Work Text:
If there was one thing guaranteed to get the former Avengers together, it was Tony’s annual ‘Fourth of July/Steve’s birthday’ blowout. He spent every June sourcing as many red, white and blue fireworks as possible, and then they all drove, flew or Bifrosted to Stark Manor to witness whatever pyrotechnic miracle (or abomination) he’d arranged this year.
Bucky always complained.
“We should just go camping,” he scowled as he lifted their stuff out of the trunk, “Steve hates people fussin’ over his birthday.”
Nat shrugged, taking her overnight bag. “He’s never asked Uncle Tony to stop throwing him parties.”
“He’s too nice.”
She smiled. “You just don’t like having to share Uncle Steve.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I think it’s sweet.” the redhead smirked.
He followed her inside, grumbling under his breath, and only managed a weak smile for Pepper as she hurried to greet them.
“Hey guys! It’s good to see you. Thor’s helping me with the food but everybody else is by the pool, if you wanna grab some punch and join them.”
“I’ll put these away.” Bucky gently tugged Nat’s bag out of her grip and bounded up the stairs.
“We should go ahead – he’ll wanna sweep the house.” She linked arms with Pepper, leading her out of the foyer.
“He does seem twitchier than usual. Is everything alright?”
“The fireworks get to him,” Natasha murmured, “Papa doesn’t like things that go boom, but it’s Uncle Steve’s birthday. You’d have to bury him in concrete up to the chin to keep him away.”
They stepped outside to find a giant portrait of Steve painted across the lawn, the fireworks crew setting up in a semi-circle about three hundred feet further out. Bruce sat on the edge of the pool, leaning back on his hands. Clint floated past on an inflatable lounge chair, face hidden behind huge shades. Steve and Sam were playing cards at the table, both of them in singlets and board shorts. Rhodey was fiddling with the music, giving Nat a wave as he scrolled down the playlist.
Tony rolled over on his lounger to raise his glass at them. “Hey Tash! Happy Steve Day.”
The captain blushed. “Please stop calling it that.”
“I will not.”
Pepper rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you a glass, honey.”
Natasha leaned in to kiss Steve’s cheek, putting on a thick accent. “Happy birthday, American.”
“Thanks, comrade,” he smiled, “Wanna play the next hand?”
“Oh hell no,” Sam clucked his tongue, “It’s bad enough playing with one cheater, let alone two.”
“I don’t cheat!” the blond protested.
“Yes, you do. You both do, and you use the same tricks.”
“Bucky taught me.” Nat and Steve said at the same time.
“You can play cards with me, Sam,” Clint called, “I only cheat when I don’t like the other guy.”
“I don’t cheat either.” Tony proudly proclaimed.
“Why would you bother? It doesn’t matter if you lose.”
He threw a beach ball at the archer, who caught it one-handed without even wobbling.
“I think I’ll pass on the cards, Uncle Steve. Bruce seems to have the right idea.”
Pepper brought her a tall glass of bright red punch and she sat next to the other teenager, tossing her shoes under a nearby chair before dipping her feet in the water.
“How’s the car?”
Bruce shot a wary look at Tony, but the older Stark didn’t seem to be listening. “It’s gonna be awesome. I’m covering it in spots, like a cheetah.”
“What’s your dad building?”
“No idea.”
She wrinkled her nose mischievously. “I could find out, if you like.”
“Nah, I’m happy with my design. Thanks for the offer though.”
Bucky finally emerged. He’d ditched his jeans for a pair of shorts, and he was wearing a Dodgers cap and a blue singlet with Steve’s shield on the chest.
“Hey, punk. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, jerk. Nice shirt.”
The sniper grinned. “I thought you might like it.”
“Punch, Barnes?” Rhodey held up a hand, “I’m offering, not suggestin’.”
“Thanks, colonel.”
“Want me to deal you in?” Steve asked.
Sam put his cards down, leaning back from the table. “That’s it, I’m done. Watch out, Barton.”
He tugged his shirt off and dived in, splashing Clint. He didn’t seem to mind, bobbing away on the resulting ripples.
“I’ll take his seat then,” Bucky shrugged, “New hand, pal, and shuffle where I can see it.”
It was a great lazy afternoon. Rhodey supervised the barbeque while Pepper brought out bowl after bowl of salad, until the table was covered from end to end. Tony managed punch top-ups, the pitcher in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. Nat held her cup out for the gin and he breezed past with a smirk, the girl scowling after him.
“Papa trusts me.”
“Sorry kid, Pep makes the rules.”
She huffed, turning to Bruce. “Let’s go see if they need help in the kitchen.”
“Um, sure.”
The pair dried their feet and went inside. Nat could hear Thor and Pepper laughing about something, but instead of following the sound she pulled Bruce into the study and shut the door.
“I thought we were helping.” He frowned.
“I need to talk to you about Papa.”
He took her arm, pulling her away from the window to the corner furthest from the backyard. “What’s up?”
“It’s two weeks until the anniversary.”
“Shit, I forgot. We need to get him a present.”
Natasha smiled. “I’ve already thought of one. I just need your help with the logistics.”
“What can I do?”
*****
Bucky woke up when the bacon started popping; the smell of hot butter and syrup must have wafted under his bedroom door. He rubbed his eye and stretched, padding into the kitchen in just pyjama pants.
“Good morning?”
Natasha grinned, cracking an egg into the pan. “Good morning, Papa.”
“What’s all this?” he gestured at the pancake stack on the counter and the sizzling breakfast.
“It’s for you.”
“Why?” he frowned, “It’s not my birthday, and Father’s Day was last month.”
“Today is ten years since you saved me and Bruce from the sorcerer.”
His brows shot up. “Oh.”
Nat flipped the egg and walked around the counter to hug him, her face pressed against his chest. “We wanted to thank you.”
“We?”
“Bruce is picking us up in half an hour, so get dressed. Breakfast will be ready by the time you’re done.”
“You really don’t have to do anything. I killed a guy – that happened a lot. No big deal.”
Nat gave him a fierce scowl. “You saved us, even though we were practically strangers, and then you took me in when you were already struggling to put yourself back together. You deserve breakfast.”
“Yes ma’am. I’ll wash up.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and she went back to cooking, tipping the greasy bacon onto plates and slotting some bread into the toaster. By the time it popped up the eggs were done, and she turned the radio on and took a seat at the counter as Bucky returned in a t-shirt and jeans.
“Smells good, Natalka.” He kissed her head, grabbing his knife and fork.
They ate in comfortable silence, the apartment sunny and filled with soft jazz, and even though she’d orchestrated it Nat had to give herself a pat on the back for a mission well done. She was clearing the plates away when the intercom buzzed.
Bucky checked the screen. “Hey Bruce, come on up.”
After a minute there was a knock and Bucky swiftly yanked the door open, pointing his hand at Bruce like a gun.
“Don’t move. I have a laser in this finger that could put a hole through your forehead like it was tissue paper.”
“No you don’t,” Bruce smiled, “Dad tried to sneak one in and you told him to keep his gadgets to himself.”
Bucky straightened, lowering his hand. “You passed.”
The gangly younger man hugged him. “Happy anniversary, Uncle Buck.”
“Thanks. I told Tasha you kids don’t have to do anything.”
“But we want to,” he smiled, “Is that okay?”
The former soldier shrugged with an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I guess.”
Bruce drove them into Atlantic City, Bucky fidgeting in the passenger seat.
“So where are we going?” he asked for the third time.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” Nat smirked.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I know.”
He scowled at her over his shoulder. “You could sound less pleased about it.”
“I promise, this is a nice surprise. And I already scoped out the security so you don’t have to worry.”
He seemed a little mollified, settling back in the chair. Bruce pulled into a car park outside a pharmacy and cut the engine, giving the ex-assassin a huge grin.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Trust us.” Nat squeezed his shoulder, climbing out.
They walked halfway down the block, until the redhead reached a door that she opened with a flourish. Bucky stopped, reading the sign.
“A dog shelter?”
“Yeah. Uncle Steve told us you guys never had pets.” Bruce smiled sadly.
“And since I spend five days a week at school, and I’ll be going to college in a couple of years, we thought you might like some extra company.” Natasha added.
“I don’t…” he blinked at her, “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Come on, let’s go inside.” She said, voice gentle.
Bruce ushered him through the door and went to speak to the receptionist while Nat slipped her hand into Bucky’s, the pair looking at all the photos of successful adoptions on the wall behind the desk. A moment later a woman in a pair of green scrubs came out.
“Follow me, guys.”
Bucky’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt but Nat was still glad she was holding the flesh-and-bone hand. They walked through into a long hall lined with enclosures, puppies and older dogs playing or sleeping or yapping through the wire doors. Bucky frowned.
“How do I pick one?”
“Just have a look and see if you like any. We can always try another shelter if you can’t find the right dog here.”
She let him go, giving him space to explore while she monitored the exit. Bruce followed at a distance in case Bucky had questions or just needed to talk.
The old soldier went from pen to pen, staring at the dogs for a minute before moving on to the next one. Most of them rushed to the door to greet him with excited barks, and a couple of times he crouched to let them sniff his fingers through the wire. He glanced up at Bruce with a frown.
“Why are there so many?”
The shelter worker answered. “People abandon them when they move, or they buy them as presents and then lose interest when they stop being cute. Some are brought to us because they were abused or just found wandering the streets. We try to look after them and find them new homes, but it's hard with some of the older dogs.”
“What happens if they don’t get adopted?”
She gave a sad shrug. “We have to put them down if they’re not rehomed within a certain period. We try to avoid that as much as possible but sometimes there’s nothing we can do.”
Bucky looked at the teenager pleadingly. “I don’t want to leave any of them. I hate cages.”
“I know, Uncle Buck.”
“Can’t we…do something?”
Bruce took out his phone, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You find the one you want. I need to make a call.”
He headed outside and Bucky glanced at the shelter worker, lost. “How do I choose?”
“Okay, let’s narrow it down. What size are you comfortable with? Bigger, smaller?”
He considered it. “I guess medium? I’d like something that will fit in my lap on the couch, but won’t struggle to keep up on a long run.”
“Okay, one of the more active breeds then?”
“Yeah, I exercise every day so it would be nice to have a running partner.”
“What about this guy?” she led him further down the hall, pointing out a shaggy black and white pup about the size of a cat, “He’s a border collie, so you might not be able to fit all of him in your lap but he definitely won’t hog the whole couch either. And they love to run – they’re a herding breed. Many people consider them the smartest dogs too. They’re very playful.”
Bucky crouched, and the puppy danced eagerly, shifting his weight between his front legs as his tail wagged. Bucky offered a hand and it was enthusiastically licked.
“Can you open the door?”
She fiddled with a bunch of keys on a lanyard until she found the right one, unlocking it. Bucky opened the gate and the puppy shoved his nose into the sniper’s stomach, sniffing his clothes before abruptly plopping onto his back and offering his belly. Bucky chuckled, scratching it obligingly.
“You’re alright, pal.”
When Bruce came back in, Natasha was filling out the paperwork while Bucky sat by the reception desk, puppy in his lap as he stroked its ears. The teenager smiled.
“You made a friend.”
“I did. How did your call go?”
“Great. Dad’s buying the shelter as we speak.”
“What?” Bucky’s brow furrowed, his hand slowing until the dog complained with a yap.
“He’s acquiring it for one of the Stark foundations – you know Finding Home?”
“Yeah, Sam works for them,” he nodded, “They counsel ex-armed forces and intelligence agents. PTSD, mostly. He asked me to speak at a couple of events.”
“Well they’re going to use this place as a training centre for therapy dogs. People will still be able to adopt them, but the ones that aren’t so desirable will become proper support animals and get new homes, instead of being euthanized.”
The former sniper blinked, biting his cheek. “He didn’t have to do that. It’s probably a lot of money-”
“Nah, not really,” Bruce shrugged, “And Dad said to tell you it’s his way of thanking you for saving us too. And now I guess you can add saving these dogs to your tab as well.”
“Oh.”
The puppy licked his arm, distracting him with a demand for more scratches, and Bucky’s vaguely overwhelmed expression disappeared. Nat walked over with a folder in her hand.
“We’re all good to go. There’s a pet store nearby to get him a collar and bowls and things, and the receptionist gave me a list of vets near the apartment for his shots.”
“Let’s get you some gear then, huh pal?” Bucky scooped him up, heading outside.
“What are you going to name him?” Bruce asked.
“Uh, dunno. Don’t people usually go for stuff like Fido or Spot?”
“Boring people.” Natasha rolled her eyes.
“What about Barky?” Bruce snickered, eyes twinkling.
“No chance. I’ll have to think about it.”
They reached the car and the redhead opened the back door for him, Bucky sliding in with the puppy wriggling in his hold. He scowled at it.
“No peeing on me, buster.”
He yapped happily and Natasha laughed.
“He doesn’t seem very impressed by your scary face, Papa.”
“No,” the sniper sighed, “It never worked on you either.”
*****
Natasha unlocked the apartment and Bucky set the puppy on the floor, watching him hurry off to explore. Nat carried their shopping to the counter, frowning when he didn’t move.
“You okay, Papa?”
“It’s weird. People wanting to do nice things for me. I don’t understand why.”
“They do nice things because you deserve them,” she smiled, “Because they want you to know how much they appreciate you.”
“I don’t deserve them. I’m a pretty terrible person, Natalka. I’ve done things I hope you’ll never have to hear about.”
“You were not yourself then. Now you’re James again, and the things you do are brave and kind and helpful. You should be happy, and we want you to be.”
He was still frowning, watching the puppy, and Natasha wondered if she’d been like that when she was an adult. Had she felt like a bad person too? Based on what she knew about the Red Room and SHIELD, it seemed likely. It was the reason she didn’t go digging around in her file, no matter how curious she was about Black Widow’s past. That woman was gone, and with any luck Nat would make better choices this time around. Bucky didn’t have that luxury; he had to live with the vivid memories of every mistake he’d ever made.
“If you don’t believe me, you should trust him,” she gestured ta the puppy, “He seems to like you. Dogs are an excellent judge of character.”
“Hitler had dogs.”
Nat rolled her eyes. “Stop being a pain.”
Bucky gave a tentative smile. “I don’t know how.”
“Have you picked a name yet?”
“I’m thinking Howler,” he scratched his neck, “Like the Howling Commandoes. I always liked those guys.”
“It’s good. Strong, fierce, little bit ominous. Like you.” She beamed.
“Only a little ominous? I must be slipping.”
“Quick, find a corner to lurk in.” the girl laughed.
The pup trotted over at the sound, sitting back on his haunches to watch them with his tongue lolling out. Natasha leaned down to pat his head.
“Welcome to the team, Howler.”