Work Text:
The thing you have to understand about Bucky Barnes is that he’s a little shit.
1. Clint
Draw. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Kiss the string. Open your eyes on the breath out. Release between one heart beat and the next and-
“What the fuck is with your goddamn fucking humming, Barnes?!” Clint explodes as his arrow misses the target for the seventh time in a row.
Bucky blinks up guilelessly at Clint from where he’s sprawled with his rifle propped up on his arm. All three of his successive shots hit the target without him looking. Fucking super-soldiers.
“You keep humming. All. The. Time,” Clint grinds out, glaring for extra measure. He doesn’t miss. Ever.
“Oh,” Bucky says, sitting up properly. “It helps me concentrate I guess? I don’t even notice I’m doing it most of the time.” He grins up at Clint, face the picture of innocence. “I can stop if it bothers you?”
Clint nods tersely, and lines up his next shot.
“Are you kidding me?!”
Bucky’s not even got the excuse of concentrating this time, leaning against the wall and laughing unrepentantly at Clint. Clint’s bow creaks ominously in his grip.
“A little humming disturbs you?” Bucky asks, “How do you cope in a firefight?”
“It’s different,” Clint hisses, looking for something to hurl at Barnes. He settles for his shoe in the end.
Bucky bursts out laughing as the shoe bounces off his left shoulder, and ducks through the door as he picks up his tune again.
“Is that fucking Taylor Swift?”
2. Sam
They’re drinking coffee on the communal floor of the tower, right on the top floor. Sam likes it up here, sat by the window; it’s the nearest thing to flying without actually, you know, flying.
“Did you listen to that CD I lent you?” he asks, watching as Bucky tracks details he can’t pick out down in the street below.
“Troubleman? Yeah, I listened to it,” Bucky replies, turning back to Sam.
“What did you think?”
Bucky pauses, and looks like he’s trying to say something. Sam knows he’s been working with his therapist on not necessarily saying the first thing that comes to mind. In the grand scheme of things, Sam’s amazed that this is one of the things that Bucky wants to work on, but it’s something that seems to bother him, and hey, who is he to say anything about someone else’s therapy?
“It’s okay if you didn’t like it you know,” Sam says gently. Sometimes Bucky needs reminding about little things like this, especially when he gets that distant look in his eyes. “You’re allowed to have opinions about things.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, rolling the edge of his cup across the table. It’s a nervous gesture, one that Sam doesn’t think he even notices he’s doing. “It was alright… It’s just, I’ve been looking at some different music, you know? Like you suggested?” Sam nods encouragingly. “And I found a singer I quite like.”
“That’s great,” Sam says. “What do you like about them?”
Bucky chews his lip thoughtfully. “I think she’s really expressive with what she sings about. It’s something, um, something I can really relate to.” He pauses almost nervously. “Would you like to borrow a CD?”
“I’d love that,” Sam smiles. Bucky’s not often the one to initiate things, and he’s learnt from past experience to always try and encourage it. “Maybe you could share with the others around here?”
*
Three days later Sam finds himself fielding a number of texts from Clint’s what the fuck wilson? to Bruce’s I assume this is your doing… None of them actually tell him what he’s supposedly done, and it’s not until he gets home to find the entire Taylor Swift back catalogue loaded onto his computer (don’t even ask him how Bucky got it there, but he suspects JARVIS) that it dawns on him.
He’s known Steve for far too long to still fall for the aw-shucks innocence routine.
(The others’ responses don’t register to him until he tries to actually delete the albums. Because simply deleting them would be too easy. When he phones Bucky, he can practically hear him shrugging over the phone. “I wanted to share, Sam. I couldn’t do that if people just deleted the music without listening.”)
3. Tony
It is a well-known fact that Bucky and Natasha have a routine. They are not to be disturbed between two and four every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday, while they complete their weird Pilates-come-aikido-come- Russian boxing (which is apparently very specific, and not at all the same as normal boxing) routine in the small work-out room. And when they say not to be disturbed, they mean it. Tony was seen running for his life the last time he interrupted them. (Not that there isn’t a standing invitation to join them; there is, of course, but no one has been brave (read: crazy) enough to accept the offer yet.)
Which is why (it totally is, don’t argue with him on this) it takes Tony seven weeks to notice that the routine has, changed somewhat. He is so not above spying on various inhabitants of the tower through the camera network, but the last time he disturbed them scarred him okay, and he’s not even spying, it’s a total accident (he swears).
And the thing is, it actually is. He’s recently upgraded the tower software to be more sensitive to anything related to Taylor Swift, following Barnes’ oh-so-hilarious prank. It’s not that he has anything against her, per se (except he totally does), it’s just that there’s only so much country pop someone can be exposed to before they literally go insane and he really doesn’t have time for that thank you very much Bucky Barnes. So really, it’s not actually his fault that the software automatically pulls up a real-time video of a perfectly choreographed wii-dance routine to Shake It Off, courtesy of the tower’s two resident Soviet Assassins.
He may be willing to concede that it is his fault that he watches the whole thing, and then re-watches it twice, but really that was seriously impressive.
He’s still not entirely sure that he didn’t imagine the whole thing though, especially since the video disappears off the system entirely overnight, and despite his best efforts, he never once catches them at it again.
Maybe it’s too late to save himself from the insanity of country pop.
(Bucky Barnes may be a little shit but he has a veritable wealth of accomplices.)
4. Thor
Really, there are a lot of people to blame for what Bucky considers his greatest success, but in the interest of brevity, he’s going to blame Tony because he usually blames Tony. You see, the thing is, he really did think that people would be able to see this coming. He really did. He’s not even sorry it happened, because it was so obvious.
Yes, he will admit that he suggested that a certain Norse god should listen to a certain American singer, but he is not responsible for what happened next. And besides, he had a hell of a shock the first time he met Thor, and no one thought to warn him, so all's fair as far as he’s concerned.
*
“My friends!” Thor announces as he strides into the room as only gods can announce. “Today is a most joyous occasion. I have purchased us tickets to what I consider to be a most splendid event.”
Everyone turns to look at Thor, expressions ranging from mild interest (Natasha) to downright incredulity (Tony).
“You bought tickets?” Tony asks, something akin to panic flickering across his face.
“Indeed,” says Thor proudly, “Friend Barnes helped me.”
Tony’s expression freezes, and he slides his gaze to Bucky. Bucky for his part is remaining completely stoic. He will, as Thor said, share this most joyous occasion with his friends thank you very much.
Bucky’s obviously not as stoic as he thinks though, because Tony swallows audibly. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Bucky positively cackles.
(Which is, long story short, how the avengers find themselves surrounded by teenagers at a Taylor Swift concert. Because no one is capable of saying no to Thor.)
(And maybe, if you asked him - not that anyone will - Thor would tell you the truth. The truth is, he’s not so naïve as everyone seems to believe. As much as it baffles him, he thinks he prefers his friends to see him like this, rather than as the destructive force, bathed in youthful rebellion, that the rest of the universe recognises in him. So the truth is, Thor does not much care for this female singer; her voice is pleasant certainly, but he’d much rather listen to minstrels of Asgard. The truth is, standing in this concert venue, surrounded by children, he’s not sure he’s ever seen the warrior Barnes smile so openly.)
5. Bucky
The thing is, he’s a little shit. He knows this, Steve knows this, everyone else should know this by now. And yes, this would have been exactly within his MO had it been possible when they were kids.
But.
He actually really does like Taylor Swift.
He’s aware that no one believes him. He knows that most people seem to expect him to listen to some angry-punk-rock combination or something, but what they don’t know was that it was always him dragging Steve to the dance halls. And not even always to dance, sometimes he just wanted to listen, to sit beside Steve and let the music drift over them.
He doesn’t even know what is about her music. Objectively, he should hate it; it’s inconsistent from album to album, and the themes are repetitive, and it’s certainly not pitched at people like him. But he likes the way it makes him feel, and he found it all on his own. When he was lonely, and angry, and clicking through the internet because he just wanted to find something that could be his, something that someone hadn’t recommended for him. And maybe it was a rebellion of sorts, something as different as he could possibly find, but it’s his goddamnit, and he’s going to listen to country pop if he wants to and if anyone tries to tell him not to then, well, he has a metal arm. And JARVIS seems to like him.
+1. Steve
“I had a good time at the concert last night.”
Bucky looks up from where he’s making coffee to see Steve leaning against the door frame. He has that forced casualness that he could never pull off, not when he was small, and not when he was suddenly too big and didn’t know what to do with his expanse of limbs. Bucky always could read him like a book.
“You seemed like you were enjoying yourself,” Steve continues, accepting the mug that Bucky offers him.
“Yeah,” he pauses, frowning at his coffee. “It was good to do something, normal, I guess?” He shrugs, and wonders if Steve is thinking about sitting in dark corners, nursing beer they couldn’t really afford, sitting too close together (not close enough) and listening to music that’s braver than he’ll ever be.
“Hmm,” Steve nods, and Bucky is suddenly so tired, so fucking tired of not knowing what he’s thinking.
Because the thing is, Bucky’s a little shit. He’s all front, and bluster, loud mouth and sharp tongue. The easiest place to hide is in other people’s faces. But he’s all talk and no content, and Steve was always the brave one. And maybe Steve was right, all those years ago. Maybe he should have let Steve go, lived his own life. Maybe then Steve would have found a wife, either then or now, and maybe he’d be happy, with children. Because how can this be what he wants? How can he be happy with a ghost of his friend, who’s almost whole some days, and is in pieces the next? How can he cope with talking about something from their past, only to be met with a blank stare? Bucky has always known that Steve deserves more; more than the hand fate dealt him, more than he’s allowed himself, more than Bucky.
“So, um,” Steve starts, oblivious to Bucky’s inner turmoil. And since when has Steve not been able to read him as well as he can read Steve? “There was something I wanted to ask you?”
Bucky stares. Pissed off, and hurting for no reason at all, and god he’s a shell of a person, a walking car crash. His hands are shaking, and he can’t breathe and why does this keep happening? He’s so broken, and even thinking it, he can feel something crack further somewhere deep inside him.
“Why do you keep changing my ring tone?”
It’s so incongruent, so unrelated to the car crash in Bucky’s head that for a moment he freezes like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Of all things that he thought Steve was going to say, this didn’t even occur to him. It’s been habit for such a long time now; see Steve’s phone unattended, check the ringtone, change it back. Completely on autopilot. He can do it in under thirty seconds now and put it back without Steve noticing, and god this is so unrelated that all he can do is laugh.
“Oh Stevie,” he chokes out, and from the look on Steve’s face, he’s as shocked by the nickname as Bucky is. He’s about to carry on when Steve’s phone rings.
You’re on the phone with your girlfriend – she’s upset…
Steve shuts his phone off, and looks at Bucky. “Well?”
Bucky pauses, and glares at Steve to check that, yep, he actually is serious, and wow would you look at the earnestness of that face. “You having never been stupid, Steve,” he snaps, because Steve never has been, and Bucky thought he knew him better than that. Jesus fuck, he swears internally, I'm too old to deal with this shit, before stomping off to go shoot something. And maybe annoy Barton.