Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s been 8 weeks.

8 weeks since Bucky allowed Steve to find him.

Allowed is not the word that Sam would use, especially not after he woke up from the coma the Winter Soldier had put him in for just a little over a day after their altercation. But allowed is the only word that Nat would use, even though she made it out of that allowance with a pint less of blood than she entered with.

Bucky allowed Steve to find him, 56 days ago, and today the sun ain’t even up yet but the avengers are, all of them.

‘No rest for the wicked’ Nat had quoted as they made their way down to the quinjets about two hours before sunrise. She had chuckled to herself, the only one who made any noise, the others staying silent. Clint cracked a smile and continued suiting up, but the others seemed to keep glancing over at Bucky.

Bucky who was standing alone in the corner, knife twirling in hand, stance predatory but an almost boyish glint in his eyes as he stared out the window at the world below, scared and afraid, but oh so determined. A look that seems to match Steve’s default, and this morning, it seemed to spur the Captain forward. It wasn’t till they landed that Bucky vanished entirely, his face a mask of cold detachment, ice blue eyes only softening when glancing at the star spangled man.

Even after three hours on the ground fighting, Steve still isn’t too sure about this mission, but he’s more sure than the others, more sure than he usually is, because this time he has Bucky by his side. He knows the others are wary, that they aren’t sure this is a good idea, but Steve knows it’s for the best.

Bucky’s restless, wants to fight, needs to protect, needs to be reminded that the arm, that he can still some good. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t say the words, doesn’t say anything in English or Russian or Japanese or French or German, or in any of the languages that he screams out during the night. But Steve knows, he knows that Bucky needs this, needs to be out with them, gun in one hand, grenade on his belt and knives tucked away in the folds of his black leather uniform that he hadn’t been willing to give up, even if the muzzle hasn’t made a reappearance since Steve tore it off all those weeks ago. Steve doesn’t see it as allowing Bucky a chance to remember a small part of what he once was, but in a way that’s exactly what is happening now that Bucky is fighting by his side, allowed to fight how he wants after all these years of orders, allowed to take down the ‘bad’ guy, and save people instead of slaughtering them.

The others weren’t exactly concerned that Bucky wasn’t ready to be out in the field, it’s simply that they don’t reckon giant sludge monsters and humans and whatever the hell else that are fighting, would be the best mission to start Bucky out on. But there are no stairs in this pool, one simply has to dive head first in, and they didn’t really have a choice, or any chance of stopping Bucky from diving right into the madness. Not with Steve adamant about Bucky’s presence in this fight, and Thor still in Asgard for another week or so.

It was more so, the avengers weren’t sure if Bucky was ready, but they couldn’t be concerned with that right now, not with well, whatever the hell they were dealing with, not when it’s an all hands of deck situation. They don’t trust Bucky, not exactly, but they do trust his rage, trust his skill; and more than anything they trust that he’ll protect Steve even if he doesn’t really understand why.  Even if he dies trying, he will protect Steve till his last breath, and Bucky doesn’t need a reason for it, never really has.

…

“Rogers, you’ve got incoming.” Nat says into the comm, it’s the first thing anyone has said in the last half hour, the only sound heard over the comms the hail of bullets, grunts and the yells of those dying around them.

“Thanks.” Steve grits out before severing the head, well some semblance of a head, off of the sludge monster that was seemingly dead set on smothering the Captain to death.

Back on his feet, Steve readies himself for incoming, but spares a second he doesn’t have to glance over to the flash of silver and black.

Steve’s not keeping an eye on Bucky, well not really. It’s not that he feels the need to watch over him, he knows he doesn’t, it’s ridiculous, Bucky is capable, more than capable, but Steve still feels the need to glance over in his general direction every few minutes to ensure he’s still alive, to ensure that he’s okay.

Bucky may not speak, may not want anything to do with Steve, well not seemingly so at least, but that doesn’t mean that Steve doesn’t need constant reassurance that this isn’t a dream. He knows he needs to give Bucky space and he does, he’d do, is doing anything he can, so he gives him space.

Joins Bucky in the gym, spars with him whenever Bucky needs. It’s all Bucky will give him and it’s more than he ever thought he would get. That doesn’t reassure him though, not really, want does is Jarvis, Jarvis who lets Steve knows how Bucky’s heart rate is, Jarvis who will flash a picture of Bucky on Steve’s bedroom wall just for  a second, just so Steve can sleep knowing that Bucky, his Bucky is still alive, even if most of him isn’t with him right now.

Just as the next wave of sludge monsters hit, Steve hears Sam swear through the comms, breath heavy and voice strained, and Steve beheads another creature before he scans the area, looking for any signs of Sam. Before he can shift however, Sam gives a relieved sigh followed by a muttered ‘Thanks Barnes’ only a few seconds later, and Steve doesn’t even fight the temptation to smile, and even when his uniform gets sliced into minutes later, he still has a smile curling his lips.

…

It comes out of nowhere.

Steve knows that is what they always say, but it does.

One second he is using his shield to slice the head off the, well, whatever was in front of him that was half person half black goo, and then there was something coming towards him out of the corner of his eye. He saw the flash of black and silver heading his way before he saw the flash of purple, light reflecting off the canister that was coming his way, and then Bucky was knocking him onto the ground without a word.

His first thought is a grenade, but there’s no explosion, nothing but a disconcerting click followed by a small ‘pfft’ sound. Steve shifts to ask, moves his head to give Bucky a questioning look but his words lodge in his throat.

Bucky’s not there.

But Bucky’s always there.

He hasn’t left Steve’s view for more than a few minutes since they arrived, almost hanging around to make sure Steve doesn’t end up doing something reckless and stupid, again. Hasn’t allowed Steve out of his sight for any longer than a few minutes, constantly needing to make sure the blonde’s alright. But he’s nowhere to be seen, and his knife is only a few feet away from Steve know, the knife that has never left Bucky’s hand against his will, the knife that stays on his person, the knife that has Steve’s initials carved into the handle to help keep Bucky grounded when he needs it.

“Rogers, status report.”

Nat’s voice is greeted by silence. An uncomfortable uneasy silence that fills Steve up, even though the battle is still happening around them, sure there aren’t that many, well, sludge monsters left. Nothing is silent, except everything is.

“Rogers!” There’s an edge to Nat’s voice now, an uncertain edge that Steve can’t notice, not with his eyes sweeping the area, looking for the flash of black and silver that he had seen only a few seconds ago. He knows what happened, he knows. A flash of purple, Bucky pushing him out of the way, god he doesn’t want to know but he knows.

There’s other voices coming down the comm now, questions, words, but Steve doesn’t really hear them, can’t with silence enveloping his brain.

“Oh Buck.” Steve breathes, the words coming out a lot shakier than he intended. He can’t freeze the way he wants to, he just wraps his fingers around Bucky’s knife and does what he doesn’t want to do, but somehow always ends up doing, he fights.

He takes down one, two, a dozen, all with Bucky’s blade, his shield slung on his back forgotten. He can feel eyes glance over to him, he knows that Tony is hovering above him for a moment longer than necessary, knows that everyone is looking for Bucky now.

No doubt wondering if he’s gone dark side and is about to show up from nowhere and slice their throats without missing a beat. Steve knows that’s not the case, but he doesn’t ease the anxious breathes coming through the comms, he can’t speak, he can only see red.

Steve survives, does the only thing he knows how to do, he fights, body numb, mind not yet comprehending. He’ll look for Bucky as soon as he can, he won’t fail him again, not ever again, not like last time. He isn’t fighting for himself, he never really does, he’s fighting for Bucky, cause whatever that flash of purple did, whatever that canister contained, he will make every single person pay.

“Steve.” Nat urges, her voice cracking, no commanding tone in it now, just desperation for him to speak. She knows he is fine, well relatively speaking, Sam has eyes on him, but no one knows what just happened, and Nat needs an answer, needs to know what the flash of blue light did, the flash that Steve didn’t see.

Steve pauses, his area clear, and opens his mouth, lips parting to tell Nat something, anything, but no words come out. Instead he strains his ears and hopes to god he didn’t imagine what he just heard.

There’s a soft sound, almost a whimper, a sucking in of breathe that is quickly regretted and cut short, but it’s just enough for Steve to catch, just enough to have him shifting his body as fast as he can towards the sound.

He’s intercepted on the way, but it doesn’t take him long to deal with three humans and one, well, human shaped chunk of orange sludge. Within minutes he takes down another four, and heads towards the pipe, the pipe that hasn’t made another sound, but something tells Steve that whatever made the noise is still there. Feet crunch on debris as Steve wipes at the blood smeared across the bridge of his nose, he scans the area one last time before stilling, for some reason needing to make sure it’s safe before he checks.

Leaning down, Steve crouches in front of the end of the pipe. He knows he should be in a defensive position, knows that this could end badly, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even really consider touching the gun tucked into the back of his uniform right now, because something tells him he won’t need it. Maybe it’s just him being reckless, maybe its cause Bucky is gone, or maybe, it’s something else.

There’s the sound again, even quieter than before, and Steve’s eyes focus on the shadow. There’s a little foot, and then Steve’s eyes focus on the person attached to it, finding the face in the dark.

Wide blue eyes meet his, full of fear for a flicker of a second and then they are softening and little arms are extending towards Steve, who is frozen in place, his heart skipping a bit before he is scooping the child up in his arms.

It’s Bucky.

Steve would recognise those eyes anyway, that brown mop on his head, the soft little sound that tells Steve that Bucky’s in pain, and if that’s not enough, the little metal arm that seems to have shrunken down with him gives him away.

It’s Bucky.

But it’s not the Bucky that the avengers know, not even the Bucky that Steve ever met, but it sure as hell is him. 

It’s Bucky, barely old enough to go to school and wearing a blood stained shirt several sizes too big, that Steve doesn’t want to ask the little boy where he found it.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asks, earning a small shake of the head in reply, paired with an indignant look that makes Steve’s heart twinge. They both know it’s a lie, but Steve hopes the wound on Bucky’s cheek is only one the little boy has right now.

Steve’s still crouching, when Bucky’s fingertips dig into Steve’s skin, his head tipping just enough for Steve who is staring intently at the little boy in his arms to understand exactly what is coming. The fights not over yet, just because Bucky is pint sized and Steve’s a little preoccupied, doesn’t mean the, well, whatever they are , are done.

It won’t take long, Steve can get rid of the, Bucky splays his human hand out on Steve’s skin, tapping three times, fifteen of them, but he knows he can’t do it with his pint sized best friend in his arms, cuddling impossibly close and smelling just the way Steve remembers. 

He hasn’t had Bucky hug him since the day Bucky allowed him to find him, and even then it wasn’t the same. Bucky won’t let him console him after nightmares, not after Bucky almost shot him as Steve slipped into his room after one particular hellish nightmare that left Bucky’s body covered in blood tracked scars and resulted in a completely trashed bedside table that suffered the full brute of Bucky’s metal arm; so Steve doesn’t want to let go of him now. Not since he hasn’t really been hugged by Bucky like this since the 40’s, but he can’t think of that now.

Steve doesn’t want to let go, not yet, not after so long, but he needs to. Pressing his cheek against the top of Bucky’s head he breathes him in before he whispers, “I need to put yo-”

Bucky seems to know the rest of the sentence, lets Steve know his answer by clinging to him tighter. He doesn’t want to be put down, won’t tell him, but Steve doesn’t need words to understand Bucky, god he never has.

“Steve what the hell is going on?” Nat demands through the comm as fifteen turn into twenty and Steve’s body is shifting towards those approaching him, Bucky still tucked against his chest as his eyes harden and he forces himself to ignore the way his shift in position makes Bucky wince like he’s hurt all over.

Steve doesn't believe it's the best, doesn't believe he needs to work solo, but he never requests any help. He’ll gladly take what is offered and he’s not too proud to admit he needs a hand, but he often doesn’t request anything, not in an ordinary fight like this one started off as. 

But this isn’t one.

So without thought or hesitation, Steve shifts his stance again, swapping his shield for Bucky, before uttering into his comm as Bucky’s fingers grasp onto the straps of Steve’s uniform securing his position on Steve's back, “I need backup.”

Chapter Text

“Cap?” Nat prompts over the comms for the third time. Her voice sounds tense, tenser than it usually does, and honestly, no one is surprised.

There’s silence in response, nothing but a crackle, and Tony scans the area again, getting lower as the search grows more frantic. It’s been seventeen minutes since Steve requested backup, fifteen minutes since he’d received it, eleven minutes since another wave of the black goo people had hit, and five minutes since anyone had actually laid eyes on the Captain.

“Goddammit Steve, get your ass on the comms.” Sam shakes his head, cursing to himself as he passes Stark once again, and heads towards the ground. Birds’ eye view hasn’t proven to be much of a help yet, so hopefully being grounded will prove more effective.

There’s a small sound, a shifting of a body, and Sam pauses, knife quickly in hand ready to use as Barnes has been teaching him do to so for the last few weeks. He shifts forward, silent as he can be, not silent like the soldier, he knows he will never achieve that, but Barnes seems hell bent of teaching him to be better.

‘You have his back out there, you need to be competent’, is all Barnes had said after corning him in the gym three weeks back. The most words strung together Sam’s think he’s heard from Barnes since he allowed them to find him. But Barnes is a good teacher, and it’s not like Sam had anything to do three hours every morning and two hours each night. Plus the look of excitement and actual happiness from Steve after the first training session which left Sam with bruises that still hadn’t completely healed, meant that Sam wasn’t going to bail on the training, not when they made Steve happy, gave Bucky something to do and actually helped Sam.

Sam’s closer to the sound now, sees a head roll out from behind a block of concrete and then he sees a flash of blue and red, and Sam goes to pocket the knife before remembering the look Barnes’ would give him. Knife lowered but still gripped between fingers, Sam takes a few steps forward before sighing in relief at the sight of Steve.

Steve’s eyes met Sam’s and Sam glares at him for a moment, brown eyes softening as soon as Steve gives him a small tired smile and mutters, “Comm broke sorry.”

“Found him.”

The others sigh into the comms, not exactly surprised, but they don’t comment, not since they are heading over to Steve’s location anyway, not when Sam is staring at Steve with wide eyes, unsure what to make of what he is seeing. He doesn’t say a word, not when Steve groans and pulls himself up out of the rubble, shield in one hand and a young boy hugged close to his chest.

There’s silence as they others reach them, and then Nat says before she can stop herself, “Steven Grant Rogers tell me that isn’t who I think it is.”

Steve waits for a few seconds, waits for Tony to land a few steps away, waits for Clint to drop down on a bit of concrete and stretch out his legs, waits for Sam to close his mouth and stop gaping at the child that is observing all of them right now. Bruce clears his throat as he pulls the shirt Clint offers him over his head, and Steve finally speaks, “It’s Bucky.”

“That adorable little bundle huddled in your arms is our master assassin?” Tony asks, not quite believing that the brunette with his face now buried in Steve’s neck and his tiny hands gripping onto Steve’s uniform is the frightening man who took down over a hundred men thus far this morning.

Steve autocorrects, “Ex-assassin”, he doesn’t like saying it, ex or otherwise, but technically it is the truth, and there have been enough lies in Bucky’s life, so lying is not part of their life now, well accept for one lie, and Steve thinks that is best kept secret, forever.

“Is he awake?” Nat asks.

They’re all curious, not about the boy’s consciousness, but the fact that he is a boy, and not well, the Winter Soldier. Steve can see it on their faces and he isn’t surprised, not at all, but he’s not afraid, well not really, and he isn’t nearly as freaked out by this as the others are. But perhaps it’s the solid weight against his chest that he is keeping him calm, the warm breathe against his neck and the knowledge that Bucky is safe right now.

“Yes.”

Steve doesn’t need to glance down, he already knows. Knows by the way Bucky’s fingers tighten on his uniform at the question, a silent yes. He doesn’t want to say it, not even think it, but he’s actually a little satisfied, well more than that, proud almost, that Bucky is holding onto him right now, unabashed and wanting Steve. Steve may have been the only one available, but that doesn’t take away how Steve’s feeling right now, not only wanted but needed by Bucky, and even though he’s little, it’s the sentiment, and he still smells the same, and Steve breathes him in, shield on his back as he hugs the boy closer, securing his position in his arms.

They consider Steve’s answer for a moment before Sam asks, “Can he speak?”

“Probably.”

He hasn’t spoken yet, but he’s probably afraid the others think, scratch that is almost definitely afraid, although Steve isn’t all too sure. Miniaturised Bucky seems to be taking it all extremely well, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and rubble, having just narrowly avoiding his death several times as Steve defended the both of them from men and sludge monsters and a mixture of the two. Plus there is metal arm that Bucky is reluctant to look at, but seemingly unfazed by at this particular juncture of time. He may be calm now, but Steve suspects that won’t last long, and he knows the others are thinking the same thing, all of them bracing for tears and tantrums, and just hoping he is less volatile than his older, larger self.

Still no more of an answer provided by Steve, Tony asks a question he knows no one knows the answer to, but one they are all currently pondering, “Will he speak?”

“Potentially.” Steve answers, eyes on the boy he is now almost cradling. Bucky shuffles a little, perhaps torn between wanting to snuggle closer into Steve’s chest and wanting to be put down and feel the earth beneath his feet. Steve doesn’t want to let him go, doesn’t want him out of his sight, not even out of arms reach, but he doesn’t want to do what Bucky doesn’t want him to do, and that scares him. He’s little now, and unprotected, and he’s scared that Bucky won’t want him near him, won’t let him protect him, won’t understand that Steve has to protect him, that it’s not choice, it’s instinct.

They should be heading back to the quinjet, but none of them have shifted, none of them can take their eyes of the bundle in Steve’ arm, the bundle that shuffles a little before Steve is sitting down on a concrete block, and the boy is stretching out a little, revealing himself to be a little taller than the rest of them were thinking.

Clint shakes his head, and Nat sighs in frustration before Tony asks, “How the fuck did this happen?”

Steve mutters, “Language” before he’s able to stop himself. It’s not that he doesn’t swear, he does, all the fucking time. But there is a child nestled against his chest, one that may have seen over a hundred of dead bodies in the last half hour, but one that Steve still doesn’t think should be sworn in front of.

“How old is he?” Sam already has a guess, but he asks the question all the same. Bruce takes a few steps forward, meets Steve’s gaze before he gives the child a once over from a metre away.

“Five or six at a guess.” Steve offers up and Bruce nods in agreement. Neither of them know, not really, but they are fairly certain he’s about that age. Steve didn’t know Bucky when they were this young, didn’t meet Bucky till he was eight and Steve was seven, but he’s always been good at guessing ages, and the little boy sitting in his lap is certainly not a toddler.

Fed up of knowing nothing, Tony groans in frustration before asking for the third time, but the first time not ignored by the rest of them, “What actually happened?”

“I don’t know!” Steve sighs, trying to keep his voice level and not too loud, trying not to frighten the boy in his arms that had gone rigid a few minutes ago at the electrical crackling of the taser. He’s not surprised, not at all, but he was surprised at the lack of reaction from the gun shots, or the bullets that narrowly missed their heads.

“Steve.” Nat’s voice is soft as she squats in front of Steve, her eyes on Bucky, careful and considering. She shifts, perhaps thinking of reaching towards the two of them before thinking better of it. She’s good at affection and even better at telling when it’s not wanted, just not so great and figuring out when it’s wanted, and even less so when it’s needed.

And right now, trusting as he may be of the Avengers, Steve is fiercely protective of Bucky, and Nat knows better than to touch the boy right now, not with her hands still slightly wet with blood and goo, not with Steve like this. 

Steve’s silent for a moment, eyes on the mess of brunette hair before he hugs the boy impossibly closer, almost protecting him from the past as he says, “There was some form of canister coming towards me, there was a flash of purple, and then Buck knocked me out of the way.”

“Typical Barnes.” Sam mutters. Steve and Bucky are idiots, he knows that already, both of them doing stupid shit to save one another, doing without thinking. He would say it’ll be the death of them but after the train in 1944 and the helicarrier only a few months ago, he knows they’ve missed that window, and will live to stupidly save each other for another few decades at least.

“There was a click and then the sound of gas escaping. I missed what actually happened though.” Steve explains sounding increasingly disappointed with himself as each word passes between his lips. He has better senses than the rest of them, his sense enhanced, but that is no help to him now, not when he missed it, not now that Bucky is tiny and he has no idea of how it happened, well no more idea than that there was a canister and probably gas and then Bucky was just gone.

Tony flies off, heads over to where Jarvis has already found the canister. He’s gone for less than a minute, and no one speaks until he returns canister in hand, well in his suited hand, there is no way he is touching it without knowing what it did. He’s already guessed whatever it was that did this was airborne, but he can’t know for sure, and with the look Bruce is currently fixing him, Tony knows better than to have skin to canister contact.

Tony doesn’t move towards Steve but he does shake the canister in his hand and ignore the glare he gets from Bruce for doing so as he asks, “This canister?”

“Looks like it.” Steve confirms, eyes only touching on the canister for a second before his gaze flits back to Bucky, still not quite believing he’s real.

His Bucky, well the Bucky of this century may be gone, for now, but Steve’s damn sure he won’t lose Bucky ever again, not properly, and while he wants his Bucky back, he will die protecting the Bucky in his arms right now. Any Bucky, of any age he will protect, he will look after as long as Bucky wants him, and if Bucky needs him? There is no place he’d rather be.

“We’ll get it back to the lab and figure something out.” Bruce glances over to Tony, as Nat heads off towards the quinjet and gestures for the rest of them to follow. The avengers don’t comment on the way Steve holds Bucky close as he whispers to him, words too quiet for the rest of them to catch, but the comforting tone and the soft reassuring smile aren’t missed, well isn’t missed by anyone except for Tony and Bruce who are already throwing theories at one another.

They’ve got plenty of work to do, Stark has people on the way to help with the clean-up of the mess the made while saving the city, again, and they don’t need to be here. None of them say it, but with mini Bucky none of them want to be out in the open anymore. They don’t want to the world to be aware of this development, cause the world means Hydra, and Bucky wasn’t safe as an ex-assassin but as a child? He doesn’t even really have a chance.

…

“Steve you need to-” Sam starts, the look Steve gives him cuts him off for only a moment. “Not a request Cap, it’s an order. Give the bundle of joy to someone else and let me stitch you up.” He may be Captain America, but before that he is Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers who is an insolent bastard at the best of times and Sam’s friend always. In the field, he takes orders from Cap no questions asked, but in this quinjet, he doesn’t care what look Steve gives him, not even those baby blues can faze Sam.

Nat’s showered and stitched, in fresh track pants and one of Clint’s tops that they all know he’ll spend ten minutes searching for later until he discovers she’s wearing it, and will steal her shirt in retaliation, not caring that it’s more than a few sizes too small, because, ‘Not only Cap can get ogled in tight shirts’. She heads towards Sam and Steve, her approach not even noticed by Steve until she stops right in front of him, and offers softly, “I’ll take him.”

Steve hesitates, but Sam nods before he can open his mouth and while Nat shifts towards Bucky after Sam’s nod she doesn’t look at Sam or Steve for confirmation, not really, she looks at the five year old.

Bucky looks away from Sam and up at her, eyes widened only a little, calculating. Her arms are a little outstretched to take him, but she stops. The rest of them can tell she’s vulnerable right now, waiting for a sign from the boy, but they aren’t entirely sure why. Her eyes don’t leave his, blue on blue as she waits, oblivious to the rest of the eyes on her, as she waits for the judgment from the little Bucky still on Steve’s lap. Part of Steve wants Bucky to turn around and burrow against his chest, wants him to refuse to be taken, but one look at Nat’s face tells him that isn’t what he wants, even if he doesn’t understand why she looks so desperate for this child’s approval.

Bucky’s expression remains unchanged, but he does shift after a few more seconds, stretching his arms towards Nat and leaning away from Steve. Despite herself a relieved breathe escapes between her lips as she takes Bucky in her arms, and the Captain already misses the child. Steve isn’t entirely sure he’s seeing it right, but when Bucky buries his face in the crook of her neck and wraps arms around her neck, Nat smiles, and that makes him feel guilty for not wanting anyone but himself to hold Bucky.

 Sam watches Steve’s eyes trail after the two of them as Nat takes Bucky to get washed and looked over for any signs of injury. They’ll check him out when they can back to the lab, but for now they just want to know if anything’s broken or bleeding. As the two of them disappear around the corner, Steve shifts to stand up, a move that is met by a firm hand on his chest and a look from Sam. Blue eyes try pleading for a moment, not wanting to leave Bucky, but Sam just shakes his head, used to this by now.

“Touching, now strip and let me look at you.” Sam says, his patience already used up after Banner, who assured him that he was fine about ten times before Sam sliced open his shirt with a knife and sighed at as he wondered why the avengers were so bloody precious about being looked after even though they clearly need it.

…

Stitched up and only a few minutes from the Avengers tower, Steve almost has to forcibly remove Bucky from Nat’s arms. Not because Bucky doesn’t want to move, but because Nat is reluctant to let go, and Bucky doesn’t really seem to care either way. Tony’s already called a meeting, and by the time they reach the common room, Bucky is still in Steve’s arms with Nat hanging only a step behind, both of them far more alert than usual.

Steve doesn’t want to put Bucky down, doesn’t want to shift him from where he’s resting against his hip. At around 5, he’s too big really, but Steve doesn’t care, but when the rest of them start talking, Steve decides it’s best to let Bucky’s feet touch the floor just in case he starts yelling in his ear, he may trust these people but they don’t always agree, and especially where Bucky is concerned, Steve won’t remain silent, not that he ever does.

…

Even as a pint sized Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes still doesn’t speak.

Not that it’s a surprise to anyone. Not really. He didn’t speak as the Winter Soldier, so the voiceless Barnes is not new, in a way it’s almost reassuring. He may be over 90 years younger and a lot less threatening, but the silence, the silence remains.

He listens though. Sits there where Steve left him, still and quiet and unsure, eyes darting around the room, focusing on the face of the one talking, he shakes his head sometimes, nods. But he doesn’t quirk his lips or raise his eyebrows, he just stays silent. It’s a little unsettling almost, how calm he looks, how still he remains, breathing and observing, taking everything in, but not the way the Soldier did, not finding the exit and knowing how to kill everyone in the room using different items near him, but in an eager almost inquisitive way.

They need to take him to the lab, well Tony and Bruce remain firm that they do. Bruce is downstairs already, getting a start on the canister, but Tony’s up here with the rest of them, trying to convince them all, well mainly Steve that they need to give the little boy a proper once over now. They don’t know what happened, not really, not at all. They don’t know why Bucky is quite a few decades younger and still has a metal arm, and metal arm that fits perfectly on his smaller form, and yet looks almost identical to the one he was wearing when they left the tower this morning.

This conversation isn’t going anywhere, but Nat and the others have figured out a few things, but not listening to the arguing but watching Bucky as he watches them. Steering the conversation aware from where Nat knows will lead to yelling and lots of it, she leans back on the couch and clears her throat, shutting Tony up mid-sentence.

“He knows Russian.” Nat tells the room, a fact they already know, but something they want to hear aloud. She isn’t stalling, not exactly, they all know Bucky needs to be looked at but, they want him to be comfortable first, the only thing is they don’t how to do that, so instead Nat has switched the conversation to what they do know, which really isn’t all that much.

Nat glances over to him, eyes resting on the mess of hair on his head that he doesn’t seem bothered by and no one is sure whether they should touch. “He doesn’t know ASL but he wants to learn?” It’s a question out of courtesy, but she already knows the answer, and Bucky’s little nod, barely there and far less noticeable than the way his eyes light up and he looks over to Clint as soon as the words are said.

Sam sighs, wondering why he didn’t decide to spend the entire day in bed today and have waffles for dinner. Eyes avoiding the tiny brunette, he looks over to Clint as he says to the room, “So he can understand fluent English, Russian, French and German.”

“And Japanese.” Pepper adds as she walks in, a tray of mugs in hand. None of them really need coffee, not with the adrenaline pumping through their veins, so she brought tea. Tea that each of them take, the gesture is observed by Bucky but when Pepper looks at him inquiringly the little boy gives a small incline of his head, something that Steve quickly interrupts and vocalises, “He doesn’t want anything, yet.”

Rhodey scans the room before dropping down on the couch. He missed the action, but he couldn’t miss this, not a tiny ex-assassin, and as he glances over at Tony he asks, “And yet he hasn’t said a word in three hours?”

Steve still looks strained, not exactly surprising considering his best friend is now five years old, but as far as Steve’s last few years of his time are concerned, this really isn’t that unusual. Eyes still on Bucky, watching him protectively, Steve answers, “He knew more, as, uh, he knew more yesterday and spoke just as much.”

“What do we call him?” Tony asks, voice low, but words still caught by the little brunette. Blue eyes flick towards Steve, the corners of his mouth seem to twitch, the barest movement, but Nat catches it, she always does. The eyes shift to Nat after a moment, and the boy nods at her.

“Bucky.”

Nat and Steve say the word at the same time, Steve’s voice cracks a little, eyes growing wet as he looks at the boy sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around his legs observing them all. Bucky’s only 5 or 6, Steve isn’t sure, not completely, but he does know that Bucky was curious, and even know as the boy looks at each and every one of them, his eyes no longer beholding the menace they had when they overlooked each avenger only a few days ago, the boy simply looks intrigued and more than a little shy.

…

It seems to be settling in now.

For all of them.

Especially Bucky, Bucky who is eyeing his metal arm with wide eyed caution. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t need to, they all know that he’s scared. There’s only three of them in the lab, the rest of them busy elsewhere in the tower, but not too busy to be down here, purposely busy as to not overcrowd the boy with the frantic blue eyes, looking for explanations but not ready to question for them.

Bucky’s only little, he may be still and observant, but he still doesn’t understand. He looks around the room, eyes flitting over everything, lingering on a few objects but his gaze not resting anywhere. Steve thinks he may be looking for a window to gaze out of like he had upstairs but he’s distracted by a scary looking kit that Bruce is opening, a kit that Steve knows that is meant for Bucky.

Tony talks to Jarvis, as he always does, then proceeds to talk to the rest of the room. As usual Steve goes to tell Tony to shut up, that he doesn’t really care but before he does, he glances over to Bucky, Bucky who remains completely still but isn’t as tense anymore. Whether he understands what Tony is talking about is unsure, but the genius’ ramblings seem to be doing something, the sound of his voice, seems to relax Bucky a little. The continuous sound of Tony’s words emptying out unfiltered as his tinkers away and gets Jarvis to get as much information on the boy sitting on his work bench as possible, seems to be soothing the boy, and that Steve is grateful for.

…

“He’s 67 months old sir. 5 years and seven months.” Jarvis informs them, the information barely heard as Steve continues to block Bruce and Tony’s path to Bucky. He stands in front of him, just a few steps, unwilling to let him them touch him, not yet.

Half an hour later Steve is still talking to Bruce, while Tony continues to rambles on about the arm to Bucky. The rambling something that Steve is now growing accustomed to, something that he is making him smile because even out of the corner of his eye he can see that Tony’s words are still relaxing Bucky. Even though Tony is a few metres away from him as he tinkers, Bucky isn’t as rigid as before, and he appears calmer now, eyes on Tony as he listens, no longer scared by the metal attached to his shoulder, but eyeing it up whenever Tony gestures towards it, genuinely intrigued.

“Steve you know we need more.” Bruce says, his voice soft as he nudges Tony out of the way again. They need blood, they need to actually touch the arm, to get proper scans. Jarvis has already collected data without any of them even needing to approach Bucky, leaving him sitting on the only clear space on a work bench, one that Tony had cleared for him with a swing of his arm upon entering the room. Steve is still in front of him, almost blocking Bruce and Tony, arms crossed as he stares them down, he trusts them, it’s not that he doesn’t, it’s just that, well, it’s Bucky. It’s a 5 year old, scruffy haired, still silent Bucky, and Steve needs to protect him.

Steve doesn’t move, but he does stop glaring at the spot on the floor that used to house a chair, a chair that Tony had blown up the day after Bucky had arrived, as per requested by the silent assassin. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but when he broke down at the sight of the chair, the chair far too reminiscent of the one he spent far too many hours in, Tony hadn’t even paused before getting Steve to throw it for him to shoot down over the ocean.

Tony sighs, his rambling paused as he gets impatient again, impatient as always, his gaze once again refusing to stray to the little boy in an oversized t-shirt, who he has been comforting for the past half hour, the boy who is sitting far too still for any child of his age. “Do you want him bite sized forever?”

Steve glances over at Bucky, eyes on him for only a second, before he shakes his head. Part of him wants to keep Bucky like this, if it means that this Bucky is happy, if this Bucky doesn’t remember, but he can’t keep Bucky like this, unable to protect himself, unable to actually be himself.

“But-” Steve starts, not ready for them to slice into him or pop open his arm.

Tony’s heard this before, three times already, so he tunes him out, tinkers with the object in front of him, before he allows his eyes to stray, allows himself to look at the miniaturised assassin, which despite Tony’s best instincts, all he wants to do is wrap him into a hug and feed him waffles.

Blue eyes are calmer now when they meet Tony’s, soft pink lips don’t part but the head shifts, just enough to be a nod, just enough for Tony to know that the tiny little assassin is nodding at him, is agreeing to what his blonde guardian is trying to contest.

“It’ll hurt a little.” Tony says, directly to Bucky now. Steve pauses mid-stream his arms unfolding as he looks from Tony to Bucky, but each only have eyes for each other. The boy blinks, blinks his understanding, gives Tony consent, tells him it’s okay, you don’t need to worry, I’ll be fine. “If it’s too much you tell me okay?”

Bucky cocks his head, and while nothing else shifts, his mouth doesn’t quirk in the corners, his eyes don’t crinkle at the sides, Tony knows without a doubt that Bucky is saying don’t worry, which is oddly comforting in a situation where he is meant to be reassuring the five year old, not the other way around.

Steve wants to take his tiny hand in his and let him hold onto it with all his might, but he doesn’t want to make Bucky do what he doesn’t want to, not when he did it for so long. The little boy isn’t scared now, he’s relaxed, not smiling, but he could be, and he doesn’t need reassuring, but perhaps Steve does. “You can squeeze my hand if you want?” Steve asks, following after Bucky as he clambers off the bench, and heads towards the stool that Tony nodded towards.

Once seated Bucky’s glances up and he outstretches his hand, a clear ‘Please’ written in the shimmering grey of his eyes, one that Steve maybe moves to fast to attend to, whacks his head on the work bench on his way down with a quickly muffled, “Shit.”

“Graceful as usual Cap.” Tony smirks, kneeling down in front of Bucky who eyes Steve’s head cautiously before taking Steve’s hand in his and giving it a squeeze, one that isn’t to benefit Bucky, one to say, ‘are you okay?’.

“If you want to stop you tell us, okay?” Bruce squats down in front of Bucky, kind eyes gaining a nod from Bucky. Steve watches Bruce for a moment, sad for a moment that neither of them will have kids of their own, a fate he has accepted, but for Bruce, with his kind brown eyes and his comforting smile as he asks Bucky, “You don’t need to speak if you don’t want to, but you let us know, okay?” Steve wonders why such a good father will never be able to be one.

Chapter Text

Bucky glares at the bowl in front of him, arms crossed as he regards its content for another moment before shaking his head. Steve’s lips threaten to curl into a smile at the sight of Bucky refusing his dinner, but he knows Bucky didn’t eat before they went out this morning, he knows he hasn’t eaten in hours, and this is the third bowl of food that he has refused to touch.

Tony and Bruce are down in the lab, Clint and Nat are on the other side of the city doing something that needed to be dealt with efficiently and quietly, and Pepper is organising Bucky’s room on Steve’s floor. So it’s just Sam and Steve facing off the ex-assassin, who is sitting on Steve’s lap, glaring at the bowl that Sam is offering to him.

Sam sighs, “He needs to eat it.”

“He won’t.”

Steve knew this was going to happen. He knew Bucky probably wouldn’t eat. Bucky hardly eats these days, doesn’t really bother showing up to meals, eats when he needs to and only when he needs to. But this Bucky is different, this Bucky is small and unsure, this Bucky doesn’t know what the old Bucky did, hasn’t struggled the same ways, and in all fairness, Steve probably wouldn’t eat what Sam was holding out to him anyway.

It probably tastes okay, but it doesn’t look appealing. Well not to Steve at least, and certainly not to Bucky. Sam gives Steve a look before standing up, taking the bowl with him.

“Then what does he want?”

Sam’s exhausted, his body aches and he is in serious need of sleep. He knew he should have stayed in bed this morning, knew that he shouldn’t have gotten up, but now all he wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep for a few days. Or at the very least sleep for hours and wake up to find that the silent assassin is full sized again and waiting for him downstairs in the gym where Sam will get his ass kicked for three hours but in a helpful way.

Right now he needs sleep, and he is not needing Steve to be looking at with that expression, and he is not needing small blue eyes curiously trial after him in a way that yesterday would make him feel threatened and now just make him feel sad. Those small blue eyes are curious where yesterday they were haunting.

Sam tries not to think about it, but he can’t not, he can’t stop thinking about how those eyes now assess in such different ways. Yesterday those eyes weren’t bright but lifeless, those eyes saw everything, all threats and weapons and routes. Today those eyes are just curious, taking everything in, observing with fascination, so many questions bubbling in his little brain but none making their way onto his tongue. Sam leans against the kitchen counter and rubs his hand down his face, he needs to sleep.

Steve’s quite for a moment, regarding the little boy in his lap who is perfectly content where he is, leaning back against Steve’s chest, as he peeks looks down at his arm every few minutes, regarding the metal arm with curiosity not fear. For a moment Steve wonders if the old Bucky, the one the world let down, ever regarded his arm with curiosity, wondered if Bucky was still excited by science, if he still loved science after everything it did to him. Loves, Steve reminds himself, Bucky’s still here, he’s not gone.

Sam clears his throat from across the room, and Steve swallows down the lump growing in his throat, wipes at his cheeks before, “Toss me an apple.”

…

“You cannot feed a child like that!” Pepper whispers as best as she can, her eyes a lot wider than they were when she was down the hallway instead of standing in the kitchen next to Nat who is swinging her legs from where she sits on the counter looking totally unperplexed.

Sam shrugs, he isn’t fazed, not after everything he’s seen in the last few weeks, “Its working, nothing else worked.” Pepper glances over to Steve and Bucky before looking back at Sam with wide eyes, wondering why she is the only one not okay with this.

Looking to Clint, not really sure why she thought he would agree, she is still somewhat surprised when he throws a grape up, catches it in his mouth before saying, “We did it all the time.”

“In the circus!” Pepper tries really hard to keep her voice down, tries really hard, but she knows Steve can hear every word anyway so she isn’t entirely sure why she bothers. She bothers because she doesn’t want to disturb Bucky, because the five year old whose lips aren’t curled into a smile seems to actually be happy, because after living with him for 8 weeks this is the first time she has seen him eat anything and seem so unfazed by it.

Steve looks over at them, nods to Sam, and Sam mutters, “What did ya last slave die of?” before he tosses Steve a fourth apple. Steve catches it, and draws the knife over his throat, just a few millimetres away from skin as he smirks at Sam. They both know he heard his muttering, and Sam laughs before stealing a grape off Clint.

Pepper takes a sip of the tea Nat pushes into her hand, and looks over at Bucky and Steve. Bucky is still in Steve’s lap, still not bathed but that will come later, he has his back against Steve’s chest, his mop of hair tucked underneath Steve’s chin, and Steve cuts into the apple with the knife he pulled out of his uniform when Sam tossed him the first apple. Nat knows who the knife belongs to, and had smiled as at him as she walked into the room as Steve cut into the second apple.

Steve cuts a slice out of the apple, and deft fingers pull the slice of apple off the knife before pushing it between pink lips and taking a bite. Bucky isn’t fazed by the knife, didn’t have any problem with eating the first few slices off the knife when Steve had made it a game.

Bucky was only eating because Steve was, was only eating because he was stealing the slices of Steve before Steve could get them himself, was only eating because he was hungry and he felt comfortable, and because even though the pretty lady in the kitchen was watching him with wide blue eyes, she had a warm smile and kind eyes, and Bucky liked the way her expression had made the redhead smirk.

…

Sam glances over at the clock as Nat takes Bucky over to the kitchen with her so that he could pick something to drink. “This is going to be a nightmare isn’t it?”

Distracted by Bucky staring at the contents of the newly opened fridge and clutching onto Nat’s hand, Steve hears Sam, can’t not with his super soldier hearing, but he has no idea what his friend means.

“What?”

“That child needs to be bathed.” Sam says, his eyes on Steve who smiles as Bucky takes a sip of the offered milk before offering the milk to Nat. Nat takes a sip and hands it back to Bucky, and Steve watches this exchange for a few sips before Sam elbows him in the side.

“And?”

Sam rolls his eyes before it dawns on him. Of course, there was a reason Steve didn’t seem phased, it was because he had no idea what was to come. “You’ve never bathed a child have you?”

Steve hesitates, he considers for a few moments, surely he must of at some point. But he hardly thinks it counts that he helped Bucky sometimes when he was too drunk to walk. Shaking his head Steve starts, “Well, no but-”

“Oh brilliant.” Sam runs his hand down his face. Steve gives him a look then glances over to Nat for support, Nat who leads the silent child back over to them rolling her eyes at Steve.

If Bucky was as calm with Clint as he was with Steve, this could be easy, Clint was brilliant with children. But as it stood, Steve was the one Bucky wanted. Sure, he seemed to like Nat as well, but he wanted Steve, that much was clear.

Ignoring the looks Nat and Sam are giving him, Steve takes Bucky’s tiny metal hand in his and says, “Bath time kiddo.”

…

Steve had to admit the way Bucky tensed up, lips parting for a silent scream was a little unexpected. He had glanced over at Sam who wore the same shocked expression, and neither had moved for a few moments. It was Nat who moved first, moved faster than Sam had ever seen her move, and within a second or two she had shut of the shower and had her arms wrapped around Bucky. Bucky who was standing there half-dressed, eyes wet.

With Nat mumbling into Bucky’s hair, her arms wrapped so tightly around the little boy, Steve couldn’t see where she began and Bucky ended. Bucky still hadn’t really moved, was still shaking as Nat mumbled against his hair, Russian phrases that Steve couldn’t understand, but words that he recognised from snippets of conversations.

Nat cradled Bucky close for another minute, before glancing over at Steve and Sam, seemingly surprised by their presence. “No showers.”

They had thought the shower might be a good idea, give Bucky some freedom and privacy, but apparently that was not the best idea.

Steve and Sam nodded in agreement. After that Steve had no intention of ever doing that again. Ever. He’d seen that expression before, he’d seen Bucky look like that before, and god he never wanted to see that expression again, never again. Especially not on a child’s face, not a face so innocent and small, that look didn’t belong on anyone’s face, let alone a child’s. That was a look that no one person ever deserved to wear, let alone as many times in one’s life as Bucky has. 

Nat looked reluctant for a moment, stepped towards Steve then hesitated. He knew she didn’t want to let Bucky go, but Bucky was still shaking, only a little bit now, nothing like before, and she knew what Bucky needed was Steve, even if she wasn’t willing to let the little boy go.

Handing Bucky to Steve, the boy curled into Steve as soon as they made contact, buried his face into the crook of his neck, still shaking but barely. Not even addressing the tear stains on her shirt, Nat’s eyes don’t leave Bucky’s for a few seconds and when they do, her expression is set. “Wait outside, I’ll run a bath. Don’t come in till I say so.”

Sam waits a second before asking, “And me?”

“Go to bed Sam, we’ve got this.” Sam opens his mouth to reply, say how he really doesn’t mind, to say a million other things but Nat just fixes him a look. They have no idea how long Bucky will be small, they have no idea what the next few days will bring, and Sam just nods and heads towards the lift, he needs to get his sleep while he can, because who knows when he’ll be able to sleep again.

…

Bucky’s room is right near Steve’s.

His room is literally right next to Steve’s, only a wall separating them, just a wall. But Steve isn’t sure that he’s okay with that, isn’t sure that he can handle there being a wall in between them. Anything could happen. He knows they’re in the tower, that they should be safe, but anything could happen here, and Bucky can’t protect himself anymore. He needs Steve, needs him like Steve always needed him, and as he tucks Bucky into bed he accepts that he won’t sleep tonight. That he’ll lean against his bedroom wall and listen to the sounds of Bucky breathing, with the footage from the tower projected on the wall opposite him so he can make sure that Bucky’s safe.

Bucky spent ten minutes in the bath, ten minutes of letting Nat and Steve wash him before he started crying again. Steve had spent half an hour with Bucky wrapped up in a towel sitting in his lap as Steve rocked them back and forth, mumbling into his hair as Nat watched over them, stroking Bucky’s back as she stared at the tv, not taking anything in, her expression unreadable.

Pepper had sorted Bucky’s room, had made it perfect for a child, but Bucky didn’t seem interested in the room, not really, he just stared up at Steve, still wrapped in a towel. Steve had glances around the room before his gaze fell on the dresser, the dresser which was filled with clothes, clothes that Steve riffled through before deciding on the dinosaur pyjama pants and a plain black shirt because he knows Bucky doesn’t like wearing long sleeved tops to bed unless its freezing.

Bucky almost looked relieved at the clothes Steve handed to him, and didn’t hesitate to drop his towel and dress himself. Apart from the relief, Steve had no idea what Bucky was thinking, none at all.

And as he finishes tucking him into bed, he wished it were the other way around, Bucky would know what to do, Bucky always knew what to do. Bucky was the one who was good with children, good with everyone; not him, never him. But it wasn’t the other way around, and Bucky was five years old and he needed Steve, and Steve wasn’t going to let him down.

Resting on the bed Steve glances to the door before he looks back to Bucky who has the covers pulled up to his nose and is watching Steve with big blue eyes. “Alright Buck? You nice and warm?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, but Steve didn’t expect him to. He’ll speak in his own time, he knows that.

Steve watches him for a moment, straightens up a little and does a subtle sweep of the room with his eyes before he smiles down at Bucky, “Goodnight Buck, I’ll just be in the next room okay?”

Bucky nods, small and hesitant, Steve doesn’t want to leave, wants to … He turns, and Bucky whimpers and grabs his hand.

“Buck-”

Bucky shakes his head, his small grip on Steve’s hand tightening, as his fingertips dig into Steve’s palm as best they can. Steve smiles at that, smiles and gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze before he says, “You better shuffle over if you want me to stay.”

Within minutes Bucky is curled up against him and fast asleep, his little hand still in Steve’s. Steve can see the eyes on him from the hallway, can see Nat roll her eyes before she heads back to the couch, Steve’s couch which she’ll probably end up not sleeping on, as she keeps an eye out.

Steve knows he should let Bucky sleep alone, but he couldn’t.

Because he isn’t ever going to let go of Bucky’s hand ever again.

Chapter Text

Bucky doesn’t really sleep.

He does, for the first three hours at least. He is adorable snuggling up to Steve, his little head resting on Steve’s chest. Steve finds himself checking Bucky’s pulse every so often, just checking that he is still okay. He isn’t sure why he can’t seem to sleep, why he is watching Bucky’s soft features and smiling down at the sleeping boy, but he can’t bring himself to close his own eyes. He knows exactly how many seconds it will take him to reach his shield from where he lies; he knows where to pull Bucky to if someone somehow gets in. He knows the possibility of someone getting into this room is pretty slim, with Nat in the living room, (probably not sleeping on the couch, just reading something on a Starkpad or watching something with the volume off) an intruders chances aren’t high of making it anywhere near Bucky’s room. And yet, Steve still doesn’t want to sleep. He trusts Jarvis, knows Jarvis will alert him of anything, but that doesn’t mean Steve can stop himself from resisting the sleep that is tugging at him.

Bucky is fine for the first three hours, he sleeps soundly, but then his breath catches.

He starts making small hiccupping sounds and he starts trembling, his eyelids fluttering a little as he slowly curls up into himself. Steve is almost asleep with this starts, so it takes him a few moments to notice Bucky shaking beside him, takes him a few moments to take in the little boy’s quickly whitening face.

He doesn’t know what to do. With the nightmares before Bucky’s nightmares it was different. It was… it was different. Steve isn’t sure what this little boy needs, Bucky was always the one good with children, he was always the one who knew what to do, he always knew what to say. Steve felt he was utterly useless at this sort of thing, but Bucky needed him, needed him because he couldn’t protect himself. Not while he’s asleep, big or little. So Steve does what he thinks he should.

“Bucky.” He whispers, or at least tries to. He knows his voice is louder than he intended, knows it cracks a little. He only knows this because he hears Nat shift from the living room, the first sound of movement from her in over an hour.

Bucky’s so small, it strikes Steve how defenceless, how fragile he is now as he puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, and tries to wake him, tries to wake him without scaring him.

Nat is off the couch now, Steve knows she is almost at the door, and he whispers frantically, “It’s me, it’s Steve, Buck you gotta wake up.”

Bucky doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a word, but those blue eyes flash open and his little fingers are grabbing at Steve, nails digging into flesh as Bucky stares up at Steve for a moment, eyes already wet before he starts to cry and crawls onto Steve, curls up on Steve’s lap and sticks his metal arm behind him.

For a moment Steve’s confused, for a second he thinks of grabbing that little metal arm, thinks of telling Bucky that he didn’t hurt him, and then he feels Nat slipping into bed, and he realises Bucky left that hand for Nat to take.

“It’s okay Bucky, it’s okay, it was just a dream.”

He wants to ask what he saw, what made Bucky so scared, what put that frantic look in his eyes, that look that is eerily familiar to a look that Bucky’s older self gets. For a few minutes Steve wonders what the startling difference is between those looks, wonders as Nat murmurs Russian into Bucky’s hair before he realises what was missing in Bucky’s eyes.

Whatever he dreamed about, whatever he saw – it scared him, terrified him, but the guilt that was smothering Bucky a few days ago, the guilt that was closing in on him, making it hard to breathe, that was missing now.

It wasn’t just a dream, Steve and Nat know that, they know that whatever Bucky saw, whatever he felt was real – was something that Steve’s Bucky - the full sized ex-assassin lived through.

None of them get back to sleep. Not a single one of them. And when the day finally breaks, Steve feels a sense of relief when Nat offers to watch Bucky as Steve goes for a run. This relief is immediately followed by guilt, he doesn’t want to leave Bucky, but Bucky’s head is resting on Nat’s lap now as she strokes his hair and tells him a story in French, and Steve doesn’t feel so bad at slipping out of the room and letting off some steam.

…

“Why are you all looking at me?” Steve asks with a sigh.

It is finally breakfast and Bucky is standing where Pepper left him before she ran off to sort out yet another emergency that they all know she’ll have under control within a few hours at least.

Nat left Bucky with Pepper just after 5am, knowing that the boy liked the strawberry blonde, and knowing that the other blonde was destroying a punching bag in the gym a few floors down, and that Nat was in desperate need of some sleep.

The Captain, whose yesterday is still today really, glances to the boy, the only pair of eyes in the room that aren’t on him, before he looks over to Tony and whispers, “I don’t know what he wants!”

He knows there really isn’t in point in asking him, it’s been almost 24 hours now and he hasn’t said a word. Because of the serum Steve isn’t exhausted, but he’s still tired, he still needs to sleep, but he can’t, he knows he won’t sleep until Bucky does, and from the looks of it, Bucky isn’t keen to head back to bed and attempt sleep anytime soon. But sleep isn’t the most pressing problem, that they can deal with later, hopefully solve with a nap, what they need to deal with now is food. Bucky needs to eat. Part of Steve thinks the best alternative is just to make him what he used to eat and hope for the best, or listen to Tony’s idea (which he’s brought up a dozen times now) for a breakfast buffet where Bucky can just pick and choose.

They argue for another few minutes, Steve desperately trying to think of what to feed Bucky. He knows what he likes, or at least what he liked, but at five years old? The rules of the game have changed, and Steve has just as much an idea as the rest of them. Neither of them notice the other four drift out of the kitchen, or how Bucky waits patiently for them all, eyes on the window as he marvels at the outside world.

Steve and Tony are the only ones left standing in the kitchen attempting to decide what to feed the little soldier when they realise Bucky’s shifted. Thor’s in Asgard, dealing with Asgardian issues, Clint’s out on a mission, doing recon and Bruce is down in the lab, still trying to figure out what exactly turned Bucky into the child he is now, and still grappling with the totally unknown, how to turn him back.  Sam and Nat are at the table, Sam on his fourth piece of toast, slathered in jam while he reads through an article on a StarkPad, and Nat is blinking wearily coffee in one hand, spoon in the other as she makes her way through her muesli, wishing she was still in bed.

Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky has moved until he sees his brown head of hair popping up from the other side of the table, doesn’t notice until Bucky is sitting on Nat’s lap. The redhead doesn’t even look fazed and passes Bucky a spare spoon that lies next to her bowl before she has another mouthful of muesli.

For a moment Steve wonders if Nat knew, if she put the spoon there on purpose, but then Bucky is taking a bite and Tony sighs, “Problem solved.”

Steve’s stomach grumbles and he pours himself a bowl of cereal, and wonders whether the next problem will be as easily solved, wonders what Bucky would do if their positions were reversed.

…

It’s not that Steve hasn’t looked after kids before, he has, sort of.

It’s not that he is useless with people, he isn’t, he is a Captain for god’s sake.

It’s just – he isn’t really sure what to do with Bucky.

It’s not that he doesn’t have ideas, he has plenty, it’s just – he wants to do something that Bucky would want to do. He doesn’t know if Bucky wants to watch a movie or play with lego or go swimming or go for a walk or play on a playground or throw a ball around. He doesn’t know what Bucky wants and Bucky isn’t talking, so he won’t be much help there.

One thing Steve does know is that he doesn’t want to leave the Tower. He wants to keep Bucky safe in the Tower, safe from Hydra and the world. He wants to keep him in the Tower and safe from absolutely everything; germs, violence, people, kidnapping, accidents. He knows that he can’t wrap Bucky in cotton wool, he knows that. But for the next few weeks at least, until they figure some things out, Steve has already decided that Bucky is not leaving the Tower unless it is absolutely necessary that they must.

Steve’s best friend, the man that he has known all his life is now five years old. Steve is having a little bit of a hard time wrapping his head around that. So when Tony suggests, “Give him a ball of yarn or something to play with.”  Steve sighs.

He knows Tony is joking, he does, but he isn’t really in the mood, so instead of smiling he snaps, “He’s not a kitten Tony.”

“Jeez, tough crowd huh.” Tony mutters, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

While Steve and Tony continue to bicker for another few minutes, Nat curls up in Bucky’s bed just down the hallway, knowing without a doubt that Bucky won’t be sleeping in here for a few hours. Nat needs sleep but can’t bring herself to leave the floor. She’d sleep in Steve’s bed, but it’s too hard. While she can sleep on the ground, can sleep literally anywhere that doesn’t mean she dislikes actually bedding – and when she has the opportunity for a comfortable mattress she won’t pass it up. Plus Bucky’s scent lingers on the pillow case, and Nat’s asleep in minutes.

Clint who had spent the last hour and a half in the vents, spends all of two minutes over Steve’s living room before he drops down and extends a hand out to Bucky as he says, “Bath time kiddo.”

…

The next few hours pass by surprisingly easily. Clint is good with Bucky, and Bucky clearly likes him; and even so, Steve doesn’t leave Bucky’s side. It isn’t until Sam texts him and reminds him that five years old really need to be eating on some sort of schedule or at least semi regularly that Steve scoops Bucky up (from where he’s on the couch watching the end credits to The Barbie Nutcracker that Darcy recommended to Clint once she heard of miniaturised Bucky Barnes) and takes the little boy to the kitchen, with Nat trailing after them.

Lunch is slightly less complicated that breakfast seemed to be, but it wasn’t as simple as Steve was hoping for.  After the shower incident Steve had been careful to watch how Bucky reacted to things, but for a few moments he didn’t.

The little boy refused to give Steve some form of idea as to what he wanted and Nat just smirked and shrugged her shoulders, so it was up to Steve. Pepper had filled his kitchen and the larger kitchen down on the communal floor with child friendly food, so Steve grabbed the first thing he laid eyes on in the fridge.

It didn’t tell out as well as he’d imagined.

Bucky didn’t like the yoghurt, blanched at the sight of the little pot as Steve tore off the lid. Steve caught in conversation with Nat didn’t see the reaction of the boy until he was offering the yoghurt out to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t cry, but he did take a step backwards, hand covering his mouth and nose as he stared at the yoghurt.

“Steve!” Nat hissed, noticing Bucky’s reaction only a millisecond before Steve is.

Steve mutters under his breath before he is throwing the yoghurt in the bin without hesitation. He curses himself before crouching in front of Bucky. He doesn’t touch him, but he reaches his hand out, palm up and Bucky spends about two seconds staring at the bin before he is throwing himself into Steve’s arms.

They proceed with caution after that, but after ten minutes Bucky still doesn’t seem impressed by any of the food and Steve knows he can’t slice apple with Bucky’s knife again, Bucky needs to eat something more than fruit.

Steve hasn’t really being apart from Bucky since he’d been miniaturised, and hadn’t left his side for more than a moment since his run this morning and the extra hour in the gym. He hadn’t really being apart from Bucky since he came back 8 weeks ago and nor did he want to be. But Steve needed sleep, he knew that. He hadn’t slept in far too long but he wasn’t sleeping until Bucky slept, and judging by the way Bucky was grumpily frowning down at his feet that wouldn’t be too far off now.

Steve waits a moment as he thinks, then glances down at the sleepy five year old, “Buck?”

Blue eyes soften as they met Steve’s gaze and Bucky is reaching up towards Steve, a universal sign that no one could ignore, especially not Steve.

With Bucky sitting on Steve’s hip moments later, Steve smiles at the boy, “Split a sandwich with me?”

He doesn’t need Bucky to answer to know that the boy wants him to believe that he isn’t really hungry, but they both know that’s a lie. So instead Steve fixes him a look before resting him on the edge of the counter and opening the cupboard.

In the end the two of them make a dozen sandwiches, and if Steve cuts each and every one of them into triangles then so be it. Nat certainly doesn’t judge, she just smiles and swipes a few triangles worth of peanut butter and jelly.

…

The little boy with the bright blue eyes refuses to sleep.

Has done so for the past few hours, and now it’s actually properly night time, and Sam and Clint have gone to bed, and Tony and Bruce are still down in the lab, have been since dinner and that was hours ago now. Bucky wouldn’t nap, he just kept crawling out of bed and now he won’t sleep.

They all know that he’s tired. They all know that he really needs to sleep. It’s clear to them in the way Bucky was leaning against the window pane, his eyelids drooping. It’s clear to them in the way he keeps biting down on his bottom lip when anything gets too loud. They all know he’s tired by the way he is regarding his arm, eyes no longer bright and curious.

Steve picks Bucky up off the floor and takes him back to his floor. He reads him, ‘The House at Pooh Corner’, and the two of them sit in Bucky’s bed for an hour before Bucky starts squirming and kicking at the sheets.

When Bucky kicks the sheets down a fourth time, Steve bites back a sigh as he closes the book and looks down at the boy no longer lying down beside him but now sitting, his arms folded as he glares at the sheets. “Buck stop fighting it, you need to sleep buddy.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead he uses his left foot to push the blankets off the end of the bed and glares at them as they lie in a crumbled heap on the floor.

Nat spends the next half an hour singing to Bucky in Russian, lullabies she learnt from someone or from somewhere that Steve doesn’t want to ask about. He doesn’t understand much of what she’s saying, barring a few words he can pick out. It isn’t until there are a few too many words Steve recognises that he puts an end to that. Nat just shrugs and kisses the top of Bucky’s head before slipping out of bed where Bucky was previously sitting on her lap, and handing the stubborn boy to the stubborn blonde who no longer leaning against the doorframe enjoying the sound of Natasha’s voice.

And still, Bucky will not sleep.

…

Steve and Bucky are halfway through Piglet’s Big Movie when Bucky starts to cry. The rest of the avengers are fast asleep in their beds, even Nat, who was sent to bed by Steve two hours ago now. The others volunteered to take watch, but Steve made it clear he wasn’t going to leave Bucky, and he was just as stubborn as the little boy who was struggling to keep his eyes open, so they went back down to their own floors knowing that sleep was necessary.

Steve can’t fix this.

He knows he can’t.

Steve doesn’t know how to turn Bucky back to normal.

He doesn’t know how to make Bucky sleep.

He doesn’t know how to do anything.

What he wants to do is tear his hair out. What he wants to do is ask Bucky to talk to him, but he could yell or talk until he was blue in the face – that wasn’t going to help, he knew that.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Bucky to talk. He does. Desperately. He wants to know what Bucky wants, that’s all he has every wanted really. He wants to know what Bucky wants and wants to be able to give him that. He just wants to be able to help.

But instead, he has a tear stained five year old hugging his knees beside him, somehow managing to keep himself awake. Tony suggested drugging him, and while Steve can see reason in that, he can’t drug Bucky, won’t ever do that unless it is absolutely necessary and cannot be avoided.

It isn’t until Roo is drawing Piglet on the window that Steve notices the marks on Bucky’s skin. It isn’t until then that he realises just how Bucky is keeping himself awake. He is keeping himself awake by digging his metal fingers into his skin, and now Steve just wants to cry.

He switches off the tv and rests his hands softly on Bucky’s knees. Yelling won’t help and he can’t yell, doesn’t have the energy him to do it even if he thought it would help – which he doesn’t. Bucky stops chewing on the inside of his gum and meets Steve’s eyes as he pleads, “Bucky please. You have to sleep. I don’t know what else to do.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, but Steve is pretty sure he understands. No he knows he understands. But understanding what he is saying and what he is actually saying, isn’t the same.  God Steve hopes he actually understands.

All Steve wants to do is wrap his arms around Bucky and hold him close to his chest, protecting him from everything and everyone, but he can’t do that, not yet, he needs to say this. He needs Bucky to hear him, to trust him. He needs Bucky to feel safe, god he needs that. “No one will hurt you I promise, I’ll be right here the whole time, but buddy you have to sleep.”

Bucky regards him silently as tired, wet eyes stare into Steve’s for a moment before those little arms are unwrapping themselves and reaching up to Steve.

Steve is too tired to grin, to sigh in relief but he does manage a smile, and wastes no time in scooping the little boy up and holding him close, keeping him safe from everything and anything.

Too tired to have his arms wrapped around Steve’s neck, Bucky surrenders himself to sleep. And by the time Steve is walking into Bucky’s room, the little boy is already fast asleep, one tiny fist curled around Steve’s shirt, refusing to let him go.

Steve nods at the ceiling, telling Jarvis to let Nat know the boy is finally asleep, before he lays himself down on Bucky’s bed, resting the boy against his chest – and within a few minutes of listening to the sound of Bucky’s steady breathes, Steve is asleep too. Happy and content with Bucky’s head tucked beneath his chin, Steve has no problem falling asleep. And Bucky, Bucky’s breathing is even, his body relaxed as he finally sleeps.

For now at least.

Chapter Text

Despite Tony and Bruce’s best efforts, as far as Steve is aware they aren’t really all that much closer in figuring out what exactly made Bucky turn into, well a miniaturised version of himself. But they are closer to figuring that out than they are to figuring out how exactly to turn him back.

A small part of Steve, a small corner of his mind which he wishes to ignore, sometimes wonders if turning Bucky back is the best thing to do. This corner only makes itself heard when Bucky is grinning at Nat’s smiling face as they do ballet together in the corner of the gym, and Clint and Steve train together only metres away.

This corner screams when Bucky’s eyes get bright and curious as Tony rambles on about science. Steve understands a word here and there, but he doesn’t care enough to listen or try to follow, not when he is so distracted by the expression of rapt attention on Bucky’s face.

He remembers that face. Remembers how excited Bucky was before he left, when he dragged Steve on that awful double date to the science fair. Remembers how much Bucky used to love science, and how science has been so horribly tainted for him now. How science isn’t interesting and amazing, it is blood, excruciating pain and terror.

But Steve misses Bucky, misses his Bucky.

He isn’t sure if he’s selfish.

Selfish for wanting Bucky to stay small and happy.

Selfish for wanting his Bucky back.

He can’t decide.

But what he does know, is that when Bucky smiles, any version of himself, at any age, he feels like he’s looking at the sun, bright and beautiful, and he doesn’t know what to do with the happiness that spears his heart as he can’t help but smile back.

…

The next few days are good.

Too good, almost.

But it doesn’t feel like that when Steve is in it. It isn’t till Bucky is fast asleep in bed, that Steve wonders if this is the calm before the storm. But he shakes his head and looks down at the bundle of energy which has finally gone to rest.

Bucky still hasn’t spoken, he didn’t speak today. But no one expected him to.

They all know that things take time. And while Bucky may not remember what happened to him when he was bigger – he may not understand a lot, he obviously still has some memory, some odd fragments that stuck with him – and he doesn’t speak. Steve knows he probably can, but that he just doesn’t want to. Not yet.

And Steve won’t push the boy, not on this, not ever. Bucky will speak when he is ready, and in the meantime Steve is just using his extensive knowledge of Bucky, well the slightly more grown up one, to read Bucky expressions and body language, to know what the boy wants without words actually asking the questions or forming the answers.

Steve presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and smiles as he lets his eyes flutter shut. He spent three hours in the gym with Bucky today. Bucky was with Bruce mediating, while Steve and Nat sparred, and then Steve hit the treadmill. Bucky had no issue being with Bruce, he loved him, that was clear – but he didn’t want to be far from Steve.

Really that should have alerted Steve that something was wrong. But he was just too caught up in how Bucky smiled today, bloody beamed from ear to ear at dinner as he sat on Nat’s lap and stole some of her food. He was too caught up in the fact that the little ex-assassin was happy, to notice how Bucky refused to let Steve out of his sight for more than a few minutes today and yesterday too – when the last few days he had been totally independent for a hours before he came crawling back to Steve.

Steve didn’t pick up on that, and when he fell asleep, a smile touched his lips – and he dreamt of Coney Island. Dreamt of better days, when his body was frail and broken – but Bucky wasn’t. Dreamt of Bucky’s confident smile and those bright shining blue eyes. Dreamt of those arms that carried Steve when he was too sick to even argue. Dreamt of everything they’d lost – that had slipped through his fingers once before – but slowly piece by piece he was getting back – in one way or another.

While Steve dreamt of candyfloss and better days, beside him – tiny fingers curled around the pillow case and Bucky bit into his lip so hard he tasted blood.

…

The avengers have battled aliens from out of space. Their combined and even individual forces can take out essentially any threat. There is nothing presently on Earth that could attack them and win. And yet, faced with a puffy eyed Bucky – there is utterly nothing they can do.

His chest is moving up and down far too fast as he bites back sobs and none of them know what to do. Not a single clue in the world.

“Who broke him?” Tony mutters to himself, trying to pretend that he doesn’t feel utterly useless in the face of this crying child, trying to pretend that he doesn’t want to take Bucky into his arms and hug him and soothe him and tell him that everything will be okay. He mutters those words but he wants to break every bone of the person who made this small boy cry. Bucky Barnes, whatever version of himself, Tony will protect will now – right now all he wants to do is burn Hydra to the ground right alongside Steve, but he knows that won’t help Bucky. Not now, not yet.  He’ll come back to that later, now though – he desperately tries to think what his nannies would do when he lost his shit.

Sam doesn’t know what to say, has no idea right now. He likes children, he is good with children, but he has nothing for this. So instead he just states the obvious, his voice a much higher pitch than normal, “He won’t stop crying!”

The others look to each other, wonder if they should leave the room, wonder if they should give Bucky some space, wonder if too many people in here are making him feel over crowded.

“Make it stop, Steve make it stop.” Clint says, trying to lighten the mood a little, but also being totally serious. He wants, no, needs Bucky to stop. He doesn’t like the sound of a crying child, but that’s not it, it’s not the sound he hates, he hates that anyone ever has a reason to make it, especially Bucky. The child that crawls into his lap and spits out his coffee, he doesn’t want to see him look like this, he doesn’t want to hear him make these sounds. And most of all, he doesn’t want to be powerless to make it stop. And yet here he is, here they all are, totally useless.

They can defeat anything, anyone – but none of them know how to make it stop. If only Nat wasn’t in Belgium.

Bucky keeps looking up at Steve, his bright blue eyes wide with terror as he continues to cry. He isn’t sobbing anymore, his chest is just heaving up and down, as those tears continue to run down his cheeks, spilling to the ground, no attempt made to wipe them away. Bucky refuses to look anywhere but at the ground and at Steve, and the others don’t know what to do. Not at all.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!” Steve finds himself yelling. Bucky is quiet for a moment, shocked silent, and then Steve is wanting to punch himself in the face as his stomach drops and he drops to his knees in front of Bucky – wanting to swallow those words he’s just yelled and hide them from the world forever.

Bucky stares at Steve for a moment, stares at him with a frightened expression as he wraps his little arms around himself as his body shakes. He isn’t crying loud tears, the ones that you can’t ignore but wonder if you should – his body is shaking as he cries, his eyes red rimmed, face splotchy, and body fucking trembling as he stands there pale and scared.

Steve is on his knees two steps away from Bucky. Bucky doesn’t look like he wants to be touched right now, Bucky – little cat like, tactile Bucky doesn’t want to be touched. Screamed his head off when Steve tried to when this started.

When he saw the blood.

When his heart broke in two, and he prayed to a God his mother believed in that someone would know what to do with his broken little Bucky. “Please just tell me, please Bucky just tell me, please.”

But Bucky doesn’t speak. Steve knew he wouldn’t, but god he did hope that he would. Why couldn’t he just speak, why couldn’t he just tell him what he was thinking.

Steve stares at him for a few seconds, stares into those eyes that have always made him feel at home and tries his best to make his a home for Bucky now, the calm in this storm, this storm that is taking over his head – this storm he can’t explain, so no one knows how to make it better, how to make the tears stop.

Oh god, they just want the tears to stop.

Bucky’s fingers are shifting, Steve almost doesn’t notice it, almost doesn’t – but he’s looking for it now, and that super solider vision makes it so much easier to notice the way Bucky is subtly clawing at his skin again. So Steve, who so desperately wants to move towards Bucky, instead just starts to cry as he says desperately, “We can’t take off the arm, Tony told you that, he explained why, you can’t take it off, Bucky please you need to stop.”

But Bucky doesn’t stop, so Steve has to take his hands into his. He knows he won’t stop unless Steve holds him, not unless Steve holds his hands, not unless Steve makes sure he can’t. He did it before, when he noticed. He couldn’t, he can’t watch Bucky tear into his flesh with all his might, those tiny little fingers covered in blood as he tries to get that bloody arm off his shoulder.

“Bucky please.” Steve pleads. He isn’t above pleading. He doesn’t care that he’s crying too, he hasn’t even noticed, not really. He is desperate, he needs Bucky to stop. He doesn’t want to sedate him, he really doesn’t, but they may have to. He doesn’t want to strap Bucky down, he can’t, not after what he knows happened when Bucky was in Hydra’s hands – and even so, Bucky isn’t Bucky, he is a child, and he cannot strap a child down. But he is running out of options.

“I need you to- please, Buck please.” Steve’s voice is beyond cracked, his eyes are as wet as Bucky’s, Bucky who is staring at him with wild blue eyes, red rimmed and oh so frightened. Bucky looks terrified, regards his metal arm with such terror when his gaze flicks from Steve’s to his arms, and Steve doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have a fucking clue.

All this strength.

All this power.

He is Captain fucking America, and he can’t do anything.

There was nothing he could do to save Bucky, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop Bucky falling off that goddamn train. There wasn’t anything that he could do then, and there isn’t anything that he can do now. He can’t make Bucky stop crying, he cannot make his best friend, his miniaturised best friend stop crying.

He wishes Nat was here. That anyone who could do something was here, that anyone could tell him what to do. But they can’t. They don’t know either.

This isn’t just a child. This isn’t some crying child who is overtired or hungry or throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get what they wanted. This is Bucky, who is completely terrified. This is Bucky who doesn’t like his metal arm right now – hasn’t since he woke up screaming. He hasn’t since Steve was ripped from his sleep by the sound of Bucky’s heaving chest, by Bucky’s wrecked sobs and then a scream that turned Steve’s blood cold.

Bucky was terrified.

He was fucking terrified when he woke but after breakfast Steve thought he was alright, thought that he was doing okay. Hadn’t even noticed what Bucky was doing, not until Jarvis had alerted him.

He didn’t even notice that Bucky was clawing at his skin, until fucking Jarvis alerted him of it. And now he can’t convince Bucky to stop. He can’t get Bucky to stop crying, and Bucky is looking utterly terrified, and while Steve just wants to wrap his arms around Buck and hold him close, he knows this requires more than a hug.

He doesn’t have a damn clue what it does require, but he knows, god – he just wishes Bucky would speak. That Bucky would tell him what he is thinking. He wants his Bucky back, well what’s left of his Bucky, but he wants to keep this one happy.

That is all he has ever wanted really. He has only ever wanted Bucky to be happy.

For his Bucky, the full sized ex-assassin, it will no doubt take a while for happiness, but he doesn’t care how long it takes, he will make it happen. Happiness for this bite sized Bucky should be far easier to attain, but with Bucky red faced and wild eyed – Steve isn’t too sure if happiness is possible, not right now at least – but god he wishes it was.

He would do anything.

He will do anything.

He will always do anything he can to make Bucky happy. He just doesn’t know what to do. He just doesn’t have a clue.

If their positions were reversed, Bucky would know. God he always knew what to say, he always knew what to do – he was the one that knew. Not Steve. Not like this, not about this. He may be Captain America, but without Bucky he could never have been. Bucky never understood how much Steve needed him, and now Bucky needs him, needs him like Steve needed him all those years. And Steve doesn’t know what to do, and god he wishes he did. But he doesn’t.

Echoing Bucky’s words from all those years ago, he shifts closer to Bucky, not touching him though, not anymore, he’ll let Bucky come to him – if, not when he wants to. “I’m with you pal okay? I’m not going anywhere I promise. I’m with you till the end of line, I swear Buck, I swear I am. You don’t have to tell me anything, not now, not yet, but I’m here okay?” Bucky swallows softly and Steve whispers, “I’m here.”

The avengers hold their breath and Bucky regards Steve for a silent moment before diving headfirst into his arms, his face pressing into the crook of Steve’s neck and Steve wraps his arms around him, and tries to ignore how quickly his shirt grows damp with Bucky’s blood, sweat and tears.

“I’ve got you, I’m here Buck.” Steve murmurs into his hair, as he holds Bucky close. His eyes open for just a moment, he catches Sam’s gaze, his inquiring look, and Steve nods. In about two seconds, the rest of the avengers are huddling around Bucky and Steve, their hands solid weights for Bucky, not too overwhelming, but just what the little boy needs.

And they sit like that for almost hour, all wrapped around Bucky as he continues to cry against Steve’s neck, no longer shaking with terror, just getting it out of his system; before Bucky curls his little metal fingers around the corner of Steve’s shirt and the avengers all give out their second relieved sigh.

For now, the metal arm is no longer an enemy. For now.

Chapter Text

+6 days

Bucky still doesn’t really sleep. Not for more than a few hours at time at least. Steve’s used to it now. He doesn’t need much sleep, so he is handling it fine. He doesn’t mind the looking over Bucky as he sleeps for three hours and then spending the next few hours with a Bucky that slowly discharges.

He wishes he could help Bucky, wishes he could get him to talk to him, but he doesn’t want him to talk until he is ready, doesn’t want to make the boy do anything that he doesn’t want to do. Except of course for eating properly every day, but unlike Tony who seems to enjoy never attending meals, Bucky may not eat his own food, but he steals enough of everyone else’s to make enough to feed him.

Steve never thought he would see the day to be honest, never thought that he would see the day that Tony Stark was absolutely besotted with one James Buchanan Barnes. But the engineer is wrapped around Bucky’s little finger, a power that it seems the little boy isn’t aware of and certainly not one he’ll abuse. Yet.  

The Bucky Steve knew wasn’t the troublemaker out of the two of them, that was Steve, but Bucky was protective, and loyal and an absolute fireball sometimes. Bucky was charming and quick witted and curious, god he was curious. But this Bucky is different, far more subdued if the silence is anything to go by. He’s more still as well, not as still as the Soldier, but not as fidgety as a boy his age should be. He sits almost still for hours, listening in rapt attention, as long as warm arms are wrapped around him, or soft hands playing with his hair, he sits, perfectly silent and content, and just listens, eating everything up.

Bucky loves Nat, that much is clear. And Nat, Nat loves the little boy with the metal arm. The little boy who tries and fails to plait Nat’s hair, the little boy who patiently sits in her lap and lets her do whatever she wants to his hair for a few hours. Not in the way that the Soldier used to sit passively, letting things being done to him, but Bucky sits, eyes on the mirror that Clint holds up every few minutes or so, and he inspects his hair with a smile before letting Clint go back to painting his toe nails the shade of red that Nat has dubbed, ‘The blood of my enemies’.

…

He’s an angel Sam decides as Bucky curls up onto his lap when Sam switches the baseball on. He doesn’t care for it, not really, but he knows that it soothes Steve, even when it’s just on in the background. Steve’s in the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee, one that he doesn’t need, but he likes the routine of it even now, and Bucky’s eyes aren’t on the tv, they are looking out the window, out onto the balcony, eyes bright and inquisitive as he lets Sam stroke his hair.

Bucky is still silent, but he’s happy, or at least so Sam hopes. He doesn’t know, not really and none of them can know, but Steve does. Steve is still Steve, but he’s a happier Steve than Sam has ever seen. Something still weighs on him, that much is clear, but that will never change. Despite what happens, he will always blame himself for acts of the past, regardless of whether he is the fault or not. Steve still blames himself for what he let Hydra to do Bucky, and while Sam hopes that changes, he knows that the remorse, the guilt will never fade for Steve, not completely.

Sam also knows that Steve is caught, caught between wanting his Bucky back and wanting to keep him like this forever. Sam sees it in Steve’s eyes a few seconds after Bucky makes his smile, his eyes so bright for a moment before Steve seems to catch himself, remind him that while this Bucky exists, his Bucky is lost.

The little angel that sits still in his lap, head tilted towards the window, shifts his eyes over to Steve. Sam hasn’t noticed it before, but he sees the way the corner of Bucky’s lips tilt into a slight frown when he observes Steve. Steve who has his back to the both of him, but without seeing his face Sam knows something is wrong, and judging by the look in those grey eyes, so does Bucky.

Sam doesn’t understand what is creating the crease of Bucky’s brows, not really, but he understands that look. He understands the worry, he knows that look, it seems too old for the little boys face, it seems too open for one that hides so much.

He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before. And yet it doesn’t come as a surprise.  The need to watch Steve’s back is programmed into Bucky Barnes. Even when he doesn’t know who he is, not really, he doesn’t really know any of them, but Bucky still looks after Steve.

Bucky may not talk, but he listens, and he observes.

Sam continues to stroke his hair and wonders how much information Bucky is storing in his head, wonders how much he knows.

…

+7 days.

Bucky still doesn’t talk.

Hasn’t talked since Steve looked into those wide blue eyes seven days ago now, seven days, that’s how long the ex-assassin has been pint sized. Seemingly turned into a small kitten instead of children, at least if his cuddling is any indication. No one wants to say it but they all know why he craves affection, perhaps not the only reason, but since Bucky fell from a train all those decades ago he’s been touch starved, and now, it’s something that the avengers give to him willingly; hands held, absentminded stroking, tickle wars, spontaneous hugs and cuddles. Bucky wants everything, and as a five year old he’s not afraid to want it, doesn’t even need to ask, because when those wide blue eyes pick a victim, nobody has a chance of saying no and nor do they hesitate to wrap their arms around the little boy who doesn’t speak, but loves to smile.

He takes no issue curling up beside Nat on the couch while the two of them watch The Tigger Movie for the third time. He trails after Clint in the hallways and clambers through the air vents beside him, offering his hand when he gets a little stuck. He sits on Tony’s work bench, swinging his little legs or resting elbows on them when crossed, watching him work in rapt attention and listening to Tony rant as a small smile curls those little lips that haven’t parted to say a word. He does yoga with Bruce and takes small sips of his green tea, and seems to know when Bruce needs a hug and doesn’t hesitate in giving him one. He sits on Sam’s lap and colours in pictures, placing crayons on Sam’s palm when he thinks its Sam’s time to have a turn, but he still doesn’t speak.

He still doesn’t spend the day with Steve, he doesn’t avoid him, he just spends the day seeking out the others affections and lets Steve have his space, because little Bucky thinks that Steve grows sick of him during the night, because Steve watches him with that sad smile sometimes, that expression on his face that Bucky can read without even knowing he can. But when he’s sleepy, he crawls into Steve’s lap or tugs at his hand before getting Steve to lift him up.

Bucky isn’t like he was as the Winter Soldier, he craves touch now. Needs affection and the others are more than willing, not even hesitating to it to the little boy. And when he’s sleepy, he needs Steve, needs to rest his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, breathe him in and feel his arms wrapped firmly around him. He’s only five, but he knows that the blonde with the trusting blue eyes and the sad soft smile, will keep him safe.

It takes a few hours before the next thought occurs to Steve, the thought that Bucky did crave touch as the Winter Soldier, he just didn’t know how to express, wasn’t sure that he could, maybe he wasn’t even aware of how much he needed it, how much he wanted it; and then Steve wonders if he should have seen it. His eyes are better than they were when he was a kid, but he still couldn’t see what Bucky needed, couldn’t see all the ways that Bucky was hurting, and if he couldn’t see that then what was the point of seeing at all.

…

+9 days.

A lot can be said for life in the tower, and even with people flying all over the globe at a moment’s notice, they have a pretty regular routine down. One that while no one has an issue with deviating from, usually it stays pretty constant. For one reason really, Bucky loves it.

Breakfast is at the same time every day. Bright and early at 5am Bucky is heading to the common floor with or without Steve. Usually Steve is right alongside him, looking like he would like another hour in bed. Not able to eat before he runs, most mornings Steve heads out with Sam on a run, and most mornings Bucky waves them off before making a beeline to Nat before crawling into her lap and eating some of her food. He doesn’t want his own breakfast, still can’t chose, but he sits on someone’s lap and eats their breakfast with them.

After breakfast, Clint wraps his arms around him and picks up the smiling Bucky, and throws him over his shoulder before taking to him to bathe. In the evenings Steve usually does bath time or Nat does, but in the mornings, it’s Clint. Clint signs to Bucky as Bucky sits in the tub and signs back. They don’t talk, Clint has tried, Bucky only mirrors what Clint does, but Clint knows Bucky will speak when he is ready, that he will sign when he’s ready, so he just continues to teach Bucky.  

After bath time the boys are usually back from their run, or if Sam isn’t running Steve is back from training the room, and Bucky sits on Steve’s lap and steals bites of Steve’s breakfast, and smirks at him as he does so.

Bucky splits the rest of his day between the rest of the avengers. Usually he does an hour of ballet with Nat before lunch, then lunch is had with everyone present, well everyone in the tower, even if Bucky has to drag them to the table or to the couches or to wherever they are eating. Pepper thinks it is brilliant, and lets Bucky sit on her lap and has no issue with him stealing her fork on occasion and a few bites of her food.

After lunch Bucky spends a few hours with Tony downstairs, listening attentively and pushing Tony’s bottle of water closer towards him every few minutes. Tony just sighs, but he does end up drinking more, and he can’t exactly tell a five year to stop babying him, so he doesn’t. He just drinks the occasional smoothie Bucky gives him and doesn’t question where the five year old even got it from when he can’t reach the blender and doesn’t speak.

Every day Bucky makes sure to mediate with Bruce and ends up doing a little bit of yoga too, something that Nat and Clint usually join in on, and sometimes Steve and Sam get dragged into it if they aren’t doing anything, but Tony refuses.  After yoga Bucky and Bruce sit in comfortable silence for a little bit as they both read, and sometimes Bruce talks and Bucky nods along and then Bruce takes Bucky to the lab and explains what he is trying to do with the canister to him. Because while Bucky doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask, Bruce knows he’s curious and Bucky loves the look on Bucky’s face when he listens.

…

Bucky hasn’t had a nightmare in a few days, but Steve isn’t sure how long that will last. The little boy is happy and smiling, but Steve is worried, because somethings coming. He can feel it. He doesn’t know what it is and he isn’t sure he wants to, but he knows that something is. Something is coming and Bucky cannot protect himself, not anymore, and Steve knows he’ll protect him, knows that the avengers will keep him safe – but they can’t do that when Steve isn’t sure what it is.

…

+10 days.

Bucky loves Thor.

He adores him and the rest of the avengers know it.

And Thor loves Bucky.

He absolutely adores the miniaturised assassin with curious blue eyes and the ability to sit without moving for far longer than any child can; and the rest of the avengers know it. Thor’s only met this Bucky once, and when Thor visits the second time, Bucky shifts nervously from where he sits, eyes glancing over to the God as he quietly converses with whomever he needs talking to. But within a few minute Thor is always done, and then he is greeting Bucky with kind eyes and a warm smile and picking Bucky up off the floor and hugging him in a way that the older Bucky would have probably found torturous.

Thor carries Bucky to the next room before placing him on the floor next to the box of Lego that has appeared out of nowhere. (courtesy of Clint). The first time Thor had spoken to Bucky, Bucky had being building a tower as he sat on Nat’s lap. Thor had talked about Asgard and at first Bucky had played with his Lego and just listened, but then he stopped building some complicated looking tower and he just stopped. The Lego seemed to cease to exist and he just listened to Thor in rapt attention.

Nat had slipped away after the second hour, knowing that she wasn’t needed to comfort Bucky and knowing that she really needed to eat and hit the range.

Steve watches the doorway, watches as Bucky abandons the spaceship he was building, to stare up at Thor and listen, listen as he sits there in Nat’s tshirt that she was convinced Clint had stolen just yesterday, and takes a sip of hot chocolate out of Steve’s mug that he swears he’d hidden so that Clint would stop using it for coffee.

Chapter Text

+12 days

It’s just past 2am when Steve slips into Bucky’s room.

“Buck you awake?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, still doesn’t speak but his fingers curl around Steve’s thumb and sleepy eyes meet Steve’s.

He really doesn’t want to be saying this, he really doesn’t want to go anywhere. But Bucky will be safe, he knows he will be safe here in the tower, knows that he needs to go. There are people to fight and a cure to find. As much as he wants to let Bucky stay this way, stay five forever, stay adorable and innocent and happy, not scarred with pain and sorrow and the memories that aren’t really his anymore; Hydra is after him, same as always, and they need to protect him.

“I’m going to be gone for a few days.”

There’s a soft sound, almost a whimper, which is the only really sound that Bucky ever allows to pass his lips, that and the occasional hiss of pain. But when Steve meets his eyes there is an understanding there. Steve doesn’t know how this boy knows, but he seems to, knows that Steve has to go, and knows that he will be fine, and without words the little boy squeezes Steve’s hand, telling him to stay safe.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Steve vows, hoping more than anything that he can keep this promise. It should be simple, should be an easy mission, it’s recon mostly, and he doesn’t want to leave, but he has to, and Bucky understands, understands as he lets Steve’s hand go and gives him a sleepy smile.

Steve waits, ponders for a few seconds, uncertain as he always is around Bucky ever since he found him. But little Bucky, young Bucky is so much easier to understand, mostly. Not a single word has passed his lips but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t say things, he simply just doesn’t actually speak. The little boy blinks up at Steve, asking why he is still here, and Steve shakes his head, before reaching inside of his bag. “I know you’ll just steal it anyway, so here.”

Even in the dark Steve can see the way that Bucky’s eyes light up, and those deft fingers curl into the shirt and he pulls it towards him, quickly swapping it out for the t-shirt under his pillow that Steve didn’t even know was there.

“I was wondering where this one went.” Steve mutters as he heads out of the bedroom, his returned t-shirt in hand, unaware of the sleepy eyes trailing after him, the five year old wondering if he’ll ever see the man with the sad, kind eyes again,  and wondering why in the pit in his stomach, it feels so traitorous watching him go out alone.

…

…

+13 days.

Tony’s in mid speech, as he usually is, when something happens. For a split second he swears he imagined it, but his mind backtracks just a few seconds and his eyes widen for only a moment before he normalises his features and glances at Bucky who is watching him still in rapt attention, his pink lips still parted from the word that managed to slip between, the first word that he’s said since shrinking, “Why?”

Tony knows better than to make a big deal out of this, even if he didn’t he doesn’t want to. He may not admit it just yet, but he loves this kid, can’t not, and with those wide blue eyes watching each movement of his hand with excitement, his head nodding along every so often to reassure Tony that he is still listening, that he does still want to know more.

So Tony doesn’t pause for more than a second before he is carrying on, hands moving as he answers Bucky’s question. He dumbs down the answer a little, but not a lot. The boy’s been attentive over the past week, and every time Tony had tried to use simple words to explain it, the entire expression on the boy’s face had changed, an unsettling look on his larger self, but on the little one, had been entirely adorable and yet still kind of threatening.

…

When Bruce wanders into the lab an hour and a half later he glances over to the two of them, leaning lose to each other, talking close like co-conspirators, he nods towards them before he looks back at the folder in hand, takes a few more steps and then stops abruptly.

Talking close like co-conspirators.

Talking.

Trying to act natural, trying not to look entirely shocked, Bruce glances over at them again, just as those small pink lips part as Bucky says a few words that Bruce misses, but Tony doesn’t because he’s titling his head back and laughing, and that little boy who smiles but doesn’t speak, giggles, his tiny hand coming up to cover his lips and he laughs along with Tony, oblivious to the attention he’s getting.

Without a word Bruce heads towards his bench, one he’s only left for basic human functions like sleeping, and right now he’s convinced he still is. He can’t catch words but he catches the excited chattering, and he’s not sure if he should tell the others of this miraculous discovery, or just let it happen. Bucky Barnes does remind him of a little bird sometimes, not because he’s small and fragile, although in this form he may be, and not because he’s frightened easily, but he is silent for a reason, and Bruce doesn’t want to push, not even a little back, doesn’t want the boy making Tony cry with laughter resort back to being silent.

…

Bruce is staring at the screen, silently cursing it for not telling him what he needs to know when the constant stream of chattering stops, and gives way to a wicked laugh for Tony and a clatter before Bucky erupts in giggles. Glancing over, Bruce discovers Tony once again tinkering on Bucky’s tiny little metal arm, while Bucky wriggles on the bench, his little feet moving as he squeals, “That tickles!”

After only gaining another laugh from Tony, who continues explaining what he is doing, Bruce watches Bucky torn between rapt attention and squirming while he laughs. He lasts about another minute before he’s squirming again. “Bruuuce tell Sir to stop being mean!” Bucky yells over, giggling between words. Bruce barely registers the use of ‘Sir’ before Tony stops his tickling to look down at Bucky, who stares up with him with innocent soft blue eyes before he smirks and giggles again, without Tony tickling him.

“Mr Jarvis calls you Sir, the avengers call you Stark and Tony, but I like Pepper’s name for you best.” He replies, a glint in his eye.

Tony is quiet for a moment, not quite believing that Bucky is still speaking, not quite able to get over the smile lighting up the little boys face, making him look so innocent and utterly adorable. He isn’t sure what Pepper has called him in front of Bucky, so he guesses, “Ton?”

Bucky grins mischievously, as he glances over at Bruce before he beams at Tony, “Babe.”

…

Tony has to say he’s surprised, more than a little bit in fact.

He’s not bad with children per say, but he’s not good. And with robo-cop, even shrunk down version he didn’t think he was exactly doing a stellar job. He rambled on because that is what he does, and he’s not an idiot, he could tell that it was reassuring the little assassin. He could tell that Bucky didn’t understand what was happening, and his rambling seemed to help him, so he kept going, but what he didn’t anticipate was that he would be the first person Bucky would speak to.

Not Steve.

Not Nat.

But him.

He’ll gloat about that later, he knows that for sure, but for now, now he still can’t help feel a little touched, he can’t help-

“What’s wrong with your face?” Nat asks as she drops from the ceiling and onto the bench in front of him, unsurprisingly not managing to push anything out of place.

Too caught in his head to actually come up with a witty reply, Tony shifts his gaze away from where Bucky was sitting just a few minutes ago before he went to the bathroom with Bruce as his guide. “Huh?”

“Your face.” Nat smirks a little, and Tony tries to wipe whatever expression it is off his face because he knows he probably looks misty eyed, and who can blame him really. Bucky hasn’t done anything but whimper and cry and nod and shake his head for over a fortnight now, and now, now he’s talking. He is talking and Tony was the first person he spoke to. And he’ll brag about for sure, but now, he feels kind of weird and almost, gushy.

Nat opens her mouth again, the words poised at the end of her tongue, ready to be shaped by the smirk of her lips, but nothing comes out. Not a single sound comes out because a little voice rings out from across the room.

Nat gapes, can’t help but gape for a few seconds as her head whips around to the origin of the sound. Her eyes land on Bucky, Bucky who hasn’t noticed her yet, eyes still crinkled by the edges as he laughs and smiles up at Bruce who looks like he is about to melt.

Tony nudges Nat and gives her a look. Grateful, she shuts her mouth and looks away from Bucky, only for a moment before her gaze is falling back on him. She glances back to Tony, starts mouthing things too fast for Tony to catch and then Bucky is saying, “Natalia!” and Nat stops pointing at Tony, stops hurriedly demanding he fills her on ‘when exactly this fucking shit started’, and she slips off the bench and smiles at Bucky.

“James.”

Bucky scrunches up his nose at the name and gives Nat a look. She mirrors his expression for a moment before Bucky smiles and takes her hand in his. “Time?” he asks her, and she nods. 

Tony glances over at Bruce who gives him a shrug before turning back to analysing the canister that they still don’t’ really know anything about.

…

When Clint gets back from England that afternoon he walks into the common room to find Bucky sitting on the couch with Nat on the floor, both of them still in what they wear to do ballet together, with Bucky trying (and failing) to plait Nat’s hair.

That sight itself isn’t unexpected, but when Bucky holds up the mirror for Nat and she beams before tickling Bucky and he slides off the couch into her lap before he squeals something loudly in Russian and Clint almost drops his bag.

Clint just stands there, glued to the spot for a full minute before Nat glances over to him, still tickling Bucky as she asks, “Hey babe, how’d it go!”

Clint nods in reply, still not able to actually form words. Not when Bucky looks over to him and beams, “Clint!” He squirms away from Nat and heads over to Clint, who wraps his arms around him when Bucky launches himself onto Clint.

“Hey little buddy.” Clint gives Nat a look over Bucky’s shoulder and she simply signs, I’ll fill you in later.

…

The first night Steve was gone, Bucky slept alone. He curled up in Steve’s shirt and slept in Steve’s bed, surrounded by Steve’s scent as he hugged a little bear that he wasn’t sure was named after him or just coincidentally named the same as him. But he knew better to than to ask, not after he the way he saw Steve looked at it, not after he saw how Steve held it. Bucky didn’t know, didn’t understand, but he knew better than to pry.

Even as a child who didn’t remember, he’d spent enough time around delicate people who were piecing themselves back together the best they could, people who were hard and strong but still broken, even in his smaller form he knew when not to push, and he did what his older self just couldn’t let himself do.

Touch.

But Steve wasn’t here looking at the toy that Bucky loved to tuck underneath his arm, so he couldn’t reassure Steve by giving him a hug or by sitting on his lap and letting Steve play with his hair, something that Steve wasn’t even fully aware that he did most of the time.

The second night Steve was gone, Bucky gave Jarvis a look, even though Jarvis was sort of everywhere, and the AI didn’t say a word as Bucky crawled through the vents, before dropping down on Nat’s couch and then slipping into Nat’s room, totally unfazed to find Clint sleeping beside her, his arm wrapped around Nat’s waist as he snored quietly. Nat stirred when Bucky pressed his cold little feet up against her leg as he crawled underneath the covers.

She murmured sleepily in Russian before she pressed a kiss on Bucky’s forehead and protectively wrapped her arm around him, drawing him close. She didn’t ask how Bucky got into her room, didn’t need to, because she knew that’d he be coming, and even if Bucky didn’t think anyone knew, she knew that he followed Clint all around the vents in this place.

…

+15 days

After breakfast - in which Bucky sat on Clint’s lap, took one sip of his coffee and gave  him a look of pure disgust before sliding off his lap and crawling onto Nat’s and ‘stealing’ the extra spoon that she had laid out next to her bowl knowing full well Bucky would take it, before eating half of Nat’s muesli – Bucky spent two entire hours trailing after Sam. Sam who pretends not to notice for 124 minutes that he had a shadow until there is a little hand tugging on his sleeve.

“Do you,” Bucky asks before he pauses, fiddles at the bottom of his shirt before continuing, “want to play on the swings - with me?”

Sam tries not to grin, tries not to let the fact that everyone else is in the common room and have been doing pretty much nothing all day, but Bucky doesn’t want the rest of them, he wants Sam, get to his head. So he just smiles and says, “Sure Bucky.”

Bucky nods, no longer looking nervous, and his little fingers curl around Sam’s hand and he drags him down to the playground that Tony and Bucky had spent the last few days working on.

…

Sam and Bucky spend about half an hour on the swings before Bucky admits in a small voice that he doesn’t really know how to swim and quietly asks Sam if he wouldn’t mind teaching him, as he stares down at his hands.

Sam remembers the conversation he had with Nat all those days ago, and nods. Bucky isn’t a toddler, but he still likes to be carried, likes to be touched, so Sam picks him off the swing, and they chat as Sam carries him down to the pool, and neither are surprised to find a cubbyhole in the changing room with a few pairs of togs and floaties and googles for Bucky, and to find the pool with a few more childlike touches.

Sam and Bucky spend the next few hours in the pool, Sam helping Bucky learn to swim, Sam splashing Bucky and Bucky splashing him in return, the two of them jumping off the diving board and into the pool, and Bucky laughing and chatting and asking Sam questions Sam isn’t sure how Bucky even knows how to ask.

…

Steve is gone for three days.

Three whole days that seem to pass by in a blink of the eye. But at the same time seem to drag on forever.

He wants to see Bucky first, but he knows that he needs to shower, so he heads to his floor straight from the roof and ends up asking Jarvis to fill him in on what he’s missed in the past 72 hours.

Steve drops his glass when he hears it. “Wait what?” He is staring at the wall opposite him where Jarvis is projecting videos from the past few days as Steve stands in his kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist and glass shards at his feet.

“Little Master Barnes speaks.” Jarvis replies immediately oddly smug in this revelation.

Steve blinks, tries to process that, before he finds himself saying, “Show me.”

“With all due respect Sir, get changed and go downstairs to see for yourself.” Jarvis answers, muting the video on the wall that has Bucky sitting on a work bench, swinging his legs as he laughs at something Tony says before his lips move and Tony throws back his head and laughs too.

Leaving the glass on the floor to deal with later, Steve feels another stab of jealously when the image on the wall changes as he is pulling on a pair of jeans. Not only is Bucky talking, and that he spoke to Tony first, something he doesn’t mind, he just wishes it was him. But also, Bucky crawled into Sam’s bed the night before, and looking at the video Jarvis is streaming onto his wall right now, much to Sam’s surprise he woke up with a little brown head of hair tucked underneath his chin.

In all honesty, Steve is feeling just a wee bit replaced.

Steve doesn’t pout, not really, but when he catches himself in the mirror he schools his expression before asking, “Where are they Jarvis?”

“In the pool.” The AI replies immediately, seemingly waiting for that question.

“Thanks Jarvis.”

Steve makes it down to the floor in less than a minute, and finds most of the avengers flipping and diving into the pool, and as Steve lingers in the doorway watching them for a few moments, he can see that Clint is clearly winning.

His eyes sweep the pool for Bucky, but it’s a sound that has his eyes darting in the right direction. Steve finds his lips curling into a smile before he can even register what the sound is. Bucky is sitting in Nat’s lap, with her arms wrapped around him, a grin on her face, as Bucky giggles.

Steve stands there frozen for a moment, and then those bright blue eyes land on him, and Bucky grins, smile bright and brilliant, and he waves before launching himself off Nat and running over to Steve as fast as his little legs can carry him as he yells, “Steeeeeeve!”

The rest of the avengers glance over to him, smiles growing on each of their faces as Bucky launches himself into Steve’s arms and Steve wraps his arms tight around him as Bucky burrows his face into Steve and wraps his little arms around Steve’s neck.

“I’m back Buck, I promised I would be.” Steve whispers against Bucky’s hair and Bucky just hugs him as tight as his little arms allow him before he pulls back a little, looks Steve square in the face and says very seriously, “I missed you.” Before wrapping his arms back around Steve again.

Steve who is desperately trying not to cry, grins and places the slightly squirmy boy on the floor and kneels down in front of him. Bucky’s eyes dart over Steve, clearly assessing for injuries, and probably not understanding the compulsion to do so. Not wanting Bucky to notice any of his wounds for the past few days that haven’t yet fully healed he pushes some of Bucky’s hair off his face.

Nat yells out behind them, Tony gets pushed into the pool, Clint roars with laughter, and Bucky leans in real close to Steve’s ear and whispers, “You’re my favourite. But don’t tell the others.”

And Steve beams.

Chapter Text

Bucky doesn’t ask him where he went, or why he was gone for so long, he seems to understand that he won’t get a proper answer to either of those questions, not one that won’t make Steve look sad, and Bucky doesn’t like it when those blue eyes cloud over and unfocused. Steve expects him to ask something when Bucky gets him to tuck him in, but Bucky just asks Steve to read him a book. Steve expects Bucky to ask while he’s reading, or afterwards, but the Princess is duelling the dragon as Bucky falls asleep against Steve’s chest.

Steve smiles down at the boys sleeping figure, closes the book and leans against the headboard, wondering if turning Bucky back would be the best thing, if they ever figured out how to do it. He misses his Bucky, and he knows that keeping this Bucky won’t erase won’t happened to the assassin. Everything that happened to Bucky still happened, and it isn’t Steve’s decision to make. It isn’t his choice which Bucky gets to live and which is held only in memory. Both Bucky’s are Bucky, but he can’t keep one without losing the other.

Steve falls asleep in Bucky’s bed, with the little boy curled up around him, his ear resting against Steve’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as he wonders what the adults aren’t telling him. Wondering why every time one of them looks so happy, they pause for a moment, a shadow crossing over their expression before they are shaking their heads and putting the thought out of their minds. Bucky doesn’t want to ask, because he knows they won’t tell him, and for some reason, curious as he is, this is one thing he doesn’t really want to know. He wants to fix it, make Steve smiles happy and his eyes bright, but he doesn’t know how. He does know one thing however, he won’t stop trying.

+16 days

It happens twice before Steve even notices Bucky actually leaving. Two lunches in a row Bucky slipped out of the room without anyone noticing, coming back only minutes later with Tony in tow. Tony who is covered in grease and looks like he hasn’t slept in a while, Tony that looks like he was dragged to the dinner table by his mother, who won’t let him leave until he’s eaten.

And Steve supposes it is kind of like that. Bucky doesn’t want Tony to miss out on lunch, Bucky doesn’t want anyone to miss out on lunch. Three days ago they, well Bucky, postponed lunch until 3.30 so they could have it with Sam when he got back from the VA.

So when Bucky slips off his chair the third lunch in a row and disappears into the hall, a bag in hand, Steve is leaning against the elevator waiting for him.

“Buck, where are you going?”

“Tony’s busy, so we can eat lunch together.”

Steve smiles, his smile soft and warm, and he tries to not tear up, but he does a little, because that is so Bucky. So bloody him right to the core. He’d never admit it to himself, would never agree with Steve no matter how many times he said it, but he cared a lot about other people, sometimes without even realising it.

Bucky doesn’t ask Steve to come but he does make a grabby motion with his hand and Steve realises that the boy is regarding him curiously now. Steve shakes his head and the elevator doors open. Seemingly both Jarvis and Bucky were waiting for Steve before they made their next move.

…

+17 days

Steve was sleeping peacefully just moments ago before the light came streaming uninvited in through the window and onto his face. He’s sure it wasn’t that bright mere moments ago, is sure that this is by design, that someone wants him to wake. Lying on his stomach he buries his head further into his pillow as the sun shines over his face. “Steve, Steve, wake up.” Bucky is saying, before he throws a pillow at Steve’s head and then proceeds to yank the blankets off of Steve in one smooth movement.

“Just one more minute Buck.” Steve groans into his pillow, wondering what godforsaken time James Buchanan Barnes calls this.

“Get your skinny ass out of bed Rogers, we’re going to the beach.”

At this Steve rolls over, a retort already on his lips, skinny ass? His ass is amazing, and not at all what it used to be. Small ass he gets called by Sam sure, but skinny ass? He doesn’t think so. But in front of him is not what he expected, it’s not ex-assassin Bucky greeting him as he so often does in his dreams, but it’s not his little Bucky that is in his reality either. It’s his Bucky, his 9 year old bossy friend Bucky. It’s his Bucky standing in front of him, his Bucky with a split lip, a bandaged elbow and a darkening bruise and a cut on his knee, just right where his shorts are torn, where he scraped it just three nights before, standing up for Steve when Jack Shire tried to rip apart Steve’s sketchbook because Steve wouldn’t let him cheat off of him.

His dreams aren’t usually like this, haven’t been for weeks now. So he lays there, staring over at Bucky who is impatiently watching him.

“What? Come on Steeeeve, don’t tell me you don’t remember!”

Of course Steve remembers, decades later he still remembers this day, remembers the sand between his toe and the wind that whipped by him making him bedridden for half a week. He remembers the freezing water that Bucky had dared him to swim in, and they had stripped and ran into the sea. Both of them running as fast as they could, and diving head first, then regretting their decision immediately and Bucky spending the next hour trying to warm Steve up and stop the chattering of his teeth as Steve shivered and told Bucky he was totally fine about a hundred times.

Steve remembers all of it.

Even now.

Remembers for himself, and remembers for the small smiling boy in front of him, the boy who had woken with the sun to read some science fiction book that had half the pages missing that they’d found the other week on the sidewalk. The little boy who saved Steve time after time, but the boy that Steve let down, the boy that Steve couldn’t save, not when he was little and weak. And not now that he is strong and tall.

He pushes himself of the mattress, and as it creaks he smiles, “Course I remember Buck.”

“Good, now hurry up.” Bucky pushes a piece of toast into Steve’s hands and throws some clothes at him before he marches out of the room, “You have two minutes, and then I’m leaving without you.”

Steve chuckles, wishing that this dream will never end, that from this one he won’t wake, not  for a while at least.

-

But they don’t make it to the beach. One moment Bucky is complaining about what Beth said the other day to Tom who told Frankie who told him, and the next Steve is punched in the stomach and shoved to the ground. This in itself is not unfamiliar to Steve, but he knows that this didn’t happen today.

 This wasn’t how this day had gone. Steve remembers this day.

Every detail.

This wasn’t how it went at all.

They had swam in the ocean, they had spent their money on hot dogs at the pier, they had-

“What the-” Steve starts before he sees a flash of silver and that dodgy guy that Bucky’s mom had yelled at the other day is standing in front of the two of them. Except when he turns around and snarls at Steve it isn’t him at all, it’s Alexander Pierce. Not the one that Steve knew, but younger, not young enough to fit in this time with the two of them, but he’s there.

Taking a step closer to Bucky, he draws the blade slowly up Bucky’s arm, “I’ve being looking for you Soldier.”

“But you’re, you’re dead.”

Steve pushes himself off the ground, lunges at Pierce and yells, “Run Bucky!” But Bucky doesn’t run, he doesn’t turn away, he moves towards them, tries to grab Pierce’s hand but he can’t stop it in time before that flash of silver Steve saw before is being driven into his gut.

It hurts, but Steve got in fights far too often for this to shake him, Pierce lets him drop to the floor and Steve lunges again, this time almost managing to hit Pierce before Rumlow is there, and Steve only gets a few hits in before Rumlow drops him.

Pierce doesn’t take his eyes off Bucky as he says, “Stay down Steven.”

“I can do this all day.” Steve glares, tries to get up but arms wrap around him from behind, arms that are keeping him in place, and he struggles against them, just wishing that Bucky would run. But Bucky is crying, trying to get to Steve as Steve bleeds out in front of him, blood coating his teeth and a bruise already blossoming over his eye.

But Bucky is pale and bleeding now too, and Steve doesn’t know how that happened, and he is being dragged away from Steve, his body struggling against Pierce’s hold.

Bucky screams, screams for Steve and Steve yells back, struggles against Rumlow, struggles against the arms holding his behind his back. He won’t let Pierce take him, he won’t let this happen. Not ever. Not again.

 “STEVE!” Bucky screams again, and it splits through Steve, just like it did on the mountains, just like it did after they had found Bucky, and Steve had laid awake, hearing Bucky screaming through the wall some nights, hearing Bucky scream his name night after night. And Steve had just sat on his bedroom floor, leaning against the wall crying, respecting the promise he made to Bucky, but wishing more than anything that he could comfort him, wishing more than anything on the nights that Bucky screamed that he could help him, that he could save him from the nightmare in his head.

But Bucky’s nightmares weren’t fantasy, not sick tales weaved by a broken mind, but reality. Steve couldn’t save Bucky from his nightmares because he’d lived them, lived them all, and a selfish part of Steve hoped that Bucky would keep remembering. Because then maybe Bucky would remember the good bits too, the parts without blood and knives and pain, but the parts before Hydra, before the war, before the days of bullets and orders. When it wasn’t Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers, but when it was just two boys, running through the streets of Brooklyn, feeling like they could fly.

Bucky screams again, louder this time and the world shakes around Steve. The world shakes and Bucky yells again, yells for him, and Steve struggles against the hands pressed against his- no, the arms were wrapped around him holding him back.

“Steve!” Steve struggles, struggles against the palms pressing against his chest as Bucky yells again, but his voice sounds deeper, it doesn’t sound like him.

“Bucky!” He yells back, wants Bucky to know he will save him, he will always save him. He struggles against the hands that are keeping him down, holding him down – he doesn’t stop to process anything, doesn’t process the fact that in his dream, he was being held from behind, doesn’t process that the voice saying his name isn’t Bucky’s.

He doesn’t care. They are taking Bucky away from him. Like they always do, like they always do… so Steve pushes, and he pushes hard. The hands against him are gone, nothing is holding him back anymore, so he swings, his fist makes contact with something and he hears a crack.

His legs are knocked out from underneath him, the room is dark around him, but Steve doesn’t stop, he doesn’t question anything, he just sees red. He wants to kill Rumlow, wants to break every bone in his body, doesn’t care if he kills Pierce’s men either.

“Steve” a voice says, soft and soothing, but it isn’t Bucky.

He can’t find his shield, doesn’t know where it is, but it doesn’t matter, he in himself is a weapon.  There’s three of them now, and he can hear their voices, calling his name but he doesn’t listen to any of them. Instead he blocks as many punches he can and throws someone across the wall, punches someone else a few times in the face before a third pushes him out in the living room, her hits blocking his.

“Bucky!” He needs to get to him, before it’s too late.

A few seconds later the table breaks beneath him, he groans, but doesn’t waste a moment before he punches someone in the face before driving his knee into his gut and sending him across the room, into the tv which cracks right down the middle.

The light switch is flicked and the room is flooded with light, Steve pauses for a moment, caught off guard but he doesn’t let it distract him. He knows he is bleeding and as thighs wrap around his face he grabs the shoulders and pulls, spins around as he throws the attacker off his shoulders and towards the wall. He hears the breath of the person behind him before the hand makes contact. He grabs the oncoming arm and yanks, pulling it towards him, hearing the pop before he kicks the guy away from him.

“Steve, STOP! It’s us!” A voice tries to reason with him, it’s not that he doesn’t hear it, it’s that he doesn’t care. He just punches. He knocks the man in front of him to the floor, and dodges the plate that is thrown at him. A few plates shatter against him, and he dodges a few knifes. He catches one ready to throw it back but another blade hits him in the shoulder and as he pulls it out of him without second thought. He hears a gasp from the bleeding man on the ground beside him, whose shoulder is popped out of his socket.

He flips the knife in his hand, just the way Bucky always seems to do. He’s ready to drive it into the red head, attacks her from the second she gets into his space, but she moves too fast, finally knocks the knife out of his hand, but he knew she’d do that, uses that moment of attention she’s devoted to getting the knife away from them, for him to pin her down and drive his fist into her face.

She shifts, just in time, flips the two of them over, “Steve!”

He pushes his head into hers, drives his fingers into her skin and rolls them, his knee digging into her-

“Steve!” Another voice cries.

But unlike the others, this one gives him pause.

He freezes, tries to place the voice and then he hears his name again, “Steve.” The voice is different this time, not the voice of a child that the last cry was, but the voice of a man.  

He looks up and sees his Bucky, the unimpressed look on his face and his arms folded, the blue jacket he always wore with too much blood on it for Steve’s liking. “Honestly they call you Captain, but you were dancing on a goddamn stage before you decided to jump out of a flying fucking metal death trap in some half-assed plan to go behind enemy lines and save a few soldiers.”  He notices that in the corner of the screen is his little Bucky who is sitting on Pepper’s lap no doubt somewhere in the building, his arms wrapped around Bucky bear.

“It worked didn’t it?” He hears himself reply.

He sees Bucky glare at him for a few more seconds before his face splits into a grin and Bucky laughs, “You’re a goddamn lunatic Rogers.” The recording cuts and suddenly it’s just the Bucky of today on the screen, Pepper’s arms keeping him warm and safe.

“It’s okay Stevie.” The little boys says, and Steve smiles up at him, confused for a moment why it hurts to smile, before realising his lip is cut and he’s in his living room, his weight pressing down on another and his body aching.

Steve looks down, sees Nat bruised and bleeding beneath him, “Oh my god Nat.”  

“Fucking finally.” Nat sighs as her body relaxes beneath Steve. His mouth opens to ask what the fuck just happened when he hears a groan beside him and sees Sam pulling himself up off the floor, a piece of glass from the vase Steve found in some antique shop the week before imbedded in his arm and his right arm not quite sitting right.  

“What the fuck-” Steve starts, before he realises, that first hit he made, wasn’t to Rumlow, it wasn’t in his dream. He rolls off of Nat, helps her to her feet, and just stares at his living room which is in broken shards all around him. The only thing that doesn’t appear to be broken is his couch. His mirror is shattered, and from the looks of Maria’s hair she had be thrown head first into that. Clint regards the broken plates and abandoned knifes with a guilty look before he pops Sam’s shoulder back into its socket.

“I am so so sorry, holy shit I-” Steve starts, the guilt settling in fast and deep.

“It’s fine Stev-o, we’ve all had bad dreams.” Clint replies as cheerily as he can. Sam musters a smile despite the bruise already forming on his cheekbone and pats him on the shoulder, “I get why Buck-o never wanted us to wake him.” Clint adds as he catches the bag of frozen peas that Maria throws at him.

Steve just sinks onto the couch, head in his hands, “How much did Bucky see?”

“None of it Champ.” Tony answers, appearing out of nowhere. He’s in his suit, obviously just a little bit too late to help out. “Now let’s all head to the medical bay in an orderly fashion.”

“Oh god.” Steve groans into his hands, wondering why he didn’t properly wake up sooner, and feeling more and more guilty as each second passes by.

…

+20 days

Steve barely talks to anyone the next few days. Didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to be reminded of how he had hurt them all, didn’t want to accidentally hurt them again. He knew that wouldn’t happen not while he was awake, so he barely slept. Bucky crawled into bed each night beside him and as soon as he was asleep, Steve would slip out of the room, tell Jarvis to let him know when Bucky woke before he headed to the gym.

The others knew he was avoiding them, torn between giving him space and wanting to help, they gave half-hearted offers to do things, that they knew Steve would refuse, and each time he did.  

Sam wasn’t going to let Steve sulk any longer. None of them were mad at Steve, they understood, and while the others said to wait for him to come to them, Sam knew better. Steve had been locked in the gym alone for the past 4 hours, hadn’t really left it in the last few days, other than to eat lunch with Bucky, who dragged him out of the gym when he saw fit.

“Dude, let me spar with you.”

Steve shakes his head, “I can’t-”

“Hurt me again? You need to be able to train us to be-” Sam starts, knowing what Steve will say. Steve is bloody stubborn, but that doesn’t mean he is always right, and shutting himself away from everyone isn’t the best thing to be doing, not since he won’t tell anyone what his dream was about, let alone talk to them.

Steve finally stops punching the bag, his knuckles bleeding. He turns to Sam, that hurt in his eye that some days he just can’t get out shining bright and says, “Able to fight me? Just in case I go-”

“No. You go too soft on us, I’m not saying go Terminator straight outta the gate, but you have to push me more. Nat goes harder on you than me, but she doesn’t give me the easy treatment. You shouldn’t either.”

Steve sighs, knowing that Sam’s right. “Fine but when it hurts like hell don’t come crying to me.”

Sam grins, grabs two pairs of boxing gloves from the side of the ring and passes one to Steve. “The crazy moves come out in an hour on the mat, but first, we’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

…

When Thor visits a third time, he and Bucky spend four hours in the common room. For the first half hour Bucky builds a complicated looking Lego plane and a little flat that he puts a few people in as he listens to Thor talk. And then he puts down the Lego and listens to Thor with his full attention like he’s done the past two times. But then he does something that he hasn’t done before. He climbs up and sits of Thor’s knee, an action that is watched by Sam who leaves his fork hovering in front of his mouth for a full thirty seconds before he remembers his pasta. Because Bucky is asking Thor questions about Asgard, and space, and the universe, and Thor is more than happy to reply. And no one misses the way he beams at Bucky every time Bucky says another word.

Not just because he’s speaking, not just because he’s curious. But because the boy looks delighted and intrigued, and because from the sounds of it, he actually has been listening in rapt attention when Thor speaks, and is curious to know as much as he can.

Thor does what Tony does in regards to Bucky, he talks to him, not at him, and he certainly doesn’t dumb down his answers simply because Bucky is only five. Thor may not do it for the same reasons that Tony does, but it has the same effect. And with Bucky swinging his legs as he asks Thor questions and gets Thor to braid his hair, something that only Nat is allowed to do, Sam wonders if they’ll ever get the assassin back, wonders how the world could treat this curious little boy who loved science so much how they did, wonders whether Bucky’s still curious after what they did, wonders how the world could be so cruel to this little boy, how they could scrape so much of him out and leave so little of him behind.

And Sam has to get up and leave the table before Bucky notices that he’s crying, because he knows he will, and this, this is something that not even the little boy can soothe. He heads down to the gun range to watch Steve and Clint, needing something to occupy his mind.  

He never knew the adult Bucky, the one the world let down, the one that Hydra tore great hunks out of, the one that was worn down over and over again, and part of him wonders if they should change him back if they ever can. Or if they should leave him like this, leave him happy and curious and smiling, leave him to grow up without the world deserting him, leave him to have a future that isn’t filled with blood and pain and death.

He wonders if this is what Steve is wondering when he catches him staring at the little boy, so sweet and innocent and trusting, heart so full of love, and unaware of how the hatred of the world will mould him against his wishes, how death will leave a mark on his soul that he can never wash off.