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“Well, that sucked,” Sam huffs. He dumps all his stuff on the ground the second he’s crossed the threshold of Steve and Bucky’s house, and then takes the next three steps necessary to fall face first onto their sofa.
“Everyone’s still alive,” Steve mutters under his breath, following Sam inside. “No casualties.”
He keeps repeating it, over and over, like a mantra. Everyone’s alive. No casualties. Sam has been about ready to strangle Steve every time he’s said it for the last hour, and it’s probably only lack of energy that has stopped him thus far.
“It still sucked!” he’s yelling now, very muffled since his face is planted directly into the couch cushions.
Bucky trails in at the back of the group, following Nat inside, and closing and locking the door behind them all.
“No casualties,” Steve whispers to himself, his eyes falling closed.
Sam scream-groans into the couch.
Reaching up to unfasten the mask covering his lower face, Bucky watches Nat methodically disarm herself, dropping all of her weapons into a pile on the sideboard. Reclaiming the Winter Soldier persona for the express purpose of blowing up Hydra bases ended up being an excellent idea the very first time he got to watch all the blood drain from the faces of the terrified Hydra goons he encountered on his first mission, but getting used to wearing the muzzle again has been a process. Even with the adjustments he’s made that make it easier to talk and breathe behind it. He’s always glad for it to be off after a fight. Especially after fights like the one they just had.
Dropping the mask onto the sideboard next to Nat’s ever-growing pile of weapons, Bucky looks around at them all.
They’re all filthy. In fact, if Bucky weren’t so exhausted, he’d yell at Sam for planking across his sofa in the state he’s currently in. They’re filthy, and they’re still in uniform, all of them.
Natasha has disposed herself of all of the guns, knives, projectiles, and Widow’s Bite charges hidden on her person, and is getting ready to start cleaning them all, Sam is…still just planking into the sofa, and Steve is standing stock-still about four feet into the house, staring unseeingly directly ahead, his shield just hanging off his arm.
Everyone’s still alive. They are. No civilian actually died. They managed to save them all.
But, Christ.
It was close. It was so fucking close. If Steve hadn’t’ve— It was such a fucking stupid, reckless move, running in like that, and he could have died, Steve could have died, it was so close— No.
No, Steve is all right. He didn’t die. No one else did, either. It got so close—those kids—but no one died. Everyone’s alive.
Yes, in the chaos, every single Hydra agent did get away. They did fail that part.
But everyone’s alive.
Bucky doesn’t really blame Steve for repeating it over and over again. It’s honestly hard to believe they all made it out.
“Okay,” Bucky sighs sharply, finally walking out of the doorway, further into the house. “Showers. Everyone. Then food, then sleep. Come on, Stevie.”
The last sentence is spoken much softer, much sweeter, meant only for Steve. Bucky gently takes the shield off his arm and props it up against the wall, and Steve just lets him. Doesn’t even move
They’ll clean everything later. It’s not best practices, but just this once, it’ll be okay.
Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders, and starts guiding him toward the stairs.
“Sam, hallway,” Bucky orders, assigning them each their own bathroom to use to shower. “Natasha, upstairs.” Steve’s house is unnecessarily gigantic, considering he and Bucky are the only people who live here. But it does come in handy on nights like tonight, when the four of them stumble in late, still in uniform, after landing the jet on the roof, directly off of a mission.
It’s a testament to how drained and beat they all are that no one tries to argue or fight with Bucky. Sam just pushes up off the sofa, and silently heads toward the hallway bathroom. Natasha abandons her pile of weapons, safe enough here to leave them on the sideboard, and follows Bucky and Steve upstairs, breaking off on the second floor while they continue to the third. Steve just lets Bucky gently push him up the stairs, all the way to the top floor, which is made up almost entirely of the master suite they share.
Steve is still shell-shocked, and just stands there, blankly watching Bucky disarm himself as quickly as Nat did downstairs. He took his helmet off in the jet, and Bucky wonders if he left it there, because it’s not with Steve now.
The second Bucky drops the last of his knives on the dresser with the rest of them, he crowds into Steve’s space. Reaches up to cradle Steve’s face between both of his gloved hands.
“Stevie,” he soughs tenderly.
Steve’s eyes, blank and blue, finally focus on Bucky’s.
“We’re okay, honey,” Bucky tells him, and Steve’s eyebrows furrow, but he nods. “We’re okay,” Bucky repeats, then leans in to brush their lips together.
It’s not exactly a surprise that the featherlight touch of Bucky’s kiss is returned by the fierceness of Steve’s. That Bucky’s kiss is what awakens Steve’s senses again. It always does.
Steve’s arms circle around Bucky and squeeze, pulling them tightly against each other, even with all the Kevlar in the way.
“Bucky,” Steve sighs, his voice strained and broken. “Bucky, that was— You—”
“Shh.” Bucky stops Steve’s words with another kiss.
He had a close call, too, and he and Steve were on opposite sides of the fight when it happened. Steve was forced to just watch that building fall on Bucky, helpless to stop it from happening. And then Bucky dug himself out just in time to scream over the comm at Steve as he went rushing into that—
No! They’re here, and they’re fine. They’re safe. Everyone is alive.
“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs again, so close, their lips brush over the words. “Let’s go get clean, huh?”
Bucky orders Steve to undress while he turns the shower on, as hot as either of them can stand. They’re both covered in dirt, debris, blood, and fear, and they need to sear this night out of their skin.
Steve is still slowly working on getting out of his tac suit when Bucky turns away from the shower and starts on his own buckles. He still looks so lost.
Bucky hates that look on Steve’s gorgeous face. It doesn’t belong there. Bucky doesn’t want it there. He abandons his own clothes to step forward and help Steve with his.
What actually ends up happening, is Bucky helps Steve out of his suit, while Steve helps Bucky out of his, and by the time they’re peeling the tight compression shirts off of each other’s torsos, careful with where their blood has crusted the fabric to their skin, the bathroom has filled with steam.
Steve rakes his eyes over Bucky’s face, like he’s searching for something. Then, suddenly, he seals their lips together like he’s going to battle again.
He must pull them into the huge walk-in shower during the kiss, because the next thing Bucky knows, lost in the feeling of the love of his life kissing and manhandling him possessively, he’s under the stream of scorching water, and Steve’s hands are all over him.
If they weren’t both so fucking bone-tired, maybe the groping would be leading somewhere. Bucky sure wouldn’t mind wrapping himself around Steve to reassure them both that they didn’t actually lose each other tonight, even if they got too close. But as it is, there’s no way either of them are going to get it up tonight, even with their serums, and Steve’s hands are feeling for injuries as much as they are just feeling Bucky’s body.
Bucky lets this go on for a minute — their mouths open to each other as Steve runs hands all over his skin — until, finally, he steps back.
Steve makes a soft mournful sound at the small amount of space Bucky puts between them, but he’s too sleepy to chase after him. Which means he’s very sleepy.
“Lemme see,” Bucky commands, searching over Steve’s body with his eyes, looking for any signs of injuries that are too serious for just the serum to take care of. And also, if he’s honest, appreciating the view, no matter how banged up Steve is — they both are — right now.
Steve sighs, but allows it, considering he was just doing the same to Bucky, albeit with his hands rather than his eyes. He even turns around when Bucky twirls his finger, lets him search over his back.
“Okay,” Bucky finally says, satisfied that the cuts and bruises on Steve’s flesh will heal on their own over the next few days. “You break your hand?”
“No,” Steve answers, shaking out the offending appendage. “Just a bone bruise, I think. How’s your neck?”
“Hurts,” Bucky admits, “but it’s fine. I blocked it with the arm, so the wall didn’t actually fall directly on my head.”
“Oh good,” Steve says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. But he’s smiling gently as he reaches out to draw Bucky back into his arms under the water.
Bucky laughs when Steve nuzzles into his hair, nose poking into Bucky’s ear on accident.
“Come on, pal,” he coaxes, reaching out blindly for the shampoo, and finding it. He squirms enough away from Steve's vice grip on him to pool some of the shampoo into his palm, then hands the bottle to Steve. “You do me, and I’ll do you.”
Steve lets out a tired little chuckle, and closes his eyes as Bucky starts lathering shampoo into his sweaty, golden hair. The helmet kept the ash and dirt out of it, at least. Unlike Bucky’s, which currently looks totally grey from the debris.
“I’ll do you t’morrow,” Steve slurs, smirking. “An’ vice versa, too, ‘f you wan’.”
Bucky scritches Steve’s scalp, and then sighs out a soft moan when Steve starts washing his hair in turn.
They spend the rest of their shared shower bathing each other instead of themselves. It’s the most intimate act they can manage tonight, and it’s nice. It’s comforting.
When they turn off the water and step out of the shower together, Steve wraps a huge, fluffy towel around Bucky, and plants a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.
“I love you,” Steve tells him. It’s his heart on his sleeve, and Bucky has never once doubted its truth. “Thanks for taking charge when we got home.”
“You feel any better?” Bucky asks him, sticking one hand out of the towel to find Steve’s hand and squeeze.
Steve nods. “A little.”
“I love you, too,” Bucky whispers.
Steve kisses him again.
Bucky’s hair is still damp, but he can’t be bothered to wait for it to dry before getting in bed. Let his hair be a lion’s mane tomorrow. Who gives a fuck? He’s wearing a pair of Steve’s sweatpants, which are too big on him, rolled at the waist, and one of Steve’s old shirts. It’s soft, baggy, and it smells like Steve. It’s Bucky’s favorite thing to sleep in, aside from nothing.
Apparently Steve is on something of a similar train of thought, because he whines petulantly, boxers in hand, “Why do I have to put clothes on?”
“Because Sam and Nat are here,” Bucky responds simply.
They both know what that means.
Steve pouts, but gets dressed.
Well, he puts the boxers on, anyway. Bucky counts that as a win.
Steve is climbing into bed with Bucky when the inevitable happens.
“Anyone naked?” Nat calls through the door instead of knocking.
“Sadly, no,” Steve replies, so the bedroom door opens.
Nat comes right in, followed by Sam. They’re both dressed in their own pajamas, that they keep here for nights like this, and Sam is carrying a massive pizza box.
Bucky sits straight up in bed as the smell of food hits him, making his mouth water, and his stomach rumble. He’s so fucking beat, he forgot about eating.
This is part of why they tend to huddle together after missions like this. None of them have the wherewithal, in these moments, to be able to take care of everything. So, one of them will make sure they all shower, another will make sure they all eat.
Which they do now, piled together on Steve and Bucky’s huge bed. They don’t even speak, just scarf down the entire gigantic pizza between the four of them, as quickly as they can.
When it’s gone, Nat closes the box and then kicks it off the foot of the bed. Steve pulls Bucky back into the en suite bathroom to brush their teeth, and when they’re both done, Natasha and Sam take turns brushing theirs, too.
Steve settles into the middle of the bed, opening his arms so Bucky can climb into them. He hums, pleased, when Bucky lays his head down on his broad, bare chest, and Bucky hums right back when Steve starts playing with his hair.
Bucky’s tired. Between Steve’s warm, pillowy chest, angled a little bit towards him so he can press lazy kisses between his pecs, and the way Steve’s hands are carding through Bucky’s slightly-damp hair, he’s almost asleep when Nat climbs into the big bed behind him. But he smiles as she wraps one small arm around his waist, and buries her face between his shoulder blades. Steve pets her head a few times, and then his hand returns to Bucky’s head.
The bed dips on the other side as Sam climbs in next to Steve. He tucks himself behind Steve’s shoulder, and loops an arm around his little waist, blindly finding Nat’s hand in between Steve’s and Bucky’s bodies and lacing their fingers together.
There was a time, not all that long ago, in fact, that Bucky could barely let Steve hold him like this. When he first came in from the cold, he could barely let Steve touch him at all. They would sleep in this bed together, on opposite sides, a mattress the size of the Grand Canyon between them, and Bucky would yearn. Then there was about seven months when Bucky was okay with Steve, and only Steve, touching him for relatively short periods of time. And then the Cuddling Breakthrough, when he suddenly wanted nothing more than for Steve to just hold him all the time, constantly, and he’d get upset when Steve let him go, even for necessary things, like eating, and using the bathroom.
And then came the night Steve kissed him for the very first time, and everything, everything changed.
But even then, Bucky couldn’t have imagined that this would have ever been possible for him. Not just that he and Steve have been steadily together for almost four years now. Not just the rings they wear when they’re not on missions. Not just that Bucky has friends now, that he’s part of a team.
But this: Natasha’s arms around his waist, her leg draped over his. Steve pressing kisses into Bucky’s hair, one of his huge thighs slotted between Bucky’s. Sam snoring against Steve’s shoulder, one of his ankles hooked around Bucky’s. The four of them piled together like kittens, physical affection that’s almost aggressive.
And Bucky loves it. He loves it. The four of them, they’re family. Somehow, Bucky has a family again. They go into battle together, trust each other with their lives. They listen to each other, take orders from each other, they’ve got each other’s sixes.
And when they come home, exhausted, buzzing with ice-cold fear that hasn’t yet dissipated, they’ve got each other here, too. They have this.
Sam snorts awake just long enough to mumble, “‘Night. Love y’all.”
“Love y’too,” Nat replies directly into Bucky’s spine.
“Goodnight,” Steve says, his breath ruffling Bucky’s hair a little. “I love you guys so much.”
“Love you,” Bucky murmurs, too. Another thing he didn’t think he’d be able to do, dropping love confessions casually like this to his friends. His love used to feel like a burden, like a curse for those around him. Not anymore. Not with these people in bed with him.
Steve’s lips press sleepily against Bucky’s forehead. “I love you the most, Buck,” he whispers softly.
Bucky’s lips pull into a smile, and he hums, content.
“Heard that,” Natasha mutters, just as Sam lets out a tired, “‘M hurt, Steve.”
Steve snorts into Bucky’s hair.
Today sucked. Today was terrifying. Today got way too close to being catastrophic. But they have this.
And this helps.
Sam is snoring again. Natasha’s breathing has evened out against Bucky’s back. And he can tell that Steve is finally starting to drift off, too.
Yeah, Bucky thinks, right before he succumbs to sleep himself. This helps a lot.