Chapter Text
Bucky’s weeks moved sluggishly, but the days travelled in light-years. He hadn’t been able to stop. Between the drama and the fighting and the anxiety, he’d barely had a moment to stop and think and reflect or just...he didn’t know, have peace, calm, some time to himself.
So, of course, on Wednesday morning, when he noticed that Wanda was gone and Steve was out on his run, he revelled in the relative aloneness of this quiet morning. He filled Alpine’s food bowl and collapsed onto the sofa with a mug of coffee, surprised when the white fur-ball came running into his lap, disregarding the food.
“Well hello, you.” Alpine meowed - somehow managing to look dignified, despite the unfortunate grittiness of her voice - and started to knead his leg until she deemed it suitable and curled up by his groin, purring softly when he started to stroke his flesh hand through her fur.
The oddity of the calm didn’t escape him but he did his best to stay present. He’d been so wrapped up in the future recently that he hadn’t taken the time to just have this. He’d barely had time to bond with Alpine except in passing moments, never mind how few moments he had with Steve.
His freedom was meant to bring so much with it, yet he felt like he’d squandered the time he’d had and now he only had this: a slow drag of perpetual anxiety, punctuated by brief moments of happiness that he didn’t have the time to enjoy. It was melodramatic, he was fully aware, but he was alone, he could be as nihilistic as he wanted. So rather than, you know, get up and do something productive, he let himself just sit and think. He rounded corners he didn’t want to touch (seventy years of things he didn’t want to touch) and drifted through the good and the bad as well as he could. Processing always took a while but he had techniques - therapy certified and everything - and he tried to parse his way through it all without feeling overwhelmed. Alpine’s fur acted as a grounding, his flesh hand running calmly through the silky white fur.
All in all, it must have only taken ten minutes. Then, just as he had every other time, he collected the pieces and built himself back up and prepared himself for another day.
He slowly peeled Alpine off his lap with profuse apologies and made himself breakfast, showered and made himself a far cry more presentable than the last few days. He aimed high, putting on something that felt like it was a leap out of his current comfort zone, giving himself a much-needed push. It wasn’t a dramatic change, nothing outside of his personality, but the combination of skinny cropped trousers, in a shade of black that could only be described as impossibly dark, and a jazzy black shirt with an unidentifiable white pattern covering it, buttoned low on his chest, gave an aura of both professionalism and style. Matching it with a pair of newly shined, Oxford shoes, he felt like a million bucks, even if his smile didn’t quite match.
Well, it would do.
He didn’t have anything to do until their session at five, the earliest Peter could make it from school. Ostensibly, Wanda was supposed to be at school but daily updates from Peter said otherwise. Where Wanda was going, Bucky wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t be back until after school, though, sometime around four, giving Bucky about twenty minutes before they both had to head for the Tower. It wouldn’t nearly be long enough but it would be enough for something . After all, he only needed a simple answer, even if the solution was going to be far from simple itself.
So, he spent the day catching up on chores, playing with Alpine and then starting on a Professor Layton game on his phone, tucked up against Steve’s side. (Steve enjoyed it far more but they liked to do the puzzles together). It was a slow and lazy day, punctuated by light laughter and a general sense of nonchalance. There was nowhere to be and nothing urgent to do; they could do as they liked.
By the time four rolled around, Bucky was settled again; even the tightness of his trousers wasn’t enough to discomfort him. Steve was working away in the kitchen, trying to prepare Bucky a snack for before he went, as Bucky scrolled through the news with a frown, when Wanda came in through the front door.
“Oh. I…I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“Hm…decided to go a little later today, chance the subway delays,” Bucky hummed, refusing to look up at her just yet, maintaining an air of disregard, enough to make her comfortable so he could get down to the core of this before she fled.
“Oh. That’s…good.”
“You should come with. It’d be nice to see you at the sessions again.” Bucky finally put his phone down and looked up at her, careful to make his features soft, a gentle smile here, a loosened jaw there, Black Widow tricks, really, but hopefully used for good.
“Oh, um, I’ve got something to do.”
“That’s fine, I guess. Peter misses you, though. Says you haven’t been at school for a few days.”
“I…I’ve been busy.”
Bucky hummed and sighed, doing his best disappointed-parent look. It was only after having a teenager in the house that Bucky learnt why his mother had used it so much. Wanda, never one to get riled up, just nodded in defeat and scurried to her room.
“Fuck,” Bucky mumbled, rubbing his face with the balls of his palms.
“You’ll get through to her,” Steve said softly from the doorway, a cling-filmed sandwich in one hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“Maybe.”
“I…I’m…I think I’m gonna try talking to her again. It’s worth being late for.”
“You’ve still got plenty of time; you’re too fussy about getting there early. Peter and Loki won’t mind you being late. Those two seem to be getting along pretty well anyway.”
“You seem so pleased about that,” Bucky drawled with a cheeky smile.
“You know I’m still unsure about him. But he’s good for the group, I can see it, so I’m not going to say anything more about it.”
Bucky kissed his cheek. “Where did you ever learn restraint?”
“Natasha,” he deadpanned. Bucky barked a laugh and headed to Wanda’s room with a half-arsed wave behind him.
He heard before he saw her, the gentle strum of a guitar - slightly out of tune, but improving regardless. The tune of someone who’d only just started learning but was a natural regardless. Sometimes Bucky could hear it from his room, the sound of repetitive notes that pissed the hell out of Steve but lulled him pretty easily to sleep. This time, though, he heard more: the gentle cadence of a voice. The words were indistinguishable but there, masked by the louder strum of notes.
And then-
“Some days I can't get out of my head
“That's just the dark side of me
“Some nights, it's hard for me to fall asleep
“That's just the dark side of me
“Okay, so now I know something’s gotta be wrong,” Bucky drawled, a small, empathetic smile on his lips. “No one sings emo shit like that without feeling down.”
“You know what emo is?”
“I googled it after Peter said Loki was one. I was very enlightened.”
“You’re such an old man.”
“That I am. Now, come on, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s…it’s stupid.”
“I bet it’s not. A lot’s going on right now, it’s alright to be upset.”
Wanda fidgeted for a minute, her eyes darting to every point of the room before they finally landed on Bucky. After a few deliberated seconds, she finally spoke, her words carefully chosen. “…It’s MJ. I-I’m sorry for not turning up, I’m - um - just being a coward, I guess. I don’t think I can face her. Not after all the rest of the...stuff happened.”
Bucky looked at her face, scanned all the little details, trying to parse them. It made sense, when it came to school. Wanda and MJ’s relationship was fragile and tense at the moment, possibly entirely broken. It didn’t explain not turning up to the sessions, though, especially when she knew MJ wasn’t allowed to go.
“But you’re still not going to come today? MJ won’t be there.”
Wanda’s face fell, her lips pursed to the point of whiteness, like she was biting back a sob or a shout. “I know. I just…I can’t today. I’m sorry.”
Bucky frowned but let it go. He didn’t want to push her; there was no point in hurting her for no reason. Except…”that’s fine. But you know I’m going to have to push the school thing. I know you’re in pretty exceptional circumstances and there’s a lot of confusion around who you are but your education is important. If we need to move you to a different school, that’s fine, but you can’t lose on learning because of our stupid drama.”
“…okay. Can we…can we talk about it tomorrow?”
“‘Course. I just want you to be okay, alright?”
“Yeah, I get it. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then. Be good for Steve!”
He ignored her muttering, “you’re not my dad,”; he didn’t even need to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.
With that, he had no choice but to leave her to her own devices.
~*~
A few days passed, their session happened as usual and Bucky and Wanda finally sat down and talked about the whole situation. Whilst there was still some dishonesty in her admissions, she was appearing more, at least, less likely to sneak around to avoid prying eyes. She agreed to go back, without transferring. Honestly, it was a surprise Bucky even had to push. She loved school; not so much school itself, but just the fact that she could go, especially to such a good one, after everything that had happened to her. But Bucky had to remind himself how heavy these situations felt on teenage shoulders. They felt heavy on his shoulders; he could only start to empathise with how this felt.
If goddamn relationship drama made teenagers think the world was going to end, this was going to be pretty high up there.
But as much as he could, Bucky put it aside. Wanda was going back to school - to which Peter had messaged him gratefully, glad to have another friend back - and was careful around MJ, though, apparently, the two could trade sentences now. It wasn’t a friendship, in fact, it was more like devastation, but it was a step in the right direction.
Now Bucky just had to climb the mountain.
Still, Bucky was clever enough not to let his life get bogged down in it. Not now, not anymore. He understood that you had to make the most out of the bad and even when it was all going to shit around you, you took care of yourself. Self-care, after all, was a motto everyone should live by. So, instead of moping, he called Loki and finally got to do something he always wanted to do: a shopping trip with an alien.
Okay, maybe not always but it was pretty darn impressive regardless.
A few back and forths with Loki - who always answered his phone instantaneously which was both worrying and useful - and they were set up to meet in an hour, which just left Bucky with enough time to get ready.
After at least five minutes of deliberating, Bucky ended up with a long, woollen trench coat over black jeans and a deep blue shirt. It was up-market enough to go into a fancy shop without feeling like a fool but not so ostentatious that he would feel out of place taking the subway; things like that drew stares and no matter Bucky’s newfound confidence, a dangerous friend called Paranoia would always win.
With a quick goodbye to Steve, a sneak into Wanda’s room to check she’d gone to school (or at least left the house and pretended to), he tucked his wallet and keys into the deep pocket of his coat and headed out.
Loki met him on the corner of 1 and 81st, leaning casually in the midst of the bustling city. He was like a diamond in the rough. Surrounded by haggard families and overworked office jockeys, he was a beacon of perfection, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his cropped, grey trousers, a neat green polo-neck tucked in to show off the subtle black belt. He’d even outdone Bucky in the coat game, the black, wool blazer irritatingly well-fitting.
On anyone else, the outfit would have been pretentious. It was pretentious but Loki wore it so well; it shouldn’t have worked but Loki was just alien enough for it to fit him perfectly. And goddammit, Bucky was jealous . A kind type of jealousy; not the bitter rage but the lighter longing that had made up a lot of his younger years. The kind that said ‘I wish I had what they had’ but didn’t have you robbing people’s houses for it, or turning vindictive when you couldn’t.
“You trying to outdo me?” Bucky joked as he approached, his smile small and fitting; those big, unbridled grins of his youth didn’t suit him anymore, they just looked wrong on his face, he’d stared at himself enough in the mirror to know that (sue him, so he was a little vain). And that was okay. He’d moved on, he was a changed man, and he was just as happy with this new him as he was the jerk in 1930s Brooklyn.
“Of course not. I just happen to look like this permanently.” Loki, as usual, kept a straight face; an edge of serious edging into his words. Bucky had quickly learnt to wave it away, take it for the humour it was and let Loki’s ego work itself out in the long run. There was nothing you could do about a man’s ego but wait for it to compare itself to everyone else, and hopefully take itself down a few notches. That, or go through a long and twisted character arc that gets you there regardless. Then again, the Tony Stark method wasn’t exactly preferable. The Bucky Barnes method even less.
So he laughed and followed Loki down the street and into the first store. It was hidden away well, shimmied between a rundown laundromat and an upper-class Italian restaurant (welcome to New York), which no doubt both cost an exorbitant amount. Loki walked in with the confidence of a man who was returning to a place he knew well, opening unlabelled doors until they found themselves in a small loft, racks of clothes covering each and every portion of wall, a tall window flooding natural light into the cramped space.
“Louis!” A small girl cried, jumping out from a rack that Bucky had thought was pushed against the wall and almost had him running back down the stairs in fright. But he was better than that now, and even though his heart was suddenly pounding at a thousand miles an hour, he kept his feet planted steadily. This was something to enjoy, not be ruined by lingering memories.
“Francis. I didn’t know you’d be in today.”
“Oh, you know Win, she finds out about some new fabric and is running across New York.”
“That happen often?” Bucky asked, who only knew of a total of about five different fabrics.
“Oh, all the time. And you are?”
“Bucky. Barnes. Yes, that Bucky Barnes. Shit, sorry, was that presumptuous? I…um, don’t get out very often,” he rambled, eyes slowly taking on a panicked edge; goddammit, this is what happened when he tried communicating whilst still on edge.
Luckily, the girl just laughed. “Francis,” she repeated and thankfully didn’t hold out her hand. She was a little thing, barely over five foot, but the look in her eye was knowing, clever beyond what people would see in her, with her childish freckles, rounded face and curly, light brown bob. “Now, what can I do for you both?”
“Oh, well Bucky was just admiring my beautiful clothes and I thought I’d bring him to you. You do make wonderful pieces.”
“Oh stop it you flatterer. But that I can do. What kind of pieces are you thinking?”
“Um, can I have a look around?”
“Oh, these are mostly just practices, things for shows and returns, not really sale items. But feel free to get some ideas. We mostly do bespoke tailoring.”
“Oh…um, okay. That’s…that’s a lot of clothes to not be selling.” You really couldn’t take the Depression out of the man.
Ends up, Francis was a goddamn miracle, ignoring his awkwardness in favour of another tinkling laugh, urging him towards the nearest rack. “They go to good use. Now have a look and tell me what you like.”
After that, time went in a rush. Bucky got lost in the outfits and patterns, even trying on a multitude of pieces to see what colours would work best, whilst being berated for thinking the fit was okay when it was in fact ‘hanging off you, you poor bastard’. Loki made his own search through the clothing but ended up with nothing, whilst Bucky had placed an order for two shirts, a pair of slacks and an embroidered coat that was going to be the treasure of his life.
In the end, two hours had passed, maybe just a little more, and Loki led them towards a cafe just three blocks away that served artisan cafe at another ludicrous price that Loki covered because he was still learning generosity (which was really an excuse for Bucky to be a cheapskate but he elected not to mention, or think about, that).
In true hipster fashion, Loki elected to get the most complicated drink on the menu whilst Bucky struggled through saying the word ‘Frappuccino’ with a straight face and took the table nearest to the counter, one of them facing the entrance and the other the staff door: covering both exits.
“So, I have something for you.”
“You do?” For a moment, Bucky felt only caution, maybe some worry, before it dissipated into something lighter, possibly excitement but probably just anticipation. Honestly, his hold on his moods right now was light at best. As dulled as they’d been for the last few months, it was very hard to tell the close ones apart. Only another thing to add onto the pile to panic about later. For now, presents.
“I was going to show you them on Wednesday but, well, I thought it best to show you first. They’re not dangerous by any means but I did not wish to get Peter’s hopes up. I know you are more pragmatic in that department.”
“Can’t fault that logic.”
Loki pulled a small tote bag in his pocket (or rather magicked it because in no way was that able to fit in his pocket), and presented it on the table. “Look through it,” he urged.
Once again cautious, Bucky reached for the bag with his metal hand, aware that Loki was, in fact, a trickster god and this all could be an elaborate prank and peered inside to see…
Vials. And a scroll or two. And some orb that honestly, Bucky wasn’t too interested in touching for the sake of his sanity. “…what is all this?”
“A variety of things. Glamours, protection spells, a magician’s armour as it were. After telling my mother of our plight, she offered these as aid. In no way can it fix everything but I believe it can help. If Wanda is still worried, I know her magic cannot produce glamours, but a potion can and may even be enhanced by her inherent magic. MJ may benefit from the protection spells and if we show her mother then maybe she will…well, I do not like to be optimistic, but perhaps it is another item in our arsenal.”
“That’s…thank you,” Bucky said sincerely, his eyes soft. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Thank my mother. And I think I did. I know you do not blame me for this and even I can reasonably see that it was not my fault directly. But it still feels like I am a nail in the coffin. And anyway, I was rather fond of Wanda, I’d like to bring her back. I don’t like my apprentice disappearing on me.”
“And MJ?” Bucky asked with a smirk.
“Well, I guess she’s okay . It was nice to have another long-suffering participant in the mix.”
“Oh, you are so full of shit.” But Bucky was just smiling.
~*~
“JARVIS, music on!”
It started out quiet, a mere whisper of a song, a click and a hum and then suddenly, listen to the wind blow…
“You’re actually playing it!” Peter delighted, sprinting across the lab with an almost feral grin. He lost himself in here, among the sleek edges and hectic organisation of computer and material alike.
“You said you liked it.”
“But you only ever play horrible metal songs!”
“I don’t only- they are not horrible!” Tony Stark screeched.
“Yes, they are!” Peter cheered before darting over to the other side of the lab again, where Spiderbot was spinning in lazy circles, his arm a little limp. He was in need of dire maintenance. Grabbing a screwdriver (a personalised one because that was what Tony was like and as much as it terrified Peter, he wasn’t going to say no to free stuff), he got to work, humming along to the gentle rhythm of the bass line. Much better than metal.
“Whatcha working on?”
“Spiderbot. His arm isn’t moving properly. Think I just need to tighten the screws.”
“Huh. Might be time for an upgrade.”
“Nah, he’s brilliant just the way he is.” Dumb, inefficient and funny; exactly what Peter wanted.
“Everything can be improved.”
“Not when it’s already perfect.”
“Well, I did make him and I am a genius.” Peter laughed and waved him off, screwing the bolt in tight and motioning for Spiderbot to copy his actions; he was good at that, he just wasn’t so good at the whole working for himself thing. The movement was a little jagged and slow but it was moving. Not perfect but it would have to do, Peter would come back later and get some gel to make the movement smoother and maybe tighten the bolt more. For now, Spiderbot was functional (and maybe he’d stop spinning in slow circles with a mechanical whine, like some sort of metal toddler).
Slowly, Peter made his way back to Tony, peering over his shoulder at the rapid-fire code on the screen. “Whatcha working on?”
Tony jumped. “Oh my god, you’re going to give me a heart attack. And trust me, they are not fun.”
“Sorry,” Peter said, as if this hadn’t happened a thousand times before, and hid his chuckle behind his hand.
“You’re a menace.”
“Sure am, sir.”
“Oh god, I thought we’d gotten rid of the sir thing.”
“Never, sir.”
“This is all that time with Loki and…” Tony faked a shudder, “ Barnes .” Who knew Bucky would take the lead ahead of Loki in terms of top people on Tony’s hate list.
“Maybe, sir.”
“I will kick you out of this lab.”
“Of course you will…Sir.”
“Ugh! This is why I don’t do people anymore. Always so…annoying.”
“You’re an extrovert, sir.”
“I give up! Out! Out!”
“Of course, sir.” But Peter just went back to Spiderbot and tried to find the best way to grease the bolt without messing with Spiderbot’s odd aversion to all liquids (well, maybe not odd, all machines should have a healthy wariness about most liquids. Especially ones that did not run on the stuff).
Fifteen minutes passed, the music switching back to something definitely akin to metal, though Tony was being kind to Peter’s ears by putting on some of the…tamer songs. (The one time he played Slipknot for a laugh was a moment Peter will never forgive him for). The sounds of the lab lulled Peter into a vulnerable calm, just the clank of metal and the quiet tip-tap of Tony on the keyboard to fill the background of the music. It was loud and messy yet it was all in the background. Peter found himself adrift in his thoughts, his hands working by themselves, going through the routine of something that - by now - was pretty familiar.
“So, I have a solution for you.” Tony’s voice was like a lightning strike down the middle. Not because he was speaking. Normally, Tony was always speaking (that man didn’t really do silence, hence the whole really loud music thing). But because of what he said.
“Solution to what?”
“Your team’s problem.”
“You…you’re going to help us?” As much as Peter worked with Tony, was friends with him, they kept their teams separate. They weren’t so much a pair as they were two people on the fringes of each group, meeting in the middle. Well, maybe not the fringe, but they were purposefully standing on the edge.
“Yup. You know why? Because I have an idea and when I have an idea, I do the idea because I’m great like that.”
“…okay?”
“So, look, you have a problem, right? Loads of teenage friendship drama, blah-blah-blah, not my problem, you can sort that out with all your empathetic human-y feelings and all. But I have a practical solution. Your friend Wonder Woman, her mum is all up in arms about safety and that and, well, you and your aunt are in a pretty precarious position and currently Wanda is living in two grown men’s house that definitely aren’t her relatives and Loki, against my very important wishes, it still living under my roof. So, plan, young Avengers household. Still in New York, still close, can reach your school without problems. I can even make a goddamn subway station if it has to be pushed further out. But a building to house your ragtag team, just as this Tower holds mine. Most of them, anyway. And most of yours. Steve and Barnes will forever resist the absolute wonderful offer of not having to live in that godawful-“
“It isn’t awful!”
“Ugh, still, they could have this . Anyway, so, what do you think? Young Avengers complex.”
“We are not the Young Avengers. Bucky’s older than you. And Loki. And we’re not even Avengers.”
“Semantics. When you get a team name, I can stop calling you the Young Avengers.”
“But Bucky won’t let us .”
“Then that sucks for you. Should have got a less murder-y leader. You were the one that chose the wrong side.”
“I-“
“Anyway, you in?”
“For what?”
“Did you listen to a single word I said?”
“Yes. I just…I don’t think I understand. You know, that’s a lot…you’re talking about. Like, a lot of money.”
“And I have a lot of money. Come on, I can make a new training facility, new housing. If you can get them to agree to it, MJ and her mum can move too, if she’s so worried about safety. Loki will go away. Wanda can get a place again and maybe stop moping in every training session. Even JARVIS is getting depressed. It’s the perfect solution!”
“That’s…that’s very nice of you but that really is a lot and I don’t even know if it will solve everything-“
“Nothing will, kid. We both know that,” Tony said, suddenly serious. “Look, I know how shit this has been on all of you but you guys need to take the first steps to sorting this all out or else all hell will break loose.”
“I need to think about this.”
“Talk to your Aunt too. But think about it: better living standards, I can even get your Aunt closer to her job. Though I might really need to get started on that subway. It’s not gonna take that long. Or, well, maybe, but I’m testing nanotech technology on the building process and I’m rich so I can, you know, fast-track stuff. It might not be fully done that soon but it’ll definitely have some rooms and stuff in a month or two.”
“Two months?!”
“I’m a rich genius, I can do it in two months.”
“Stark Tower took a year to repair.”
“Well I didn’t have nanotech then, did I?”
“Are you sure-“
“I’m really starting to think you don’t believe in my genius.”
“I do! I do! I just…this all seems a bit…unreal.”
“Welcome to the superhero life, kid, none of it ever feels real.”