Chapter Text
See, Steve hadn’t really expected Murdock and the Parkers to keep their promise when it came to Bucky’s existence. Well, his resurrection. He didn’t realize it for nearly a month, though, when scrolling through his newsfeed and marveling silently at the fact that there wasn’t so much as a whisper about it online or in print. Even the most disreputable sources were most concerned by Natasha’s apparent affair with Tony.
And maybe, for anyone else, it was a bit ridiculous, the way Bucky and Peter and Wanda and Pietro had latched onto Purim as their replacement for never having a Hanukkah together. Steve remembered picking up Bucky from synagogue and carefully mended clothes as ‘gifts.’ Hell, he was fairly certain Purim was a fasting holiday, or it used to be. Maybe everything had been a fasting holiday back then.
Yet there stood Bucky, at the stove in sweatpants and one of Steve’s shirts, hair pulled into a haphazard bun, churning out latkes like they were going out of style. They’d decided to celebrate in the Tower apartment Tony had finally finished—it was where the twins stayed, since Steve tried to be in the building four or five days a week, and Peter refused to even contemplate moving apartments. The separate locations worked surprisingly well. There were days that Bucky couldn’t bear to stay in their apartment and days he couldn’t bear to leave it. It was a perfect little bubble, protected from the world at large.
So, yeah, maybe Steve forgot that Bucky was still mostly dead to everyone outside an alphabet agency. And, sure, maybe his brain disconnected and he should’ve sent the picture to the Avengers group chat instead of putting it on Twitter. But, no, Steve didn’t have a plan.
Steve never had a plan.
He took the photo of Bucky’s profile, his calm, pleased smile as he flipped a latke and saw the golden brown on its cooked side, the shape of his ass and thighs in the sweatpants, the way his chest made Steve’s shirt look just a little too small, despite being a bit long. Bucky shot him a glare as he fussed over the caption.
Love of my life 💙
And then, Send Tweet.
Steve smiled at his screen for about five seconds.
“Shit, shit, fucker, dumbass, bitch!”
Thumbs suddenly too large, he scrambled back to the post.
Delete Tweet?
Delete
“Cunt nugget,” Steve tossed his phone on the counter, burying his face in his hands.
“Twenty dollars,” Peter said from the breakfast bar. “Swear jar.”
“I know, baby.” The latkes sizzled in the pan.
“You do somethin’ stupid?”
“Yeah.”
“Stupider than usual?”
Steve sighed. “Yeah.”
“Will it affect Peter or the twins?”
“It shouldn’t,” Steve sighed again.
“Good,” Bucky shifted away from the stove. He slammed his fist through Steve’s phone, shattering it easily. Peter jumped, eyes wide.
“Bucky!”
“We are having a family day,” he said lowly. “Stark can drag you out by your hair if you really fucked up that bad.”
“Swear jar,” Peter whispered.
“Bucky, you can’t just smash my phone,” Steve said lowly. Bucky looked down at his silver hand and all the scattered pieces of tech and glass. He blinked a few times, head listing to one side as he thought.
“If I assume that whatever you just did on it is dumber than what I just did with it, are we even?”
“That’s not how that works, at all,” Steve said. Bucky frowned at the pieces of his phone again.
“I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I . . . I don’t really know why I did that? I meant to, but I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea.”
“Well, it wasn’t a good idea, so there’s that,” Steve said.
“Eliminate the threat,” Peter said sagely. Bucky and Steve turned to look at him. He shrugged and dumped a bit of applesauce on his latke. “Threat to family time. Папа made it go away.”
Pietro darted into the seat with a whorl of silver light, snickering quietly.
“Pietro!” Wanda screamed shrilly.
“Protect me, baby spider, Wanda is spooky,” Pietro giggled, curling an arm around Peter and ducking his head. Peter frowned deeply, turning to look over his shoulder.
Wanda was drenched, her socks squelching on the hardwood floors as she padded down the hallway. Red light danced in her eyes.
“You are on your own,” Peter said, slipping out of his seat like a limp noodle. He danced around the breakfast bar into the kitchen, hooking one hand around Steve’s middle and hiding in his shirt.
Pietro’s stool upended itself, dumping him unceremoniously to the floor before it, too, fell on top of him.
“What did you do?” Bucky demanded, dropping the hand not holding his spatula to his hip.
“I told her, she does not have to look like vampire-“
“It’s mascara, you heathen-“
“Who are you dressing up for-“
“I dress up for no one-“
The twins broke into heated Sokovian, Bucky watching them spit vitriol back and forth like it was a tennis match.
“Pietro,” Steve said sternly. Both stopped to look at him, scowls identically deep set. “Apologize to your sister.”
“It was little joke!”
“It was sexist and unnecessary,” Steve answered calmly. “I won’t have it in this apartment.”
“She’s just sensitive!”
“You’re going to be cruel to your sister during the holiday celebrating a woman who liberated your people?” Steve lifted his eyebrows. Pietro’s face twitched, eyes darting guiltily to his sister.
“I just wanted to look nice!” Wanda spat at him, turning and marching back down the hall toward her room. Pietro tucked into his own shoulders, frowning even deeper than before. Steve gently took Peter’s wrist, prying him off so he could turn and kiss his hair.
“I’ll be right back.”
“We never even had dad, you don’t need to pretend,” Pietro sneered.
“Your sister not finding you funny does not give you license to continue being an asshole,” Steve said. He nudged Peter toward Bucky, sending a sharp look Pietro’s way as he passed. Pietro scowled some more. “I’m coming back for you.”
“I’m gonna feed him first,” Bucky said as Steve started down the hall.
“We don’t withhold food under my roof!”
“Just how many rules have you come up with for under your roof?”
Steve rolled his eyes, resoundingly quashed the urge to flip off Bucky over his shoulder, and paused at Wanda’s door. He waited a few seconds before knocking.
“I- I’m fine!” She called weakly.
“It’s Steve,” he said quietly. “Would you like some towels?”
There was a pause—Wanda sniffled several times. “Please? Yes.”
Steve crossed the hall to the linen closet and grabbed two bath sheets. He knocked again, but this time the door rattled a little and opened, despite the fact that Wanda was sitting on the floor in the middle of her room, perfectly in the epicenter of a small puddle. Her wastebasket laid on its side, a trickle of water still dribbling out. Steve knelt, ignoring the way his knees went immediately wet. He wrapped the first towel around her, knees and all. The second he draped over her head gently.
“Thank you,” Wanda whispered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” Steve said softly.
“No,” Wanda snapped. Her eyes sparked red when she looked up, glowing beneath the towel. “I’m not Pietro. I don’t feel like ruining things just because I can!”
“Okay,” he answered easily. He took a careful breath, slow and steady. Wanda mirrored it after a moment. “Your make-up still looks nice.”
“It’s waterproof,” she said darkly. She bit her lip, looking away. “It’s not like he even did anything. I- I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Steve frowned. “What are you sorry for?”
“He didn’t do anything, and I’m- blubbering like little baby!” Wanda tucked her head into her knees, rolling to catch tears in the cotton. Steve touched her shoulder cautiously, settling deeper in the puddle. She sobbed after a moment, falling into his side. “I- I don’t even know why I’m upset.”
“He surprised you,” Steve said evenly. “Whether he succeeded or not, he tried to ruin your make-up. He left a mess in your room. Then he tried to say you’d overreacted.”
“He’s my brother.”
“That does not mean he is allowed to disrespect you,” Steve said. “And it especially doesn’t mean he can’t hurt your feelings. You’ll never get to hear it, but when Bucky and his sisters were gunning for each other? I’m an only child. I would’ve sworn, hand on the Bible and everything, that they would rip each other to shreds with blunt fingernails.” Wanda huffed quietly. Steve felt her shudder a little. He pulled her closer. “You’re allowed to be upset with your brother when he’s an asshole to you.”
“Swear jar,” she muttered.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Steve sighed.
A dull, heavy tap on the window had them both jumping. Steve stared into the glowing eyes of the Iron Man. Wanda pressed closer, “Are you in trouble?”
“I think so,” Steve said. “I usually am.”
“Really?”
“My school report cards are classified because of the comments of how much of a ‘blatantly defiant waste of potential’ I was,” Steve said.
“You’re joking.”
“Second grade,” Steve lifted a hand to wave at Tony. His head tilted, and he shot upward out of sight. Steve sighed. “This is probably a little worse than that.”
“All this time, and still working on your defiance,” Wanda shook her head, hair falling almost enough to hide her smile.
“When I decided something’s worth doing, I like to think I do it right,” Steve shrugged. He nearly reached for her hair, but stopped himself before he committed to it. Wanda wasn’t Peter. “Can I fix your hair?”
“I look like drowned rat,” Wanda said flatly. “You could not make it worse.”
“That one was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, hon,” Steve said gently.
“I don’t care.”
“That’s still not an answer,” Steve said. Wanda scowled at him. “We don’t know each other very well yet, Wanda. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, but I always want you to think about them before you answer.”
Wanda watched him a moment longer before raising her hand, “May I?”
“Do what?”
“Show you what I think,” Wanda said carefully.
“Okay.”
Red flickered at the tips of Wanda’s fingers and nervous disappointed sad jealous confused hurt angry careful scared safe hopeful scared jealous disappointed confused scared yearning scared tired slammed through him. Wanda pulled away quickly, her cheeks burning pink. “Sorry, it’s not perfect-“
Steve brushed her hair behind her ears with both hands, tilting his forehead against the crown of her head. Though she was soggy and he damp at best, he tried to impart closeness without restriction. He rested both hands on her shoulders, breathing deeply until she started to, too.
“I thought you were in trouble,” Wanda muttered.
“Stark needs time to practice his lecture,” Steve assured her. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Wanda whispered. It was just slightly awkward. Wanda was brimming with a series of stressors starting to boil over. Wanda sniffled a little and batted at the loose swing of Steve’s shirt beneath his pecs. It was too soft and too large to cling to his abdomen. She pinched it between two fingers and shook it.
“Are you okay?”
“Don’t- don’t talk,” Wanda sniffled again. “Please.”
“Okay,” Steve said carefully.
“I don’t hate Pietro,” she said.
“I know, hon.”
Steve stayed exactly where he was as Wanda’s sniffles turned sharper and sharper, her control over herself slipping. It didn’t take long before she was muffling sobs against her hands, leaning heavily into Steve. Steve curled one arm around her shoulders, letting the other drop to his side. Wanda’s breath caught and she started to hyperventilate.
“It’s going to be okay,” Steve said softly. He wondered when the last time she’d cried or panicked or anything was. Red lights wrapped around them like a net. “There’s nothing wrong with you; you’re not overreacting because of Pietro. You thought you were being attacked, and your body geared up for a fight, but you’re safe. You’re safe here, it’s okay.”
The hyperventilating eased, but Wanda only cried harder. Steve kept muttering to her reassuringly, determined to let her cry for as long as she needed to.
“Sometimes- I-“ Wanda shuddered a few times. “I feel like I’m the oldest, like I have to take care of him and I- he just lets me, and then tries to act like it was him all along- I don’t understand him at all, I don’t-“
“It’s okay,” Steve said. “You might be twins, but you’ve had wildly different expectations put on you from the start, from your parents and the world as a whole-“
Wanda shook her head against him, “Mama. Only Mama. Our father wasn’t . . . I don’t think he ever knew we existed. Mama said it better that way.”
“She died when you were ten?” Wanda nodded. “I’m sorry, hon. I was already in my twenties when my ma died. I can’t imagine how hard it would’ve been if I was younger.”
“All I’ve ever had is Pietro,” Wanda whispered. “And I can’t- it’s a bit of water-“
“I don’t think you’re reacting like this over a bit of water,” Steve said. “You were tricked by HYDRA, then experimented on. Bucky came and helped you, but I imagine you didn’t entirely trust him for a while, even if you stayed with him. You were taking down HYDRA bases, moving country to country with the world’s most sought after fugitive. You came here and kept fighting HYDRA, then got shoved in here with me and the Avengers—all of it while navigating powers no one has ever seen before. When was the last time you had the chance to breathe?”
“We’ve been here-“
“And everything has been fine, right? Just fine,” Steve shrugged. “So what reason was there to cry about anything that happened before, if suddenly all the bad has gone away?”
“It was a bit of water.”
“Wanda,” Steve said. “Enough has happened to you in the past month alone that you’re allowed to cry over a bit of water. And even if none of that had happened—you’d still be allowed to cry over a bit of water. Not once has an evil tear been shed.”
“You’re not supposed to cry over nothing,” Wanda said feebly.
“If you’re crying, Wanda,” Steve said. “It’s not nothing.”
They sat quietly for a little bit, Wanda wiping at her face as she calmed. Steve pulled away slowly, eyes darting to ensure he didn’t miss some tiny, subtle sign. Wanda’s shoulder slumped. “Now, I’ve definitely ruined my make-up.”
“It’s a little smudged,” Steve conceded. He kissed the crown of her hair carefully before drawing away. “You have plenty of time to fix it while Tony yells at me.”
“Have fun,” Wanda said. He helped her to her feet, refraining from touching her again. She smiled, brighter than he’d seen in a while. “Thanks, Steve.”
“At your service, m’lady,” he dipped his head, pretending to tip a hat he didn’t have. He quickly made his way down the hall, wincing as his suspicions were confirmed.
All in all, it was a miracle they hadn’t duct taped Tony to a chair and left him in the hallway.
Tony had what appeared to be several latkes crammed in his mouth, to the point that he wasn’t chewing. Peter had both hands braced against Tony’s shoulders, easily holding him back from where he was making awkward shuffling movements toward the hall. Pietro and Bucky conversed rapidly in nearly silent Sokovian, an argument as far as Steve could tell.
“Do I want to know?” Steve sighed. Peter turned so fast, Tony nearly ate floor. Well, nearly. Around all the latkes.
They wandered up to the largest common space to talk, since Tony hated being in the same room with Bucky.
“Where’s your phone?” Tony demanded as the elevator doors closed behind them.
“Bucky smashed it,” Steve said flatly. Tony’s eyes narrowed. “He literally set it on the counter and put his adamantium fist through it. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“You let him smash your phone?” Tony said shrilly.
“I didn’t let him-“
“God, that’s almost worst than letting him shoot you-“
“I didn’t know he was gonna do it, he just did it, and then he did that thing where his brain reboots, and Peter called it threat elimination,” Steve gesticulated vaguely down toward the apartment. “We are not a normal family.”
“Funnily enough, no such thing,” Tony said wryly. “You realize how bad the shit you pulled is?”
“Yeah, I owe Peter a good two hundred dollars in the swear jar. He doesn’t realize which tier cunt is in.” Tony whistled, shaking his head. “How far has it gone?”
“Oh, it’s everywhere,” Tony said. “Enough people turned on notifications for you that they got screenshots. Nothing on the internet ever really dies.”
“Great,” Steve wiped at his face.
“Pepper recommends the Gayle King interview,” Tony said. “She does a good job, and she’ll represent you fairly.”
“Can’t I just . . . Not?” Steve said.
“This isn’t something that will go away,” Tony said tightly. “The only way out is through.”
“Great,” Steve said again. “Can I deal with this tomorrow, at least? We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
“I don’t think you got the idea of Purim right, y’know.”
“It’s not my holiday,” he sighed, holding up both hands. “They just wanted to do something together, and Bucky likes making latkes.”
“You want me to believe the Winter Soldier likes to-“
“You know how the Winter Soldier was fed,” Steve bit out. “Bucky likes to cook.”
Tony rolled his eyes, looking out across the room like there was anything new there. “I’m going to find out, you know.”
“Find out what?”
“What you asked JARVIS,” Tony said tightly. Steve carefully refused to react as Tony turned sharp, hurt eyes on him. “Whatever you asked him to look into, whatever he’s been doing, whatever you did to him to get him not to tell me anything about it. I’m going to find out.”
“I just need confirmation for something Zola said,” Steve said. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“No, you asked Rushman to.”
“It was her job, Tony,” Steve snapped. “One of these days, you’re going to realize she’s saved your skin enough times to let it the fuck go.”
“Yeah, sure,” Tony scoffed. “You want a new phone, or not?”
“I could honestly live without it,” Steve said sharply. “Are we done?”
Tony flipped him off with both hands and marched back into the elevator without saying good-bye, heading to his lab to stew no doubt. Steve inhaled through his nose slowly, trying to calm the jitters breaking out under his skin. He paced through the common room until his hands had stopped shaking, then circled back to the elevator. He lingered outside the apartment door for a moment. There was the smallest foyer between the elevator and the living space, but the camera in the corner was just a little too obvious for Steve to bother lingering long. He had no doubt Tony was keeping an eye on him. He pushed into the apartment.
“The key is stringing out all of the moisture before you fry them,” Bucky was saying, guiding Wanda through flipping a latke. “That’s how you get the crisp.”
“Which applesauce ruins,” Pietro muttered distastefully.
“You don’t get opinions today,” Peter said, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he spooned applesauce over the last latke on his plate.
“What?” Pietro said indignantly.
“They’ve all been bad,” Peter said flatly. Wanda smashed her face into Bucky’s shoulder but still couldn’t hide the sharp laugh that broke out of her. Steve moved forward to take Peter’s plate and return it to Bucky for more food. “You need time to make good ones. Try tomorrow.”
Bucky snorted as he settled two latkes in the remaining juice from the applesauce on Peter’s plate. “Peter, be nice.”
“Pietro’s not being nice,” Peter protested. Pietro made a muffled sound of disagreement around the ketchup-smothered latkes in his mouth.
“That doesn’t mean you stoop to his level,” Steve said evenly.
“I am taller!” Pietro cried once he’d swallowed his latkes.
“He means metaphors, idiot,” Wanda shot over her shoulder. Pietro rolled his eyes aggressively.
He was subdued for the rest of the night, winking out of sight when they settled in to watch the first of the new Star Wars movies—The Phantom Menace. Bucky traced his finger over the DVD case’s title as Peter and Wanda excitedly talked about their favorite moments and characters from the original trilogy. Steve leaned over the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around Bucky and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.
“You might be a menace, but you’re no ghost,” Steve assured him quietly. He kissed the underside of Bucky’s jaw twice, then kissed his temple. “Start it without me.”
Bucky reached up to hold him before he could draw away. “I can deal with Pietro.”
“We’re just going to clean the dishes together,” Steve said. He kissed Bucky’s cheek. “You can talk to him tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Bucky tilted his head back against the couch, and Steve couldn’t help but oblige him, bending forward to kiss him, even though it was a little strange and upside down. Wanda pretended to gag, and Peter giggled. Bucky smiled slowly as Steve stood straight. Steve grinned, smoothing some of his hair back out of his face.
Steve knocked on Pietro’s door the same way he had Wanda’s; just like with Wanda, the door creaked open to nobody there. Pietro lay on his back on the bed, tossing a stress ball into the ceiling hard and fast enough to make Steve flinch four times before he even entered the room. Pietro caught it each time, but it still wasn’t inspiring.
“Come help me wash up,” Steve said gently.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Steve said bluntly. “Wanda, Bucky, and Peter cooked.”
“Peter cooked?” Pietro frowned. “He’s not allowed near knives or the stove.”
“He helped wash the potatoes and squeeze out the moisture,” Steve said. “I guess it was prepping more than cooking, but it still counts for something, since he can’t use knives or the stove.”
“Are you going to help?”
“Yeah,” Steve said easily. “I didn’t cook either.”
“Fine,” Pietro said. He breezed past Steve, making him stumble back a step. Steve spared a prayer for his mother, thanking God he hadn’t had the Serum when he was seventeen. Pietro had already taken a spot at the sink, turning the water on and grabbing the little scrubber Clint and Sam swore by. “You dry.”
“Okay,” Steve said.
They could hear the movie from the sink, but they couldn’t see it. Steve carefully dried all the plates and Wanda’s applesauce bowl (since she staunchly but politely refused to let it share space with her latkes) while Pietro scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at the pan Bucky had used to fry the latkes. Steve didn’t say anything when he noticed tears falling into the sink. It was a cast iron pot. Pietro would have a rough time hurt it, even if his hands did start to blur a little as he kept scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. Eventually, he gave up, gently settling the pan in the bottom of the sink. Steve wiped his hands clean.
“It was supposed to be funny,” Pietro whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
“I know, buddy,” Steve said quietly. “No one thinks you did it on purpose. Just . . . Bit a little more careful, okay?” Pietro nodded silently. Steve nudged his arm. “I’ll finish this. Go watch the movie.”
“I’m allowed?”
“Of course, you are,” Steve said. Pietro watched him for a moment before holding out his red, shaking, wet hand. Steve dug into a drawer to get him a dry towel. Pietro sniffled a little as he dried off his hands. “Thanks for helping.”
“You said I didn’t have a choice,” Pietro muttered.
“Still,” Steve shrugged. “Thanks, Pietro.”
“You’re so weird,” Pietro scowled, darting out of the kitchen.
Steve sighed, shaking his head. He double checked the pan for signs of damage before turning it over and leaving it upside down on a towel on the counter. He braced himself over the sink.
Bucky made the barest sound as he entered the kitchen, no doubt to keep Steve from spooking. He wrapped both arms around Steve’s midsection and buried his head in between Steve’s shoulders.
“I’m coming,” Steve said softly. “I just . . . teenagers.”
“We’ll have three by the end of the year,” Bucky hummed against his spine. Steve couldn’t help his shudder. “It’ll be okay.”
“They’re good kids,” Steve agreed. They stood in silence for a lingering moment.
“‘M sorry about your phone,” Bucky said.
“I know, Bucky,” Steve said. “I’m going to have to do press.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Bucky whispered.
“I’ll take care of it.” Bucky drew back, pulling on Steve until he could see the deep set of Bucky’s scowl. “Buck-“
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doing-“
“Stop it,” Bucky scowled even deeper, cupping Steve’s cheeks with both hands. Steve tried to bat him off, but Bucky didn’t budge. “It’s not your job to fix everything.”
“This one was on me, though,” Steve said quietly.
“I know, but Wanda and Pietro aren’t-“
“Yes, they are.”
Bucky squeezed his cheeks together, “Let me finish. They aren’t your responsibility alone.”
“You were making latkes,” Steve said awkwardly. Bucky didn’t stop squishing him.
“Repeat after me: It’s not my job to fix everything.”
“It’s not your job to fix everything.”
“You little shit-“ Bucky let go of Steve only to yank him around and down into a headlock. Steve beat against his arms half-heartedly.
The sound of a plastic clack and a, “OW! Shit!” had them breaking apart so fast, Steve almost landed ass first on the floor. Bucky grabbed him by the elbow and dragged them out to the living room.
“Where did you get those?” Bucky demanded. Peter was shaking out his hand aggressively, a plastic lightsaber in one hand. Pietro and Wanda both looked distinctly guilty, each of them hiding their own plastic lightsabers behind their backs.
“Nobody,” Peter said hastily.
“Which one of you hit him?” Bucky marched forward, releasing Steve as he reached for Peter. “Let me see.”
“Hit- hit all alone,” Peter said weakly, hiding both hands under his armpits. The movie kept playing—they were on a sleek looking silver spaceship that looked vastly different than anything that had been in the original trilogy.
“Are you trying to tell me you hit yourself?” Bucky said incredulously.
Peter set his jaw mulishly and lifted his chin. “Yes.”
“This is your fault,” Bucky shot over his shoulder.
“How?” Steve said incredulously.
“Which one of you hit him?” Bucky glanced at the twins.
“I did,” they both said at the same time. Bucky’s eyes narrowed.
“Doesn’t hurt at all,” Peter said, turning pleading eyes on Steve.
“Buck-“
“No,” Bucky’s scowl returned with a vengeance. “You keep your mouth shut.”
“You really want to be outnumbered three to one here?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Three to- I like those odds better than four to one,” Bucky said, touching Peter’s chin lightly. “You keep that face to yourself or I’ll have Aunt Natalia classify it as a weapon of mass destruction and lock you in the Tower.”
“Does the Tower have Star Wars?” Peter tilted his head in thought.
“If they lock you in the Tower, we’ll break you out,” Pietro said.
“All right,” Bucky took a deep breath. “This is what we’re going to do. Everyone is going to sit down and watch this stupid movie, including Steve, and I’m going to grab something for you to ice your hand with.”
“Doesn’t hurt,” Peter mumbled again.
“Then let me see it,” Bucky said softly. Peter’s lip wobbled a little as he held out his hand. Wanda glanced at Steve, and he motioned for her to sit back down on the couch. She dragged Pietro with her, turning to lay her feet across his legs. Steve sat on the other end of the couch, leaving the recliner to Bucky and Peter. Bucky spent the entire rest of the movie with his arms wrapped around Peter, who was a perfectly willing captive.