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When the Asset confronted the Captain on an overpass in the middle of the city, the man was practically glowing with all the silver righteousness he was exuding. The Asset almost rolled his eyes behind the goggles; how could anyone be so pompously sure of himself? And not only that, but he also had the aura of brightly pulsing cherry red anger coated with an extremely thin layer of cobalt calm. The guy probably didn’t notice how stupidly apt his aesthetic was at the moment with his aura matching his usual ridiculous, though absent, red, white, and blue costume.
The Asset dodged a punch but was caught a bit off guard when he was flipped over and his mask was ripped away. He whirled around to face the Captain again when the man froze.
“Bucky?” he asked, his aura of righteousness slipping away and switching sickeningly fast to turquoise surprise shot through with dark navy doubt and just a touch of light pink hope.
“Who the hell is Bucky?” the Asset asked him before trying to press his advantage on the surprise.
*
As he came back to the present in the chair, the Asset punched one of the technicians who were all coated with burgundy fear. Rollins, who’s always a cherry red rage, pulled his side arm and leveled it at him. Bits of baby blue anticipation started to form around him when Pierce and Rumlow walked in.
Rumlow was tinged in red anger dusted with his usual gold smugness and Pierce was radiating a perpetual cobalt calm but with tiny bits of lime green annoyance today.
“Mission report.” Pierce demanded calmly.
The Asset kept his mouth closed. Who was this Captain?
Pierce’s annoyance flared to bright cherry red anger. “Mission report. Now!” He smacked the Asset across the face.
The Asset shook his head to clear it. “That man on the bridge… Who was he?”
Pierce’s lime annoyance returned in force. Rumlow briefly glowed a rose gold amused. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment,” Pierce replied coolly.
“I knew him,” the Asset told him.
“ Your work has been a gift to mankind,” Pierce reasoned. “You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves.”
The Asset’s brow furrowed. “But, I knew him.”
Pierce grit his teeth and red anger took over his aura again with tinges of marigold disgust. “Prep him,” he spat at one of the technicians.
“He’s been out of cryo-freeze too long,” the tech replied, turning from light orange nervous back to burgundy fear.
Pierce grit his teeth as the lime annoyance flared yet again. “Then wipe him and start over,” he spat out and turned to stomp away.
The Asset saw Rumlow bristle with bright gold smug satisfaction before he was forced backward into the chair and restrained.
*
The Asset confronted the Captain on the helicarrier and there was something achingly familiar about his shimmering silver righteousness. Once the Captain registered that it was the Asset attacking him though, the righteousness was joined by an almost overwhelming light pink hope. Which was stupid; there was no hope to win a fight once the Asset had his target in his sights.
The Captain kept trying to talk to him too. Kept trying to tell him that he was a person; someone the Captain knew. The Asset’s mind swirled in confusion around a half remembered face. Someone who looked like the Captain but thinner, scrawny even.
The Asset tried to push the images aside. The Captain’s aura was swirling dark teal determination now with a tinge of indigo desperation. He kept talking and the Asset kept trying to shove him aside. Physically and mentally. But it felt like St- the Captain was worming his way into the Asset’s brain.
The Captain had him pinned and yanked his flesh arm up behind him, dislocating it. The rush of pain seemed to open a floodgate inside his head. Images of tiny Steve Rogers flashed through his mind with increasing frequency, even as the glass dome fractured and they both plummeted into the river.
The Asset dragged Steve Rogers out of the river, the faint memories all but driving him mad. He could only imagine what his own emotional aura looked like now with his head in such turmoil as he glanced at Rogers’ staticky nothingness of dreamless unconsciousness.
*
Bucky could only stand a couple months of being on his own with his messed up head. And it didn’t help that he was free to look where he liked now; he was awake all the time and the sense of so many conflicting auras, even in small crowds of people, overwhelmed him frequently.
As the Asset, his unusual skill had been useful and when he had orders, he could focus it in on only those relevant to his current mission, ignoring everyone else. Now though, if he was around other people, he found it hard to focus. His eyes would never stay in one place for too long while glancing over the swirling rainbows of colors around him that he couldn’t block out. He was pretty sure he looked schizophrenic to anyone who payed him too close attention. He needed help.
So eventually he abandoned his most recent decrepit motel room in the dead of night to head to New York where Steve Rogers was.
He slunk into the lobby of Stark tower at 7 in the morning when they seemed least busy (as most of their employees arrived at 8) and up to the security officer behind a desk who was a dull beige bored wrapped in grey blue tired. The man raised a questioning eyebrow.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Um, I’m here to surrender to Captain America.”
The man’s eyes widened and spots of turquoise surprise broke through his sleepy aura. “Name, please?” he asked warily.
Bucky hesitated and heaved a sigh through his nose. “Bucky Barnes,” he said quietly.
The guard slammed his fist under the desk on what Bucky assumed was an alarm and jumped to his feet while the turquoise surprise took over his whole aura and was quickly slashed with red orange suspicion.
No alarm bells went off but the guard leveled a taser at him so Bucky raised his hands, palms out. A walkie talkie on the guard’s belt staticked and a voice said, “Security 1, report.”
The guard unhooked the device and, never taking his eyes or taser off Bucky, brought it to his mouth. “Team Leader, this is Security 1,” he said into it. “Please inform Mr. Stark that we have a Code White.” The guard replaced the talkie on his belt and wrapped the free hand around the other on his taser. “Someone will be right with you,” he told Bucky while his suspicion ratcheted up and began to slip into light orange nerves.
It didn’t take long before the elevator on the far left of the lobby slid open revealing Tony Stark wearing a repulsor glove that he immediately brought up to aim at Bucky’s face. He stepped cautiously forward emanating red orange suspicion with just a touch of baby blue excitement.
“What’s your game, popsicle?” he asked right before Steve stepped off the elevator behind him.
Bucky felt his shoulders immediately slump in relief at the sight of Steve’s face. Steve was painted in light pink hope dotted with baby blue excitement. He looked like he was made of cotton candy and the way he was grinning at Bucky over Stark’s shoulder only enforced the comparison.
The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up and he said, “Steve,” in greeting with a nod keeping his hands raised non-threateningly. Steve sagged in pale yellow relief and pushed down Stark’s forearm on his way towards Bucky. His aura swelled in a sunny bright yellow joy as he crossed the lobby and Bucky was almost blinded by it. It’d been a while since he’d seen anyone this outright, unspoiled happy. It was kinda nice (even if he did think it was misdirected.)
Steve stopped directly in front of him and kind of twisted his fingers together like he wanted to stop himself from hugging Bucky. Which was probably prudent; Bucky was still wary of the Soldier lurking inside his brain somewhere.
Over Steve’s shoulder, Stark looked a bit miffed and lime annoyance replaced some of his suspicion. “At least make sure he hasn’t got any weapons on him first, Cap,” he said while powering down his glove.
Steve briefly flashed hunter green which Bucky took as more abashed than ashamed. “Sorry,” Steve told him with a blush and a shy periwinkle. “Do you mind…?”
Bucky just shrugged, hands still raised. Steve moved forward cautiously and patted him down for weapons (of which he had none) quickly yet thoroughly. Then he stepped back and looked like he wanted to say something before Stark interrupted him.
“If you’re done getting handsy,” he drawled, “let’s get going. I’ll need to check that arm for traps and trackers.” By the end of the sentence, his eyes had a bit of manic light in them while his aura shifted to red violet curiosity splashed with baby blue excitement.
Bucky dropped his hands and looked to Steve who was turquoise in surprise. “Of course,” Steve said quietly and looked at Bucky pleadingly with light orange nerves. Bucky gave a tiny shrug and Steve’s pale yellow relief reappeared.
Once in Stark’s workshop, Bucky sat uneasily on a stool and tried not to feel violated while Stark scanned his arm with a variety of instruments, his mixture of red violet curiosity and baby blue excitement swirling enthusiastically.
Steve sat next to him obviously trying to radiate calm and encouragement but completely failing with his aura’s bright yellow joy and baby blue excitement surrounded by pale yellow relief and tinged with rose gold amusement (presumably aimed at Stark’s mumbled ranting about the arm and engineering).
After the fourth or fifth scan, Bucky relaxed enough to let his eyes stray from being glued to Stark and whatever he was doing and wander about the large workshop. There were benches and stools and machinery and robots and all of it was covered with electronics or mechanics. It was an impressive array of junk, really, and Bucky couldn’t even begin to guess what any of it was for. As he puzzled over what could possibly be an entire disassembled car engine, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He casually pretended to keep scanning the room while turning his head to face the glass wall the door was set in and spotted two people coming down the stairs.
The first was a dishevelled blond whose aura was grey blue sleepy mixed with a purple contentment (presumably aimed at the mug he was staring into gratefully between sips) that suited him well. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and was slightly in love with his coffee.
The second newcomer made him pause though. She was a stunning redhead who was obviously wide awake and way more put together than her companion. But her aura was mute. Bucky blinked. It was kind of like when the tv got disconnected and went all staticy; like her aura was disconnected from her. There was just no emotional output at all.
Steve eventually noticed that Bucky was staring and turned to follow his gaze. He caught sight of the two newcomers right as the redhead was typing a passcode into the door and smiled at them. They entered the lab and Steve greeted them. “Morning Nat. Clint.”
“Good morning,” the redhead -Nat- returned while the blond -Clint- just grunted. “What do we have here?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
She still gave off nothing. Not even curiosity at her question. Or wariness at Bucky’s presence. Bucky frowned.
Stark looked up from his most recent scanner excitedly. “The Winter Popsicle turned himself in,” he said with a flash of rose gold amusement.
Steve immediately frowned and flashed light brown disappointment but ignored the comment. “Bucky showed up in the lobby this morning.” He turned to Bucky. “Buck, this is Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. They’re Avengers too. Nat, Clint, this is Bucky Barnes.”
Bucky didn’t take his eyes off Natasha as she returned his gaze. He briefly registered Clint’s aura speckled with red violet curiosity as he said, “hi,” and gave an awkward wave. Natasha just looked at him, no emotion registering at all.
“Who are you?” Bucky finally asked her as light orange nerves started to slip into Steve’s aura beside him.
Natasha smirked. “There are a few answers to that question,” she replied slowly. “Which would you like?”
Beside her, Clint snorted into his coffee cup and flashed with rose gold amusement. Bucky’s eyes flicked towards him and briefly caught on the smile that lit up his face. He quickly dragged his eyes back to the problem at hand. “I can’t read you,” he told Natasha.
She just raised an eyebrow. Clint scoffed. “She’s the world’s best spy,” he told Bucky. “I’d be surprised if you could, honestly.” Bucky frowned at Clint’s lavender affection towards Natasha and continued to puzzle her out.
“Yeah,” Stark suddenly piped up. “She could be strangling a man with her thighs and by the look on her face, you’d think she was making her shopping list in her head.” He chuckled with rose gold amusement and bent over Bucky’s wrist again.
Steve huffed out a loud sigh beside him but Bucky continued to scrutinize Natasha. Through the whole exchange, her aura had remained frustratingly blank despite the slight variations of her facial expressions. She had looked slightly amused at Clint’s comment and fondly frustrated at Stark’s but she lacked either rose gold or burnt orange. It was unsettling.
“That’s not really it,” he told her slowly. “Your facial expressions are plain enough.” She raised an eyebrow again. “But it’s like your emotions aren’t even there.” Her face hardened. “Or if they are, I can’t see them,” he added quickly.
“You can’t see them?” she asked monotone.
It made Bucky feel like he’d offended her but there was no bright orange indignation or even lime annoyance. He was coming to realize more and more since his memories started returning and the programming weakened that Hydra had definitely fucked his brain up in more ways than even they could imagine. As the Asset, he’d never mentioned being able to see emotions because it wasn’t necessarily related to mission parameters. And no one else had ever mentioned it or asked him about it so he saw no reason to bring it up.
By now, he reckoned he hadn’t been able to do this before he was taken by Hydra and probably no one else could do it either. He steeled himself to admit to it and took a deep breath. “I can see emotions,” he told the room. Clint Barton turned a curious red violet shaded with plum concern, Steve was just full out plum colored worry, and Stark looked up at him in navy incredulousness. Natasha remained blank static.
Steve hesitantly put his hand on Bucky’s right forearm. “Buck, I’m sure you’ve been really well trained to read people but you’re in a safe space now. You can trust these guys.” He sounded so earnest. “You can trust me,” he finished.
Bucky rolled his eyes and he caught sight of Clint splashed with rose gold amusement briefly. “Steve,” he started wearily, “it’s not just reading body language.” He removed his arm from Steve’s touch and wiped a hand over his face. “I can literally see what you are feeling right now.”
Steve’s aura went suddenly, violently olive green in confusion before slipping back to plum concern. “Buck,” he started again but Bucky huffed in frustration loud enough to cut him off.
“Look,” he said, trying not to sound irritated. “You are worried, I can see it. It’s a kind of deep plum color.” Steve flashed turquoise and his eyebrows flew up on his forehead. “And now it’s mixed with a sort of turquoise color, like the jewelry. That’s shock.”
Everyone in the room was staring intently at him now, silent. He gestured minutely at Stark. “He’s doubting me and it’s navy blue but he’s getting curious which is a kind of reddish violet.” Then he nodded at Barton. “He’s kind of confused, which is olive green with that red violet curiosity and it’s tinged with rose gold colored amusement. Which I assume is being directed at the ridiculous face you’re making.” Barton shrugged and winked at him. “Close your damn mouth, Steve.”
Steve abruptly snapped his mouth closed. Bucky looked back at Natasha. “But you,” he told her. “You are just blank. Like you’ve been cut off from emotion.”
She stared at him hard for a moment but then quirked a small, sad smile. “Something like that,” she said quietly. And then her smile turned dangerous, “It’s good to know I can still cover vulnerabilities effectively.”
Clint snorted beside her but was colored with a dusty rose impressed and a bit of lavender affection. “You would.” Natasha smirked at him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Stark exclaimed and threw his hands up, Bucky’s arm all but forgotten. “You’re telling me that you can literally see how everyone feels about everything all the time?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “All except her.” He jerked his head in Natasha’s direction. Then the corner of his mouth turned up. “Jealous?” he asked as Stark was indeed turning green with jealousy.
“What?! No,” he started and then stopped. “It must be frustratingly hard to lie to you,” he mused, still tinged with jealousy.
Natasha scoffed. “Stark, anyone with even a little training on reading body language can tell when you’re lying. It shouldn’t be a new experience for you. Especially in present company.”
Clint laughed out loud and Stark squinted at them all disgruntledly with lime annoyance. “Fucking spies,” he grumped.
“Not a spy,” Steve raised his hand a bit and smirked. He was mostly still turquoise with surprise but there was some rose gold amusement and even lavender affection around the edges.
Stark eyed him up and down. “You are fooling no one,” he told Steve pointedly.
After Bucky’s arm was scanned and found to be free of traps or trackers, Stark tried to drag him away to Bruce Banner’s lab in order to scan his brain for anomalies to explain his ‘synesthesia,’ as Stark had started calling it. But Bucky was so done with being a lab rat today. He shot Steve a pleading look and Steve immediately put his foot down. They could do more tests later, if and when Bucky was ready.
Stark slumped against the elevator wall and grumbled to himself with a tinge of lime annoyance as they ascended to a floor with a kitchen and large lounge area to make lunch.
Bucky slid onto a barstool to watch while Steve and Clint began pulling items out of the refrigerator and pantry willy nilly. Natasha retrieved a plate and cutting board from a cupboard and Stark slid a can of diet soda across the large island towards Bucky before cracking the top of one for himself.
“So,” Stark began, all red violet curiosity again. Steve eyed him briefly with red orange suspicion before continuing to slice tomatoes. “If emotions are different colors, how do you see them?” he asked Bucky. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Like, was my skin navy blue to you earlier or was it in my eyes or what?”
Bucky frowned and considered for a moment. “I guess in my head I describe it as an aura.” Clint burst out laughing on the other side of the counter and Bucky leveled a glare at him.
Clint reigned it in quickly and flashed hunter green embarrassment briefly. “Um, it’s just, you sound like a circus sideshow fortune teller.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stick up even more. Bucky raised both eyebrows in question. Clint shrugged. “I was in the circus for a while.” His aura became an odd mixture of grey melancholy and rose gold amusement. “There was this one old lady who told fortunes and claimed to read auras but we all figured she was just drunk. Which she was, most of the time.”
Stark giggled across the room and Clint’s melancholy abruptly faded away. “Barnes, I’m totally picturing you in a dusty old shawl with a multicolored headscarf, leaning over a crystal ball,” Stark told him between laughs.
Steve sighed loudly but there was lavender affection mixed with his annoyance as he said, “Tony,” in a reprimanding kind of way. Natasha smiled knowingly between them before winking at Bucky and continuing to make her salad. Bucky blinked. Was there something between Steve and Stark?
“Oh, come on Steve,” Stark half whined at him. “You know it’d be hilarious.” He switched from rose gold amusement to red violet curiosity so fast, Bucky was surprised the man didn’t have whiplash. “Anyway, so this aura. Is it like a cloud around me or does it beam out of me like the sun?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What color am I right now?”
Bucky stared at him, considering. “I dunno, I guess it’s like a cloud for most emotions but some beam like light. You’re all red violet cloudy. Curiosity.”
Stark’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “I wish I could see what you see. It’d be way easier to study if I didn’t have to rely on second hand data.”
Bucky glared at him. “I’m not your lab rat,” he growled.
Stark waved a hand at him in dismissal. “I won’t drag you into a lab. Steve would have my head. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to bombard you with questions. Feel free to tell me to shut up whenever though, I’ll try not to be offended.” He grinned.
Bucky shrugged and Stark obviously took it as permission to continue. “So, which emotions beam?”
“Happiness,” Bucky started. “Pride, ecstasy, amusement.”
Stark’s eyebrows shot up. “So, strong positive emotions?” Bucky nodded and Stark considered for a moment. “So what color’s Steve right now?” he asked then blinked and looked over at Steve with dark red guilt.
Steve just nodded at him though with rose gold amusement and Stark immediately went pale yellow in relief. “Go ahead,” Steve told Bucky.
“Well, a moment ago he was rose gold amused,” Bucky told Stark. “Now he’s kind of red violet curiosity and lavender affection.”
“Huh,” Stark muttered. “Fascinating. How about Birdbrain?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow in confusion. Natasha laughed (yet remained blank) and behind him, Clint made an indignant noise that was muffled by a mouthful of food.
“Clint is Hawkeye,” Natasha told him. “Stark thinks he’s funny.”
“I’m hilarious!” Stark told her as Bucky turned to look at Clint who was chewing on a huge bite of what looked like a sandwich filled with cold spaghetti. Clint shrugged at him and nodded his assent.
“He’s mostly purple,” Bucky started but was interrupted when everyone else laughed. He glanced around at them all and then back at Clint.
Clint swallowed his mouthful and a bit of rose gold amusement and plain gold smug joined his purple contentment. “It’s my favorite color,” he told Bucky, unconcerned. “What’s it mean?”
“You’re content.”
Clint looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. Natasha reached over to ruffle Clint’s hair. “Good,” she said quietly and Bucky thought he saw a flash of lavender affection but he blinked and it was gone.
Bucky spent the next couple days following Steve around the Avengers’ apartments, trying not to be concerned that he would turn into the Soldier at any moment, and enduring a never ending onslaught of questions from Stark about his odd ability.
Steve was a fairly relaxing presence; he usually varied between bright yellow joy and pale yellow relief when it was just the two of them. Bucky was often astounded and humbled that Steve could feel like that all the time mostly because of Bucky himself. When Stark was around though, Steve was a whirlwind of colors. Lime annoyance made frequent appearances but so did lavender affection, rose gold amusement, red violet curiosity, and even light pink hope. It was hard not to see that Steve had feelings for Stark even if Steve might not know it himself.
Stark cycled through emotions faster than anyone Bucky had ever seen. There was a lot of red violet curiosity (especially when he asked about Bucky’s ability or his arm) but he would fly between lime annoyance, rose gold amusement, gold smug, bright orange indignation, and sometimes lavender affection (aimed at Steve, Bucky thought) almost faster than Bucky could keep up with. It was dizzying.
And as Stark became more comfortable with Bucky being around all the time, the more time he wanted to spend with Steve. The attraction was obviously mutual. It didn’t take long for Bucky to start feeling overwhelmed if Stark hung around too long so he started wandering the tower alone in search of quiet.
Sometimes, he would encounter Natasha and sit with her while she read but he found that being alone with her emotional silence for too long made him uneasy. Once, he came upon Bruce Banner in the kitchen and the man’s cherry red rage encased in a cobalt calm felt way too volatile for Bucky to be comfortable. Sometimes, Sam Wilson would visit the tower and to Bucky, it was all too clear that the man still mistrusted and disliked him. Not that Bucky really blamed him. He did wreck the car Sam was driving on that bridge very violently. Sam was generally tinged with red orange suspicion whenever Bucky was in the room with him, though he was generally yellow happy or purple content with the others.
One evening, about a week after he’d arrived, Bucky escaped down to the gym after feeling overwhelmed by Stark’s whiplash emotions yet again. It was obvious the man was trying to help him (though he definitely wanted to satisfy his own curiosity at the same time), but talking about what Hydra did to him left him feeling drained and despondent. He just needed to be alone.
He trailed his hand over a weight bench and a treadmill and briefly thought about trying to run himself into a better mood. He continued his meandering across the gym and glanced in the window set in the top of the door to the range and paused. It was occupied.
He brought his face closer to the window to peer inside at Clint who was practising archery. He was shooting left handed and could probably see Bucky looking at him through the window but he didn’t pause in his draw, knock, release. His purple contentment remained undisturbed.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe and watched, mesmerized. Clint stood side-on to the target, his right arm held the bow upright, barely moving at all as far as Bucky could see, while his left steadily fitted arrow after arrow to the string. The monotonous movement of Clint’s shoulders and the tightening of his chest as he drew was soothing against Bucky’s frayed nerves and the creeping despair.
Bucky lost himself in the calming serenity of it and before he knew what he was doing, reached down to the door handle to let himself in. The door opened and closed soundlessly but Bucky was sure Clint knew he was there. Not that he made any acknowledgement whatsoever. Bucky slid down the wall next to the door to sit and drew his knees up to rest his forearms on them. He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Clint and his fluid repetition.
After what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours, the steady swish, thwap of the arrows had persuaded Bucky into a meditative headspace, thinking of nothing at all as he watched. He felt like Clint’s contentment had drifted across the room to gently enfold him. It was so calm in the range, the only disturbance when Clint switched from an empty quiver at his hip to a full.
Eventually though, Clint used up all five quivers and Bucky startled a little when Clint turned to replace his bow in its case and stow it in one of the open lockers. Clint stood and stretched onto his toes, raising his arms above his head as far as they could go. Bucky briefly appreciated the sliver of tanned abdomen revealed before Clint finally turned to look at him and hitched on a small smile.
Bucky nodded at him in greeting and Clint’s smile stretched a little wider, purple contentment almost rolling off him in waves. Bucky couldn’t help the side of his mouth turning up a bit in return. And when Clint turned to grab his quivers and headed downlane to collect his arrows, Bucky stood and followed him.
When he started moving, he was surprised at how loose and relaxed he felt. His standard operating procedure was wound tight and on edge and it was kind of a relief to just let all that tension go.
When they’d collected all the arrows and Clint had stored them, they left the range together and boarded the elevator in comfortable silence. When they stopped on the floor with the communal kitchen, Clint moved to get out and nodded at Bucky in farewell. On an impulse, Bucky stuck out his arm to keep the doors from sliding closed. Clint turned back to him to raise an eyebrow.
“Thanks,” Bucky told him, barely above a whisper.
Clint flared olive green confusion for a bit before shrugging and was back to purple. “Any time,” he said and gave a little wave before the doors closed between them. Bucky continued upstairs and was actually able to take a nap.
After that, Bucky kind of semi-unintentionally sought Clint out. During the day, if he was ever feeling despair creeping in or overwhelmed by the input from other people, he’d silently stalk around the common areas until he found Clint and post himself nearby.
More often than not, Clint was in the kitchen or common room. Bucky liked it best when Clint was alone; when he was eating cereal or watching a ridiculous TV show called Dog Cops, he would be calm cobalt with purple content or sometimes rose gold amused. It was comforting; a balm against the swirling thunderstorm inside his head.
Sometimes though, Clint would have company. Occasionally he would be with Steve or Tony, a few times he was cooking with Bruce Banner, and once, Clint was eating Poptarts cold out of the box with Thor. Usually it was Natasha though. It seemed to Bucky that they were very close (though probably not involved his brain commented helpfully). It was easier to stomach Natasha’s strange lack of emotional output when Clint was there to soften the atmosphere. He was quite often lavender affectionate towards her though bright orange indignation made frequent appearances when she poked fun at him in their easy banter. Together, they could actually make Bucky laugh.
*
Bucky woke in a cold sweat, panting hard. His eyes snapped open and darted around, desperately trying to see anything other than the face of the nameless man he had been squeezing the life out of. He dragged his flesh hand over his face, wiping at sweat and tears. He sucked in a staggering breath and turned on the lamp next to him. He was in his room at Stark Tower. He was fine; safe; not killing anyone.
He got up shakily and stumbled his way out into the kitchenette he shared with Steve to pour a glass of water. The cool liquid eased the tight feeling in his throat but did nothing to help the onslaught of guilt and horrified disgust. He splashed some tap water on his face, sat down, stood up, paced the room. He felt trapped and panicky; the apartment was too small.
If only Clint were awake, he thought suddenly. He glanced at the time on the microwave. Three a.m.; no one would be awake. He could still go to the range though. He nodded to himself and stood up to head out the door and the oppressive feeling abated a bit.
The elevator did not feel very appealing in this state of mind, so Bucky went for the stairs instead and jogged down three flights to the floor with the gym and range. He walked quickly across the gym, purposefully not running even though he really wanted to.
When he burst through the door, he was surprised to find the light on and Clint standing at one of the lanes. His head whipped around and Bucky froze. Clint’s face was shuttered and dark and his usually cheerful aura was black despair mottled with cherry red fury. It was disconcerting. Bucky stood just inside the door blinking at him, his earlier panic fading away to concern.
“What?” Clint asked him dispassionately.
Bucky swallowed. “Uh, are you ok?”
Clint glared and then his shoulders slumped. The black despair was almost overwhelming. “No,” he said quietly. Then he laughed humorlessly. “You might not want to hang around with me right now,” he told Bucky. “I can imagine that if this looks to you like it feels to me, it's not a very comforting sight.”
Bucky shrugged and sank to the ground to lean back against the wall. “Honestly, I’d rather see what you’re feeling than feel what I’m feeling right now.” That was a terrible thing to say. He blinked and looked up at Clint in slight horror.
But Clint was just gazing at him in contemplation. “I wish,” he said before shaking his head and turning back to his lane.
Clint shot three whole quivers before he acknowledged Bucky again. His despair and anger had kind of faded into a grey melancholy with the occasional flash of dark red guilt. It was still worrying but it did seem like he was calming down some.
“You wanna try?” he asked Bucky and held out his bow.
Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t been allowed to shoot anything since he’d arrived at the tower three weeks prior. And now that the opportunity presented itself, he found that he kind of wanted to.
“Uh, sure,” he said mutedly and stood.
He walked over to Clint slowly, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Bucky had never seen anyone else even touch Clint’s bow, much less shoot it. He approached Clint’s side carefully and took the bow gently in his flesh hand when Clint held it out to him.
“Stand here,” Clint said, sidestepping and indicating where he had just been standing. Bucky advanced and took up Clint’s previous position, side on to the targets. “You shoot left handed?” he asked as Bucky raised the bow in his right hand, trying to mimic the way Clint did it.
“Either way,” Bucky told him with a shrug. And then added, “They made sure I could use the arm they gave me just as well as my original one.”
Clint flashed briefly turquoise with surprise but he seemed to shrug it off, fading quickly back to the grey melancholy. It made Bucky unsettled, seeing him like this but he focused his attention back to the weapon in his hand.
“You think the string will hold against metal fingers?” he asked and raised his eyebrows.
Clint looked at him blankly for a long moment before the side of his mouth twitched a bit and he flashed rose gold amused. There, that was better.
“I think my draw weight and professional activities are a bit more resilient than you might suspect,” he told Bucky sarcastically.
Bucky shot him a little smirk in return. “If you say so, man.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “Just put your fingers here, Terminator,” he said with only a little sky blue exasperation and indicating the right place on the string. He picked an arrow out of his quiver. “Place it on the line, here,” he instructed. “And line it up, here. Good.” His fingers brushed against Bucky’s on the bow as he dropped his hand.
“So what,” Bucky said. “Just pull back and let go?”
Clint actually chuckled a bit and the rose gold was back. “I mean, to make it stupidly simple, yes,” he said grudgingly. “But you need to pull your elbow up.” He tucked his hand under Bucky’s metal elbow and lifted gently. Though he could only feel pressure, Bucky imagined Clint’s fingers were warm. He obligingly lifted his arm into position.
“Now,” Clint started again. “Straighten your posture,” he pressed Bucky’s left shoulder back gently. “Face your target and lift your chin a bit.” His fingers brushed Bucky’s chin and Bucky had to beat back the sudden impulse to turn and look at him.
“Now’s when you pull back.” Bucky put pressure on the string and was mildly surprised that Clint hadn’t been kidding about the draw weight. He actually had to put some effort into drawing back with the metal arm. An image of Clint’s taught biceps sprang unbidden into his mind.
He blinked and focused. “Pull back ‘til your fingers brush your cheek,” Clint told him quietly. “And then relax your fingers to loose.”
Bucky did as he was told and was pleased when the arrow hit the second outermost circle on the target 30 yards down range.
He turned to smile at Clint and was almost overwhelmed by Clint’s dusty rose impressed tinged with that purple contentment that suited him so well. He quickly turned back to survey his shot.
“Not bad,” Clint told him. “With a little practice, you’d make a decent archer.”
Bucky tried not to blush, forced the warm feeling in his cheeks back down before turning back to Clint. “What,” he said teasingly. “You think if you train me up, you can blow off your superhero duties and make me do it?”
Clint snorted. “If you think you’d ever be as good as me with a bow, you’re delusional,” he told Bucky with a touch of gold smug.
Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he teased.
The side of Clint’s mouth raised in a rueful smile. “Well, it’s literally the only thing I’m good at.” He shrugged and flashed hunter green embarrassed. “I’m allowed.”
Bucky felt a soft smile stealing over his features and quickly looked down to the quiver to grab another arrow. “I dunno,” he said as he lifted the arrow to notch on the bow. “From what I can tell, you’re pretty good at overindulging in caffeine. And annoying the crap out of Natasha.”
Clint snorted beside him and Bucky took aim before loosing his second arrow. It thunked into the target a couple inches closer to the bullseye than the first. Bucky turned to grin at Clint and was met with an amused but puzzled look. Clint’s aura was a twisted up mess of olive green confusion with rose gold amusement and a bit of lavender affection.
“Can’t argue that, I suppose,” Clint said with a shrug and then shook his head. He looked over at the target and grinned. “Hey, that’s not bad,” he told Bucky, his aura shifting from confused to duty rose impressed with baby blue excitement. “You keep practicing, and you might even be worth having a competition with.”
Bucky smothered his smile and rolled his eyes. “If we were using real weapons,” he emphasized, “I could beat you in a shooting competition every day of the week.”
Clint blazed bright orange indignation over rose gold amused and made an outraged noise. “Oh, you wish Barnes!” he exclaimed. “They don’t call me the best marksman in the world just because of my mad archery skills!”
Bucky tried and failed to stifle a laugh making Clint grin. “Who participates in this ‘best marksman’ poll?” Bucky asked sarcastically. “Because I’m pretty sure best marksman was one of the Winter Soldier’s accolades.”
Clint was practically shining rose gold amused now with a touch of dark teal determination. “Oh, it is so on,” he said. “Go on and grab whatever you think you’re most proficient in.” He wrapped his hand around his bow. “I’ll have this back and you can sit back and be impressed by the Amazing Hawkeye.”
Bucky longed to rise to Clint’s challenge, it sounded like fun, but he felt his smile falter a little. His thoughts went back to his nightmare from earlier and how out of control he’d felt. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable enough yet to allow himself a gun. What if something happened? What if he got triggered and put Clint in danger?
His doubt must have been showing on his face. Clint’s baby blue excitement was giving way to navy doubt and his brows were starting to furrow together a little. Bucky suddenly wanted nothing more than to smooth away the little crease between them.
“Or,” Clint started, “ya know, we don’t have to. It’s-”
“No!” Bucky interrupted him. “That’s not- I mean, I’d really like to but, well, I’m not sure I can, uh, trust myself?” It came out a question and Bucky wanted to smack himself. That probably didn’t make a damn bit of sense.
But Clint’s face formed into a somber expression of understanding and his grey melancholy reappeared. “Right,” he said. “I- I get that. It’s cool. You can keep practising if you want…” His sentence kind of trailed off and he let go of the bow and shoved his hands in his pockets taking a step back.
Bucky had to fight back the urge to smooth away that troubled expression again. What could Clint have been through to make him look so sad? Bucky wished he could comfort him somehow; restore his natural contented purple.
Bucky swallowed. “No, I think I’m good.” He offered the bow to Clint. “Sorry I kinda interrupted you earlier.”
Clint shook his head with a small, sad smile. “Nah, it was a welcome distraction actually. And I’ve probably shot myself out for tonight. I should probably try to get some rest.” He didn’t sound all that convinced about being able to rest though and Bucky definitely felt similarly.
Clint took the bow and walked towards a table with his open case on it. Bucky dithered momentarily before deciding to push forward.
“I don’t know about you,” he started, “but I don’t think I’ll be getting any more sleep tonight.” Clint looked up from his bow with a little red violet curiosity curling around his lingering grey melancholy. Bucky smiled at him a little. “I was thinking about watching another of those movies from the list if you want to maybe join me?”
Clint returned the small smile and flushed a pale yellow relief. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, that’d be great.”
They rode up the elevator together and discussed which movies from Steve’s 20th century list of things to catch up on Clint thought were funniest and worthwhile. Bucky was relieved when Clint’s grey faded mostly away to baby blue anticipation.