiling. “Clint, stop spying on us no matter what Natasha says. Tony, I imagine you’re up there too, stop it if you don’t want me to keep hacking your AI’s.”

There’s a pause, then another, and Loki’s about to say that no one is in the bloody ceiling, when, “Can you guys just kiss so we can go home?”

She sighs. “Come on coloniser, we’re going to the roof.” 

“There are cameras up there too!” Tony’s voice comes after them. 

“Not anymore!” Shuri calls back, grabbing Loki’s arm and leading him to the roof.

The roof is nice. It’s nice mainly because Loki ‘asked’ a friend in the Italian mafia to give him outdoor proof couches, and used them to decorate. He’s explaining the whole story of how he acquired these couches (some people might even say he’s babbling, but Loki doesn’t babble). 

“Did someone literally write ‘Nancy and Liliana 4ever’ in sharpie on the side of the couch?” Shuri asks, leaning over the couch in question.

“I have strange friends,” Loki sighs. The only reason why he doesn’t block Nancy’s texts is because she might be able to hook him up with some more furniture later on.

Shuri’s still staring at the words. “I believe I can come up with a solution that uses environmentally un-abrasive surfactants-“

“Stop it, whenever you go on rants like that it makes me feel stupidly inferior,” Loki announces, pulling Shuri away from the couch and closer to the edge of the roof, where he is. 

(He must say, he’s really disliking all the honesty he’s demonstrated today.)(Thor once said something about honesty being the best policy, but Loki’s finding it very much unamusing.)

“What is it with me and insecure white boys,“ Shuri mutters, looking up at the night sky with an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m not insecure—is someone murdering a raccoon in the alley over here?” 

Loki steps even closer to the edge of the roof in order to properly observe the guy. How interesting, he thinks, leaning his head over the edge. It’s getting quite dark out, but if he leans his head a certain way he think he’ll be able to make out the guy’s face—

Then he’s falling, and the last thing he hears before everything goes dark is Shuri’s panicked gasp, as loud as if she had screamed. Part of him (the traitorous part) feels sorry for her. Then his head slams against the ground and he stops thinking at all.

Chapter Text

THE SQUAD GROUP CHAT

Nat: There’s been a slight mishap. I’m courteously demanding all of you to rendezvous in my dorm in less than 20 minutes. See you soon.

Sam: uh is everything ok?

Clint: is this a pizza worthy moment

Clint: if not i’m going home

Nat: Clint you’re sitting on the bed right next to me.

Clint: still a valid question tho :/

Tony: do i spy some clintasha [eyebrows raised emoji]

Nat: Shut up and get yourself over here.

Natasha knows her ability to compartmentalize so effectively is probably concerning and not ideal. But it’s coming in handy now, as she has to keep a comforting expression on her face while watching her closest friends and - partner? Boyfriend? Are they dating even? - break down over Loki’s death, while her mind is racing trying to think of how in the world his body could have disappeared  in the two and a half minutes it took for her and Shuri to race downstairs and around the building.

She knows he’s dead - that’s for sure - and they have a witness-ish (though she doesn’t really want to talk to Grant ever again) so it should be too hard to find some trace of him somewhere.

A vague memory pops into her head, but she dismisses it. No point in getting everyone’s hopes up. Speaking of everybody - Natasha glances up and knows at once she’ll have to put the investigation on hold. Shuri and Thor are undoubtedly feeling it the hardest, but Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Emory are also in various states of shock, not to mention Clint who’s feeling guilty about the fact that he wasn’t friends with Loki when he died.

This’ll be hard.

Bucky trudges out of the dorm building into the cool night air. It’s supposed to be spring, but it’s cold enough that he has to half burrow himself into Steve’s body to avoid freezing. Also he just needs to be close to Steve right now, for his sake and also Steve’s as well.

He knows Steve, and he knows that Steve is extremely protective and will fight anyone who hurts somebody he cares about. Loki might not have been Steve’s closest friend, but the former’s death hurt everyone who is Steve’s closest friend. That’s why when Bucky feels Steve start to fidget next to him, he wraps his arms around his--fuck, are they boyfriends? Is he allowed to say that?--and manages, “You’re not going anywhere so don’t even try.”

Steve stops shifting and pulls out of Bucky’s arms to face him. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?” He fires back. “I just had to get my gloves, okay?”

A little hurt by Steve’s unproportionate reaction but determined not to show it, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I know you, punk. You’d be off trying to punch everyone involved with Loki if I wasn’t here.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest, then slumps and closes it. “I - Buck, what are we doing here?”

“Wait - what?” Thrown off guard by the sudden topic change, Bucky stares wide-eyed at him.

“What are we doing - Buck, I really like you, but…” Steve licks his lips and looks away. “We just met again and Sam and now Loki and I don’t know…”

“Steve. I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about - wait, are you trying to break up with me?”

“No! I - no?” Steve looks back at him, not exactly pleading but there’s a note of desperation in his face.

Bucky stands there frozen, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He didn’t realize how cold it was until Steve’s body heat wasn’t there anymore, and for some reason the cold makes the distance between them even larger. Then, without a word, he shakes his head, stuffs his hands into his pocket, and walks away

Natasha swore she wouldn’t pull out her knife collection--not counting her two pocket knives from Wish--until the end of college, but a death tends to switch things up.

“Naaatt...hurry up,” Clint throws his own knife in the air, and before she can tell him he doesn’t have enough coordination to do that without impaling himself, pulls out two more and starts juggling.

Natasha rolls her eyes, shoving her own knives into the secret pocket she sewed into her hoodie. “Come on, birdbrain, let’s go.”

They’re barely 5 feet away from her dorm when someone walks up to them. “What,” Natasha states. She’s normally better about acting like she cares in public, but once again, death does tend to switch things up.

The person runs their hand through their light brown hair, clearly nervous. “Um, I’m Peter, and I heard that, um - what’s his name? - the hot guy from Alexander Hamilton with the dark hair and the...I think it was Norse? - name, that he, uh, died?” Peter looks up at Natasha with a grimace. “Ack sorry, that sounded better in my head. Anyways, I, uh, a couple of my friends - they’re not really friends cause I, uh, don’t really have friends - anyway we started talking about how we could...like kinda hold a vigil? Or whatever you call it? Because, uh, you know,” Peter winces. “I’ll shut up now.”

Natasha’s about to automatically say no, but then she hesitates. She’s no expert in psychology or grief (she technically is an expert in psychology but her head is the only place where it’s safe to be modest), but she thinks it might provide closure. Or something. All she knows is that Loki would love the idea that he’s important enough that his death must be mourned by the masses.

“Give me your phone,” she says finally. Clint shifts next to her, whether in agreement or not, she can’t tell. After she types her info in and Peter walks away with an awkward wave, she slumps and turns towards Clint.

“It’s starting to feel like Budapest all over again,”  Clint deadpans.

“Shut up.”

He grins, then gets serious again. “So...we still heading out or what?”

Natasha sighs. “I should probably notify the squad. However, if you don’t annoy me too much, I’ll go to that overpriced disgusting pizza shop in Northeast with you.”

Clint pouts a little as she starts walking back to her dorm. “It’s not gross, it’s classic American pizza!”

“Americans are gross.”

“Bucky told me you secretly like it.”

“He did not, because I don’t secretly like it.”

Clint smirks. “Yes he did, or does пицца not mean pizza?”

“The traitor,” she hisses furiously, and ignores Clint trying not to laugh behind her.

Chapter Text

There’s a knock on the door, temporarily jerking Steve out of his self-imposed self-pity. “What,” he mumbles, not bothering to raise his voice.

“Taking care of idiotic mopey white boys, I thought we were done with that,” Shuri mutters as she strides in, followed by- “Thank god you’re not mopey, Wade. My constitution cannot handle it. Get dressed Steve, we’re going candle shopping.”

“By the way, the author is apologizing for her trashy writing,” Wade interjects.

Steve frowns. “I’m sorry, what?” Did he just hear Wade say something about ‘the author’?

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve gotta live up to my cliche of being a fourth-wall breaker, I think it’s supposed to be funny or something,” Wade shrugs, not sounding particularly sorry.

Steve frowns even more, but before he can respond, Shuri cuts in again.

“He does that sometimes, just ignore him. Besides, we’re going candle shopping. So, hurry up.”

Five minutes later, Steve’s trailing behind Shuri and Wade, in a Piers 1 that he swears was not there yesterday, wearing nothing but his pyjama pants and what he thinks is Bucky’s old hoodie. (Of course, it’s Bucky’s old hoodie; it says ‘Respect the Trash Panda’ on it, who else would it belong to?) 

“So tell me, Steven, what do you think about this one? ‘The Scent of Regret’, I think you’ll quite like it,” Shuri remarks, holding up a small red candle. “Oh, and Clint recommended this one: ‘The Smell of Spilled Starbucks’, that’s also fitting.”

“Or the author’s personal favourite: ‘Steven Grant Rogers, What The F*ck Have You Done’,” Wade adds cheerfully.

Oh, so that’s what this is about. Steve looks at the ground, wondering why he feels like he might start crying. “It’s for Bucky’s own good,” he tries to say, but Shuri’s narrow-eyed glare quickly put a stop to that.

“When I first arrived in the dingy village that is Washington DC, Natasha informed me that you two had just recently gotten together after months of not speaking to each other because you thought you were respecting the other’s wishes. Yet you were both secretly pining after each other the entire time. To break up with him now is stupidity,” Shuri proclaims, waving her hands around like she’s at a political rally.

“Stupidity!” A chorus echoes from somewhere in the back of the store.

“It is outrageous!”

“Outrageous!”

“They must be extinguished!”

“Oh yes madam, they must be extinguished!” The chorus repeats fervently.

“What must be extinguished? Are we even talking about the same thing?”  Steve wasn’t stupid by any means, but this whole thing was making his head spin. Am I dreaming? Am I on some kind of psychedelic drug?

Wade turns around and pats Steve on the head. “It’s okay, she’s probably possessed. It happens even to the best of us.”

“…I’m sorry?” Steve chokes out. “She’s possessed?”

“No, I’m not possessed, don’t be stupid,” Shuri rolls her eyes, apparently back to normal. He doesn't bother asking about the chorus.

“Go makeup with Bucky and find some black clothes because we’re having a candlelight vigil for Loki. And wear Crocs,” she smirks, any sadness that had appeared at the mention of Loki disappearing.

“I found a candle that says ‘Let’s Hope For The Best’,” Wade announces. “It’s not very creative, but the author ran out of candle ideas.”

Thor wipes his eyes for what has to be the hundredth time. He’s both sad and touched that everyone could come together and make this happen. It’s sweet. The only thing that he’s concerned about is the fact that Steve and Bucky don’t seem to be talking. It’s not very noticeable, but since no one will let him help with setup, he’s had plenty of time to observe the two.

Natasha comes up and taps his shoulder. “We’ll be starting in a few minutes.”

Thor nods and starts walking up to the makeshift stage that’s been set up. “I’m not planning to give a long speech, mostly because I don’t like long speeches.” He pauses for a second to check his index cards because he’s not going to wing a speech that’s probably going to be on 5 different TikTok accounts. “All I want to say is that no matter what people’s opinion of Loki i-was, he was my brother and he always did good things for me.”

Somewhere in the sea of candles that everyone’s holding, Thor thinks he sees a figure in a trenchcoat shifting around. Since he’s missing Loki like crazy, his brain helpfully supplies an image of Loki’s almost identical trench coat that he wore when he was about to prank someone. 

“While he was very caring at heart, Loki was also mischievous, though he never wanted to harm anyone, and I have to say I love him very much.”

He can feel everyone holding in their breaths in respectful silence, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he can hear Loki yelling, “I tried to kill you multiple times in various ways! I put a king cobra in your bed!”

Thor valiantly holds back a tear. “Sometimes...sometimes I can still hear his voice.”

“Stop telling everyone I’m dead!” Loki yells back. 

It feels like time has slowed down as everyone’s sleep-deprived brain tries to process the sound they just heard. Peter jumps to their feet. “Loki!”

The latter smirks. “Yes, it’s me, you don’t need to bow, I’m not the queen.”

Thor wants to say something, but what can he say? He has so many questions, and comments, and...it’s simply too overwhelming. Is this even real? Is he going to wake up in a few minutes? From somewhere behind him he can hear Bucky mutter, “Ew, emotions.”

Loki waves his hand to quiet down the murmurs - cough, screams - beginning to circulate. “Don’t be melodramatic, it’s just me. Honestly,” he mutters, taking a drink of a goblet he’s managed to whisk out of nowhere. “Before you peasants ask why I decided to fake my death, the answer is a), I was bored, 2), I just felt like it, 3), the FBI had started bugging my apartment again.”

He takes another drink of the liquid inside the goblet. “Also Shuri, while I may be - how should I say it - less than optimal at doing chemistry, I have enough brain cells to observe chemistry. Between us. Uh, so-” 

Loki takes another swig, but not before Thor spots the blush on his brother’s face. He does hope they get together. It’d be adorable.

Shuri looks up from wherever she was and smirks. “How bold, colonizer. I applaud it. And I guess my answer to your non-question is yes.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then Peter, being the innocent cinnamon roll that they are, stands up and starts clapping and cheering, and the whole crowd follows, Thor included. 

As soon as the cheering stops, Natasha steps up to the microphone. “Loki, I will definitely yell at you after this, but for now I want to give you all a quick grammar lesson.”

Everyone seems to be as confused as Thor feels, until Clint grins, apparently cottoning on to whatever Natasha’s doing. “You’re equals you are,” he says.

“My fiiire,” Emory sings with a grin.

Tony gasps in delight. “The one-“

“Desire,” Bucky deadpans.

Sam smirks. “Beliiiieve-“

“When I say,” Steve adds.

“I want it thaaaat way,” they finish together, breaking into laughter right after finishing. It’s a good way to decrease what has to be the most intense emotional whiplash any of them had ever experienced.

Wade clears his throat. “ Don’t want to break this up, but some of us have someplace to go. So I’m going to end the chapter right here. Any last words?”

“Don’t put knives in your back pocket or you’ll forget and sit down and…” Natasha shakes her head.

“God, I hate when that happens,” Clint groans.

“I know, it’s like 15 minutes I can’t spare just to stitch up my butt,” Bucky adds sorrowfully.