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The day has been spent running errands and catching up on chores, mainly laundry. It’s one of the few chores that Stiles hates to do and puts off until it’s absolutely necessary. He didn’t mind doing it back in Beacon Hill, but that’s because the laundry was on the first floor, and he lived upstairs. In this apartment building, it’s in a smelly basement down seven flights of stairs from his apartment door.
Maybe he’ll tell Lydia to get a place with its own washer and dryer if she wants him to move in with her.
It takes him a few hours to get it all washed, dried, carried back upstairs, and then put away. He feels like he’s had a workout at the gym by the time he’s finished, his t-shirt damp with sweat and his arms sore. Of course, the soreness is probably from yesterday morning, since he knows his ribs are bruised and there’s some pain from punches that landed successfully.
Unfortunately, thinking about yesterday just reminds him of the best kiss he’s had in maybe ever, and the feeling of rejection that’s still lingering as he remembers Bucky’s confusion and immediate apology when his lips were still tingling. He doesn’t know why Bucky decided to spontaneously kiss him, but it wasn’t because he suddenly found Stiles irresistible. He wouldn’t have looked so shocked if he’d only been apologetic about kissing him without asking first, after all.
“No, I refuse to sit here all night over analyzing a stupid kiss that shouldn’t have even happened,” he says, thinking that maybe he needs to get a plant so he feels less ridiculous talking to himself.
Tomorrow is the day that he and Bucky made plans to fulfill the wager that he lost over the game of Connect Four. Stiles knows he’s going to feel awkward about seeing Bucky, but he has to get over it because he enjoys the friendship that they’ve been developing these past few weeks. Anyway, Bucky will probably feel awkward, too, so they can share in that together, if nothing else.
Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t kissed his platonic friends before and been fine after. He and Scott had schmooched a few times during games of truth or dare, and there was that one time with Danny after a lacrosse game that neither of them acknowledged afterward. Now that he’s thinking about it, there was also the time with Jackson during that one party, another thing he never spoke about again.
He can just chalk this up as another guy who kissed him once and wanted to forget about it.
Right. He can do that because he’s a mature adult, and it was just a kiss. Besides, friends are way harder to find than someone for sex. He can find that any night he wants to put in the effort, not that he’s into one night stands. Sadly, he’s someone who wants the intimate parts of a relationship, the companionship and romance along with the making out and sex parts.
That isn’t something he’s likely going to have now, not after his possession and the repercussions of that, and he’s accepted that. He’s focused on his professional life, building a career that can help feed the needs he now has, and that’s been great for years. Having people in his life who don’t really know the truth, who can never understand, is pointless anyway.
That’s why he shuts himself away and avoids letting people in. Bucky just somehow slid right past all of that and ignored the ‘do not enter’ signs to gradually worm his way into a friendship. That’s complicated enough without Stiles misinterpreting things between them. He probably shouldn’t have run away from it yesterday, but he hadn’t been ready to deal with the communicating thing that needed to happen.
He’s curious if Bucky will show up tomorrow for Coney Island, or if he’ll just stop coming around because of that kiss. He participated in it, too, after all, and he seemed surprised by that fact despite having had sex with men in the past.
“Probably men he found attractive and didn’t flirt with just for fun,” he mutters, that sting of rejection back full-force.
With a groan, he goes to his closet and digs into the back of it until he finds some of the clothes that he used to wear when he went clubbing back in college. His body has filled out a bit more since then, his running and gym visits helping along with natural broadening of his shoulders when he hit his twenties.
He’s not sure what still fits, so he ends up just ignoring those clothes, making a mental note to donate them soon. He decides to wear some tight jeans he knows do good things for his ass and a white button up. The shirt is a thin material that is way more form fitting than he remembers, but it’s comfortable. He isn’t some college kid cruising, so he doesn’t want to look like one. A glance in his mirror shows that he looks hot yet age appropriate.
“It’s totally mature to go look for someone interested in making out just to stop feeling rejected,” he tells his reflection. “This will help get me over the rejection faster, and I’ll be able to deal with Bucky tomorrow without feeling so stupid.”
His reflection just looks back at him, and he grimaces. “Yeah, this is another ridiculous idea, but I need some kind of validation of my attractiveness because I’m still an insecure mess even if I’m a magical hybrid with a thousand year old void,” he tries to reason with himself. He already knows tomorrow will be strained, and he’s going to have to rebuild some walls because he let Bucky get too close.
Since he’s dressed, he decides to carry through with the plan to go out. He can get a drink and people watch if he decides not to pursue the making out with a stranger idea, which does sound rather pointless when he really thinks about it. He’s got to have feelings there to care about the making out part, after all.
With that in mind, he gets his nicer coat out of the closet and a scarf that Isaac sent him as a graduation gift. It was meant as a joke, but it’s made of a soft wool that Stiles likes so he wears it when the weather gets cold. It’s nearing the end of October, which means winter will be creeping in sooner rather than later.
Stiles doesn’t mind winter in the city, mostly because he enjoys the cold and likes the snow, even when it becomes a dirty melted mess. It also means ice skating accidents and falls and a lot more work for the ED. Summer is mostly dehydration and heat exhaustion since they aren’t located near any major swimming areas, which means it’s boring and not very challenging. Winter is the best season for a variety of pain and chaos.
As he walks, he changes his mind about going to a club. He isn’t in the mood now that he’s outside and thinking more rationally. There’s a bar not too far from the hospital that he’s frequented with colleagues, so he decides that’ll be his destination tonight. He feels better now that he’s got a plan in mind.
It takes a while to walk to the bar, but he doesn’t mind getting the fresh air. He might splurge and take an Uber home, though, because he’s still sore from fighting Goddard yesterday. His body heals differently now, much faster than it used to, another gift from the possession that changed his life, so he isn’t concerned about anything more than the temporary aches that’ll be gone in a couple of days.
The bar is crowded, which makes sense considering it’s a Saturday night, but Stiles finds an empty barstool near the end that he takes over. It gives him a view of the door and the bar, which lets him people watch and feel more secure all at the same time.
“What you’ll have, cutie?” the bartender asks, a pleasant smile on her painted lips. “I’ll need to card you if it’s anything above a soda.”
“I figured,” he says, pulling his wallet out and handing over his license. “I’ll take an old fashioned.”
“Coming right up,” she says, handing him his license back and preparing his cocktail.
“You know, go ahead and add an order of the spring rolls,” he says, his gaze catching a nearby table eating the dish. “Those look pretty good.”
“They’re made fresh nightly,” she tells him, sliding his drink across the bar. “I’ll put the ticket in for you. If you need anything else, I’m Julie.”
“Thanks, Julie. I’m good for now,” he says. “Let me give you my card, though, so you can open a tab.”
“Sure thing, cutie,” she says, going down the bar and swiping his card. She brings it back before moving to the next patron, who gets called sugar.
Stiles settles onto the stool, bringing his leg up to rest against the rung as he sips his drink and scopes the place. He ends up watching a couple who appear to be on a first date that isn’t going well. The man is drinking a lot, and the woman looks bored.
His spring rolls come out when the woman pulls her phone out and starts scrolling. The man looks annoyed at this, and Stiles wonders if he’s going to make a scene. The spring roll he bites into is good but messy, so he has to lean forward to make sure nothing gets onto his white shirt.
“Five dollars says he’s going to have a tantrum soon,” a woman’s voice says to his right.
Stiles glances over and sees an attractive woman watching the same couple that’s caught his attention. She looks like she’s probably in her mid to late thirties, and he suspects she’s wearing a wig because that color of blonde is definitely not real.
“I’ll raise you five and say she’s going to leave before he gets the chance,” Stiles says, finishing his spring roll.
“It’s a deal, Mister?” The blonde holds out her hand to shake, a friendly smile on her face.
“It’s Stiles, no mister needed,” he says, shaking her hand. “And you are?”
“Like the singer from that one band?” she asks curiously before she smiles. “I’m Sasha. No mister needed, either.”
“That guy’s last name is Styles, spelled differently,” he says with a snort. “Mine is a nickname. I’m not in a boy band, either, though I used to play the drums.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s seat, am I?” she asks. “It’s crowded in here, so I was standing until I noticed this one empty.”
“No, I think the guy who was sitting there when I arrived left,” he says, keeping an eye on the first date couple. He doesn’t get the feeling that Sasha is trying to pick him up—there aren’t any flirty looks or suggestive comments—so he doesn’t mind casually chatting with someone else who is also here alone.
“Not meeting anyone then?” she asks. He gives her a look that has her smiling. “You look like you’re dressed for a date and you’re a good-looking guy, so I’m surprised you’re on your own. If I was younger, I’d be all over it.”
“Maybe I like older women,” he points out, smirking when she rolls her eyes.
“Alas, I’d have to like younger men for it to work out,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “You’re cute, but you look like jailbait.”
“Ouch,” he says, laughing as he puts his hand over his chest. “Those are some sharp words, Sasha. I haven’t been jailbait in nearly a decade, thank you very much.”
“Still not interested,” she says sweetly.
“Neither am I, but it’s about proving a point now,” he says, shaking his head.
She frowns and looks at him curiously. “You really mean that, don’t you? That you’re not interested.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, and I do happen to think that age isn’t overly important, but, yes, I mean it,” he says. “I’m not interested in the whole flirting and one night stand thing. I just want to have a drink and enjoy my evening.”
“Huh.” She studies him a moment before smiling slightly. “I figured you were playing some ‘hard to get’ angle to get laid.”
“Nope, no interest in getting laid,” he says with a laugh before giving her a curious look. “If you thought I was playing games, why’d you sit down?”
“Because I can play them better,” she says simply. “I wasn’t concerned about it. Besides, you seemed friendlier than the other people sitting by vacant seats, so I took my chances.”
“It probably sucks being a single woman at a bar trying to have a drink,” he says, thinking about it. “My sister is always complaining about men trying to pick her up while being inappropriate.”
Sasha laughs, her eyes crinkling up slightly. “That’s one way to describe it,” she says. “I’ve learned how to combat the inappropriate men, but it always helps to have a buffer around.”
“Oh, I get it now,” he says with a smirk. “You’re not into me, so I’m safe to use as a buffer to keep the creeps away. Is that it?”
“Look at that. The man has got some brains to go with that pretty face,” Sasha teases, her words making him think about Bucky. She stops smiling. “I was just joking, kid. I’m sure you’re smart enough.”
“No, it’s not you,” he says, smiling wryly. “That comment just made me think about someone.”
“A girlfriend?” she asks, looking him over. “Or a boyfriend perhaps?”
“Nah, nothing like that,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m still on my first drink, and I don’t know you at all, so forgive me for being much too sober to discuss my personal life with a stranger.”
She blinks, and he realizes he might have been a little too blunt, but it’s not like he’s going to see her again. “Sorry,” she says after a moment. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t be sorry, Sasha. I’m the one with trust issues and a ton of baggage. You’re just being friendly,” he says, taking a sip of his drink and glancing at the first date table. “Oh, look. He’s getting agitated.”
Sasha studies him for a moment before looking over at the table. “She looks like she’s ready to bolt,” she says. “Who wins the money if we’re both right?”
“We can just use it to give Julie a big tip,” he decides, shrugging. “That’s what I planned to do with it when I won.”
“Julie’s the bartender, I assume?” Sasha asks. At his nod, she smiles. “I’ll agree to that solution then. She’s working hard tonight.”
Stiles suddenly slides off his stool and walks over to the table, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing hard. “I don’t think you want to do that, sir,” he says firmly. “The lady would like to leave, so the polite thing to do is to let her.”
He looks over at the date and is surprised to see Sasha beside her, glaring at the man. She looks stern and serious, completely at odds with the open and friendly woman he’s spent the past however long chatting with. “I think he’s going to be polite, Stiles,” she says, not looking away from the man even as she helps the date get her purse together.
“It was smart to have the date in a public place, but I hope the next one is better than this guy,” he tells the woman, flashing a professional smile that always eases his patients’ nerves.
The fear and anger in the air is tasty, and he might deliberately squeeze the man’s shoulder harder just to add the bitterness of pain to the flavors he’s currently savoring. Once the girl is out the door, he releases the shoulder he’s holding and steps back.
“If you’re going to be dating, you need to learn healthy ways to cope with rejection,” he tells the guy. “Getting angry and threatening is going to get your ass in jail, not to a second date.”
With that, he goes back to his barstool and spitefully eats a spring roll because who is he to give advice on dealing with rejection. His big plan was initially to go make out with a stranger just so he’d feel wanted by someone even if it wasn’t who he wants to want him.
“I knew he was going to be difficult,” Sasha says as she rejoins him at the bar. “You get a sixth sense about it, I suppose. You moved quickly. Is it intruding in your personal life if I ask what you do for a living, Stiles?”
“No, it’s not,” he says with a snort. “I’m a doctor. Currently finishing up my residency in the ED, so I’m used to having to react quickly and move fast. You weren’t exactly slow yourself, Sasha.”
“A doctor, huh? My mother always did want me to grow up to marry a doctor,” she teases, blatantly stealing one of his spring rolls. “I’m a PA for an obnoxious CEO, so I’ve learned how to get places quickly.”
“Ugh, that sounds awful,” he says. “Give me the ED during the worst food poisoning case, and I’d still prefer that to working for a rich guy.” He finishes his drink and catches Julie’s attention, holding up two fingers as he nods towards Sasha.
“I can buy my own drink,” she points out. When he just looks at her, she slowly smiles. “Fine, but you need to go play darts with me so the guy in black that keeps leering at me goes away while I play.”
“How is it that I’m the one buying the drink yet you’re the one making demands?” he asks, arching a brow before glancing over to see a sleazy guy ogling all of the women nearby. “Okay, I’ll play one round.”
One round becomes ten, and he gets to see an incredibly competitive side of Sasha emerge as they play. It makes for a surprisingly fun night, and it does take his mind off of Bucky and that kiss. He ends up walking Sasha to the closest subway station when they leave the bar, saying goodbye before walking away.
Instead of getting an Uber, he decides to walk. He’s in better spirits now than he was earlier, and it’s Saturday night, so the city is alive and busy. He passes an open pizza joint and ducks inside, ordering a slice to go and a bottle of water. The spring rolls weren’t enough, and the pizza smells too good to pass by.
He eats as he walks, feeling like a real New Yorker when he does something this simple because he watches tourists try it with bad results often. When he finally arrives back to his building, it’s later than he expects. The leisurely stroll was exactly that apparently.
The building is quiet, the residents either in bed, out partying, or having quiet fun at home because he doesn’t hear anything as he walks up the stairs. When he reaches his floor, he hears a television going in one of the apartments and music playing from another.
“The insulation here really is shitty,” he mutters, walking to his front door. When he raises his hand with his key, he stops and stares. Something’s wrong. He studies the lock for a moment before he reaches out and touches it, feeling the grooves beneath his finger that shouldn’t be there. Noticeably a deep one that he’s reasonably confident wasn't there when he left earlier.
Someone has broken into his apartment while he’s been out. He can’t be positive until he goes inside, but he knows that has to be the answer. He reaches out to his wards, annoyed that they didn’t trigger and alert him to the potential thief, and he feels his anger rise when he realizes someone is still inside his apartment.
Okay, so the wards didn’t keep someone out, but they did keep someone in. That’s alright because he can now ensure that nothing is taken and that whoever decided to rob him regrets that choice. Before he goes inside, he just has to make sure. He knows it isn’t, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Pulling out his phone, he goes to the second most called number under Sister Wife and hits the call button. It rings four times before it goes to voicemail. “I was just checking to see if you might have randomly decided to break into my apartment tonight, but you’re not picking up, so you must be busy. I know it’s not you inside anyway.”
With that, he ends the call and puts his phone back. He slides his key into the lock, twisting it to unlock before he repeats the same action with his other two locks. It is a rough neighborhood, so he has three locks despite the magical wards he uses. Once everything is unlocked, he twists the doorknob and pushes the door open.
The living room and kitchen are dark, and he doesn’t see any people shaped shadows lurking anywhere. Stepping inside, he reaches for his trusty baseball bat, which he keeps by the front door for security reasons. He also hits the light switch with his elbow, blinking as the overhead light flashes on.
“I know someone’s here,” he says conversationally. “If you come out now, we can have a little chat about the dangers of breaking and entering while waiting for the police. If not, well, the police are busy.”
He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he ignores it. He shuts his front door and scans the area, knowing his magic could easily find the intruder but preferring to do it the old-fashioned way. It’s like a dangerous game of hide and go seek.
“You’re not going to be able to leave until I let you,” he says, cautiously walking towards the kitchen. He can’t see all of it, so someone could be crouched down behind the counter waiting. “I don’t have anything of value, you know? No one in this building has anything worth getting a B&E to steal. If you want money for drugs, which is the most logical reason for robbing in this area, you should have gone to those luxury apartments down south of here.”
No one is in the kitchen.
He looks around at the stacks of moving boxes and figures someone would have to be slight and shorter to effectively hide behind those, but he checks anyway. There’s nothing behind them, which means the robber is in the bedroom.
“There definitely isn’t anything valuable in my bedroom unless you want used sex toys or a laptop that’s a few years old,” he says, frowning at the closed bedroom door. “You know what, I’m going to let you stay in there until you get fed up enough that you come out.”
He goes into the kitchen and gets a bag of microwave popcorn out of the cabinet. This robber could have a gun, but Stiles figures they’d have already come out shooting if they did. He sets the timer and pulls himself up on the counter, holding his bat as he waits.
When the timer goes off, he sees his bedroom door crack open before something is thrown into the living room. There’s a thud followed by a cloud of smoke that has him sliding off the counter and moving into the living room. It’s thick smoke, not intended to use in such a small space, and he coughs as he inhales some of it. He almost misses the figure dressed in black from head to toe because of the smoke, but he swings his bat fast enough to hit the robber on the legs.
The robber goes down, but they quickly kick out, heavy boots stinging as they hit Stiles’ thigh. The robber is up on their feet in a fighting stance, dodging the bat when he swings it and getting a good punch against his sore ribs.
“You want to fight? Alright then. We can fight,” he says, tossing his bat to the side and punching the robber in their balaclava covered face. They even have black goggles on, like some kind of spy, which makes him suddenly question if this is just an addict needing money for a fix or if Stasia has friends.
He doesn’t know what happened after he left the abandoned building, after all. He trusts Bucky, but whoever he works for could be as corrupted as the government and police department. Stiles doesn’t have the file on Maybe Jose anymore, though, and no one knows he took photos of it before handing it over to Bucky along with the bad guys.
There isn’t time to rethink his strategy now because the robber is fighting back, and they’re good. Like way more lethal than Goddard was, and accurate with their hits even with all the smoke and unfamiliar terrain. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t the one they were beating up.
Stiles uses his fists, making contact multiple times, and he savors the pain he can feel when he’s successful even as he feels his remnants turning his own pain into power and energy for him. He knocks the robber over the sofa, hearing a crash as one of his boxes falls on the ground, but he ignores it, climbing over the sofa and trying to get the upper hand.
The robber grabs his fist and moves, Stiles’ shoulder making an odd noise before he feels a spike of pain. He grits his teeth and kicks out, knocking the robber into the wall. This is what he thought fighting Hydra would be like, not that little match with Goddard yesterday.
He can’t help but remember Bucky’s worry when he was talking about Stiles dying without him even knowing because that’s a real fear if most of Hydra fights this well. Not that he’s going to die, but Bucky doesn’t know that. Stiles is too much of a survivor to let something like Hydra kill him.
The robber keeps fighting, knocking him into the bookcase with his bad shoulder, which just causes more pain. The dumbass doesn’t know that the pain helps keep him focused and gives him power, so Stiles just returns the punch, managing to get a good hit against their ribs.
Suddenly, strong arms move around him and lift him up, the familiar scent of Bucky filling his senses. The scent calms him, bringing him back to himself, and he looks up to see Bucky glaring at the robber.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, flinching when Bucky gives him a look that calls him a stupid asshole without any words being said.
“I don’t know, Doc,” Bucky says. “I get a call asking if I broke into your house then saying you know it’s not me, which means someone broke in. Since I’m learning that you’re a complete fucking idiot with no self-preservation skills, I figured I’d better get over here.”
“I don’t need you to come swooping in like you’re Prince Charming, even if you’ve got the hair for it,” Stiles says, wiggling to get out of the tight embrace. “I was doing fine.”
“Just say, ‘thank you for coming to help save my cute ass, Bucky’ and stop being a stubborn knucklehead for once,” Bucky says, looking at the ceiling as if he’s asking for patience. It’s a look Stiles has seen his dad and others do before when dealing with him.
“My cute ass didn’t need saving,” Stiles points out. “But thank you for interrupting and giving the robber a chance to escape.”
Bucky looks pointedly at the floor. “They don’t seem to be escaping.”
“That’s because they already know they can’t,” he mutters, refusing to look at Bucky’s stupidly handsome and smug face.
“What do you mean?” Bucky asks. “If I hadn’t shown up, they could have reached the door.”
“I had it under control,” Stiles says. “You can let me go now, Buck. They don’t seem like they’re going to try to fight both of us.”
The robber slowly stands up, shifting into a natural sighting stance that has Bucky inhaling sharply beside Stiles’ ear. Stiles looks at him and sees that he’s staring, the glare back and mixed with some anger this time.
“Do you recognize them? Are they Hydra? I originally thought it was an addict looking for easy money, but then I started to have doubts because they were a much better fighter than God—“
The rest of his words are muffled by Bucky’s hand. “Don’t,” he warns quietly, loosening his grip before walking over to face the robber. “What are you doing here? This isn’t sanctioned, and you have no business here.”
The robber removes their goggles and the balaclava, familiar blonde hair falling from it. “Sasha?” He frowns and steps forward, feeling his fingers itch as his magic begins to swell. “Really?”
“Who the hell is Sasha?” Bucky asks, glaring at the woman. “Nat, what are you playing at?”
Nat. The former sex partner turned friend. Stiles blinks as he makes the connection and feels his anger simmering. “She told me her name is Sasha, and she had a few drinks with me tonight.”
Bucky looks at him, an odd expression on his face that Stiles can’t place. “You had drinks with her?”
“Yeah, I was at the bar, and she was friendly. We drank a bit and played darts,” he says. “I thought she seemed nice. No red flags at all.”
“It wasn’t like that, James,” Sasha slash Nat says. “It was just friendly. Did you think I wouldn’t notice something missing from your story yesterday?”
“Nothing was missing,” Bucky says tightly, a nerve in his cheek twitching as he clenches his jaw. “You shouldn’t be here. He isn’t involved with any of this, Nat.”
“Detective Marino was extremely concerned that the man who beat him might have hurt Dr. Stilinski,” Sasha slash Nat—no, her name is obviously Nat—says in a pointed tone. “Apparently, that report that you had was initially given to the good doctor here.”
“I had the report,” Bucky says simply. “I’m sure being beaten up didn’t help Marino’s memory.”
There’s a flare of anger in her face that is quickly concealed. “I am your partner, James. I will have your back and tell our superiors whatever is necessary, but I refuse to be kept in the dark by someone I am supposed to trust.”
“So, uh, Sasha Nat whatever your name is, how is Detective Marino?” Stiles asks, shrugging when Bucky glares at him. It hurts to shrug, and he remembers his dislocated shoulder. “Ow. Don’t look at me like that. She doesn’t know anything for sure, so she’s trying to bait you into spilling. But she’s also got a point because you have to trust the person keeping you alive in deadly situations.”
“Your boy is smart, James. Perhaps you should listen to him. He was friendly at the bar, but he refused to tell me anything of true importance or personal details that wouldn’t easily be found out,” Nat says, sounding grudgingly impressed. “Detective Marino is fine. He’s going to heal, and he is unaware of the true identity of the man who beat him.”
“Good. He doesn’t need to be involved in anything having to do with Hydra or super secret classified organizations,” Stiles says firmly. He looks at Nat, studying her for a moment. “You can leave now. If you try anything like this again, I might not be so generous.”
She arches a brow and considers him. “Next time, I’ll simply knock,” she says, looking at Bucky, who is still stewing and glaring like an upset puppy. “His shoulder is dislocated, and two ribs on his left side are also bruised. Take care of him, James. We’ll finish this conversation later.”
The apartment is completely silent as she walks around the fallen boxes and opens the front door. Once it closes behind her, the silence continues. A glance at Bucky’s face shows the same angry annoyance that’s been there since Stiles interrupted.
“Go ahead and yell at me,” Stiles finally says. “You know that you want to. I can see it in your face.”
“I don’t want to yell at you,” Bucky says slowly, like he’s being super careful choosing his words. “You already know how dangerous and irresponsible it was for you to enter this apartment when you believed someone had broken in that was still here. I don’t have to tell you that.”
Stiles clears his throat and looks away. “I think I prefer the cussing and yelling to this,” he admits. “This whole solemn disappointment thing is worse.”
“I’m not your father, Doc. It isn’t disappointment so much as resignation because I’m starting to understand that you’re not careful with your own life,” Bucky says, looking at him with that odd look that Stiles doesn’t understand. “Steve was like that, too. One of the few things you two have in common. I just didn’t realize it when there weren’t dangerous situations for you to run into.”
“It’s not like I go seeking them out,” Stiles points out. “They just find me, and it isn’t often because I’m usually working, and I wouldn’t be confident about something if I had any doubts about my ability to handle it. I know when I need to be careful and when I’m not in any real danger. You just have to learn to trust me.”
Bucky drags his fingers through his hair and slowly nods. “Right. I guess I trust you about most stuff, so I need to trust you about this,” he says. He smiles wryly. “Sorry about Nat. I should have realized she was suspicious about everything yesterday, but I was distracted.”
“If you think she’s bad, wait until you meet Lydia,” Stiles says softly, accepting the olive branch that Bucky’s just offered. “I love her, but she’s an evil genius, literally. Well, maybe not the evil part, but that’s because she’s on my side.”
“Smarter than you, Doc?” Bucky asks, his lips curving into a slight smile. “Looking forward to meeting her. I have an admiration for strong redheads who can be evil, obviously.”
“I knew that had to be a wig,” Stiles mutters, feeling triumphant about being right. “Guess we both have a crazy redhead in our lives that we have to apologize for then.”
“I need to fix your shoulder,” Bucky says, shrugging his coat off. “Nat said it’s dislocated.”
“It is,” he confirms, grimacing as he’s reminded about it. The pain is tolerable because he absorbs it, but he knows it’s going to hurt like hell snapping it back into place. “And it’s my right arm, which sucks because that’s my dominant one. Fortunately, I taught myself how to use my left hand when I learned about being ambidextrous in third grade.”
“Only you, Doc.” Bucky looks him over, his face shifting slightly. “You’re dressed up,” he says, reaching out to drag a metal finger over the white button up. “You really resisted Nat?”
“I went to a bar for a drink,” he says, catching Bucky’s gaze. “It’s just jeans and a nice shirt. Not like I’m wearing a suit. As for Nat, yeah, I wasn’t looking for sex, and she didn’t give me vibes like she was, either. Besides, she’s not my type.”
“She’s kinda hard to resist,” Bucky says, his fingers reaching Stiles’ throat. He stares for a moment, and Stiles finds himself lost in pale blue eyes. “We never did finish that conversation yesterday, Doc.”
“Yes, we did,” Stiles says, trying to sound firm but finding that difficult when there’s cool metal against his throat. “My shoulder needs to be reset, Buck.”
Bucky closes his eyes, his cheek twitching for a moment, and then he opens them. “Yeah, let’s take care of that shoulder, Doc. Can I take your shirt off?”
“Sure. It’s pretty much ruined anyway. Nat is a really strong fighter,” Stiles says, looking down at the ripped and blood stained fabric. “Way better than Stasia and Goddard.”
“Guess it’s good that she’s on our side then,” Bucky says, clearing his throat before he begins to unbutton Stiles’ shirt. He eases the fabric off his shoulders, his fingers brushing against Stiles’ bare skin, his touch both warm and cool. He whistles low. “Damn, Doc. She did a number on you.”
“I got plenty of hits in, too,” he mutters, shivering slightly when Bucky touches various spots on his ribs and chest. “And the ribs were sore from yesterday.”
“I’m sure you did,” Bucky says, his tone slightly amused like he knows the effect he’s having on Stiles. “You need a shower to get this blood off before it crusts up.”
“Just fix my shoulder, and I’ll see what else hurts once that isn’t causing so much pain,” Stiles says, gritting his teeth when Bucky moves behind him.
“I can’t lie and say this isn’t going to hurt,” Bucky says, his breath a warm puff against the back of Stiles’ neck. “But try to focus on something else, Doc.”
Stiles feels lips press against the nape of his neck right as Bucky pulls his arm. He grunts from the pain as his bone is eased back into place. It’s only after it’s done that he feels dampness on his cheeks and realizes he teared up from the pain. “Fuck, that hurt.”
“I’m serious about you needing to wash up before we can see the extent of your other injuries,” Bucky says, gently touching something on his back that stings with pain.
“I don’t know if I can handle a shower right now,” he admits, making a face. The idea of standing in the shower and trying to wash himself isn’t appealing right now. In fact, he suspects the pain from using his right arm might be too much even for his inner remnants.
Bucky walks around to face him. “I can help you work it, if you’re alright with that,” he offers, keeping his expression blank. “Just washing and patching you up.”
Stiles blinks at him, feeling an odd twist in his gut. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, Buck.”
“Would you let Scott do it?” Bucky asks, giving him a slightly challenging look. “I know I’m just at ally level and not friend level, but I’d think it would be no different.”
“You aren’t Scott,” Stiles points out, but he’s feeling like Bucky is trying to prove something that he doesn’t necessarily understand yet, and it’s irritating.
“What are you scared of, Doc? You’re not high on adrenaline right now, and you need help,” Bucky says, smirking when Stiles glares at him.
“I’m not scared of anything, Bucky,” he says, turning and walking towards his bedroom. “Are you coming or not? I’ve been told that I need to get cleaned up.”
Bucky snorts but follows him into the bedroom. When Stiles tries to get his shoes off without using his right hand, Bucky sighs. “So damn stubborn,” he mutters, pushing Stiles onto his bed then kneeling on the floor. He deftly unfastens the boots, sliding them off before taking Stiles’ socks off. Once that’s done, he helps Stiles stand and then unfastens his pants. “Did you paint these things on, Doc?”
“Don’t be jealous of my booty,” he says, reaching out to hold onto Bucky’s shoulder as he steps out of the jeans one foot at a time. He refuses to back down, so he doesn’t think about the fact that he’s standing there in only his underwear with the man he kissed yesterday. There’s nothing sexual about Bucky’s actions right now, and it is kind of like letting Scott help him, only with more internal conflict and repressed desire.
“You want to leave these on, Doc?” Bucky asks, his fingers tracing over the waistband of his underwear. He smirks when Stiles looks at him. “Want to make sure your modesty is respected, after all.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen in a locker room,” Stiles says, pushing past him and going into the bathroom. He slides his underwear down before turning on the shower. He might not be able to properly wash up, but he isn’t helpless.
“That is a nice booty, Doc,” Bucky says. “I’m looking respectfully, just so you know. Like admiring a nice piece of artwork.”
“You’re such a wiseass,” Stiles mutters, stepping into his shower. “Why don’t you stop staring and start helping me wash up?”
There’s silence that lasts long enough that he turns to look at Bucky. He’s standing there staring, able to see everything. All of the scars and marks left from the supernatural shenanigans, the tattoos he’s already seen, and the ones he hasn’t. Not to mention his bare ass and dick.
Bucky clears his throat and snaps out of it. “You’re turning the water pink from the blood. I’m gonna kill Nat,” he points out, pulling his shirt over his head. “I don’t want to get it wet.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Stiles says, looking at the bare skin that’s been revealed. Bucky has his own scars, which oddly makes him feel more at ease and less insecure. He can now see where the prosthetic arm attaches, knowing he lost his entire left arm from the shoulder down.
Despite the charged atmosphere, Bucky focuses and gently washes the gunk off Stiles’ wounds. It’s oddly more intimate than sex, which has Stiles feeling some type of way that he doesn’t want to examine more closely. Not considering everything that happened yesterday.
When Bucky tilts his head back and washes his hair, still being gentle and careful in a way that makes him feel vulnerable and fragile, it’s too much. Stiles closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling of fingers massaging his scalp. Eventually, the water turns cold, and Bucky’s chest is warm against his back as he leans forward to turn it off.
“Let me get you a towel,” Bucky says softly, like speaking any louder might disrupt this moment. He dries Stiles off, careful around his shoulder and ribs, and it’s only after he’s done that Stiles looks at him.
“Your pants are soaked, Buck,” he points out. “Why didn’t you take them off?”
“I’m not wearing any underwear,” Bucky admits, “and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re stupid,” Stiles tell him, walking into his bedroom and getting a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser. He throws them to Bucky. “Those should fit you. Get your wet pants off so they can dry.”
“Bossy,” Bucky mutters but he unfastens his pants and shoves them down. Stiles looks away before he sees anything because he wouldn’t stare at Scott’s dick.
He gets a pair of sweats for himself out of the drawer and manages to get them on without needing to use his right arm much. “God, I’m exhausted,” he admits, rubbing his hand over his face.
“You’ve had a rough forty-eight hours, Doc,” Bucky says. “Why don’t you take some aspirins, and I can put this medicated cream I found on your injuries? After that, you can catch a nap.”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds good,” he says, looking at Bucky. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”
Bucky arches a brow. “Do you think you’ll feel up to Coney Island? I don’t want you hurting yourself worse just for the roller coaster.”
“I’ll be fine by the morning,” he says confidently. “Besides, a bet’s a bet. Even if someone cheated to win.”
“I didn’t cheat. I’m just a superior Connect Four player,” Bucky says in a pompous tone, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Roll over so I can get to your back.”
“Now who’s the bossy one?” he asks, rolling his eyes before moving onto his belly.
Bucky begins to rub the cream onto his side, being careful of his ribs. “When I said I can’t, I didn’t mean never.” Bucky is speaking so quietly that Stiles can barely hear him. “I just haven’t ever—“
Stiles holds his breath, not saying a word, only letting it out when Bucky trails off and doesn’t have the words to say whatever he’s thinking. The silence that follows isn’t awkward or heavy. It’s just there, and he feels his eyes starting to drift shut as Bucky takes care of him.