Work Text:
The mobile clinic is parked at Union Square today. It’s the busiest day since Stiles started volunteering a few weeks ago, just nonstop patients without a break. With the weather starting to get colder, there are people with coughs, sore throats, and runny noses needing to be examined mixed in with the regular wellness check ups for chronic issues. Flu season is going to be awful on the streets, and he knows he’ll be very busy during that time.
Stiles keeps an eye out for Richie, wanting to follow up on the body that was found. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Richie or Hazel, so he still isn’t sure if Jose is dead or missing. With the body having been taken, there wasn’t a chance for the coroner to do a proper identification. From what he gathered from his conversation with Bucky the other day, Stasia isn’t talking about anything to do with the missing body or Wash’s involvement, which is frustrating.
The last patient leaves, so Stiles helps clean up before grabbing his coat and stepping outside. He’s wearing a scarf today because there’s a chill in the air, and his gloves are in the pockets of his coat. It has to be much colder for him to wear those, not fond of having his hands restricted by tight leather until it’s necessary.
In order to decompress from the day, he decides to walk up Park Avenue for a while before taking the train. He doesn’t want to get stuck in commuter traffic on the subway because it’s much too crowded and claustrophobic. It’s cold this afternoon, but the fresh air is welcome after being stuck in the mobile clinic with patients who aren’t able to have the most ideal hygiene habits.
When he passes by Blue Bottle Coffee, he is happy to see that it’s still open. It’s cold enough that he thinks a hot drink would be nice, and he just isn’t fond of Starbucks. The coffee shop smells good, and he loosens his scarf as he gets into line. He decides to order something different, choosing to get the mocha latte instead of his usual coffee with cream and two sugars.
Stiles steps back outside into the cold after he receives his drink. The flavor is okay, but the mocha is strong. Possibly too strong. He hasn’t decided yet. The street is crowded with pedestrians, so he sips his drink while dodging people. He walks another couple of blocks, taking his time as he remains alert to his surroundings in a way that he hasn’t in years.
While he’s always hyper vigilant, he’s not necessarily as aware of every single person around because the city is constantly crowded. Since Lydia called him Tuesday morning, however, he’s paying close attention to everyone. He knows her vision had to mean Hydra because that’s obvious, but he hasn’t figured out how the supernatural fits in with all of it. Especially considering he’s avoided involving himself with that world since moving to New York City.
He’s actually glad that he’s off work the next two nights because Wash has made it a habit to show up every morning and lurk around the Emergency Department. There’s been some excuse both mornings, but Stiles knows it’s bullshit. Wash tries to make small talk, but he shuts it down. His nurses have also picked up on his reluctance to deal with Wash, so they pull him away under some pretense or another.
There’s a feeling of foreboding that lingers around Wash. Stiles knows he’s not going to be able to avoid a conversation indefinitely, so he’s just putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. Maybe Bucky’s classified team will catch him before it ever happens. While he does have faith in Bucky, he doesn’t know his team or their organization. He isn’t optimistic about their success because it seems like Bucky is only involved in a peripheral way.
Really, he wants to look into Wash himself. That old curiosity that always used to lead him to sneaking looks at his dad’s files has had him tempted to break into Wash’s office one night to snoop. Remembering Lydia’s vision is what convinced him to not try it on Tuesday night when he got the idea, but Wash lurking around Wednesday morning and again this morning is starting to sway him to find something to help just get rid of the guy.
The sound of breaking glass catches his attention, and he looks up to some kind of robot flying into a building up ahead. There’s glass falling on the sidewalk, and people are starting to run to get out of the way. He scans the area and sees people wearing head to toe black fighting above alongside the robots, most likely a bunch of disposable minions. When he looks at ground level, he sees a much smaller team of minions gathered around the front of a high end jewelry store.
Whichever bad guy of the moment must have decided that rush hour was the best time to attack what appears to be an office building with a jewelry store next door. So flying robot drones are a distraction for an old-fashioned robbery, he decides. Smart because the chaos above will keep everyone’s attention away from the jewelry store below. The office building is probably relatively empty, too, which means there might not be many casualties.
He doesn’t notice any distinguishable marks on the robots or people fighting overhead, not that he’s likely to recognize one villain from another. There’s a shout from nearby, something about Iron Man, and he rolls his eyes because the primary crime is happening right under Stark’s nose.
Since his original planned path is blocked, he decides he’ll make a right through the alley to bypass the whole mess ahead. The chaos is extremely appealing to him, his remnants stirring in excitement, but he has no intention of waiting around for however long this drama lasts just to siphon a little power. It’s not like he’s starving for chaos and pain living in this city, after all.
When he turns the corner, he sees a group of kids surrounded by minions holding guns. The kids look terrified and are probably middle school age, which makes sense considering there are multiple schools around. He quickly looks around, and he feels his fingers twitch as he notices the back door of the jewelry store that the minions have been trying to break into because that means the kids must have stumbled upon the robbery.
There are loud noises from the fight happening in the street behind him, but these kids aren’t even on the radar for Iron Man and whatever heroes are with him. He doesn’t follow the exploits of the superheroes, but he knows enough from coworkers to know they usually travel in packs these days. Looking at the situation in front of him, he sighs and stretches out his fingers.
“Do you think your villain is going to condone putting bullets into school kids?” he asks conversationally, tossing his coffee cup into a pile of trash.
He notices that two of the kids are crying, and look like they’ve been recently hit. He starts shrugging his coat off because he needs to be able to move more freely, and the marks on those kids have sealed these minions’ fate. He keeps the scarf on, thankful it isn’t his really nice one from Isaac.
“Get lost,” one of the brawnier ones says, swinging the gun in his direction.
“Your bad guy went to the trouble of destroying a mostly empty office building, which would lead a person with even average intelligence to assume they want the death count to be low,” Stiles says, continuing to talk in a casual tone. “It makes sense considering the amount of extra years a manslaughter charge adds to a sentence.”
“Shut him up,” a skinny minion says, grabbing one of the kids threateningly, making the kid cry out in pain. “Shoot him.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Stiles warns, walking closer. “You need to let the kids go and turn yourselves in while you can.”
His answer is Brawny pulling the trigger. Stiles moves, punching Brawny in the throat while twisting his arm. He hears the bone break, his lashes fluttering as he feeds on the pain. He aims the broken arm and pulls Brawny’s trigger finger, shooting Skinny in the shoulder so he's forced to let go of the kid.
“Get out of here,” he tells the kids, willing a protection around them that will last until they’re safe. He adds in a memory modifier so they forget how they got free. One of the minions shoots after the running kids, and Stiles rolls his neck, feeling his power coming to the surface.
“That was really stupid,” he says, his eyes bleeding to black as he pushes the shooter against the brick wall using only his power. He doesn’t have to use words or his hands or potion ingredients to use his magic, his Spark running much differently than most of the ‘known’ forms of magic.
With a flick of his eyes, the shooter is thrown into the air, hitting the opposite building face first. The sound of screams and bones breaking is melodious, an appealing soundtrack to accompany the chaos. He sees movement beside him, and slowly smiles, letting his remnants out to play because he is not in the mood for this.
“All I wanted was to go home, maybe order some Chinese, open a bottle of wine, and watch some TV,” he says, sending magic out to restrain the remaining minions. “Instead, your boss decides that robbing a jewelry store needs to be done in the middle of the afternoon accompanied with property destruction and superheroes.”
He snaps his fingers, letting Shooter fall to the ground, because the guy has stopped screaming. “It isn’t fun when you’re quiet because it means you’re dead,” he says, looking at the remaining four minions. “I gave you all a chance to walk away with your lives. Instead, you traumatized a bunch of kids for what? To make someone else rich? Hope it was worth your life.”
With a sharp laugh, he releases his hold on them. He starts fighting, knocking their guns away, and using his magic to add to their pain and the lovely chaos surrounding them. At one point, he dodges a knife, moving around the minion and wrapping his scarf around their neck. With a sharp pull, he breaks the minion’s neck. Skinny is trying to run away, and that just won’t do.
“Get down,” a voice yells from the street side. Stiles dives onto the pavement, rolling and kicking up, knocking the gun out of the minion’s hand. That was close. He was so focused on Skinny that the other guy almost shot him.
He jumps to his feet, eyes pitch black as he forces the guy who almost shot him up the side of the brick building. When he reaches the very top, he turns and pulls his magic back. Without seconds, he hears the body hitting the pavement. He finds Skinny running, and he wills the ground to shake, just enough to knock him over, and he uses his magic to pull him back.
When he turns, Brawny is holding a gun on him, using his other hand because of his broken arm, and he tilts his head slightly because he can admire the gumption even if it’s stupid. Brawny manages to pull the trigger, and Stiles moves his head to the side. There’s the sound of a gunshot behind him, and Brawny suddenly slumps to the ground with a bullet between his eyes. Another shot has Skinny falling to the ground dead.
Stiles turns around quickly, moving into a defensive pose. He blinks when he sees a man standing behind him wearing an actual uniform in dark blue with red and black, his familiar metal arm bare. Stiles takes in the leather top and form fitting pants before focusing on the high powered rifle in his hand.
“Doc? I thought that was you, but I wasn’t sure,” Bucky says, staring at him intently. “Your eyes—“
“What are you doing here, Buck?” he asks, easily pulling the remnants back under control, but unable to get over the rush so easily. He’s flying high on power and chaos right now. “Wait. You’re all dressed up. You’re with Stark, aren’t you? Superheroes travel in packs these days. That’s what the nurses say.”
“I'm not a superhero, I’m just working. I was on the roof and heard a commotion, gunshots followed by a group of kids running. I realized someone was fighting to give them time to escape,” Bucky says, still looking like his brain is trying to catch up, which is understandable. He’s just seen Stiles kill multiple people—bad guys but still people—and, fuck, his magic.
Bucky knows he’s got magic.
“I didn’t plan on killing them, but they shot at the kids, and they really weren’t good people,” he says, not defending himself because there’s no need. He killed them, and Bucky knows that. He trusts Bucky, but that’s the Bucky he knows, not the one who works with superheroes. He tries to focus, but it’s difficult with his adrenaline elevated and his magic so strong. “I gave them a choice, and, unfortunately, they chose wrong.”
Bucky listens to something in his ear and curses. “Fuck, they’re coming down here,” he says, looking at Stiles. “You need to get out of here if you want to avoid my team, Doc. I don’t want them to know about you. About your—whatever that is.”
“You’re going to let me go?” Stiles asks softly, his eyes changing back to their normal color as he stares at Bucky. It’s probably a risk for Bucky to do this, especially so soon after the Hydra thing, but Stiles isn’t in the right mind to think logically at the moment.
“I’m not with Stark,” Bucky says, reaching over and gripping Stiles’ chin lightly. “I’m not like that, some golden hero like you think they all are. Get out of here, and I’ll come see you later, when we finish up here. I want to know you’re safe, Doc.”
“Yeah, we obviously need to talk,” Stiles says, impulsively leaning up and kissing Bucky before he can think better of it. It’s a hard kiss, lips crashing together, their noses squishing up uncomfortably, but Bucky presses back, making a low noise that Stiles catches with his mouth.
Reality starts to break through, and he pulls away before the kiss can deepen. He needs to get out of here since he’ll probably start crashing soon. His lips are tingling from the force of the kiss, and he sees Bucky looking at him in that peculiar way he hasn’t been able to identify yet. He reaches down to get his coat off the ground then takes off at a run so he can get to the other side of the alley before Bucky’s team arrives.
He keeps running, dodging pedestrians and cyclists using the sidewalk instead of the street. When he finally starts to slow down and look around, he’s near the Waldorf-Astoria. After regaining his bearings, he heads to the nearest subway station. It takes a half hour and one connection to get the station closest to his building. He’s still riding the high, which is good because it means he hasn’t let the reality of what just happened sink in yet.
The bodega is open and not particularly crowded when he walks by it. He stops and turns back around, entering the shop and grabbing a basket. The shelf with the locally baked bread is half full. He chooses a small loaf of sourdough, the tingling he felt last time even stronger with his magic so close to the surface.
A thoughtful look crosses his face as he also gets some lunch meat and sliced cheese because he knows he needs food for the fridge. He’s off work tomorrow, after all, and he’ll probably be around the house mostly. Before he goes to pay, he also gets a pint of ice cream because it catches his attention. Oh, and Cheetos look good, too.
When he checks out, he’s got a mix of food and junk in his basket. It takes the cashier forever to ring up everything, so he ends up adding Reese’s Cups, a box of pasta, and chapstick. Once he’s paid, he carries his bags out and focuses on getting home. The elevator is actually working for once, and he decides to risk it breaking down midway because his calf muscles are starting to scream.
Fortunately, it works other than the odd groaning noise and slight jumpy movements it makes. He’s soon safe in his apartment with his wards humming as he expels some of his energy into them. That helps a lot, and he’s able to focus as he puts away his groceries and then goes to take a quick shower.
He gets a threadbare Beacon County Sheriff’s Department shirt out of his bottom drawer, imagining for a moment that he can smell his dad’s cologne if he tries really hard. After he pulls it over his head, the sleeves long and the shoulders a bit tight, he puts on clean underwear and a pair of sweatpants. He doesn’t bother with socks because his feet aren’t cold.
It’s been a couple of hours since the alley. He wonders how long it takes for something to get wrapped up if superheroes are involved. It’s a question he’s never thought about before because he didn’t care. Now, though, he knows that Bucky’s job is somehow entangled with these things. He even has his own uniform, showing off his arm like it’s a weapon instead of just part of him.
Stiles ends up sitting on the sofa with a box of Fruit Loops that he’s eating dry.
“That was too much,” he murmurs, counting his fingers several times. “Too much magic and too much chaos.”
The anger belongs to him. It was his before he ever learned about werewolves and nogitsunes and sparks. Anger at a mother who lost her mind and tried to hurt him. Anger at himself for hating her for it. Anger at his dad for choosing a bottle over him. Anger at so many little things that he got so good at hiding it behind a smartass remark and a goofy smile.
Then the Nogitsune took over, and the anger was used to control him, to torture and kill and feed. The body— this body—was created in his own image but so many pieces within never belonged to him. The anger, though? That came with him as a gift from his possessor who thought himself indestructible.
Lydia knows about the darkness within. She has her own, her banshee heritage coming from death and despair, but his darkness even scares her. He has total control now, lives in the shadows where the light doesn’t quite touch, and he plays with his magic sometimes but rarely in such a way as tonight.
As he sits here in the dark with his hand full of fruit loops, he tries to reconcile the actions that he took with those minions with the man that he knows he is at heart. He didn’t just kill them, he made them suffer. He took joy in their pain, fed upon it like the monster who used to wear his skin like a suit, and he should feel some kind of remorse, some sense of guilt. He did over Donovan, but there’s nothing tonight except acceptance.
“They were going to kill the kids, had already hurt them,” he murmurs, knowing that was their plan. And he did give them a chance, let them make their own choice, and he was just their nemesis, causing their downfall for the choices they’ve made.
A knock on the door interrupts him. He looks at it and blinks, realizing it’s probably Bucky. He hasn’t even reached Bucky in his thoughts yet. He’s still dwelling on his own actions and processing that part.
He puts the box of cereal on the coffee table and gets up, slowly walking to the door. When he opens it, he sees Bucky standing there. It’s not the Bucky from the alley. No, this is his Bucky. Worn leather coat, long sleeve shirt, blue jeans. No uniform or guns in sight.
“Come on in,” he says, standing aside so Bucky can enter his apartment.
Bucky walks inside, not saying anything. His silence is almost deafening because it says so many things, but Stiles doesn’t know which one is what Bucky is actually saying. He shuts the door, twisting the locks because he’s a paranoid asshole tonight, and turns to face Bucky’s back.
“Are you, uh, thirsty? I have water and wine,” he says, watching Bucky take his coat off and toss it on the sofa.
There’s a soft snort before Bucky turns to face him. It takes him three steps to reach Stiles, and then he’s kissing him. Stiles feels hands on his face, a tongue against his lips, and a doorknob behind his back. There’s a spark of desire in his gut as Bucky kisses him, and he opens his mouth, returning the kiss as he moves his fingers into Bucky’s hair.
When they pull apart, he’s breathing heavily, blinking at Bucky because what was that? Bucky strokes his left finger along Stiles’ jaw, resting his forehead against Stiles’ and sighing. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you kissed me in that alley, Doc.”
“I don’t usually kiss my friends like that,” Stiles admits, his lips tingling from the kiss.
“Are we friends then?” Bucky asks, his metal finger so gentle against his face despite the strength Stiles knows he possesses. He’s breathing hard, too, hair still damp from a recent shower.
“Shared life or death experience,” Stiles murmurs, rubbing his thumb in circles against the nape of Bucky’s neck. “I think that’s what my requirement was, wasn’t it?”
Bucky huffs a laugh, and Stiles can see his grin. “Guess it was,” Bucky says. “I wasn’t really thinking about those levels of yours. Maybe we’re just friends who do kiss like that because I’d like to do it again.”
“When I said that we need to talk, I didn’t mean discussing some kind of friends with benefits thing,” Stiles points out, having to laugh. “Of all the things that happened today, the kiss is your first priority?”
Bucky steps back and shrugs. “I’ve always had my priorities straight, Doc. The rest of it pales compared to finishing that kiss you started.”
“Or not so straight,” Stiles says, smiling wryly. “I don’t know about friends who kiss like that, Buck. I guess we can try it out and see how it works, if you want.”
“You worry about the strangest things, Doc. It’s not like we haven’t been dating for weeks now,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head but giving Stiles a fond look. “You just haven’t caught up to the fact.”
“We haven’t been,” he denies. “We’ve been hanging out; we aren’t dating. We’re just friends. Friends who maybe kiss sometimes. I’m not into casual sex, I already made that clear when we first met, and that hasn’t changed just because you’re a good kisser.”
“Okay, Doc. Sure,” he says, nodding. “No dating. Just friends hanging out. I haven’t mentioned sex because I know your boundaries, and I respect them. Now that we’re friends, officially, I can start working on something more, though.”
“Why don’t you just give friends some time to settle first?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes because Bucky acts like he’s totally just humoring him. Kisses are probably a big mistake to even consider, but he likes kissing Bucky, and he knows there are firm lines they won’t cross.
“I’ve got to have my goals,” Bucky says, sitting on the sofa. “So, the alley. Your eyes were black, and you were tossing those guys around without even lifting a hand.”
Stiles makes a face but walks over to sit beside him. “Lydia’s the only person who knows,” he says, turning on the sofa and putting his leg up so he can face Bucky. “I don’t want to talk about what happened or how I discovered it. It’s a lot of bad memories that no one needs to hear.”
“I can understand that,” Bucky admits. “I’ve got my own past that I don’t talk about to anyone, and I’d rather people not know about unless I choose to tell them.”
“Yeah, that’s what it’s like,” he says, nodding. “What you saw in the alley, it’s complicated, but, basically, I’ve got magic.”
“I was leaning towards that because I know a few magic people, but they don’t do it like you did,” Bucky says. “You weren’t saying anything or even moving your hands.”
“I don’t know a lot about magic, but I’ve got something called a Spark that got jump started years ago. I don’t have to chant or say spells or use wands or any of that stuff to use it. I just have to will it, sort of.” Stiles shrugs, unable to really explain it because it’s just innate in him and works without much effort most of the time.
“Can you control people’s minds? Force them to do things?” Bucky asks, an odd tone to the question.
“No, of course not. Free will is something that my magic can’t influence or control,” he says. “But, even if it could, I would never use it that way.”
Bucky reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “If I thought you were the type of person to do that, I wouldn’t have ever become close with you. I just wanted to know because I’ve seen some people who can and do abuse their gifts that way.”
“Gift?” Stiles blinks at him. “I’ve never really thought of it like that. It’s just something that’s there, and i don’t use it often because it reminds me of things I’d prefer to forget.”
“It’s a gift, Doc,” Bucky says. “You use it however you want to or don’t use it at all, it’s your choice, but it’s still a gift. I can understand avoiding things due to bad memories. After you left the alley, I told my team that I came across those kids and went into the alley and saw the bodies, shooting the two I killed when they tried to shoot me.”
“Your team,” Stiles says slowly. “Superheroes. That’s your team, isn’t it, Buck?”
“Some of them are,” he admits. “I’m not, though. I’m just the support when they need a sharp eye because I’m good with a gun.”
“You have a uniform,” Stiles points out. “You probably even have some ridiculous nickname like the others.”
Bucky rolls his eyes before he gives Stiles a serious look. “You know, I respect that you’ve got secrets and dark shit you don’t want to share unless it’s by your choice. I don’t have that choice because of who my best friend was, so some of my bad memories are out there for anyone to learn who knows what to search for.”
“Because of Steve?” Stiles asks, reaching for Bucky’s hand. “That’s awful, Buck. I’m sorry because I can’t imagine what kind of hell that must be.”
“Can I ask you to not look for it, Doc?” Bucky asks, his tone soft and his gaze searching. “When I finally tell you about my past—because I’m pretty sure I will want to one day—I want to do it myself, not have you read some bullshit that doesn’t even know the real truth.”
“Okay,” Stiles says. “I won’t go searching for you or any of your friends that you mention. I trust you, Bucky. You know something about me that only one other person knows, but I’m not worried about you turning me over to someone who wants to use my powers for their own benefit.”
“Nah, you’re stuck with me, Doc,” Bucky says, squeezing his hand. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Not that you need my help. You can take care of yourself.”
“Damn right, I can,” he says, smiling slightly. “This didn’t go the way I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Bucky arches a brow. “For me to be scared of your magic? Or you?”
“Possibly,” he says. “I also wasn’t expecting that my new friend is part of the vigilantes in tights brigade.”
“I don’t wear tights, and I’m still not a superhero,” Bucky groans, making a face. “You’re going to be insufferable about that, aren’t you?”
“You know it,” Stiles says with a grin. “At least, you know I’m not friends with you because of that since I seriously don’t give a shit about it.”
“And you know that I’m not friends with you because you’re a powerful magic user since I didn’t have any idea about that, and magic is kind of weird,” Bucky says. “I can’t believe it honestly did take a life or death experience for you to finally call me your friend, though. How many more levels did you even have left?”
“Oh, about a dozen or so, and that was just in English.” He snorts at Bucky’s expression. “I took it very seriously since you made it into a quest.”
“Well, I’m glad to finally obtain that goal,” Bucky says. “Now I can move to my next goal where you’re concerned.”
“Friends who occasionally share a kiss,” Stiles says, giving him a serious look. “That’s what we decided?”
“It’s what you decided, and I’m happy to humor you, Doc. For now.” Bucky grins. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m respectful of your no causal sex rule, just like I’ve respected your no dating until being friends thing. I also respect that I’ll eventually be able to woo you properly if you ever stop being so stubborn.”
“You’re just so respectful. Such a gentleman,” Stiles says dryly, wondering why Bucky’s teasing like this when he’s openly admitted that he isn’t one for commitment and dating. Not that Stiles can allow himself to want that considering everything in his life.
“My mama raised me right,” Bucky says with a wink. “Now, why don’t we order in delivery, and we can watch that movie you were telling me about at the zoo?”
“I still can’t believe you’re never seen any of the Lord of the Rings trilogy,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I’ll get the movie ready while you order dinner.”