Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Alright, alright, I promise this is the last one. Just hear me out.” Sam spread his arms wide, already grinning. “Movie nights.”

Steve sighed in exasperation. “The last time we tried that, we ended up watching the same three movies over and over again.”

Sam smirked. “No way. Which ones?”

Steve gave Sam a helpless look. “The Captain America movie I was in for war propaganda,” Sam snorted gracelessly, “The Princess Bride, and Die Hard.”

“Holy shit- does anyone know about this? Does the world know that the Avengers are all complete dorks?” Sam laughed, and Steve couldn’t help but quirk a tiny smile.

“What’re we talking about?” Natasha asked as she breezed into Steve’s new apartment. Steve hadn’t given her a key, but he wasn’t anywhere near surprised that she had gotten in.

Steve scowled, crossing his arms and sinking low into the couch. Sam glanced at him and collapsed into giggles. “Steve’s vintage ass is having some trouble,” he explained, grinning.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at Steve. “Don’t listen to him,” he grumbled.

“I thought you were adjusting nicely,” Natasha said, vaguely confused. “I helped with your stupid list and everything.”

“History is one thing- history’s easy to learn,” Sam said, more serious. “Cap’s just feeling overwhelmed with pop culture.”

“It’s been two years,” Natasha said, glaring at Steve. “How do you still know nothing about pop culture?”

“I know some,” Steve said defensively, shooting Sam a dark look.

Natasha scoffed. “You poor sweet summer child,” she muttered. “I’m going to fix this for you.”

Steve looked slightly panicked. “Please don’t try another fucking movie night thing.”

Sam laughed so hard that he fell off the couch while Natasha placed her hands on her hips, glowering. “I’m thinking something with more structure, actually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked warily.

Natasha lifted a shoulder, inclining her chin defiantly. “Just trust me. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

“We were talking about Steve’s uncultured ass,” Sam said, “not hiring a hit man.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upwards for a second. “You have no faith, Wilson.”

“Guilty,” Sam said.

“So, how’s the new place feel, Steve?” Natasha asked, turning to him.

Steve shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Brooklyn feel weird?”

“A little.” (A lot.)

“Good-weird?”

Steve smiled hollowly. “It’s home.”

Natasha managed to return the smile with the same amount of bitterness.

“How’s wherever the fuck you’ve been?” Steve asked mildly.

Natasha shrugged, her smile turning sharp. “It’s home.”

“That just doesn’t make any sense,” Sam grumbled in the background. “Two fucking idiots trying to be clever and cryptic. I fucking swear...”

Natasha and Steve pretended to ignore him. “I saw Clint on the news,” Steve told Natasha. “Budapest?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah. We’ve both got unfinished business there,” she said vaguely, and Steve didn’t ask.

“You seen him since the fall of SHIELD?” Steve asked.

Natasha frowned slightly. “No.”

“That sucks.”

“Eh, it’s okay. A little time and space never changes our dynamic too terribly.” She abruptly turned to Sam. “How are things at the Tower?”

Sam lit up. “We have five star meals every day.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not even joking.”

“I know. Steve and I have both lived there,” Natasha said, amused.

Sam smiled and got to his feet, stretching. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat about how awesome my life has become, I have dinner plans with Thor.” Sam looked heavenward. “I swear, dude. When did this become my life?”

“When Steve decided you were going to be the next victim of his asshole personality,” Natasha noted.

Steve frowned. “Sam likes my asshole personality. And so do you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she muttered, which was basically a glowing affirmation in her book. Steve offered her a tiny smile, and she scowled at him, but her eyes were fond.

“Well, I’m off,” Sam said. “You two have fun painting each other’s nails and gossiping about cute boys.”

“We gossip about cute girls too,” Natasha said.

Sam clapped Steve on the back and made finger guns at Natasha before he left.

“Have you still not told Sam that you were trying to flirt with him the day you two met?” Natasha asked when he was gone.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“You’re shit at flirting. I should teach you.”

“No.”

Natasha held up her hands. “Fine. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Will I understand any of it?”

“Maybe,” Natasha said. “I’ll explain as we go.”

Natasha opened Steve’s laptop, logged into his Netflix account, and clicked on a movie, curling into his side like a cat. “Comfortable?” Steve asked dryly.

Natasha smirked at him. “Could be better. Massage my feet, will you, Rogers?”

“Ew.”

Natasha snorted inelegantly and pointed at the screen, elbowing him. “Okay. This is important.”

Steve understood like fifty percent of the movie.

But that was really nothing new.

NAT: we r gonna meet 4 coffee tmrw

STEVE: We are?

NAT: yas steve idk how long im gonna be in town :( dont u wanna see me

STEVE: Sure. Where and when?

NAT: yaaaayyyyyyy ill txt u the details in a minute

Steve frowned at the hole in the wall café, self consciously pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Natasha usually delighted in picking obscure places to hang out, and this was no exception. Steve believed kids these days were calling it “hipster.” But what did he know?

He sighed and pushed into the shop, relishing the warmth that started to thaw at his skin. His eyes scanned the shop, cataloguing potential threats, exits, and anything he could use as a weapon if things escalated.

Thankfully, Natasha had chosen the table in the back corner- the one that could see all the exits. But she wasn’t alone.

Steve warily approached the table, feeling himself relax slightly when he saw that it was just Clint, who looked slightly worse for wear, but he was alive.

Natasha lit up. “Hey.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder and tried to smile through a split lip. “’Sup, bro?”

Steve shrugged, sliding into the chair closest to the corner. Natasha scooted her own chair closer so that she could hook her ankle around Steve’s. “No coffee?” Steve asked wryly.

Clint frowned. “Nah, I have a buddy waiting in line to order. Was just talking to Nat.”

Steve raised both eyebrows. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Natasha said. “We’re good.”

Clint looked at Natasha, and Steve internally rolled his eyes. He wondered if they just purposefully ignored the romantic tension between them or if they actually just didn’t see it.

“So, you’ve got somebody ordering coffee?” Steve asked, and Clint shook himself a little bit as he forced his gaze to Steve.

“Don’t worry. I told him your order too. Peppermint mocha, right?”

Natasha giggled as Steve raised his chin with defiance. “Absolutely.”

“Captain America doesn’t like real coffee,” Natasha stage whispered.

“Don’t judge me. Coffee tasted like actual shit in the forties,” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms.

Clint snorted. “Whatever, bro.” He stood. “I should probably help him carry the coffee, though.”

Steve turned back to Natasha as Clint walked away and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “He was in the neighborhood,” Natasha explained, her expression giving away nothing.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been set up.”

“I would never,” Natasha said, feigning shock.

Steve sighed.

“God fucking dammit,” he heard someone say and looked up.

A man was attempting to cradle four cups of coffee with the use of one arm. Because he only had one arm. The man looked kind of pissy, scowling venomously at the cups. Strands of hair fell into his face, and Steve blinked slowly. Because this man had the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen.

Clint rushed towards him without looking like he was rushing and casually took two cups. The man glared darkly at Clint as he easily redistributed the weight of the two remaining cups. Clint ignored the man’s obvious irritation and sauntered to their table, handing one of the cups to Natasha, who took a nonchalant sip.

Steve gave Natasha a vaguely panicked look. She batted her eyelashes innocently.

The man sat down next to Clint, concentrating on placing the two cups on the able. Then, he looked up at Steve.

His eyes were, like, really nice. A light blue-gray that made Steve’s heart beat faster.

The man’s expression sharpened with recognition, but he didn’t say anything, and Steve was breathlessly thankful.

“Bro, which is the peppermint mocha?” Clint asked, nudging his friend.

The man blinked as he looked at Clint. He pushed one of the cups towards Steve, who immediately picked it up- not to hide behind it or anything. Obviously.

“Steve,” Natasha said, “This is James Barnes. He’s a history professor.”

“Um,” James Barnes said. “Yes?”

“James Barnes. This is Steve,” Natasha told James, and her eyes were dancing with delight.

“Good to meet you,” Steve said, sticking his hand out. James shook it. His hand was warm but a little bit rough. How long was a proper handshake supposed to last? Oh shit, he was lingering. Oh shit, he was pulling his hand back too fast. Steve stared down at his drink.

“Good to meet you too,” James Barnes said. What a nice voice. A voice that felt like a train shushing through a snowy mountain.

“James lives in Clint’s building,” Natasha added.

“You have a building?” Steve asked, confused.

Clint shrugged. “I guess.”

“You paid for it, asshat,” James grumbled, finally reaching for his own coffee. “There’s no ‘I guess’ about it.”

Steve shot Natasha a glare, but Natasha just smirked.

“James, why don’t you tell Steve about the course you’re teaching?” Natasha suggested, shooting Steve a wink.

“Which one?” James asked in a deadpan tone.

“Classics of the Twentieth Century.”

James lifting his shoulder. “I mean,” he said, staring at the table. “It’s about classics of the twentieth century. It’s focused on literature and cinema, mostly. Students try to get a sense of the culture of the time period and see how the world influences the works studied and vice versa.”

Steve frowned deeply at Natasha, who was looking at him expectantly. “You want me to take a college course,” he said.

“It’ll help.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Nat, I really appreciate you trying to help me out, but you know I can’t do that.”

James and Clint looked at each other awkwardly, and Steve felt a little bit guilty. “Why not?” Natasha asked, moving her foot so that it was no longer hooked around his ankle.

“Because I’m Captain America.”

“So?”

“I can’t take a fucking college course.”

“Look,” James interrupted, and Steve looked at him. The man was shrinking in on himself in discomfort. “Um. I don’t have a full load to teach this semester. I could- I mean- I have time and shit- if you want-“

“Dude,” Clint said, knocking his knee against James’. “Talk.”

James scrubbed his hand across his jaw, raising his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “We could work out some sort of private lesson thing and structure it to be sort of personalized for you.”

Steve stared at him, trying to hide his surprise. “You really don’t need to do that.”

James frowned. “I love teaching. It’s not a burden, if that’s what you’re thinking. And I’d love to help you understand all the culture you’ve missed.”

Steve was already shaking his hand. “I can’t ask you to-“

“I wouldn’t be doing it purely out of the kindness of my heart either,” James cut in, and Steve watched as his lips quirked. “I also sort of need the money. I want to buy my niece a PlayStation for her birthday.”

Steve felt his own lips twitch in the approximation of a smile for half a second. “I’m not exactly rich.”

“You’re Captain America. How can you not be rich?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “I donate most of my money,” he mumbled.

James bit his lip, and Steve tried not to stare. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked defensively.

“Nothing,” James sighed. He reached into his pocket and took out a pen, hunching over the table to scribble something on his napkin. He shoved it in Steve’s direction, and it was a phone number. “If you change your mind, give me a call. I get off on teaching this shit, so it’d be a win-win situation. And all jokes aside, we can definitely discuss a reasonable method of payment.”

Steve stared at the numbers. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Natasha and Clint started talking about Clint’s dog, and after a minute, James joined in on the conversation, but Steve stayed quiet, playing with the edge of the napkin.

Was he really so pathetic that Nat wanted him to hire a goddamn history professor? (Yes, he was.) And was he really so pathetic that he was probably going to take the help? (Yes, he was.)

Steve’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen as Clint, Natasha, and James continued talking.

SAM: dude look at this gif of you

SAM: [Attached image]

SAM: captain america more like captear americry

Steve glanced at the people around him and decided it was safe to text back. They were all ignoring him anyway.

STEVE: Nat wants me to hire a history professor to teach me pop culture.

SAM: DO THE THING!!!!!!

STEVE: Really?

SAM: ITLL BE GOOD FOR YOU

Steve closed his phone and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

His phone buzzed again.

TONY: How do you like this new meme of you?

TONY: [Attached image]

STEVE: What the fuck man are you with Sam or something?

TONY: [Attached image]

It was a selfie of him and Sam.

TONY: Also hire the history professor. Your unculturedness makes me sad.

STEVE: Fuck you.

TONY: Cap said a bad word.

Forgetting where he was, Steve opened the camera and sent Tony a selfie of his unimpressed expression as he held up the middle finger.

James choked on his coffee, and Steve quickly closed his phone, feeling his cheeks heat. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, no, I just wasn’t really expecting that,” James said quickly, his own cheeks darkening.

“Tony was just being an asshole, and I-“

“Tony Stark,” James said faintly, then seemed to realize that he was surrounded by Avengers. “Shit, sorry- go on.”

Steve found a tiny smile curling his lips. “No, Tony was just being an asshole, and I was trying to respond to him.”

“By being just as much of an asshole,” Natasha finished.

“Or more of an asshole,” Clint added.

Steve pointed at Clint in affirmation.

James snorted.

Steve’s phone buzzed, and everyone at the table craned their necks to look at the message.

TONY: This is going on my Twitter.

James and Clint laughed, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

TONY: What should my CAPtion be?

TONY: Get it? CAPtion? Cuz you’re CAP.

James gave Steve a happy look. “Tony Stark is texting you puns.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know.”

Clint whacked James on the arm. “Dude. You just met Captain America, and you’re getting star struck by Iron Man?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s Iron Man,” James said defensively. Steve huffed a breath that could be compared to a laugh.

His phone buzzed.

TONY: Fuck it I don’t need your opinion.

TONY: The CAPtion is: Captain America is Done With Your Shit.

Natasha scooted her chair close to Steve and reached over him to grab his phone. She didn’t move after she’d grabbed it, staying with her elbow propped on Steve’s thigh. Steve watched as she responded with her own selfie and said, “post this too pls.” Tony sent back a thumbs up.

James and Clint were still arguing about Tony.

“He’s awesome,” James was saying.

“Wait till you meet him,” Clint grumbled.

“I’m going to meet Tony Stark?” James gasped.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Maybe. I invited him over to help me disentangle the wires of my DVD player.”

James mimed swooning. “What a bae.”

“He’s married,” Natasha said, not looking up from Steve’s phone. She’d gone on the Twitter app.

“Whatever.”

“Remember that time you guys kissed?” Clint said, looking at Steve with a little smirk.

Steve flushed. “Don’t remind me.”

James looked almost shocked. Steve would’ve been offended if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Tony Stark kissed you.”

“I was the one who kissed him. And it was to make a point.”

Natasha grinned, looking up at James. “Do you have earbuds with you?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Let me pull up the video.”

“There’s a video?!”

Steve groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Natasha had pulled up the video and was handing it to a thrilled James.

Steve knew exactly what was on that video. He and Tony had gotten so much shit from Pepper about it.

“Captain Rogers! What are your thoughts on the legalization of gay marriage?”

Steve stared at the reporter with his best judgmental expression, which he had perfected somewhere between dying and figuring out he’d died for nothing. “What?”

Next to him, Tony elbowed his ribs. “They legalized gay marriage.”

Steve frowned in thought. “I think it’s-“

“It’s absurd, isn’t it?” another reporter cut in, and Steve glared at him. The dude was from Fox. Typical.

“You know,” Steve snapped, raising his voice. The room fell deathly silent. “I’m tired of people trying to use my image to back up the bigots who hide behind conservatism. World War II was a time of incredible liberalism, especially in the army. I grew up in a queer-“

“Gay,” Tony whispered.

“-gay neighborhood. I’ve seen people who loved each other get ripped apart and arrested just because of who they love. It was terrible. And I think we’ve made incredible progress. Two fellas couldn’t even look at each other funny when I grew up, and now they can get married? That’s incredible.”

The Fox guy looked deeply scandalized. “You don’t seriously think-“

“Please don’t interrupt me,” Steve said icily. “I’ve never understood how something as sporadic and brilliant as love can be a point of dispute. You can’t choose who you love. Many people in this room probably regret loving someone, but it’s not something you can control. Why does this concept seem so scandalous when applied to someone of the same gender?”

Looking at the hostile faces from the conservative side of the room, Steve got frustrated. “Are you saying you’re gay?” the Fox guy asked.

Steve frowned. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, but if I- oh, fuck it.” He blew out an angry breath and turned to Tony, raising his eyebrows in question. Tony just smirked, and Steve figured that meant he’d be okay with any reckless notion that Steve was about to carry out. So, Steve grabbed the back of Tony’s neck and smacked a chaste kiss on his lips. All of this happened in less than five seconds.

Steve turned back to the crowd before he could see the expression on Tony’s face. “That’s my opinion on the legalization of gay marriage.”

There was a beat of silence before the crowd of reporters erupted into chaos.

Steve watched James’ face as the video played. He broke into a grin, and Steve relaxed slightly. When it was over, he looked up at Steve and said, “I have no idea how I’ve never seen this before. I’m gonna have to yell at my students for not telling me.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

James shrugged. “They like to make sure I’m updated on current events. I mean, I teach a class where I literally wax poetic about your wartime strategy. I’m disappointed that those students wouldn’t think to tell me about every single interview you’ve ever had.”

Natasha cringed theatrically. “It’s a shitshow. Everybody assumed that since Steve was in propaganda movies he’d be good with the press. He’s really not.”

“I have opinions,” Steve said defensively. “If I have a public voice, I should be able to use it to my advantage.”

Clint looked over at James, long-suffering. “See what we have to deal with.”

“I think Steve’s right,” James said, and they locked eyes for a moment. Steve felt his stomach flip (what the fuck).

“Oh no,” Clint groaned. “Please don’t encourage him. I knew this was a bad idea, Nat, now they’re gonna join forces and be twice as bad.”

Natasha glanced up at Steve. She didn’t say anything, but the look she communicated was clear. This will be good for you. Dumbass.

They talked about Clint’s broken nose for a while, which was a surprisingly interesting conversation, but Steve got a notification from his work-phone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Suit up. ETA sixteen minutes.

Cryptic, but not unusual. Steve sighed, standing up. “I’ve gotta go. Duty calls.”

Natasha and Clint looked unruffled and just waved half-heartedly. James gave him a more meaningful look and said, “Think about giving me a call.”

Steve pocketed the napkin. “I will,” he said, and he found that he was telling the truth.

As he hurried back home, he couldn’t help but think about the exact shade of blue-gray of James’ eyes.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Steve agonized over his broken ribs while he agonized over whether or not he was going to contact James.

His ribs were finally popping into place when there was a knock at the door.

Steve grunted in discomfort as he got to his feet and shuffled for the door. Tony Stark stood on the other side in a hoodie and jeans. “I’ve arrived with soup.” He held up a thermos.

Steve stepped aside to let Tony in. “Soup is for when you’re sick.”

“Is it?” Tony asked breezily, walking over to rummage through his kitchen. “I thought soup was a universal gesture of ‘Get Well.’ Jarvis?” Tony glanced at the ceiling when there was no response. “Right. Totally forgot Jarvis isn’t in your apartment. You know, you should let me install him. It makes life so much better.”

Steve winced as he sat down on a stool in front of his counter. “I like the quiet.”

“Who the fuck likes quiet? You live in NYC, man.”

Steve frowned. “The city is a different kind of noise than having a robot watching you at all times.”

Tony looked offended. “Okay: first off, he’s an AI, and he has feelings, so don’t be rude. Secondly, it’s more like monitoring your comfort and happiness. ‘Watching’ sounds so creepy. J isn’t creepy.”

Steve let his forehead thunk softly onto the counter. “Mmmgfhhh,” he said indistinctly.

“Ribs giving you shit? Have some soup,” Tony said, pushing a bowl towards him.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled and began to eat even though he wasn’t really hungry.

Tony crossed his arms and leaned back against the cabinets. “So, did you call the hot history professor yet?”

Steve choked on his soup. “Who told you he was hot?” he asked weakly.

“Nobody. I met him.”

Steve raised an eyebrow in question.

“Clint invited me over to untangle wires, and the guy was hanging out there.” Tony smiled. “I like him.”

“That’s because he’s a fan.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “I could use a good ego boost.”

“No, you really don’t need one.”

“Fair point, Rogers, fair point.” Tony started fiddling absentmindedly with the microwave. “Have you called him?”

“No.” Steve didn’t look up from his soup.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. He’s really attractive.”

“And?”

“It isn’t professional to be attracted to your tutor.”

When Steve looked up, Tony was staring at him in disbelief. “That’s how, like, all pornos start.”

Steve cringed. “You aren’t helping.”

Tony threw out his arms. “I’m just saying, you could stand to blow off some steam. Hey, maybe if the professor guy fucks you, he could dislodge the stick that’s been up your ass since nineteen-thirty-“

Steve glared at Tony venomously, and the words died on his lips.

“Right. Anyways. The structure could be great for your pop culture education. Barnes has a doctorate, so you know he’s capable.”

“Did you research him?”

“Maybe.”

Steve wondered if Tony knew how James had lost his arm, but he immediately shoved that train of thought away. It wasn’t his business.

Tony pushed Steve’s phone into his hands. “Call him. If you don’t, I’ll pay for all your lessons.”

Steve scowled and typed in the number that he may or may not have memorized.

The phone rang four times before there was a beat of static. “This is Barnes.”

“Uh- James? It’s Steve.” Steve grimaced awkwardly. “Um. Steve Rogers.”

“Oh! Right!” James said a little bit too loudly. “You called.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. There was a shuffling noise. “Is- is this a bad time?”

“No, I just finished a class,” James said, sounding vaguely distracted. His voice was muffled (Steve assumed he was talking to a student) when he said, “Kamala, come by my office at four.”

“Shit,” Steve said, and Tony raised an eyebrow from where he was disassembling the microwave. “I should’ve called later. Sorry.”

“No, there’s absolutely no problem,” James insisted.

Steve swallowed, hearing his throat click. “I wanted to... talk about the lessons that you were offering.”

“Great. I’ve got the day off on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Which day would work best for you?”

Steve paused. “My work schedule is kind of sporadic, so it’s really not important.”

“Right,” James said, sounding a bit flustered. “Sorry.”

“Can we start this Saturday? At noon?”

There was a beat of hesitation. “Yeah, that should be good. I’ll text you a coffee shop address or something.”

“Okay,” Steve said. His chest exploded into pain as his ribs shifted around, and Steve couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. My ribs are reconstructing themselves,” Steve muttered, kind of embarrassed.

“That’s... actually kind of cool.”

Steve arched an eyebrow at nothing, thinking about how totally uncool the explosion that threw him off a roof was.

“I didn’t mean it like- I mean- it’s just-“ James cut himself off and sighed in defeat. “Never mind. I didn’t mean offense.”

Steve was surprised when he let out a wry laugh. Tony looked up so suddenly at the sound that he banged his head on the door of the microwave. “I’m not offended.”

“Good.” James sounded relieved. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, then.”

“Bye.”

Tony immediately blurted out, “What the fuck did he say to make you laugh?”

Steve felt himself blush. “Nothing. He was just getting flustered and- it doesn’t matter.”

Tony watched him carefully before he deliberately turned back to the microwave.

Steve grew increasingly drowsier as he made his way through the admittedly excellent soup. His eyes kept sliding shut for longer periods of time until Tony grabbed his shoulder and said, “Hey, pal, when’s the last time you slept?”

Steve frowned, wracking his brain. “Uh. No idea.” (Four days ago.)

Tony scoffed. “Go to sleep.”

Steve shook his head slowly. He expected Tony would understand his aversion to sleep. The guy practically lived in his lab to avoid it.

“I’ll stick around for a while. I’m like a walking dream catcher. No nightmares while I’m around- I’ll just absorb them all for myself,” Tony said, trying to sound casual.

Steve smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t wish ‘em on you, Stark. Go home. I’ll sleep. I promise.”

Tony eyed him skeptically. “No offense, but I’m not leaving until you’re in bed.”

Steve kind of wanted to make a lewd joke, but after he thought of one, the pause would have been too awkwardly long for the joke to be smooth. He sighed and shoved to his feet. Tony chattered about his latest argument with Rhodey as Steve tried not to move his torso while changing into something more comfortable to sleep in.

After he climbed in bed, Tony hesitated. “You call me if you start feeling like shit. I won’t even ask any questions. I’m a fucking fabulous friend like that.”

Steve smiled again, and this time it was genuine. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Anyways,” Tony said, clearing his throat and starting to inch out of the room, looking insanely uncomfortable.

“You’re a good friend,” Steve added, smile morphing effortlessly into a smirk.

Tony clapped his hands over his ears. “NOPE! NO GETTING SENTIMENTAL ON ME. LA-LA-LA- I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” He darted out of the room, and Steve heard him start frantically gathering his stuff.

“I LOVE YOU, TONY!” Steve shouted. His ribs may have screamed, but it was totally worth Tony’s shriek of horror before he left the apartment.

The silence settled around Steve like a second skin.

He closed his eyes.

Steve arrived at the coffee shop twenty minutes early.

Because he was fucking pathetic and had nothing better to do.

Also, he wanted to make sure he got the seat with the best sight lines. He was almost one hundred percent sure that James would not have taken that into account if he had been here first to pick a table.

So, Steve absentmindedly sketched the people in the shop, wondering about their lives in a sort of abstract way. The woman with the wedding ring smiling at her phone may have a beautiful love story to tell. The child making a face at the offered sip of his father’s coffee may have magical worlds unfurling in his mind. The man frantically typing at his laptop may have a miraculous success story written in the lines of his trim suit.

Steve doubted anybody had a story like him: a propaganda story. A ruse. Something just begging to be a satire.

(He’d seen the ridiculous SNL skits.)

James came into the shop bundled in a scarf, his nose red and his eyes watery with the cold and wind. He spotted Steve and gestured towards to counter to indicate that he was getting a coffee. Steve nodded and turned back to his sketchbook, the lines of his pencil scratching down to form a rough image of James.

Steve wondered what kind of story was woven into the stitches of James’ life. Was it a tragedy, like so many people he knew? Was it an epic romance? A drama-comedy fusion?

He pushed the thoughts away as James sat down across from him, rubbing his nose with a gloved hand. “Cold,” he complained, wrapping his fingers around his coffee mug.

Steve’s lips twitched. “I hate it too.”

James looked sheepish. “Right. With the ice and shit.”

“And the reminder of almost dying every winter,” Steve added. He and cold did not get along.

James raised his mug in understanding. They sat in silence for a moment, and Steve shoved his sketchbook into his bag. “So,” James finally began, and his nose was a little bit less red. “I outlined a rough curriculum.” He pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Cross off anything you’ve already seen or read.”

Steve examined the list. It was so hyper-organized that he was reminded of Pepper immediately. “This is... really thorough.”

James ducked his head. “I like knowing what I’m gonna be doing.”

Steve nodded and turned back to the list. He grabbed his pencil and crossed off The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Star Trek, Snow White, and Mean Girls. His eyes scanned the rest of the list, and he felt a little bit overwhelmed.

James followed the lines of his pencil. “Oh, good. You’ve got the basic classics down.”

Steve shrugged. “I guess.”

James took the list back. “So, we’re going to start with literature. And I know you were alive during part of the twentieth century, but I figured it would be good to start with somewhere familiar anyways. I’m basically gonna take you through high school English. We’ll start with The Great Gatsby. You were totally alive during the Prohibition.” James looked at Steve, grinning. “Did you ever go to a speakeasy?”

“I was, like, fifteen when the Prohibition ended,” Steve said. James didn’t blink, and Steve sighed in resignation. “Yeah, I’ve had bootlegged alcohol.”

James grinned wider. “Hell yeah, man.” Steve took a sip of his coffee so that he wouldn’t have to say anything. “After Gatsby, we’ll do Brave New World and 1984. Mostly because I want to see what you think about today, and also because they should be pretty relatable. After that, we get to the fun stuff.”

“Okay,” Steve said warily.

James tapped the list. “We’ll go through all the books. Then, we’ll take a step back and watch the classic films to sort of reinforce the cultural development of the past century.” James offered a private smile, as if they were in on some sort of joke. “It’s gonna be a glorified movie marathon.”

“Okay.”

James leaned back a little. “Any questions for me?”

Steve fiddled with his napkin. “What do you want me to call you?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to call you Professor Barnes? Or just Barnes? Or James?” Steve asked. “Normally, I’d call you Professor Barnes, right? But I don’t know if that would be weird since it’s like a one-on-one class.” He was probably rambling. He was suddenly reminded of a car ride sitting next to Peggy Carter, making a fool of himself seventy years ago.

James’ lips curled into a little smile, and Steve tried not to stare. “You can call me Bucky.”

Steve dropped the napkin. “What?”

James (Bucky?) waved a hand. “It’s a nickname. It’d be weird to have you call me professor, and I respond to Bucky more easily than James,” he explained.

Steve nodded slowly. “Al-right,” he said, drawing the word out.

Bucky traced a pattern on the table. “Any other questions?”

“How long do I have to finish-“ Steve paused, glancing at the list, “-The Great Gatsby?”

Bucky frowned. “I mean, you can take your time. I don’t want to distract you from saving the world or anything, but the book is pretty short. Just try not to take forever, and text me when you finish so that we can talk about it.”

Steve didn’t mention that he had way too much free time and would probably finish the book before Wednesday. “Okay.”

“Anything else?”

What kind of story do you have? How did you lose your arm? How did you get the name “Bucky?” Do you get the same order of coffee all the time? Did you match your scarf with your eyes on purpose? Would you like to have a drink with me? “No.”

Bucky nodded. “Cool beans,” he said, and then leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s outdated slang for ‘cool.’”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Radical,” he shot back.

Bucky snorted. “Who taught you that one?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Clint?”

“Clint.”

Bucky batted his eyelashes. “Maybe ‘Clint’ can be our always,” he whispered in a faux-dreamy tone before faltering. “Shit, sorry. That’s a reference to a popular book. We will get to that.”

Steve shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m used to being in a constant state of mild confusion.”

“I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“And I’m grateful,” Steve said earnestly. “Thank you.”

Bucky looked vaguely embarrassed. “Ah- don’t worry about it, pal.”

Steve raked a hand through his hair, probably completely messing it up. “Do you want to continue meeting at miscellaneous cafés? Or no? Because there are other options.”

Bucky frowned slightly. “We could always meet at my apartment. It’s kind of shitty, though.”

“My apartment’s open too,” Steve said. “And I doubt your place is that bad.”

Bucky paused, eyeing Steve carefully. “You grew up in the Depression.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Fun times.

Bucky flexed the fingers on his hand. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he visibly bit it back, staring down at his coffee.

“What?” Steve asked, already feeling defensive and wary.

Bucky cringed. “Nothing, nothing. I just-“ he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Say it,” Steve dared, jutting his chin out.

Bucky looked up hesitantly. “Well... you realize that I’m a guy who genuinely thinks history is fun,” he began haltingly. Steve nodded stiffly. “I just...” He swallowed roughly. “You’re a walking piece of history. Not because you’re Captain America, but because you were there.” He sounded vaguely awed.

Steve had to admit. That was not what he’d been expecting. “You want to interrogate me about the culture of the 1930s.”

Bucky scowled. “Fuck, not like that at all. I just- if it’s not too weird- sometime, could I ask you some questions? You’re like- the best primary source ever.”

Steve studied Bucky speculatively. He didn’t know why this request seemed so different from the countless historians who’d been falling over themselves to interview him after the Battle of New York. But it was different. This was obviously Bucky’s passion, and Steve honestly believed that he wasn’t looking to use any information for personal gain. Just for his own pursuit of knowledge. “We’ll see,” Steve finally said. Because although Steve was usually a decent judge of character, there was no way he trusted Bucky from two brief meetings.

Nick Fury wasn’t the only one with trust issues. (Thanks for that, SHIELD!)

Bucky looked sort of grimly resigned. “Sorry. That was probably out of line,” he muttered into the table.

Steve didn’t really know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

Bucky sipped at his coffee, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Steve watched the woman with the wedding ring meet another woman at the door with an embrace and a chaste kiss. He looked away.

He was saved from further awkward interaction when his phone rang. Thor. He sent Bucky an apologetic look, and Bucky waved him away.

“Hey, buddy,” he said when he picked up.

“STEVEN,” Thor shouted. Steve winced away from the phone. “I HAVE COME ACROSS THE MOST AMUSING ARTIFACT.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompted.

“YOU MUST LAY YOUR OWN EYES UPON IT. IT’S QUITE QUAINT.”

“Right now?”

“ARE YOU BUSY?” Thor asked, sounding completely intrigued.

“Uh. Sort of.”

“MARVELOUS! IT’S TRULY LOVELY TO SEE YOU GETTING BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS.”

The swing of things. Jeez. “I never got out of the swing of things,” Steve said, hunching his shoulders.

“OH, OF COURSE NOT,” Thor replied in that patronizing tone that was usually hilarious when used against anyone else.

“Don’t you sass me.”

“WHY, I WOULD NEVER!” Steve could picture him clutching at his muscular chest in feigned hurt.

Steve grumbled something indistinct.

“WELL, I DO NOT WISH TO INTERRUPT YOUR SOCIAL RITUAL, CAPTAIN. HOWEVER, IT WOULD PLEASE ME ENDLESSLY TO SHARE MY AMUSEMENT OVER MIDGARDIAN TECHNOLOGY WITH YOU.”

“That sounds great, Thor. I’ll stop by the Tower as soon as I’m done.”

“NO NEED. I AM ALREADY AT YOUR PLACE OF DWELLING.”

His friends really had no sense of boundaries. Steve wasn’t even fazed anymore. “Okay, see you soon.”

“FAREWELL, MY DEAR FRIEND.” The line went dead.

Steve looked at Bucky awkwardly. “That was my friend,” he said, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say?

“Thor,” Bucky agreed, lips quirking slightly. “With the hair and the muscles.”

“And the lightning and hammer and shit,” Steve added, still feeling incredibly awkward.

“You ever tried to lift it?” Bucky asked curiously, although his tone kind of suggested that he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

Steve leveled a solemn look. “What happens at Avengers Movie Night stays at Avengers Movie Night.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you all had a pillow fight in your underwear.”

Steve smothered a grin and mimed zipping his lips.

Bucky pouted.

Which was just.

Really. Not fair.

Like- at all.

“Steve, I’ll have you know, I am one of the most goddamn trustworthy people ever,” Bucky said in a sarcastically stern voice. “I swear I would never leak super Avengers secrets to the paps.”

Steve tried to hide a smirk, leaning a little bit forward to give the illusion of secrecy. “Okay, so maybe there was one panty-clad pillow fight.”

Bucky laughed, his eyes going all gorgeously crinkly. “Steve Rogers, you’re such a little shit.”

Steve offered a mock-salute, feeling smug despite himself.

Bucky got to his feet, adjusting his scarf and picking up his empty coffee cup. “Read Gatsby. Text me when you’re done.” He nudged the curriculum paper towards Steve with his pinky finger. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Steve watched as Bucky sauntered away, the swish of his slim hips calling attention to his ass. Steve quickly looked away and folded the curriculum into a tiny square.

He had some adorable Midgardian technology to laugh at.

There was a knock on the door before it opened, and Sam came striding inside.

“Yo, dude, guess what I-“

Sam cut himself off as he entered the living room and stared at his surroundings.

“What.”

Steve looked up from Gatsby and glanced around. He’d bought all of the books on the list and hadn’t had a minute to put them away yet, so he was sitting crisscross-applesauce in the center of a bunch of haphazard stacks of books.

Sam stared.

Steve blushed. “I’m educating myself,” he explained.

“By reading the entire library?”

Steve frowned. “These are all the books on the list.”

“The list,” Sam echoed, eyes narrowing. “You have another list.”

“I didn’t make this one,” Steve snapped, suddenly annoyed.

Sam held up his hands. “I’m just saying, I saw you have too many panic attacks over the last list.”

Steve scowled and said nothing.

Sam crouched down next to one of the stacks and picked up the book on top. “Oh, hell. The Hunger Games? What’s he having you read?”

Steve put Gatsby on his knee, spine up. “Most of them are the classics, but apparently there are some young adult novels that have really influenced culture or whatever, so he assigned those too.”

Sam nodded slowly and picked up another book. “The Catcher in the Rye.”

Steve shrugged. He had no idea.

Sam scratched at his chin, and then settled down so that he was half-lying on the floor. “I read that in high school. Can’t say I remember much about it.”

“I’m reading Gatsby,” Steve said, running his finger along the spine. “Everyone in this book is horrible.”

Sam chuckled. “That sounds right, from what I remember.” He sifted through some more books. “Dude, I haven’t read much of these.”

“Wow, Sam. Way to neglect popular culture,” Steve deadpanned. Sam shoved his shoulder playfully.

“This Barnes guy seem okay?”

Steve hesitated before nodding slowly. “Nat found him through Clint, so I guess he’s been sort of desensitized to knowing an Avenger-“

“Even if that Avenger is Hawkguy.”

“-and he hasn’t treated me like a relic much, which is really impressive from a historian.” Steve gave Sam a wry look. “He must be holding back a shitton of questions.”

“Even if he is, give him credit for at least trying to see you as a person,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I know you and historians don’t really get along,” Sam ventured, and Steve glared at the ground. “If you ever want out, tell the guy.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Sam shifted so that he was lying flat on his back. “Tell me about Jay Gatsby.”

Steve smiled down at his friend. “He’s an enigma, old sport.”

Sam cackled, throwing an arm over his face. “When Barnes is done with you, you’re just going to be made of references, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?” Steve asked with all of his earnestness and innocence bleeding into his tone. Sam lost it, giggling uncontrollably into the crook of his elbow.

Steve grinned and turned back to his book. When Sam nudged his knee, Steve started reading aloud, and he could feel the tension in Sam’s muscles start to melt away.

When they were still getting to know each other after the whole SHIELD-is-evil fiasco, Sam had casually thrown around words like, “PTSD,” and, “anxiety,” and, “depression.” It’d taken Steve a stupidly long time to figure out that Sam wasn’t trying to casually judge Steve and his undiagnosed issues, but was actually trying to tell Steve about his own issues without spelling it out. Steve still felt incredibly guilty that he’d thought it was about him.

Sam was remarkably well adjusted (Steve’s polar opposite in that respect), but that didn’t mean he was all fine-and-dandy. So, Steve did what he could. And if that meant reading Sam a book that was almost as old as he was, then it was the least he could do.

Steve read until he forgot he was reading- until he quietly whispered, “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” and just stared blankly at the page for a very, very long time.

Sam had gone into that very quiet mood, which meant that he was thinking very hard.

Steve’s fingers tightened around the paper. “Do you think I’m like him? Like Gatsby?”

“Stuck in the past?” Sam asked.

Steve swallowed heavily.

“Maybe, yeah.”

Steve bowed his head. Because he knew that he was.

Boats against the current, and all that.

STEVE: Finished Gatsby.

BUCKY: [thumbs-up emoji]

BUCKY: wanna meet @ my place?

STEVE: Sure.

Bucky’s apartment was in a building that Clint apparently owned. It wasn’t a bad building, but it wasn’t a great building either. Steve decided he loved it.

When Bucky opened the door, he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, empty sleeve flapping about uselessly.

“Hey,” he said with a slightly strained smile, and Steve took note of the dark circles under his eyes. “Come in.”

Steve nodded, hunching his shoulders subconsciously, trying to be smaller, as he walked into Bucky’s apartment.

The aesthetic of the place was pleasing. It had an industrialist-modern sort of feel, with exposed bricks and pipes, sleek furniture, and neat bookshelves lining most of the walls (all of which were full). Natasha would’ve loved the design.

“Nice place,” Steve said quietly, twisting Gatsby in his hands nervously.

Bucky ran his hand through his hair, and some strands escaped from the tiny ponytail. “Thanks.”

They sat on opposite sides of the coffee table.

“So? How’d you like Gatsby?”

Steve frowned. “I hated all of the characters.”

“That’s quite understandable. Any particular reasons?”

Steve hesitated. “Well, Nick Caraway was one of the most hypocritical characters I’ve ever come across.” Bucky huffed a little laugh. “Daisy was, like, a terrible human being, and so was Tom. And Myrtle just made me sad.”

“What about the man, the legend himself?” Bucky asked.

“Gatsby?” Steve asked uneasily. “Um. He was. Depressing.”

“How so?”

“He was stuck in this idealistic version of the past, and he did bad things for all the wrong reasons, and he died for nothing,” Steve said in a rush, immediately clamming up afterwards.

Bucky arched a brow. “Oh?” he said, keeping his face blank.

“Yeah,” Steve managed. “And he had no real friends. He was- he was so fucking lonely. What a shitty fucking funeral he had. It’s fucking depressing as hell.”

“You don’t think Nick was a real friend?” Bucky asked curiously.

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. “Everyone projected onto Gatsby. They all saw what they wanted to see. Nobody saw the fucked-up-brain in his fucked-up-head besides Nick, and even Nick completely romanticized the whole thing. It’s not romantic. It’s fucking depressing.”

Bucky smiled sadly. “I think that’s the whole point of the title. The Great Gatsby is a sort of mocking, ironic phrase. Gatsby wasn’t all that good of a person.”

“But he was great,” Steve broke in. “There’s a difference there. All the grandeur of everything- the new money, the parties, the romance. Gatsby made sure his name was associated with greatness, but never with goodness.”

Steve was thinking about Dr. Erskine. Steve was thinking about himself like the selfish bastard he was. He was thinking about how Dr. Erskine would probably hate what he’d become.

Bucky pointed at him. “Nice.”

Steve shrugged.

“Alright, let’s talk about the culture of the Roaring Twenties, now,” he said, eyes lighting up, and Steve knew that Bucky was passionate about the culture immediately.

Steve scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “People were naïve,” was all he said.

“Yeah?” Bucky prompted after it became evident Steve wasn’t going to add anything without a nudge.

“Yeah,” Steve echoed. “It’s like they all wanted to drown their trauma from the War in alcohol, but alcohol wasn’t allowed, so they made a game of getting it. Nobody took the Prohibition very seriously where I was from. Corruption ran as wild as the parties, but everyone just thought it was a game. Nobody saw the Depression coming, and they should’ve. Nothing great ever lasts.”

Bucky was grinning. “That’s so morbid. I love it.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “Everyone who grew up in the Depression is at least a little bit cynical.” He looked at Bucky for a long moment. “You know, sometimes it feels like the Twenties never happened.”

“I get that,” Bucky said, voice a little bit soft. “But the Twenties wasn’t all rainbows and sparkles either.”

Steve waved a hand. “Yeah, I know, but compare it to the Depression and it seems like a fuckin’ rainbow. The thing is, people were too careless. They were in the We Almost Died mindset. And I know how that feels, and all you want to do is celebrate and forget. And you should never do that.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked at him helplessly. “You end up like one of the shitty characters in Gatsby.”

Bucky smiled humorlessly. “And which one are you?”

“Take a wild fuckin’ guess.”

Chapter Text

Steve slammed The Catcher in the Rye shut and blindly groped for his phone, jabbing the name that was approaching the top of his most frequently called list.

Bucky picked up, and had barely started to say, “Hey,” when Steve blurted out, “That was the saddest fucking ending in the entire world. I’m coming over,” and hung up to the sound of Bucky’s laughter because Bucky was evil.

When he got to Bucky’s apartment, his eyes were dancing with delight as Steve stood dejectedly in front of the door. “Oh, honey, don’t make the sad face. That’s not fair.”

Steve didn’t have to put much effort into further exaggerating his pout.

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, and his eyes were still smiling. “Let me get you some coffee,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh.

Steve crumpled into some rapid nodding, and tried not to think about how fucked he was.

Because his tutor was adorable and Steve kept having Thoughts and he was a horrible person.

But Bucky was an even more horrible person for making him read that depressing shitshow, so Steve figured it was even.

More or less.

(Maybe not, he added after Bucky handed him a coffee with the exactly correct proportions of cream-sugar-bitterness, and Steve’s heart exploded with warmth.)

“So?” Natasha prompted over the crackly reception. “How are the things?”

Steve absentmindedly rummaged through his mostly-empty refrigerator. “Pretty okay. There hasn’t been a huge disaster in a while.”

“Speak for yourself,” Natasha said, sounding offended. “You ever heard of the Battle of Bangkok?”

“No?”

“That’s because I single-handedly prevented it. Because I’m good at my job,” she said smugly.

Steve snorted. “I’ve never doubted you, Nat.”

“Why would you? I’m amazing.” There was a noise on her end of the line that sounded suspiciously like gunfire. “What year are you in for your books thing?”

“1947,” Steve said. “I just finished The Catcher in the Rye, and the next one is called Invisible Man. Bucky said it’s kind of disturbing.”

Bucky had said this:

“Listen, I’m gonna warn you. Invisible Man is sort of known for how disturbing it is. I just wanted you to know that before you get started. The second chapter was probably the most horrific one for me, but it doesn’t necessarily get any better after that. It can get really violent.”

To which Steve had replied:

“Golly, Buck. Thanks for warning the faint-of-hearted. Not like I was the leader of one of the most brutal units in one of the most horrific wars in history or anything.”

To which Bucky had replied:

“Oh, fucking hell, you’re a punk. Tone down the sass, old man.”

Steve blinked back to the present and tried to smother his tiny smile.

Natasha made a noncommittal noise. “I make a point of staying away from American literature.”

“Communist peril,” Steve snarked warmly.

“Capitalist propaganda,” Natasha returned. “The book probably isn’t as disturbing as your face.”

“Mature,” Steve deadpanned.

“No, I’m serious. Have you seen your nose?” Natasha said teasingly.

“Hey, the reason that nose is the way it is is because I stand up for the little guy.”

“Well, your nose is definitely not the little guy.”

Steve couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Fuck you, Nat.”

“Anyways,” Natasha said, “how are things with Barnes?”

Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Sexually,” Natasha added like an afterthought.

“There are no sexual things with Bucky,” Steve grumbled, scowling as he closed the refrigerator.

“Oh?”

“We’re not talking about this. Why are you always trying to set me up with people?”

“You deserve to be happy,” Natasha said with the harsh, blunt honesty that always took Steve by surprise. “And you and Barnes have become friends, right?”

Steve lifted a shoulder, even though she couldn’t see. “I pay him to hang out with me.”

He could practically hear her eye-roll. “Steeeeeve.”

“Fine, hang on, while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about you and Clint.”

There was a startlingly long beat of static. Then, “What.”

“You and Clint,” Steve insisted. “How’s that going?”

“Sorry, Steve, the reception’s getting so shitty. Oops, look at silly me, how clumsy I am, about to drop the phone off the building.”

Steve sighed through his nose. “Nat-“

“Whoopsies, such butterfingers, Steve you’re breaking-“ There was a harsh scratch of noise before the line went dead.

Whatever, Nat, I can deal with Bucky stuff alone, I’m a big boy, Steve insisted to himself.

Steve looked at his next book and picked it up, brushing his thumb over the pages so that they fanned out rapidly. It was a pretty big novel with, like, over five hundred pages. Still, it probably wouldn’t take him long to read. Steve had a shitton of downtime, hence how he was able to get through the major classic literature of the first half of the twentieth century in less than three months.

He leafed through the introduction pages until he reached the prologue and began, reading those first chilling words.

I am an invisible man...

He called Bucky after reading the second chapter, his face twisted into what he could only assume was a permanent cringe.

“Oh, god,” he nearly whimpered when the line connected.

Bucky snorted. “Did you read about Trueblood?”

“Oh, god.”

“Isn’t it fucked up? Hey, want to hear a fucked up theory?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, his tone incredibly wary.

“I’m gonna tell you anyway because it scarred me for life, and I am not suffering alone.” Bucky paused theatrically. “Okay, so you know how Mr. Norton showed the invisible man a picture of his daughter and kept going on about how beautiful she was?”

“Yeah?” Steve said slowly, cautiously, his stomach turning in anticipation.

“And you know how he gets all sick and weird after Trueblood’s story?”

“Yeah?” Steve said in the same tone, the beginnings of horror creeping in on him.

“Well, the theory is that Mr. Norton and Trueblood have some shared life experience, if you know what I mean.”

Steve made a choking noise. “Are you suggesting that they both raped their daughters?”

“That’s what the theory says,” Bucky agreed, sounding distinctly disgusted.

“OH MY GOD,” Steve shouted, absolutely horrified. “OH MY GOD.”

“I know.”

“That is so fucked up.”

“I know.”

Steve was speechless. “When you said disturbing, I didn’t think this is what you meant.”

“The first chapter was pretty disturbing too, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t get better.”

“How reassuring.”

“Keep reading,” Bucky said. “I have class in like two minutes, and my students are giving me funky looks, so okayIgottagobye.” The line went dead. Steve stared at the screen of his phone for a minute, trying to process the theory and also forget he had ever heard it.

He gave a pained sigh before returning to the book.

STEVE: Okay but does he ever actually say his name in the entire book????

BUCKY: dude hes the invisible man he doesnt hv a name

STEVE: Of course he has a name he’s just not telling me.

BUCKY: omg steve take a break and goto sleep or smthn

STEVE: He deserves a name!

BUCKY: STEVE THTS THE WHOLE PT

STEVE: “Invisible man” is so long in my head.

BUCKY: steve i sweAR

STEVE: Like I understand Ellison is being symbolic and all.

BUCKY: so let the man be symbolic jfc

STEVE: But I wanna call him something in my head.

BUCKY: steve, no

STEVE: I’m calling him... Ashton.

BUCKY: wtf why

STEVE: Idk.

BUCKY: i cannot sit by adn watch u RUIN literature w ur NAMING and shit

STEVE: You literally can’t stop me.

BUCKY: go to sleep omg

STEVE: [poop emoji]

BUCKY: steve NO

STEVE: ...

STEVE: [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji] [poop emoji]

BUCKY: im turning my phone off

STEVE: [poop emoji]

Steve was startled out of his reading when Tony opened the door. “I’ve been informed you have learned how to use emojis,” he announced without preamble.

Steve rolled his eyes and set his book aside. “Has Bucky been texting you?”

“What’s a Bucky?” Tony asked, feigning ignorance.

“My tutor.” Steve hated that word. Why did he keep using it?

Tony snapped his fingers. “Porno tutor.” Steve sighed heavily. “And to answer your question, no. Barnes hasn’t handed over his digits yet. But that reminds me that I need to procure them and text him a bunch to freak him out. Thanks, pal.”

“Please do not scare him.”

“Anyways!” Tony clapped his hands together, deliberately ignoring Steve. “I demand to know who taught you about emojis.”

“Natasha,” Steve said.

Tony smirked. “Typical.” He sat down on Steve’s couch, throwing his legs onto the cushions. Steve shifted from his place on the floor. “What’re you reading?” Tony asked, mostly as a formality.

Little did he know that this question was the equivalent of a dam bursting. “Invisible Man,” Steve said, sitting up straighter.

Tony made a vague humming noise.

“It’s good so far,” Steve said, trying to keep the righteous fury out of his voice. Judging by Tony’s arched eyebrow, he didn’t do a very good job. Steve raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, so this poor guy got sent to Harlem basically because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he’s getting into so much fucking trouble.”

“Oh?” Tony mused, seemingly only half-listening.

“Yeah,” Steve huffed, mouth tight. “He’s this educated black guy from the South, but he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing in New York. And, okay, get this. He just got fucking experimented on.”

“Hmmm.”

“It was supposed to be the equivalent of a lobotomy!” Steve exploded, throwing his arms out. “You know, when I was growing up, that’s what people did. If there was something wrong with somebody, you fucking lobotomized them. I read a lot about lobotomies right after I was defrosted. And they’re even more fucked up than I thought!”

“I know,” Tony agreed vaguely, scrolling through his phone. Steve knew that he was actually listening attentively, but for some reason, Tony liked to put up a façade of noncommittal aloofness.

“And- and he forgot who he was for a while, and that’s so fucked up,” Steve went on, upset. “I mean, objectively, I knew how terribly black folks were treated- still are treated sometimes- but this book just lays it out so bluntly.” Steve looked at the cover of the book in a cross between anger and sadness. “I’ve been thinking about Gabe. Gabe Jones. God, he was so smart. He got into Yale.”

“Uncle Gabe,” Tony mused with a subconscious smile.

“I wonder if it was like this for him,” Steve whispered. “Fuck, I wish there was something I could do.”

“You’re Captain America,” Tony pointed out. “You put together the most diverse unit in World War II. That helped a lot more than you would think it did.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think-“

“I grew up around people who wanted Gabe Jones or Jim Morita action figures. To dress up as them for Halloween. And I’m not gonna lie and say that that was totally because of you, because without Uncle Gabe and Uncle Morita working their asses off harder than anyone else, they wouldn’t have gotten as far as they did. But you gave them the chance to further prove themselves,” Tony said, still looking at his phone.

“They’d already proved themselves,” Steve near-snarled.

Tony gave him a dark look. “Steve, people who are oppressed never stop needing to prove themselves.”

Steve was quiet for a very long time. “I was a queer, socialist, sickly Irish immigrant who only spoke Irish until I was four years old,” Steve said after a pause. “I’m not gonna say that anything I faced could ever compare to the shit Gabe and Morita had to deal with, but I do know something about oppression and prejudice.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes I forget about how everyone hated the Irish.”

“They did,” Steve said, brow furrowing. “They hated the Japanese, the blacks, the Jews, the Irish, the socialists, the communists, the homosexuals, and Hoover.” Steve cracked a bitter smile.

“Can’t forget Hoover.”

“I lived in a Hooverville for a little while, you know. After my ma died. Couldn’t pay rent.”

Tony put his phone down. “What?”

“Is that not in any of my biographies?” Steve asked sarcastically. “I moved in with some cross dressers and hookers when winter hit. They found me half-dead and drowning in my own lungs in some alley. Good times.”

“Wow,” Tony said, looking like he was kind of in shock.

“It’s a fun story. Maybe I’ll tell you about it more in depth some other time,” Steve said with a sharp grin, making sure to show his teeth.

“You know, Cap, sometimes you’re kinda scary.”

Steve winked.

“Did you and my dad ever have sex?” Tony blurted out, looking pained. “It’s kind of something I’ve always wondered about.”

Steve just laughed softly, picking his book up again.

“Oh my god, Steve, don’t ignore me!” Tony squeaked. “Fuck, did you and Howard do the dirty? Please say no.”

“Your dad and I had a special relationship,” Steve said vaguely.

Tony whimpered. “I need to... forget this conversation ever happened.”

“It was purely scientific. He wanted to see how the body worked,” Steve continued, trying not to laugh at Tony’s expression of terror.

“Please tell me Howard didn’t have a log of you guys fucking.”

“Well, it is only science if you write it down, or so I’ve heard.”

Tony buried his face in his hands. “Somewhere, some lucky bastard probably has a highly detailed transcript of how Captain America performs during gay sex.”

Steve paused, kind of disturbed by the image. He hoped that wasn’t actually a thing.

“I need to get out of here so I can investigate how to create some sort of memory wiping technology,” Tony muttered, getting to his feet. “Fuck, I knew he was too obsessed with you for it to be anything but sexual. Fucking hell.” Tony didn’t look at Steve as he abruptly left the apartment.

Steve rolled his eyes at the door. Kids these days.

STEVE: Okay but Brother Jack is so creepy.

BUCKY: ikr

STEVE: And Ashton is being such a pushover and letting everybody walk all over him.

BUCKY: pls stop calling him ashton ur ruining the book 4 me

STEVE: When is ASHTON gonna get his shit together?

BUCKY: im ignoring u

STEVE: Buck you can’t ignore me by telling me you’re ignoring me.

BUCKY: shut the fukc up and read the damn book

STEVE: Oh I thought you were ignoring me?

BUCKY: [Attached image]

(It was a selfie of Bucky looking distinctly annoyed and also unfairly adorable.)

STEVE: [Attached image]

(It was a selfie of Steve sticking his tongue out because he was a mature 95 year-old.)

Clint and Lucky showed up at Steve’s apartment shortly after Steve read about the invisible man’s first speech for the Brotherhood.

Clint hovered in the doorway, watching like an anxious parent as Lucky licked Steve’s face in greeting. He sheepishly held up what looked like a thoroughly packed overnight bag and refused to meet Steve’s eye. “What’s up?” Steve asked cautiously, running his hand through Lucky’s fur.

Clint ducked his head. “Can you watch Lucky? Just for tonight?”

“Um. Why?”

“You’re, like, the most trustworthy person I know, and you like dogs,” Clint said. “I would’ve asked Nat, but she prefers cats because she’s the she-devil, and then Bucky has classes until late so he can’t watch him either.”

“Whoa, chill,” Steve said, holding up his hands. “I’ll watch him.”

Clint’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, thank god.” He then proceeded to show Steve all of the contents of the surprisingly expansive overnight bag, rambling about care tips like the mother hen he obviously was.

Steve was shoving Clint out the door as he said, “Oh, and make sure he doesn’t drink the toilet water. It makes him grouchy. And- and his favorite food is pizza and-“ Steve shut the door in his face, muffling Clint’s words.

“Don’t worry!” Steve shouted through the door, praying Clint’s hearing aids would pick it up. “I’ll text you with updates every hour on the hour.”

Clint paused. “If your updates are late by over five minutes, I cannot be blamed for destroying your apartment building.”

“Go away, Clint. I’ve got this.”

Clint said something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yeah, right. Idiot can’t even take care of himself. Reckless bastard...”

Steve ignored the jibe and turned to Lucky, who stared at him expectantly with his one working eye, tail wagging.

Ten minutes later, Steve was watching the news, anchored to the couch by a lapful of big dog. Not that he was complaining. He loved dogs.

Before he could really think about it, Steve opened the camera on his phone and posed for a selfie with Lucky because he was learning to embrace millennial attitudes and all that jazz. Steve was a very progressive fossil.

Steve sent the selfie to Bucky without thinking, typing, “Guys’ night over at Casa Rogers,” before hitting send.

It took him a moment to realize that Steve had just completely blurred the lines between a playful but professional relationship and something verging on friendship. So far, he’d only contacted Bucky in regards to the books. This was entirely unrelated.

Oh shit I’ve fucked everything up oh shit oh shit, fucking hell.

His phone buzzed.

Bucky had sent him a selfie of him faceplanting into what looked like a haphazard stack of essays with the caption, “wish i was there work is killing me.”

Steve smiled at his screen. So he hadn’t fucked up everything, by some small miracle.

Like the reckless bastard he was, Steve didn’t let the conversation die naturally. Instead, he tapped out, “If you finish your work you can come over and help me look after Lucky.”

Steve froze an instant after hitting send. This was it. He’d overstepped his boundaries.

Surprisingly, however, Bucky just replied with an, “oh THANK GOD.”

Three hours later, there was a knock at the door.

Bucky may be the only person in Steve’s life who bothered knocking on the door anymore. Even Sam was starting to just barge in. Lucky barked excitedly as Steve moseyed over to the door and threw it open.

“Hey,” Bucky said, smiling with only his eyes. He was fiddling with the strap of his backpack, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hey,” Steve said, stepping aside to let Bucky in. He was a little bit nervous- this was the first time Bucky had ever been to his apartment. “Sorry if it’s kind of messy.” Steve glanced around apologetically at the slight disarray of things.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I’m just here for Lucky.”

Steve scoffed. “Fine. Then I’ll take my copious amounts of Chinese takeout and leave.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the guy who crashed a plane into the Arctic because his girlfriend died. I’ve done far more idiotic things.”

Bucky shot Steve a tight-lipped look before choosing to ignore the statement altogether, instead turning his attention to Lucky.

Lucky preened, rolling over to offer his belly for rubbing, and Bucky happily obliged, cooing at him as if he were an especially adorable newborn baby. Steve smiled fondly at the display as he shut the door and made his way to the kitchen to grab some of the takeout containers.

Bucky was sitting on the couch when Steve got back to the living room, Lucky standing on his lap like he thought he was still a puppy. “I brought some work stuff with me that I should probably get a jump on. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” Steve said, putting the takeout on the coffee table and sitting on the other end of the couch. “Clint said he didn’t drop Lucky at your place because you had work to do.”

Bucky nodded wearily. “Essays drain my livelihood,” he declared solemnly.

“Then don’t assign them.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You can’t just not assign essays in a history class.”

Steve shrugged. “What do I know? I’ve just got half an art degree.”

Bucky smirked. “Everybody seems to forget that Captain fucking America was an artist before he was a soldier.”

Steve laughed, if a little bit hollowly. “Sometimes I forget it too.”

Lucky settled down in the shape of a comma in the space between them with a little huff. “Hard day?” Bucky asked him with a little pout, running his fingers through Lucky’s fur. Lucky made a vague dog noise. “I know, baby.”

Lucky wagged his tail a little bit and hit Steve in the face. Bucky covered his mouth to try and stifle a giggle, which just made the action all the more adorable. Steve just sighed and resigned himself to scratching Lucky’s back absentmindedly.

Bucky was a weirdly skilled multitasker for someone with only one arm. He alternated between grading papers, going over his next lecture, eating, giving Lucky attention, and making sassy comments about the TV show that was running in the background.

Steve kind of thought Bucky was one of the most interesting people he’d ever met. This was no ordinary feat when he was competing with Sarah Rogers, Howard Stark, Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos, and the Avengers. Steve had just never made a connection with somebody like Bucky- somebody who, for all intents and purposes, was completely normal, but somehow ended up being astoundingly interesting.

“Hey, question,” Bucky said distractedly, biting down on his pen so that his hand was free to rifle through some papers. “So, I teach a class about the greatest minds of wartime strategy. I hit all the geniuses. You know: Gustavus Adolphus, Napoleon Bonaparte, Horatio Nelson, you...” He trailed off and glanced at Steve. “I’m about to start the Steve Rogers unit, and I kinda want to mix things up. Ideas?”

Steve blinked in surprise, his hand pausing where it was idly stroking Lucky’s fur. “I’m up there with Napoleon?”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah,” he said in a no shit tone.

“Huh,” Steve said, turning the idea over in his head.

“Dude, your strategic genius saved the world, destroyed Hydra- sorta, at least- saved New York, and continues to save the world every day. It’d surprise me if anyone tried to argue you weren’t worthy of comparison with Napoleon, frankly. A good deal of people think you’re actually better than him. There’s no Waterloo for you.” Bucky was staring at him, expression completely serious.

Steve swallowed roughly. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“The Valkyrie isn’t considered my Waterloo?” he asked tentatively.

“No,” Bucky snapped vehemently. “It’s considered one of the most economic sacrifices in history.”

“Economic?”

“The opportunity-cost,” Bucky said. “You saved the major cities of the world by sacrificing yourself.”

At the time, it sort of just felt like Steve was sick of all the fucking bloodshed. Peggy’s death had made something integral snap within him. “Ah,” he said quietly, because he couldn’t very well say that he’d probably been at least eighty percent suicidal when he put that plane in the water.

“I have my own opinions on the Valkyrie, though,” Bucky mused, jaw flexing as if he was angry.

“And what’s that?”

“That you could’ve been even more economic. You could’ve saved those cities and saved yourself.”

“Probably,” Steve said with a wry, tired quirk of his lips. “Didn’t really feel like it.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, staring down at his papers.

They were silent for a long, vaguely tense moment.

Then, Lucky stood and trotted over to the door. He whined.

Steve got to his feet, grabbing all the supplies that Clint insisted that he needed. “I’m gonna take him for a walk.”

Bucky pushed himself off the couch, looking sheepish and uncomfortable and pissed off all at once. “Can I come too?”

Steve nodded. He wondered if Bucky was about to yell at him for being a suicidal, self-centered asshole. Probably.

They walked without really speaking to each other, Lucky getting excited at random things and pissing and barking a lot. Steve was thinking about how great it would have been if he was born as a dog when Bucky spoke.

“Sorry for bringing it up.”

“I brought it up,” Steve said dryly.

“No, I brought up the lesson in general. You don’t owe me anything.”

Steve kind of thought that he owed Bucky a hell of a lot of things, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Big deal,” he muttered, “I wanted to die a while ago and got frozen for my efforts. Can we not talk about it?”

“Fine,” Bucky snapped.

“I could come talk to your class,” Steve said after a moment, finally thinking about the question that had brought them to this conversation. “Would that be a good idea?”

Bucky stared at him blankly for half a block. “You’re serious,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah?”

Bucky stared.

Steve drew his shoulders up. “I can be eloquent when I fucking want to be. I wouldn’t just fall over myself in front of a bunch of kids.”

“Shit, I know that, Stevie. Why are you so ready to fight me about everything all the time? I’m not always looking for an argument, you know.”

Steve ground his teeth together. He didn’t really have a response for that, because that had always been how he was. It was why he got along with Peggy and Natasha. It was why he had almost died on a weekly basis in the thirties. It was why he was absolute shit at making friends outside of necessity.

Bucky let out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“Yes you did.”

Bucky scowled at the ground, shoving his hand deeper into his pocket. “It’s usually an admirable quality of yours. Kind of endearing, even,” he sighed, exasperated. “But I don’t like when you act like I’m about to attack you every time I open my mouth.”

Steve wondered if it had more to do with his natural personality or his unease around historians. “Sorry,” he grumbled, not very sorry at all.

Bucky gave him a look that told him he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Sorry if I’m not living up to expectations,” Steve amended, letting some bitterness seep into his tone.

Bucky stopped in his tracks. Someone bumped into him, and he flinched but didn’t show any signs of moving. “Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Steve bared his teeth. “Nothing.”

“Like hell,” Bucky spat.

“Can we not do this here?” Steve hissed, eyes flicking around to the other pedestrians.

“You fucking started it,” Bucky grumbled, but he resumed walking, glaring darkly at the ground and not saying a word.

When they finally returned to Steve’s apartment, Bucky didn’t move to go inside. “I should go,” he said, not meeting Steve’s gaze.

Steve let out a breath as he leaned against the doorframe. He felt very old and very, very tired. “No, you deserve a little bit of an explanation.”

Bucky frowned. “Okay,” he said reluctantly and followed Steve inside.

Steve started cleaning up the leftovers from their late dinner so that he would have something else to focus on. “When I got out of the ice, they made me stay at SHIELD facilities. After the Battle of New York, people figured out that Captain America was alive, and the historians lost their shit. SHIELD agreed to let a bunch of them meet with me every day for twelve hours.”

Steve chanced a glance up to find Bucky staring blankly at him. He quickly looked away. “When I found out I’d been roped into that, I was pretty... reluctant. I didn’t trust SHIELD, I still felt like I was at war in the fuckin’ forties, and I still wanted to die. But, uh, I still ended up going to these meetings. Because I’m a walking historical relic. I could tell them what it was really like to live in Brooklyn in the late twenties, thirties, and early forties. I could tell them about World War II and the Howling Commandos. I could tell them about the Valkyrie.”

“Shit,” Bucky said softly, like he was coming to some sort of a revelation.

“I didn’t... get along with them,” Steve said shortly, recalling the reverent way the selected historians had looked at him. He remembered the clinical way of retrieving information, and it was worse than any interrogation because they’d managed to make his fucking life some sort of goddamn propaganda story that belonged to the people and not to him anymore. He remembered the greedy glints in their eyes every time he opened his mouth to speak. He shuddered. “I guess I have my own expectations.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said, and his voice sounded soft. “You’ve been carrying this on your shoulders every time you talked to me? Fuck, I can’t imagine.”

Steve washed his hands and dried them off with enough force that they were a little bit raw. “I guess I was waiting for the shoe to drop. For you to start asking me questions.”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s shoulder with such gentleness that Steve felt himself relax automatically. “I don’t blame you,” he murmured.

Steve chanced a look over his shoulder, and his breath caught. Bucky was watching him with such a peculiar delicacy- as if he thought Steve was worth protecting even if he didn’t need it. “I-“

“I’m never going to ask you questions,” Bucky said, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You don’t ever have to talk about the past.”

“’Boats against the current,’” Steve whispered, remembering The Great Gatsby’s last words viscerally.

“You don’t have to go against the current,” Bucky said with a tentative smile. “You can look forward to the future.”

“The future?” Steve echoed in such a small voice that he was distantly ashamed of the sound.

Bucky just nodded. “Nobody is going to force you to keep looking back.”

Steve dropped his gaze because he felt like he was going to cry a little bit, and he didn’t want Bucky to see. But Bucky moved his hand to Steve’s jaw, tilting his face back upwards.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Steve said, his voice tight, his vision blurry.

Bucky made sure their eyes were locked when he said, “I am never going to ask you questions about the past for the purpose of my career.” His thumb stroked over the skin on Steve’s face. “If I ever ask you any questions about the past, it will be because I am genuinely interested in you. Not a historical relic. Steve Rogers. Not Captain America.”

Steve bit down hard on his lip to keep it from trembling. Nobody had ever put Steve Rogers over Captain America so explicitly. Not even Peggy (although it was a fairly close thing).

Steve let his fingers loosely curl around Bucky’s wrist. He was still cupping Steve’s face. “Buck-“

The door opened.

“Yo, Steve, you will never guess what happened,” Sam called from the living room.

Steve jumped away, and Bucky withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned. Steve turned his back to Bucky and furiously wiped his eyes on his sleeve before Sam entered the kitchen.

Sam sauntered into the room, faltering slightly when he saw Bucky and Lucky. “Oh, bro, I didn’t know you had guests.”

“We were just hanging out,” Bucky said, waving his hand dismissively. “You aren’t interrupting anything.” His voice was almost normal, if it hadn’t been for the very slight waver.

Sam looked at Steve with that open expression that just begged you to spill your guts. “Hey,” Steve said, and his voice sounded a little rough. “What exciting thing happened?”

Sam gave Steve another considering look before launching into a story about running into a little black kid who asked him to sign his Falcon backpack and told Sam that he wanted to be Falcon when he grew up.

It was a distressingly heartwarming story, and Steve was still emotionally rattled by what Bucky had said, so he found himself unable to speak when Sam was finished recounting the tale.

Instead of making him feel like an idiot, Sam and Bucky struck up a conversation. They chatted animatedly for around an hour, when Bucky checked his watch. “Ah, shit, I’ve gotta go. Nice meeting you, Sam. I’ll talk to you later, Stevie. Finish Invisible Man,” he said, gathering his things.

“’Stevie’?” Sam repeated when Bucky had left, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Steve blushed. “I don’t know. He just started calling me that.”

“You like it,” Sam said incredulously.

Steve scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

There was a pause. “What the hell did I walk into when I got here? You could cut the tension in the room with a damn knife.”

Steve picked at the fabric of his pants. “I told him about the historians.”

“Oh, shit.”

Steve hesitated. “And he told me,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “He told me it was okay to look towards the future. And- and that Steve Rogers is more important than Captain America.”

Sam whistled lowly. “Damn.”

Steve let out a breath of air. “Yeah.”

Sam gave him a look. “You know he’s right. Steve Rogers beats Cap any day.”

Steve cracked a sad, exhausted smile. “Thank you, Sam.”

“And then did you make out? Because I haven’t felt so much sexual tension in a room since the last time I hung out with Clint and Nat.”

Steve laughed, and the sound was half-hysterical. He thanked whatever line of fate had sent him in the path of Sam Wilson every day. “No, you pervert.”

Sam held up both hands. “Hey, I’m not getting any right now. I have to live my sex life vicariously through you, which is just terribly depressing.”

“Fuck you. I’m not a virgin,” Steve said.

“Sure.”

“Sex wasn’t invented in the sixties. It existed back then.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were getting any of it.”

“I was,” Steve insisted, breathlessly thankful that the seriousness of the night had been diffused. He could only take so much.

Sam smirked. “Wanna braid my hair and tell me about your first time?” he asked teasingly.

“Ew, no.”

Steve fell asleep on the couch after he and Sam started binge watching some TV show that Steve couldn’t pay coherent attention to because of exhaustion.

He woke up with a blanket draped across his shoulders to the sound of the front door bursting open. Clint ran into the apartment and skidded on his knees to meet Lucky. “I’m back!” he shouted cheerfully. Steve smelled Sam cooking in the kitchen. Pancakes.

“You staying for breakfast?” Steve asked groggily.

Clint looked up and tapped his hearing aids. “You say something, bro?”

Breakfast, Steve signed clumsily.

Clint grinned and nodded. His stomach growled as if on cue, and Steve chuckled.

“PANCAKES ALMOST READY!” Sam called from the kitchen.

Maybe the twenty-first century wasn’t all that bad after all.

Steve was reading Invisible Man.

He was getting antsy, because the invisible man (Ashton, as he liked to call him mostly to piss off Bucky) finally seemed to be close to figuring things out. He was on the brink of realizing that everyone was trying to use him or step on him to further their own goals. Steve was a little bit frustrated. He kind of just wanted Ashton to say, “Fuck the system!” and do what he believed for once in his life.

And then he started to get all existential after Tod Clifton’s death.

Why did he choose to plunge into nothingness, into the void of faceless faces, or soundless voices, lying outside history? I tried to step away and look at it from a distance of words read in books, half-remembered. For history records the patterns of men’s lives, they say: Who slept with whom and with what results; who fought and who won and who lived to lie about it afterwards.

Steve pursed his lips. He knew that one of the recurring themes of the novel was history, but he didn’t really like to think about it much. It made him uneasy.

Ignoring the feeling, he kept reading.

They were men out of time—unless they found Brotherhood. Men out of time, who would soon be gone and forgotten... But who knew (and now I began to tremble so violently I had to lean against a refuse can)—who knew but that they were the saviors, the true leaders, the bearers of something precious?

Steve took a deep breath, distantly hearing something like an echo. “We are both of us, out of time,” Zola had said before the bastard had been blown to bits. Steve was the man out of time. But Captain America definitely fell inside of history.

But Steve Rogers...

Well.

Faint tremors went through his hands. He ignored it.

It was just a book. It was just a fucking book.

Perhaps each hundred years or so men like them, like me, appeared in society, drifting through; and yet by all historical logic we, I, should have disappeared around the first part of the nineteenth century, rationalized out of existence. Perhaps, like them, I was a throwback, a small distant meteorite that died several hundred years ago and now lived only by virtue of the light that speeds through space at too great a pace to realize that its source has become a piece of lead...

Steve snapped the book shut, breath wheezing out of him. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t fucking breathe, and his vision wasn’t working, why couldn’t he fucking see, oh, god, he was fucking crying over a stupid fucking book-

Steve choked on a sob, half-hysterical and half-ashamed, but the image of that meteorite and men out of time and falling outside of history wasn’t going away and-

With all of the strength he had, Steve hurled the book across the room. He distantly registered the noise of drywall crumbling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He buried his face in his knees and tried to get a handle on the heaving sobs that didn’t seem to care that it was just a fucking book.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to think about breathing and not crying like the weak twink he’d always been. But he couldn’t stop thinking.

Steve Rogers was a motherfucking meteorite. A goddamn fucking meteorite.

Fucking hell, when would it end?

He was such a fucking artifact. He was obsolete. He should’ve died a thousand times before he turned twenty-five. He should’ve died on the Valkyrie. He should’ve died at the fall of SHIELD.

He should be fucking dead.

And now he was just some relic- some meteorite- that vaguely resembled a figure so embedded within the face of history that no one cared that he was just a hunk of useless lead.

Steve raked his nails down his arms, trying to distract himself. Lines of blood materialized for a moment and itched like hell as they closed up a minute later.

But he couldn’t pull himself out of the book.

He was Captain America, and he was Steve Rogers, and he was the man out of time who somehow also fell inside history, and he was a meteorite and a piece of fucking lead.

And he should be dead.

When Steve awoke from a feverish sleep (half-recalled nightmares played out horrendously behind his eyelids), he stared at the hole in the wall he’d made when he’d thrown the book.

Debris dusted the floor around it, and the book was covered in the stuff. Steve swallowed roughly and forced himself to look away. There was no way in hell he was gonna think about that shit. He didn’t have time for another pathetic breakdown.

Not long after the Battle of New York, some mission had taken Steve to England. After everything had wrapped up, he’d found himself standing at the base of a headstone, staring blankly at the words: MARGARET CARTER.

It’d probably been close to half an hour before Steve collapsed- first to his knees, then completely- at the base of the stone. He’d curled up and sobbed his fucking eyes out, letting himself feel sorry for himself and sorry for Peggy and sorry for everything he’d ever done in his life. It was the first time he’d cried since Peggy had actually died.

Some asshole had taken a really artistic photograph of him during the breakdown. It was still kind of viral on the Internet. The first time Steve had seen it, he’d felt completely gutted, completely hollowed, completely humiliated.

Steve felt some resemblance of the same feelings now. Everything was so... blank. And the reasons for his breakdown this time around were utterly pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to even think about the book, and it was so fucking stupid, and Steve felt kind of empty.

(Kind of like a meteorite running on lead- shut the fuck up.)

Steve got to his feet, glared at his apartment, and stalked outside, fully prepared to beat the shit out of something.

BUCKY: hey man hows invisible man goin

BUCKY: u ok?

BUCKY: its been a few weeks since u last checked in

Steve stared blankly at the message thread for a moment before tossing his phone to the side and curling up in his bed to pretend to sleep.

BUCKY: cmon bro tell me wht ashtons up to

BUCKY: i even used ur dumbass name that ruins everything

BUCKY: stevie im getting worried

Steve still hadn’t cleaned up the hole in the wall. Both Natasha and Sam had been over at his place to see it, but neither of them had said anything. If Tony were to come over, he would’ve fixed it, so Steve tried to keep their meetings elsewhere.

Sam nudged Steve as he wrapped his knuckles for another round with the punching bag. “You okay, man? You getting enough sleep?”

Steve smiled tightly and turned to the punching bag. His lack of an answer was an answer in itself, but Sam didn’t really seem like he was about to press.

Steve broke six punching bags. New record.

Tony was calling Steve on his work phone. Steve frantically picked up.

“Situation,” Tony said, voice slightly strained. “Suit up, Falcon’s coming to pick you up. He’ll be there in like two minutes.”

“Roger.”

“Roger, Rogers,” Tony replied with a breathless little giggle of amusement before the line went dead.

Sam picked him up a minute and a half later. “You’re early,” Steve mused.

“I was motivated. It’s some weird tiny robot swarms this time.”

“...Interesting.”

“I know.”

The weird tiny robot swarms were both annoying and difficult to fight. There wasn’t any strategic way about it: they just had to blow as much of those motherfuckers up as possible and make sure the civilians were safe.

Steve was not very useful in this fight. He assigned himself and Sam to civilian duty, told Thor and Tony to just fuck shit up, and told Natasha and Clint to evaluate the situation and add themselves into the equation where things were getting rough.

It was not a fun fight.

The tiny robots were sharp, and they shredded every piece of skin they could find. There was no evil villain in sight, no control switch, and no way to know where they came from. Steve couldn’t see and could barely hear and was basically useless.

Thor was definitely doing the most good with the lightning, clearing out vast areas with each strike. Things finally started looking up as the swarm started to thin.

And then Steve heard a single beep.

“THEY’RE GOING TO DETONATE!” he shouted, realization dawning. Whoever had orchestrated the attack wasn’t planning on world domination or whatever. They just wanted maximum casualties and mass panic. Seemed like Hydra’s style, but what did he know?

Steve whirled around, throwing his shield towards a cluster of civilians. “HIDE BEHIND THAT AND ANYTHING YOU CAN FIND!”

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit,” Tony was chanting through the comms. Steve had to say he agreed.

When the robots detonated, Steve felt his skin explode with pain, burns and shock lacing through him.

He went down. Supersoldier or not, countless tiny explosions did a number on a guy.

BUCKY BARNES: MISSED CALLS (17)

Steve woke up and kind of wished he hadn’t.

He could feel his battered skin knitting itself back together, and it was highly unpleasant. He groaned, sinking into the thin mattress he was laying on.

“Sucks shit, doesn’t it?” Tony mused somewhere to the left. Steve turned his head. Tony looked fairly unscathed in comparison to how Steve felt, but whatever.

Steve groaned indistinctly.

“I know what you wanna hear, Cap, don’t stress yourself. The Avengers are safe with a just a few injuries. Thirteen people died. Between seventy and eighty people were injured.”

Steve closed his eyes.

“I’m throwing a Gala to raise money for the families of the deceased,” Tony went on. “I’ve also offered up the hospital floor in the Tower for anyone who was critically injured. We’re doing all that we can.”

We could’ve done more.

“Get some rest, Cap.”

Steve sighed.

BUCKY: i kno ur not tlknig to me

BUCKY: but just tell me ur ok

BUCKY: please

BUCKY: i saw u go down

BUCKY: i swear i will nvr forgive u if i find out ur dead from some fucking news channel

BUCKY: please answer me steve

BUCKY: im freaking out

BUCKY: im worried

BUCKY: just one word

Steve’s injuries were somewhere between half and mostly healed. He scrolled through the increasingly frantic text messages that Bucky had sent him. He put his phone down.

Thor ambled into the room with a glass of something.

“I think you could use this, Captain,” he said solemnly, thrusting his hand out.

Steve’s hands closed around the glass. “What is it?”

“Liquor fit to intoxicate even you, my friend.”

Steve tried for a smile. “Fuck, really? Thank you.”

“It is my duty as a good friend,” Thor said, nodding. “Do you wish for company or privacy at the moment?”

Steve shrugged. “Don’t really care.”

Thor clapped him on the shoulder, withdrawing quickly when Steve winced. “I will come back later. After I have finished my other duties of friendship.”

Steve stared at the bottle of alcohol after Thor left in a swish of his cape.

He took a long sip. And felt his muscles relax slightly.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Steve had melted into drunkenness. He was mostly healed, and other injured people needed the hospital room more than him anyway, so he gathered his shit and left for home, sending a clumsy text to Thor so that he would know he didn’t have to visit Steve again.

By some miracle, Steve reached his apartment without getting himself killed and collapsed on the couch. He finished the bottle and groped absentmindedly for his phone. Bucky had called him so many times. Bucky was so worried. And Steve was a motherfucking asshole for making him worried.

He clicked on Bucky’s name with fumbling fingers.

Bucky answered before the first ring even finished. “Heyyy,” Steve slurred.

“Thank fuck you’re okay. Oh my god, I saw you go down on the news, and I didn’t know if you were dead, and there were so many fucking explosions and people died and I was so worried and I can’t believe-“

“You think too much,” Steve mumbled, smiling into the darkness because Bucky totally cared about him. Or something.

There was a pause. “Are... are you drunk?”

“No,” Steve said, and then giggled a little bit. “Maybe,” he whispered.

“Fucking hell,” Bucky despaired.

“Thor got me superalcohol. So that I can get drunk. He’s a good friend. Thor’s a good friend. Good biceps. You seen ‘is biceps, Buck?”

“Not in person,” Bucky said haltingly.

“They’re so good. You ever touched Thor’s biceps? They’re like... really muscly. And nice.” Steve waved a hand vaguely through the air.

“Jesus. You’re a wreck. I’m coming over.”

Steve frowned. “There’s a reason why you’re not s’posed to be here.”

There was a pause. “You don’t want me there?”

Steve made a pained noise. “Course I want you here. Want it so bad. But I freaked out and you’re gonna ask questions.”

“Stevie, I’m coming over.”

Steve sighed, curling into a ball around the empty bottle of liquor. “’Kay.”

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“Your face ‘s stupid,” Steve slurred nonsensically.

Bucky sighed. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“’Kay.”

The line went dead.

Steve may have dozed off for a little bit before there was a knock at the door. “IT’S UNLOCKED!” Steve shouted, not wanting to get up.

He heard Bucky stumble into the apartment, and when he blinked, Bucky was kneeling at the base of the couch. “Jesus, your face.”

Steve reached out and tapped Bucky’s cheek. “Bucky, your face,” he echoed, smirking because he was hilarious.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Little robots blew up,” Steve murmured. “People died.” Steve looked at Bucky, frowning deeply. “Hey, how come people always die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? I throw myself into all these suicide missions and don’t die. Why do other people have to?”

Bucky looked pained. “I don’t know.”

Steve sighed. “My skin hurts. My heart hurts.”

“I know.”

Steve felt his face crumple. “Buck, I’m so tired. All the time.”

“I know,” Bucky said again, voice cracking. He smoothed his hand down Steve’s back. “Go to sleep.”

Steve scowled. “No.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Nightmares.”

Bucky nodded as if he understood. “I’ll keep ‘em away.”

“No you won’t,” Steve grumbled. “Don’t treat me like a fucking child. ‘M drunk, not an infant.”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve kind of melted into the touch. “I know.”

Steve reached out, not really knowing what he wanted. Evidently, Bucky got the message anyway, because he crawled into the space left on the couch and pulled Steve into his chest. Steve breathed deeply, practically clinging to Bucky. “Buck,” Steve murmured, “’m tired.”

“I know. And I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Steve repeated dumbly.

“You’re gonna be okay, Stevie. Just close your eyes. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Steve took a shaky breath and did as he was told.

He didn’t dream.

Steve woke up cocooned in the heat of another body. He nuzzled into the exposed skin of the body’s neck, sighing happily as he wound his arms more securely around the body’s chest.

Steve blinked.

The body was Bucky.

The previous night filtered back to him, and Steve tried not to groan. He drunk-dialed Bucky. Well, if nothing else, at least he was embracing the culture of the new century.

Bucky made a sleepy noise and nosed at the crown of Steve’s head. This was definitely not platonic behavior. Or professional behavior. Not even remotely.

You weren’t supposed to cuddle with your tutor.

Steve suddenly tensed, remembering why he hadn’t been contacting Bucky. The hole in the wall. The fucking book that still sent ripples of panic through him every time it appeared in his peripheral.

This was going to be bad.

Bucky stirred and came awake with a soft groan. He ran his hand down Steve’s back and grunted, “Morning.”

Steve hummed vaguely, reluctantly disentangling himself from Bucky’s limbs and getting to his feet. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky gave him a hard look from where he was still splayed out on the couch. “Sorry for ignoring my texts for the last month? Sorry for ignoring my calls after you almost died? Or sorry for drunk-dialing? You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Steve shrugged. “All of it.”

“Ah.” Bucky stared at him for another moment, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Care to explain yourself?”

“Nope. Coffee?” Steve said hastily, already beating a retreat to the kitchen.

“Steve...” Bucky sighed, and he could almost hear Bucky freeze in the living room. He’d undoubtedly seen the hole in the wall. “Fuck.”

Steve furiously started the coffee machine, ignored the uncomfortable itch of his skin, and turned to breakfast. “I can make eggs, but they’ll be shitty eggs. There’s also cereal, but that’s it.”

Bucky wandered into the kitchen, holding the fucking book. “What’s this all about?” Bucky asked.

Steve ignored him. “Fuck it. I think I’ll just do cereal. Frosted Flakes okay with you? It’s the only brand I have.”

“Steve.”

“I’ll grab you a bowl.”

“Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes and braced himself on the counter.

“What’s going on?”

“I freaked out,” Steve snapped. “Can we not talk about it?”

“No,” Bucky said, annoyed. “Because you gave me radio silence for a month. I deserve an explanation.”

Steve whirled around, suddenly furious. “Alright, you really wanna know? Here’s what happened: I’m a fucking head case who reads about goddamn history and goddamn meteorite metaphors and loses it. It’s just a fucking book, and I saw myself in one fucking passages, and I lost it.”

Bucky stared at him. “Which one?”

“What?”

“What part?”

Steve scoffed. Unbelievable. He violently opened the fucking book and flipped to the page where it started. “After Clifton died, and Ashton started getting all meta, it just... hit a little too close to home.”

Bucky’s eyes scanned the pages until he reached the passage about the meteorite. “Oh,” he said softly, eyes flicking up.

“Couldn’t read any more after that,” Steve muttered, heart hammering. “I know it’s fucking pathetic-“

“It’s really not,” Bucky said quietly. Steve stared at him blankly, and Bucky sighed. “Look, you’re supposed to connect with the text. An author’s goal is to get you connected. That’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Steve shook his head. “I cried myself to sleep over a meteorite.”

“Yeah. Because it’s fucking depressing and hella relatable for you. I get it,” Bucky said. “But I’m still pissed you decided to give me the silent treatment.”

Steve glared. “You were gonna come at me with your questions and shit.”

“I told you I’m never gonna ask you questions.”

Steve didn’t say anything.

“You don’t trust me,” Bucky said, resigned.

“I’m just,” Steve said, struggling with the words, “I feel...”

“What?”

“Ashamed. I didn’t want you to have to know that Captain fucking America has breakdowns about meteorites,” Steve muttered. “I think I do... trust you. I think I do. I just still didn’t want you to think-“

“-think what? That you’re human? That you have these deep emotions and are capable of feeling weak and insecure?” Bucky demanded. “I’m not looking for Captain America, Steve.”

“I- I know,” Steve said. “We didn’t... have the same philosophy on emotions in the thirties. We buried things to stay strong. And I had to stay stronger than most because I was so physically weak.”

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time,” Bucky whispered gently, eyes going all soft.

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

Steve shook his head and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You’re not gonna ask me about the meteorite?”

“If you want to tell me about it, you’ll tell me,” Bucky said. “Pass the coffee.”

They ate breakfast in silence, Steve mulling things over in his head. He felt miserable from yesterday’s failure, and he felt miserable from thinking about meteorites, but he felt warm in Bucky’s presence.

They sat at the table, and Steve grabbed Invisible Man and read through the meteorite passage again. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Because maybe there was strength in being weak.

His voice shook when he said, “I don’t belong here. Everyone thinks I’m this great imposing figure of patriotism and truth and justice and all that shit. They think I’m this great meteorite. But I’m just me. And I’m still fucked up from the things I did at war, and I don’t know how I feel about a lot of things this century has to offer, and I’m tired all the time, and nobody knows that even if I seem like this glorious meteorite, I’m still just running on lead.”

Bucky frowned. “You think Captain America is the meteorite and Steve Rogers is the lead.”

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Bucky stared at him unblinkingly for a long time. “I think you should finish the book,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Finish the book.”

“Are you gonna... stay here?” Steve asked, fiddling with the pages. “I don’t know if I can...”

“You don’t have to do anything alone if you don’t want to,” Bucky said. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Steve joked weakly.

“Finish the book.”

“You’ll stay here until I do?”

Bucky nodded. “I want to be here.”

So, Steve summoned the last dregs of courage he had left and opened the book. Somehow, he and Bucky ended up migrating to the couch. Steve was lying on his side, his head pillowed in Bucky’s lap, as he continued to read.

He read as the invisible man finally realized that he was being used. He read as the invisible man turned from mindless puppet to cunning revenge-seeker. He read as the invisible man had some important revelations in regards to invisibility and blindness.

The brilliant thing about the book was that the invisible man discovered that he was invisible in spite of being such a prominent figure in the Harlem community. And then he took that invisibility and was able to use it to his advantage. Kind of like how nobody ever noticed Steve Rogers in public when he wasn’t wearing the Captain America uniform.

The thing about invisible people was that they saw things on lower frequencies, according to the invisible man. Their invisibility gave them the ability to overcome a certain blindness that afflicted everyone else.

The invisible man’s story ended as he decided to finally come out of a sort of hibernation. Because even an invisible man has a socially responsible role to play.

Steve’s grip on the book tightened as he read the last line.

Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?

He closed the book.

Bucky ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “You okay?”

Steve took a quavering breath. “He- he gave invisible people a voice,” Steve whispered, his voice small. “Because they’re important.”

“Yes. They are,” Bucky said fiercely.

“Even invisible people that are just useless hunks of lead?”

Bucky’s arm wound around his shoulders. “Steve, you’re not a useless hunk of lead.”

“I am.”

“If you want to stick with the meteorite metaphor, think of it this way. You’re a hunk of lead that has miraculously powered this brilliantly beautiful rock so much longer than expected. You keep proving people wrong. You were destined to die when you were small and sick. You were destined to die on the Valkyrie. You’ve been destined to die with the Avengers so many times. But you’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” Steve agreed, voice breaking.

“’Even an invisible man has a socially responsible role to play,’” Bucky whispered.

“I know.”

“And Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky pulled him closer. “You’re not invisible to everybody.”

Steve took a shuddering breath and somehow managed not to cry.

Bucky looked at Steve defiantly as he said, “I’m not accepting your payment anymore.”

Steve blinked.

Fucking hell, he’d fucked up so terribly.

Bucky was quitting. He was leaving. Steve wondered when it had gone wrong, but realized that it had probably been going wrong the whole time. Things usually did go wrong when Steve was around.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Shit, I didn’t mean I’m leaving. I just heard how that sounded. I wasn’t saying I’m leaving.”

Steve deflated. “Then what?” he mumbled, emotionally drained for the rest of forever.

Bucky squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to be paid for just hanging out with my friend.”

Steve stared.

“All this is is a glorified book club and a glorified movie marathon. I do not need to be paid for that shit.”

“Because we’re friends,” Steve said, kind of dumbly.

“Exactly.”

“Oh.” They stared at each other. “That’s... that’s good.”

“Good. But I’m still gonna hold you to the list.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Bucky frowned. “For what?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “For everything.”

When Bucky smiled, Steve could’ve sworn he saw actual tenderness in Bucky’s eyes. “Right back at ya, pal.”

Steve ducked his head, feeling nowhere near invisible under Bucky’s gaze.

Chapter Text

Steve was nearing the end of The Fault in Our Stars when Bucky texted him.

BUCKY: i know u said u wanted to meet up this weekend but i think we r gonna hv to reschedule

STEVE: Alright. Is there a reason why?

BUCKY: i may or may not hv the flu or some shit

Steve frowned at his phone in concern.

STEVE: You okay?

BUCKY: i think i understand what it feels like to die slowly now but other than that im good

Steve had gotten the flu more times than he’d care to admit. He knew how shitty it was.

STEVE: I’m making you soup and coming over.

BUCKY: noooooo im gross and sick

STEVE: I’m coming over.

BUCKY: [poop emoji]

STEVE: Don’t you use that tone with me young man.

BUCKY: im srs im literally just a pile of blankets and snot u DO NOT want to come over

STEVE: I’m coming over.

BUCKY: u stubborn bastard it would literally take the entire world to change ur mind on ANYTHING u know that?

STEVE: Yep [happy face emoji] see you soon.

BUCKY: UGHHHHHH FIIIIIIINE

Steve had his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he tried to sort out his shit for the soup and talk to Sam at the same time.

“You’re coming over next Christmas, right?” Sam was asking. “My mother misses you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said distractedly. “Why are you asking me this now? Christmas isn’t even remotely close.”

“I have my reasons,” Sam said, trying to sound aloof. Steve snorted. “So, what’s up?”

“I’m trying to make soup for Bucky. He has the flu.”

“AWWWWWWWW,” Sam shouted in his ear. Steve winced. “YOU ADORABLE TINY BUTTON.”

“Shut up. The soup’s gonna be awful anyways. Dammit- I can’t fucking cook.”

Sam cackled. “I know. And then Bucky’s gonna have to pretend to like it, and it’ll be glorious.”

Steve scowled at his ingredients. “You know how to cook.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Help.”

Sam sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hung up.

A few hours later, Steve arrived at the building that Clint owned and that Bucky lived in, cradling a big container of soup that bore the Sam Wilson Mark of Approval.

(“This is a Wilson Family Secret that has been guarded closely for generations,” Sam had said gravely as he explained how to cook the soup. Steve had stared at him in surprise, and Sam had just shrugged and said, “Steve, you’ve been to the Wilson Family Christmas. You’re part of the family, dude.”)

Steve tried not to smile at the thought of being part of Sam’s family as he clicked the buzzer next to Bucky’s name.

“This better be Steve,” Bucky said through the terrible speaker, and Steve could tell, even from just that, that Bucky sounded awful. “I dragged myself off the fucking couch to answer this.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I have soup, you big grump.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky said miserably, and the door clicked open.

The door was ajar as Steve reached the landing of Bucky’s floor. He walked inside and kicked the door shut with his foot. “Hey.” He looked around for Bucky.

Bucky was buried in a massive pile of blankets on the couch, so covered that Steve could only see his glassy eyes. “Mmf,” he grunted indistinctly.

Steve smothered a smile as he sat down on the couch, placing the container of soup on the coffee table. He reached out and pulled a blanket down so that he could see the lower half of Bucky’s face. His nose was horrendously red, and his lips were slightly parted so that he could actually breathe. “You shouldn’t breathe the air trapped inside those blankets.”

Bucky glared. “But I’m cold.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ll thank me later. You hungry? Me and Sam made soup.”

Bucky shook his head in sadness. “I bet it would smell good if I could fucking smell.”

“You poor baby,” Steve said dryly. “You know, when I got the flu every winter, I didn’t complain. I worked through it. And I was grateful. You know why? Because if I didn’t make my paycheck, I’d be out on the streets, and I’d be dead in a week.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Half,” Steve admitted with a soft smile, standing to clean up the pile of tissues that had accumulated. “I know how bad it sucks to have the flu, though. Do you hurt all over?”

“Yes,” Bucky whined, drawing the blankets tighter around himself. “I’m dying.”

Steve laughed quietly to himself.

“You smug motherfucker,” Bucky said hoarsely. “You’re thinking about how it sucks to be me and how you’re glad you’re never gonna get sick again.”

“You know me too well,” Steve said with a smirk, putting the soup in the refrigerator to save for later.

Bucky groaned, burying his face in the blankets again.

“Hey, no. You need proper ventilation,” Steve said from the kitchen. When Bucky ignored him, he added, “James Buchanan Barnes, I am being serious.”

Bucky sighed in exasperation and lowered the blankets just enough to expose his mouth to the elements.

When Steve was done straightening things up, he joined Bucky on the couch again. “What’re you watching?”

Bucky had his eyes half-closed and was staring blankly at the TV. “A sad documentary about penguins.” He turned to Steve with a pout, and then raised his hand to point vaguely at the TV, but all that could be distinguished was a shift in the blankets. “That’s me.”

Steve glanced at the TV to see a baby penguin about to be eaten by a seal. He winced. “That’s terrible.”

“Cycle of life,” Bucky muttered darkly. “This documentary is reflective of my current mood.”

“I can see that.”

“Fuck you.”

They watched the sad penguin documentary in silence, Bucky occasionally muttering, “Me,” or, “Same,” or, “I’m that penguin.”

When Steve couldn’t take the depressing nature of the movie anymore, he turned to Bucky and asked, “Can we watch something else?”

A little bit of life returned to Bucky’s watery eyes. “We could start the list.”

“I don’t remember what the first movie on there is,” Steve admitted.

Bucky snuggled down into his blankets. “You know, I don’t really give a fuck about which movie is on there first. I’ve decided that I just want to watch Disney movies right now.” His head lolled in Steve’s direction. “You ever seen Pinocchio? Came out in 1940.”

“Good for Pinocchio.”

“Don’t be a fuckin’ smartass, Stevie, I’m sick and dying,” Bucky complained.

Steve smiled. “No, I never got around to seeing it.”

Bucky nodded decisively. “Disney movie marathon starting with Pinocchio it is, then.”

The movie started off whimsical enough. And the artistry and animation was as mind-blowing as it had been when Steve had gone to see Snow White.

But.

Jesus Christ, the premise of the movie was kind of terrifying.

Steve watched in mild horror as the Blue Fairy turned Pinocchio into a “real boy” with the conditions that he had to be brave, honest, and true and always let his conscious be his guide. Steve sucked in a sharp breath, his mind flashing back to the night before the serum where Dr. Erskine had said, “Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” And then Steve had turned into a fucking real boy too.

Bucky nudged him. “You okay?” he asked, and Steve blinked back to the present, getting a handle on his breathing.

“Yeah,” he said tightly. “Was just thinking about the serum.”

“Oh,” Bucky murmured, understanding dawning on his features as he glanced between Steve and the TV. Then, in his feverish haze, he gracelessly slumped into Steve’s side, blankets and all. Steve swallowed roughly before wrapping his arm around Bucky’s blanket-covered shoulders and pulling him more snugly into his side.

As the movie progressed, Steve was increasingly uneasy. When Pinocchio became the most popular attraction of the circus- a marionette that dances and sings without strings- Steve had to take a moment to collect himself, tucking his face in the folds of blankets that smelled like flu and Bucky, as he thought about being a dancing monkey for the USO tours.

When the boys started turning into donkeys on Pleasure Island, Steve shot Bucky a horrified look. “I know,” Bucky mumbled with a little grin because he was a sadistic fuck.

And then Pinocchio sacrificed himself to save the people he cared about and just fucking died in the ocean. And the Blue Fairy just fucking decided that he deserved to be a real boy or some shit just because he’d been noble. “What if Pinocchio didn’t want to be a real boy anymore?” Steve snapped at the TV. “What if he didn’t want the motherfucking Blue Fairy to make decisions about who lives and who dies?”

Bucky let out a semi-exasperated breath. “Stevie, it’s a kid’s movie.”

“That was shameless propaganda to terrify kids into being well-behaved.”

“...That is true.”

Steve shot Bucky a dark look. “I did not like that one.”

Bucky smiled drowsily. “I used to be scared of that movie when I was littler.”

Steve frowned and absentmindedly pulled Bucky closer. “I really don’t blame you. Turning bad kids into donkeys? What the actual fuck?”

“The circus freaked me out too,” Bucky said with a shrug. “It’s whatever. We’re moving on to the next movie.”

“What? No discussion of the historical relevance of the film?” Steve asked sarcastically.

“You’re a smart cookie, and I’m sick. Figure it out yourself.”

Bucky ordered Steve to put in the next movie (because apparently Bucky had memorized the chronological order in which relevant Disney movies had been released). Steve examined the DVD case, which sported a small elephant with big ears.

He put the movie in, and when he returned to the couch, Bucky curled up into his side as if on instinct (and then proceeded to fall asleep on him twenty minutes into the movie).

Bucky was the most self-entitled sick person that Steve had ever met.

He acted like he was on his deathbed and smugly used the flu as an excuse to boss Steve around, which was not gonna fly... for much longer, at least. (Because how could Steve say no to those pathetically adorable glassy eyes and red nose?)

Bucky was also pretty insistent on using the flu as an excuse to start the “glorified movie marathon” with Steve. In Bucky’s words: “Well, since I can’t seem to get you to leave me alone for one minute, we may as well use our time productively.” But Steve had seen the fondness in his eyes that thoroughly undermined the statement’s sarcasm.

So, they watched movies.

And Bucky ended up being a really cuddly sick person, which was fine with Steve. Because even though Bucky was sick and gross, the contact was too amazing for Steve to care.

“Sleeping Beauty was released in 1959,” Bucky informed Steve.

“How do you memorize all these dates?”

Bucky blinked. “I dunno. Put in the movie. Oh, and while you’re at it, get me some more soup. And fluff my pillow.”

Steve glared at Bucky. “I am not your servant.”

Bucky gathered the blankets around his shoulders and pretended to regard Steve with a theatrically pompous sniff. He waved his hand languidly. “You will not be insolent to your ruler, peasant boy.”

Steve scowled. “I hope you never get sick again.”

Bucky smirked.

They settled down for the eighth Disney movie on the list. Of course, there had been other movies in between those in the several days Steve had been at Bucky’s apartment, but according to Bucky, “Disney movies are such an accurate portrayal of how people thought at the time they were created that it would be a crime not to structure cultural movie marathons around them.”

Bucky elbowed Steve as he settled into his side again, sipping from a thermos of soup. “This one should be relatable for you,” Bucky teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

The movie was good. Just to make Bucky laugh, Steve had whispered, “Me,” when Aurora fell asleep, and Bucky had laughed for a good minute before dissolving into coughs.

But Steve was vaguely irritated with the whole curse thing. “It’s just ridiculous,” he said to Bucky. “How can they find true loves to wake princesses up from sleeping curses?” He glared at the credits. “I mean, that’s so fucking stupid. Think about it. If I had to be kissed by my true love in order to wake up after the whole defrosting thing, then I’d still be asleep.”

Bucky avoided his eyes when he mumbled, “Maybe not.”

Steve stilled, staring at Bucky in startled silence.

Bucky took a big sip from the thermos. “Let’s put in the next one,” he said hastily, his voice rougher than it had been a minute ago, his eyes darting around.

After a moment, Steve forced his limbs to move, but he felt mechanical. Had Bucky just implied something? Because it seemed like Bucky was implying something.

Steve took a deep breath, staring blankly at the DVD clutched in his hands. He squared his shoulders and turned around to find Bucky watching him nervously. “Buck, what did you-“

The front door banged open, effectively cutting off Steve’s train of thought. Steve tensed, immediately scoping out the nearest objects that could be used as a weapon and how to best cover Bucky in the event of hostiles.

But it was two dark-haired women, one older and shorter with warm wrinkles around her eyes, the other young and bright-eyed, holding a CVS bag.

“Jamie, honey,” the older woman called, staring down at her purse as she shuffled into the room. Steve glanced at Bucky to note his slightly alarmed (not threatened) expression, and he forced himself to relax. “I picked up some meds for you, and Becca made you some Jell-O.”

“Ma,” Bucky said, sounding slightly mortified. “You have to let me know when you’re about to come over.”

“Surprise!” Bucky’s mother exclaimed, throwing her arms out and looking up. She startled a little bit when she saw Steve. “Oh!”

Bucky frowned at them, kicking off his pile of blankets. “Ladies,” Steve said uncomfortably. The younger woman, Becca, narrowed her eyes at him while Bucky’s mother beamed.

“I’m Winifred,” she said, smiling brightly. “How do you know James?” She glanced at Bucky with a knowing expression. “Such a young, handsome man.” Bucky put his face into his hand with a groan.

“Ma, do you seriously not recognize Captain fucking America?” Becca asked, rolling her eyes.

Winifred looked at Bucky. “You know Captain America?” she asked, sounding vaguely impressed.

“Mother,” Bucky said pointedly, “This is Steve. My friend.”

“Steve. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Winifred said, looking kind of distantly confused.

“Ma’am,” Steve said with a stiff nod.

Winifred put a hand over her heart, eyelashes fluttering. “Christ, aren’t you charming?”

“Oh my god, ma!” Bucky and Becca snapped at the same time, which was slightly disconcerting for Steve.

Winifred laughed breezily, moving into the kitchen to move things around. “An old woman can look, children.”

Bucky sent Steve a horrified look. “I am so sorry.”

“I second that,” Becca grumbled, flopping down gracelessly on one of Bucky’s chairs. “She’s so fucking inappropriate.”

“I’m hip,” Winifred protested.

Becca and Bucky both ignored her.

“So, Steve,” Becca said, smiling. “How’d you get to be friendly with my piece of trash brother?” Bucky squawked hoarsely in protest, and Steve cracked a smile in response.

“He made me read a bunch of depressing books,” Steve said with a shrug, finally finding the fortitude to make his legs move so that he could sit next to Bucky on the couch again. “And now movies.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “So he roped you into his sphere of geekiness.”

“Oh my god, you can’t keep calling it geekiness. I have a fucking doctorate,” Bucky groused in irritation.

“Be nice, children,” Winifred called.

“Becca’s being an asshole!”

“What the fuck, Bucky?”

“Don’t talk about your sister that way!”

“She started it,” Bucky said, then seemed to realize how childish he sounded, and his mouth shut with a click. Steve stifled a laugh, and Bucky shot him a glare. “Why are you guys ganging up on me? I’m sick.”

“Boo hoo,” Becca said, scrolling through her phone.

“Steve, defend me,” Bucky whined, crossing his arms with a petulant pout.

Steve smirked. “Buck’s had a very difficult week.”

“I have.”

“What a hard life. Being pampered 24/7,” Steve teased, nudging Bucky in the side.

Bucky scowled. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, dearest.”

Becca snorted. “’Dearest.’”

Winifred shouted from the kitchen, “Why don’t you have that kind of charisma, Jamie?”

“Steve is not charismatic. You’re blinded by the vintage, ma, he’s an asshole.”

Steve lifted a nonchalant shoulder.

“Don’t talk about a national icon-slash-war hero like that,” Winifred tsked.

Bucky flung his arm out, whacking Steve in the bicep. “He doesn’t like to be coddled. And anyway, it’s true.”

“He also doesn’t like to be talked about like he isn’t here,” Steve said.

Bucky looked at him, wincing. “Sorry.”

“So, Captain Rogers, why are you taking care of my son?” Winifred asked, wandering into the living room.

Steve turned his gaze to his lap. “Well, he was sick.”

Winifred gave Bucky a pointed look. “You’re truly charming, Captain.”

“Mother, leave them alone,” Becca said.

Winifred looked offended. “I was just being nice!”

“You were snooping.”

Bucky sighed and pitched forward so that he landed half-on Steve’s lap. “I want to die,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled.

Steve stroked a hand through Bucky’s hair, hyper-aware of Winifred and Becca’s presence. “You’re being melodramatic.”

“No more so than you, Mr. ‘Let’s-Make-Bucky-Eight-Gallons-of-Homemade-Soup.’”

Steve frowned. “That’s Captain ‘Let’s-Make-Bucky-Eight-Gallons-of-Homemade-Soup’ to you.”

Bucky let out a gravelly laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

Steve scoffed. “Please, you love me.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Bucky insisted, and when he turned his head to look at Steve, his cheeks were a little bit more flushed than they had been a moment ago.

“Jamie,” Winifred started, looking confused. “Are you-“

Becca elbowed her in the side. “We’ll talk about it later, ma.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” Winifred huffed.

“I took a guess.”

Winifred and Becca had a silent conversation while Bucky pushed himself into a sitting position again, although he didn’t move away from Steve, instead letting their sides press together. Because even in spite of his family’s presence, apparently flu-ridden-Bucky still had no sense of personal space. Not that Steve was complaining.

“Jamie, did Becca tell you about her promotion?” Winifred asked, evidently done with her and Becca’s silent conversation.

“No,” Bucky said, turning to look at his sister. “You got a promotion?”

Becca blushed. “Yeah, it really isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” Winifred gushed. “She’s going to be an editor!”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Becca, that’s amazing.”

“Thanks,” Becca said, shifting in her seat like she was pleased.

“And did I tell you about what Martha said about Geoffrey earlier today?” Winifred said, and then she was off on the latest neighborhood gossip. Steve was definitely not engrossed by the conversation.

Winifred kept up a steady stream of chatter before declaring that she had to meet some of her lady-friends for poker night. “I’m going to win Amy’s car,” she stage-whispered with a confident wink.

Bucky looked at Steve. “Ma’s insane at poker,” he explained.

“You know, some people would say you have a gambling addiction,” Becca added wryly.

“Nonsense, it’s just some fun with the girls. Anywho, I’ve gotta skedaddle. Feel better, Jamie. Drink lots of fluids.”

“Bye, ma. Hope you win the car.”

“I’m heading out too,” Becca said, shouldering her purse. “I’ve got better shit to do.”

Bucky smirked. “Like play that dumb cat game on your phone?”

Becca looked offended. “Oh my god, it’s not dumb.”

“Suuuuure.”

Becca made a small, enraged noise. “I’m outta here.”

“Good riddance, twerp.”

“Won’t miss ya, asshat.”

And then it was just Bucky and Steve.

Bucky sent Steve a sheepish glance. “I’m- uh- I’m really sorry about them. I didn’t know they were gonna stop by, and I know they can kinda be a lot to take in, and my mother kind of tried to start interrogating you, and for some reason I automatically act like a five-year-old around Becca, and-“

“Buck.”

Bucky cringed. “Yes?”

Steve grinned, bumping their shoulders together. “I like them.”

“You like them,” Bucky echoed dumbly. “They’re horrible.”

“Well, so am I. Plus, they’ve got charm.”

Bucky scoffed.

“Really. They were kind of adorable,” Steve insisted, fighting the urge to also call Bucky adorable because Bucky was sick with the flu and Steve was a terrible person for still finding him so fucking cute.

Bucky shifted his weight, trying to hide a tiny smile. “Huh. Well, I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Steve said, and maybe his voice was just a tad too soft.

“Next movie?” Bucky squeaked.

Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze before he stood to get the DVD.

“So, you just stayed at his house. The entire week,” Sam deadpanned, eyeing Steve almost incredulously. “Showered there. Slept there. Borrowed some of his clothes.”

Steve lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. I ran out of underwear.”

“You wore his underwear,” Natasha said, arching a brow.

“And cuddled. While he was sick,” Sam said.

“With the flu,” Natasha added.

“Yeah? So?”

Natasha and Sam exchanged glances. “Oh, boy.”

Clint wandered into the room. “I accidentally ate one of Lucky’s treats,” he informed the room at large, sounding strangely smug.

“That’s disgusting,” Natasha said fondly. “Much like Steve’s love life.”

“I don’t have a love life.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Honey.”

“Is this about you and Bucky being gay for each other?” Clint asked excitedly. “Because this is one of my favorite conversation topics.”

Steve glared at his so-called “friends,” crossing his arms. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”

“It’s like a romantic comedy, but in real life,” Clint mused. “It’s a beautiful love. So pure but so unconventional. A history professor and a historical relic.” Clint paused. “Do you think it’d be hot if they banged in Bucky’s office? Because I do.”

“Clint has been writing erotic slash fiction about you two,” Natasha said, keeping her face completely expressionless.

Clint went along with it, taking a nonchalant sip from his coffee. “It makes me happy.”

Sam looked vaguely disturbed. “You don’t... actually do that... do you?”

Clint broke into a grin and winked. “I’m an enigma, Wilson.”

“You should make out with him,” Natasha informed Steve. “And then bang.”

“Bang.”

“She means doing the sex thing,” Clint contributed helpfully.

Steve sighed. “I know what it means.”

Sam nudged him. “So, what happened?”

Steve frowned. “Nothing. We just watched movies.” He hesitated. “I mean, well-“

“What?” Natasha pressed.

Steve flapped an impatient hand. “Okay, so we’d just finished Sleeping Beauty-“

“What a classic,” Sam said, mostly to himself.

Steve ignored him and told his friends about the whole, “Maybe not,” thing that had sent Steve reeling.

Clint fell out of his chair.

“OH SHIT!” he was shouting. “OHHHHH SHIIIIIIIT!”

“Calm down. Like I said, nothing happened. And what does that even mean?” Steve groused irritably.

“THAT HE’S YOUR TRUE LOVE’S KISS, OH MY GOD THAT’S SO FUCKING ADORABLE, NAT, TELL THEM TO BANG,” Clint screeched.

“You should bang,” Natasha said.

“Amen to that,” Sam agreed. “That definitely sounds like a confession of feelings to me.”

“I don’t think he meant to say it,” Steve muttered, feeling his face burning.

“YOU GUYS ARE GONNA GET MARRIED AND HAVE ADORABLE BABIES THAT GET FUCKING DOCTORATES-“

“But he did say it,” Sam pointed out.

“-AND FIGHT CRIME AND SHIT WITH YOUR COMBINED SENSES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND OH MY GOD-“

“The moment passed anyway.”

“-BANG EACH OTHER IN BUCKY’S OFFICE LIKE A FUCKING PORNO OR SOMETHING AND, HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS ARE GONNA TOTALLY GET A DOG, OH MY FUCKING-“

“That is literally the flimsiest excuse I have ever heard,” Sam said.

“-SUMMER WEDDING WITH BALD EAGLES INSTEAD OF DOVES-“

“I am not going to bring it up again,” Steve snapped. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“-HONEYMOON IN FUCKIN’ SPACE OR SOMETHING I DON’T EVEN-“

“Are you sure about that?” Sam asked, his voice hard. “Barnes isn’t worth the risk?”

“You know that’s not what I was saying.”

“-AND IT’LL BE SOOOOOOO FUCKING CUTE,” Clint finished, collapsing into Natasha’s side.

“Look, man,” Sam went on, eyeing Steve gravely. “I want you to really think about this one. Is it worth the risk?”

Steve could feel himself getting defensive. “What? The risk that I could end up pushing him away by some sort of confession of feelings? Or, hey, let’s say that Bucky hypothetically returns these feelings. What am I gonna do then? I’m in danger all the fucking time. That’s no way to live. Fuck, Bucky deserves so much better than constantly needing to wonder if I’m still alive. He shouldn’t have to worry about finding out I’m dead from some news source. He shouldn’t have to worry at all. He deserves something fucking stable. He deserves better than what I’d be able to give him.”

Sam, Natasha, and Clint stared at him in silence. “You’ve thought this out,” Natasha finally said.

“I have a lot of free time,” Steve growled. “Look, even without that. I’m a fucking head case. I have fucking PTSD- yeah, I know I do, I can admit it, Sam, don’t gimme that look. That’s not the kind of thing I’d ever want to subject someone else to in a relationship.”

“Steve-“ Sam started, but Steve waved his hand.

“I’m not budging on this one.”

Clint sounded uncharacteristically grave when he said, “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge the situation.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Clint looked at him, expression steely. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“What-“

“And it’s not my damn story to tell.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Princess Bride, anyone?”

“You free for more movies anytime soon?” Bucky asked as they strolled through Central Park.

Steve frowned because Bucky was definitely aware of the sheer amount of downtime Steve had on his hands. “I don’t think I trust you anymore after The Fox and the Hound.”

Bucky laughed, tipping his head back. Steve watched the line of his neck and swallowed with some difficulty. “Oh, man, I knew that was gonna bite me in the ass.”

“I can’t believe that was a fucking kids’ movie,” Steve grumbled.

“The first time I saw it, I cried so hard, I thought I was going to die,” Bucky admitted. “I can’t believe you didn’t cry.”

I’ve had a lot of practice shoving down tears. “I cried on the inside. Lots.”

Bucky scoffed. “Doesn’t count, you motherfucker. Hey, I want ice cream.” He started walking towards a cart that was apparently selling it. “You want any?”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. Actually, yeah, I do.” Steve reached for his wallet, but Bucky shook his head, waggling his eyebrows in an almost goofy fashion.

“Nuh-uh, Stevie. This one’s on me.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

Bucky waved his hand dismissively as he scanned the options. “Think of it as payment for the fucking ocean of homemade soup.”

“There really wasn’t that much,” Steve complained.

“I still can’t believe you made all that.”

“I didn’t. Sam did, like, the majority of the work.”

Bucky shot Steve a glance. “Ah, then maybe I should buy Sam an ice cream.”

Steve smiled. “I will gladly take the burden and accept the ice cream on Sam’s behalf.”

“Wow, you’re such a martyr, Stevie. Really taking one for the team,” Bucky muttered sarcastically, and Steve laughed lowly under his breath.

They got their ice creams and continued walking aimlessly through the park. It was really a beautiful day. Bucky was wearing short sleeves- a rare occurrence, especially when they were out in such a public place. No one could see the ending of Bucky’s stump unless they stood directly under the opening of his sleeve and stared upwards. Steve had never seen the stump. And it wasn’t something they ever acknowledged, which was fine with him.

Bucky was in a fairly good mood, perfectly happy to be recovered from the flu and slightly frantic in making up the missed week of lectures. “I’m just gonna assign more reading,” he had decided, mostly to himself, as he tried to make plans out loud earlier in the day.

Steve himself was in a great mood. Bucky tended to bring that out in him lately. Steve would’ve been more embarrassed about this development if it weren’t for the glimmer of relief in Sam’s eyes every time Steve smiled a real smile.

“So I have her panties in one hand and the other is still soaked in glue when Mrs. Fry walks in,” Bucky was saying.

Steve choked on a laugh. “No way.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “And, in case you forgot, the baby koala was still roaming wild.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah- it was crazy- I almost died. And then we had to explain everything.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I know.”

Steve was still giggling over the imagery of the story while Bucky pretended to look glum over the whole thing when they heard a small voice say, “Mommy, why does that man only have one arm?”

Bucky stiffened at Steve’s side, lines of tension appearing in his face that Steve had never seen before as he deliberately did not look in the direction of the curious little girl that had asked the question.

The girl’s mother shushed her in horror before dragging her away, hissing, “You can’t say things like that, honey.” But the damage had been done.

Bucky was looking at his feet, his gaze more cold and distant than Steve had ever seen. He dropped his mostly-finished ice cream in the next trashcan and licked his fingers to try to counteract the stickiness.

“Buck?” Steve said anxiously, wanting desperately to reach out for him but knowing it probably wasn’t wanted.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah?” His eyes flicked up and back down so swiftly that Steve almost missed it.

“You okay?”

Bucky shrugged, wrapping his arm around his chest. After a long moment, he mumbled, “I want to sit down.”

“Okay.” Steve led them to an empty park bench, staring worriedly as Bucky fidgeted with himself.

“That poor girl,” Bucky finally got out, cracking a sad, bitter smile. “She was just curious. It was such an innocent question.” Bucky sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair, looking much older than he was. “I wish I could have explained it to her or something.”

Steve didn’t really know what to say. Cautiously, he ventured, “You can tell whoever the fuck you want about your arm.”

Bucky shot him a furtive look. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice cracking. Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

They sat in silence, letting the background noise of the park wash over them. Steve concentrated on the picturesque way the sunshine was hitting the metal of the bench. He shot a sneaky look at Bucky to see if the light had some great effect on Bucky’s eyelashes.

Bucky’s eyelashes looked as striking as they always had. But the flare of the sunlight did make them look especially beautiful.

“I want to...” Bucky finally began, then cleared his throat. “I want to tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve assured him hurriedly, trying to flash a small smile.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But I want to.”

Steve shoved down the unbridled joy that bloomed through his chest. That was not an appropriate emotion for the current subject matter. “Okay.”

Bucky did that thing where he jutted out his jaw and flicked at his lips with his teeth. Besides driving Steve insane, it was a gesture Bucky often performed when he was nervous. “Alright,” Bucky whispered. “So, I know this may be a shock, but I used to have two of these,” Bucky joked weakly, holding up his arm.

Carelessly, Steve nudged his foot against Bucky’s, then cursed himself when he remembered that Bucky may not want contact right now. But Bucky just hooked his foot around Steve’s angle and pressed their skin together.

“During the Battle of New York, I was on the subway. All of the lines shut down, and we were trapped in these cars in the dark. And we could hear shit going down outside, but everyone was terrified of what it could all mean. So we just waited.” Bucky sighed. “All the children were crying.”

Steve nodded because he knew what Bucky meant. His own mind flashed back to the liberation of Nazi-occupied cities and finding corpses of children. He shuddered.

“One of those huge alien things crashed into the ground above where we were, and we finally got some light. But that also meant we were susceptible to alien attacks. There was a lot of panic- people trying to absorb the attack, the fucking aliens, being in danger.” Bucky took a shaking breath. “I was- I was helping some of the adults try to turn parts of the car into something we could use in a fight. Like pipes and shit.”

Bucky paused for a moment. His expression was distant and steely. He looked like he was only half-here.

“Um. But in the end, the aliens didn’t even come down there. We weren’t important or threatening enough,” Bucky muttered with a horribly bitter sneer that Steve hated with every ounce of his being. “They just threw one of those grenade-ish explosives down the hole. I pushed a kid under a seat and covered her, but my side was exposed to the blast. Most of my arm was basically- ah- vaporized. The rest wasn’t anything worth saving.”

Steve shook his head, at a loss for words. Instead of trying to come up with something to say, he just reached out, kind of blindly, for Bucky’s hand. Bucky hesitantly placed his hand in Steve’s, and Steve pulled it to his chest, squeezing tightly enough that it probably hurt.

Bucky took a shuddering breath, crumpling a little bit. He’d recounted everything in a mostly detached manner, but as he tucked himself into Steve’s side, Steve saw the terrible emotions crash through Bucky’s body.

“You saved the girl?” Steve asked, his voice rough.

Bucky nodded against him. “Her hearing was damaged a little bit, but that’s it. Nothing too drastic.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” Bucky picked his head up from where he’d rested it on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes were a little bit bloodshot. “I’m pretty fucked up for it.”

Steve leaned forward and tapped their foreheads together before he could think too much about it. “Well, that’s something I understand.”

Bucky laughed wetly. “We’re a pair.”

Steve kind of loved Bucky for it all. “We really are.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, fuck. I knew I should’ve put more focus into the subway systems, but I-“

“Stevie,” Bucky said softly. “Are you really trying to blame yourself for me losing my arm?”

“I- well-“

Bucky shook his head. “There was no strategy in sending men out to the subways when people down there should’ve been safer than people in buildings. No one should’ve gotten hurt, but they did.”

Steve nodded. Bucky was right. “Still.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky whispered fondly, dropping his head back onto Steve’s shoulder.

They sat there for a long time, Steve clutching Bucky’s hand to his chest, Bucky leaning into Steve, not saying anything at all.

Tony was frowning.

“Did you just make a reference?” he asked, bewildered.

Steve smirked.

“And not only a reference to a movie,” Tony said haltingly, “but a reference to Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo?”

Steve cackled a little bit to himself.

“I need to go give this Barnes guy a medal of honor and also kick his ass. Because a Steve Rogers who constantly references bad movies is not a Steve Rogers I want in my life.”

“Fuck you. Breakin’ 2 was a masterpiece.”

The door to Steve’s apartment opened, and Bucky wandered in, shouting, “Oh my god, I have to tell you about what this one kid tried to argue today. You’ll die laughing.” Bucky walked into the living room and faltered when he saw Tony lounging on Steve’s couch. “Oh. Hi.”

Steve looked at Bucky. “Tony just called Breakin’ 2 a shit movie.”

Bucky gasped. “How dare.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You all know what I mean.”

“I think it’s the best movie on the list,” Steve declared.

“I can’t believe you’re one of those people who actually has fun watching terrible movies,” Tony whined. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s completely consistent with the rest of your asshole personality.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Tony,” Bucky said, throwing his backpack onto the floor. “Stevie, did you get dinner yet?”

“I just ordered it.”

“Bagels?”

“Yep.”

“Bagels for dinner?” Tony said. “Did you order any for me?”

“Yes,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“Excellent. What movies are you watching tonight?”

“Oliver and Company.”

“I’m in.”

It was always a little weird to hang out with Tony and Bucky at the same time, but Steve thought they were having a pretty great time. Bucky had finally gotten over being star struck and had begun to realize that Tony was actually a little shit, which made everything so much better.

“You guys are gaining up on me,” Tony complained, pouting. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“Conceal don’t feel,” Bucky said. He gave Steve a wink. “That’s from a movie at the end of the list.”

“Jokes aren’t any fun when you have to explain them,” Tony said haughtily.

“Gee, sorry for being frozen for seventy years,” Steve said sarcastically. “Just saving the world from an early apocalypse by literal Nazis.”

“You always bring this up,” Tony groaned. “It’s not my fault you were a shit pilot.”

“Better than you, from what I saw on the news last week,” Bucky snarked.

Tony scowled. “That’s not fair. My suit was malfunctioning. And I fucking fixed it. Midair. Because I’m a literal genius.”

“You’re not the only smart one in this room,” Steve pointed out. “Bucky has a doctorate.”

“And Steve is up there with Napoleon on strategic genius,” Bucky added.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You want a gold star?”

“I want a red star,” Bucky said.

“Fucking commie.”

After they watched the movie, Tony insisted they watch a documentary about plastic because it “relaxed” him. Steve fell asleep after fifteen minutes and woke up enveloped in the warmth of Bucky’s limbs.

This had been happening more and more often after their late-night movie marathons.

(At least Steve was getting sleep this way. Plus: cuddles with Bucky.)

Tony gave Steve a look as he blearily opened his eyes. “Gay,” he whispered, and then ran to the kitchen to avoid Steve’s response because Tony was a child.

Steve just sighed and buried his face in Bucky’s hair. Bucky made a soft sleep noise.

Steve closed his eyes and tried not to think about the love soaring through his chest.

“Oh my god,” Steve gasped, furiously wiping at his tears. “That was- that was so fucking sad.”

Bucky nodded rapidly, not even bothering to hide his own tears. “Gets me every fucking time.”

“And the worst part,” Steve said, voice sounding completely destroyed, “The worst part is that Jack Fucking Twist was right. Oh my god. They could’ve had such a happy life together. That’s so fucking unfair.”

“I can’t even imagine what that had to be like,” Bucky said.

“I can.”

Bucky pulled Steve into a hug, and Steve tried to pretend that he wasn’t crying over a fucking movie while Bucky clutched at his back. “You had it worse, didn’t you?” Bucky mumbled.

“I lived in a queer- er- gay neighborhood. But yeah. It was pretty bad.”

“The part with the fucking shirt,” Bucky said, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears. “It destroys me.”

“Why do they always kill gay people in movies?” Steve asked. “Are we cursed?”

“I have an intelligent historical explanation for that, but before we talk about it, I just want to say that it’s fucking stupid and shouldn’t be a thing.”

“Why do you keep doing this to me? Why are all of these movies sad?” Steve asked, picking his head up from where it’d been pressed to Bucky’s chest.

“The classics are depressing,” Bucky said with a shrug, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. “I can pull up a conciliatory Disney movie.” Bucky cracked a small smile. “That’s most of the reason I put Disney movies throughout the list. They alleviate the depressing nature of classic cinema.”

“You’re so smart,” Steve mumbled tiredly, curling into a ball on the couch. “Talk to me about history of homophobia later. I want the Disney right now.”

“I kinda figured. It’s called Meet the Robinsons.” Bucky stood to put in the DVD, and then paused, offering Steve a little smile. “We’ve come a long way. This one was released in 2007.”

Steve blinked in shock. “I was defrosted in 2012.”

“I know.” Bucky gave him a guilty look. “I could be showing you Cars right now, which was released the same year as Brokeback Mountain, but I just don’t like that movie.”

Steve laughed. “That’s okay. I’m fine with whatever, as long as it’s not depressing.”

“No more so than other Disney movies,” Bucky mused and put in the DVD before coming back to snuggle up against Steve on the couch.

In the movie, the genius kid went to the future, which was something Steve could relate to. The kid ended up befriending his future family. Which, after growing up as an orphan, was an incredible experience for him.

Steve absolutely Did Not make an analogy to the Avengers as his future family.

The movie was enjoyable, had a great message, and it took Steve’s mind off of the sob-fest that had been Brokeback Mountain.

By the time it was over, Bucky was half-asleep on him.

“Buck, you have lectures tomorrow,” Steve whispered, nudging him gently.

Bucky grumbled irritably to himself.

“You’ve gotta go home or you’re gonna hate us both in the morning.”

Bucky let out a whine as he nuzzled at Steve’s neck, which did things to Steve and made his cheeks flush. “How was the movie?” Bucky mumbled.

“Real good, Buck. You gotta go home.”

“’M home,” Bucky argued, almost asleep. “’M tired. Lemme sleep.”

Steve swallowed roughly. How could he possibly say no to that? He pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, hoping that Bucky wouldn’t remember it in the morning. “I’m home too,” he whispered, and he wasn’t talking about his apartment.

Bucky gave a contended sigh and dropped into sleep.

The next day, Steve called Bucky after he knew his first lecture was over.

“Hey.”

“I’m so fucking tired,” Bucky grumbled on the other end of the line.

Steve grinned absently as he walked towards the subway. “I told you so.”

“Fuck you. You should’ve dragged me home in all your superhero glory.”

“You were too cute to disturb. It was a really nice contrast form your usual ugly mug, and I couldn’t be brought to move you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Really creative on the insults today, are we, Buck?” Steve teased.

“I have a headache,” Bucky complained, “from needing to get up early to get here. I’m on my way to get some goddamn coffee right now.”

“I don’t blame you,” Steve said. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. Just tired,” Bucky assured him. “But next time, the glorified movie marathon will be at my place.”

“I figured.”

“There’s a better Thai place near me anyways. Oh, and-“

Bucky suddenly dropped off in the middle of his sentence, and Steve frowned, vaguely concerned. “Bucky?”

There was a burst of noise on Bucky’s end of the line that sent a miscellaneous wave of warning through Steve’s veins. “Oh, fuck,” Bucky gasped.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks, barely noticing when pedestrians roughly shoved into him. “Buck-“

The line went dead.

Dread coiled through his body, blood rushing in his ears. Steve was already reaching for his work phone when it buzzed urgently.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: EMERGENCY IN BED-STUY. SUIT UP.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve hissed and broke into a sprint.

Chapter Text

Steve’s mind was racing, his heartbeat was galloping, panic rushing through his bones, as he ran.

Bed-Stuy wasn’t terribly far from where he was. He could most certainly run the rest of the distance. The only problem was that his shield was in his apartment. And his apartment was in the opposite direction.

It was fine. Steve didn’t need it. He’d make do with what he had.

Because Bucky was definitely in danger, and Steve would stop at nothing to protect him from harm. The absence of his shield wasn’t going to be his detriment. Because Steve was angry.

(Steve was terrified.)

Of course, Steve was worried about the other people who were in danger. But Bucky being one of them made it personal. And Steve was ready to fucking destroy anyone who even looked at Bucky in the wrong way.

When he heard the sounds of screaming and gunfire, Steve’s throat went tight. Dear god, please let him not be hurt. He rounded a corner and felt himself melt into chaos as if he was sliding into a familiar uniform.

Steve surveyed his surroundings, jaw clenched.

There were two groups of men holding weapons who were alternating between threatening bystanders, destroying windows, and breaking into apartments. Steve’s focus zeroed in on Clint’s apartment building with a sense of resigned incredulity. That could not be a coincidence.

Steve looked at the people in various stages of panic and felt his blood run cold when he saw a figure on the ground.

Bucky had a gun pointed at his head.

Bucky. Had a gun. Pointed at. His head.

Steve blinked, and suddenly he was rushing at the man hefting the gun with improper form as if he’d received inadequate training. Steve slammed into the man’s side, and he faltered, his grip slipping on the gun. Steve kicked the man’s wrist hard enough that he heard bones crunch. The man swore a steady stream of Russian, and Steve slammed his elbow into his neck, hoping that he’d be fucking dead when he hit the ground.

“Fucking hell!” Bucky exclaimed, voice strangled. Steve barely registered it other than to silently note that he was capable of speech. His lips tightened when it became evident that the man’s neck hadn’t snapped under the crush of Steve’s elbow. The man groaned indistinctly, and Steve kicked him hard in the stomach. The man coughed, and his teeth were stained red.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, and then there was a hand yanking him backwards. Steve whirled around, baring his teeth. He faltered when he saw Bucky’s wide eyes. There was a steady trickle of blood dripping down Bucky’s forehead, and his eyes looked a little bit unfocused, but other than that he looked fine. He looked alive.

“Buck,” Steve said roughly, wanting to collapse.

“You can’t- you can’t kill him,” Bucky was saying, his voice all squeaky and high-pitched.

Steve clenched his jaw. “It’s not like it’d be my first kill. He was gonna shoot you in the fucking-“

“You need to calm down,” Bucky said lowly, laying his hand on Steve’s chest, right over his heartbeat. “This cannot turn into a massacre. Don’t lose your fucking head.”

“He was gonna shoot you-“

“I know! But you’re better than them, fuck, Stevie.”

Steve blindly reached out, cupping the side of Bucky’s face. “Are you okay?” he demanded, searching Bucky’s eyes desperately. “For a minute, I thought...”

“I’m okay,” Bucky confirmed with a little nod. “But you have serious shit to worry about right now.”

Steve blinked. Right. The danger hadn’t disappeared with the one motherfucker that had been threatening Bucky.

He stepped away, ready to run into the fold, when Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Where’s your fucking shield?”

“There was no time,” Steve said distractedly, trying to come up with a good plan to get people to safety. “It was in the apartment.”

“You reckless bastard! Go get your goddamn motherfucking shield right now, or I swear-“

Blessedly, Sam landed a few feet away in all his winged glory, cutting off Bucky’s rant. “Hey, guys,” he said tersely.

“Sam, get Bucky to safety. Get him the fuck out of here. And when you’ve done that, start working on protecting the other civilians.”

“Sam, he didn’t bring his fucking shield!” Bucky shouted, gesturing wildly. “You can’t let him-“

“Captain’s orders,” Sam said, although he gave Steve a distinctly angry look. “Even though the Captain is gonna get his white ass kicked when this is over.”

“Get him safe,” Steve pleaded. “Please.”

“You’re not finished with me,” Bucky snapped. “I swear to god, you better survive this so I can finish yelling at you, you fucking idiot.”

Steve smiled tightly. “Get the fuck outta here, Buck.”

Bucky scowled as he looped his arm around Sam’s neck and allowed himself to be carried away. Steve relaxed marginally, letting out a relieved breath as he reevaluated the situation.

The men on the ground were dangerous. But, Steve registered at least three men situated on rooftops, and they immediately became his top priority. They were probably snipers, which was almost always more dangerous. Plus, the men on the ground seemed more interested in hassling people than actually doing damage. Not to mention the fact that Sam would return in a moment to help with that.

So, Steve decided to try to parkour.

He scaled the nearest building with only slight difficulties, thinking, I’ve still got it, as he heaved himself onto the roof. As Steve got to his feet, he saw Sam land amidst the civilians and relaxed slightly. He hoped the other Avengers would turn up soon. And where the fuck was Clint? His apartment was literally in spitting distance.

Steve pushed the thoughts away and turned his attention to the nearest sniper. He was a few roofs away, his sightline tracing the contours of the panicked crowd below. Steve felt a flash of anger. Why the fuck did people just think they could go around and mess with normal lives?

Steve did not go for subtlety as he crashed onto the sniper’s roof.

The sniper half-turned, startled.

Steve kicked him in the jaw, using the momentum he’d already gained.

The sniper recovered surprisingly quickly, his surprise turning into a glare as he lunged forward and slammed his palm into Steve’s nose before Steve could deflect it. Steve felt the bone crunch. He would’ve rolled his eyes if it didn’t hurt, because Steve had legitimately lost count of how many times he’d broken his nose.

Steve launched himself into an attack, but the sniper was apparently trained in hand-to-hand. And fighting him felt different. Almost like he was at least a little bit enhanced.

Steve’s heart sank. When would people realize that the serum had been more of a curse than a blessing?

Steve was handling himself just fine in the fight. He had the upper hand because- please- he was the legendary supersoldier. Shield or no shield, Steve could handle himself.

But.

Steve hadn’t really been watching his six.

So, when the little pfft of a silenced gunshot reached Steve’s superhearing ears, dread spread through his limbs. An instant later, the bullet embedded itself into Steve’s lower back, and Steve felt it move through his guts and graze his kidneys. He choked on his next breath of air, faltering, and the sniper reached into his pocket, extracted a handgun, and clubbed Steve across the jaw with it.

Stars exploded across Steve’s vision. Another pfft of a gunshot rang out, and pain bloomed from the space between his shoulder blades. Steve had a moment to dizzyingly wonder if his spine had been damaged, but then the sniper was slamming his knee into Steve’s jaw, and Steve’s vision blanked out for a moment.

This was not going well.

Steve gritted his teeth and got to his feet, ignoring the pain as best as he could as he threw himself back into the fight with the sniper, trying to put the sniper between him and the shooter.

At least the fight was equalized now.

Steve stop being a sassy motherfucker, you’re literally bleeding some of your guts out, a voice said in his head. The voice sounded suspiciously like Bucky.

Steve grinned, knowing his teeth were bloodstained, wanting to terrify the sniper. “That all you got?”

The sniper looked disturbed. Steve took the opportunity to drive his shoulder into the sniper’s chest. The sniper fell off the roof, and Steve watched him go down with satisfaction. Oops, bad guy go splat, he thought.

But then another shot rang out, and Steve stumbled backwards with the impact of a bullet. He glanced down and saw blood blooming from where his windbreaker was. Steve couldn’t breathe for a moment and had the terrifying thought that he was having an asthma attack, but that didn’t make fucking sense and-

He was bleeding a lot.

Steve looked up. He finally located the shooter, across a few other roofs. He was about to shoot him again, and this time he’d hit Steve in the heart.

Steve’s mind went kind of blank, so it was blessedly wonderful that a body landed next to him and shoved him out of the way just as the next bullet came rocketing towards him.

Although, he had been shoved towards the edge of the roof.

“Shit,” Clint said. “Shit, fuck, this is so bad,” he went on, as he drew back the string of his bow and Steve tried to focus on finding his footing before he ended up following the sniper off the edge of the roof. Clint let his arrow fly, hitting the shooter in the neck, and then shot Steve a look. “Oh, shit shitting fuck.”

Steve had vastly overestimated his ability to balance himself.

He slipped off the edge of the goddamn fucking roof, Clint reaching out too late to catch him.

Steve landed among bags of trash and shitty alley grime, barely able to see, his ears ringing, pain ricocheting throughout his goddamn body. He groaned, tried to get up, slipped in his own blood, and collapsed onto his back with a hiss of pain.

“Oh, Jesus. Um. Are you okay? Captain America, sir?” a hysterical Brooklyn voice stammered.

“’M fine,” Steve mumbled. He then promptly coughed up some blood and passed out.

Steve fucking despised the sensation of waking up in a hospital.

Everything was returning to him in slow motion, as if he’d been disconnected from his body. As if he wasn’t already completely disconnected from this mountain of a body.

Steve could never decide what he hated more- the smell of hospitals or the lighting in hospitals. Both made him dizzy. Both made him nauseous. His stomach clenched.

And then his mind decided to fuzzily connect his brain to the pain.

He lay still, completely paralyzed by the agony wrenching through his back. And his chest. And his stomach.

Fuck, he was kind of a mess.

But there was one thing his hazy, pained brain could recollect.

“Bucky?” he rasped.

Steve heard somebody shift next to him, but when he thought about turning his head, his spine sent a wave of pain up from his ass to his neck, and Steve laid perfectly still, breath hitched.

“How the fuck are you even awake?” Tony asked, his head popping into Steve’s vision at an unflattering angle. He looked genuinely confused.

Panic stabbed through Steve’s brain. “Bucky,” he tried to snap.

Tony blinked. “Oh. He’s fine. It’s you we’re all worried sick about.”

Steve grunted noncommittally.

“Okay, so I guess you probably wanna know what the dealio was with the whole attack,” Tony said. “Basically, Clint pissed off a lot of really important leaders of the criminal underground when he bought his building, and they tried to send forces out to initiate mass panic and compel Clint to give up his claim on the building. For some sort of shady criminal underground reasons. I don’t really know, I stopped paying attention.”

Steve hummed vaguely.

“I see talking really isn’t on the agenda right now unless you’re saying, ‘Bucky,’ or, ‘Fuck off, Tony.’ Suave, Rogers. Real suave.”

Steve tried to scowl and suddenly remembered his broken nose, which shouldn’t still be broken, if he assumed the serum was consistent.

“Seriously,” Tony said, bewildered. “You haven’t even healed a little bit. How are you even conscious with this pain?”

Steve didn’t fucking know. He wasn’t a goddamn doctor. Speaking of which... “Where is he?” he croaked.

“Bucky?” Tony asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “You really have a one-track mind, dude. I hope the sex is worth it. I’ll send him in.”

Steve closed his eyes, relieved. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Yeah, not like I was the one who helped carry your body into the hospital or anything,” Tony grumbled, but he didn’t sound as hurt as he had a moment ago.

“’M okay,” Steve tried to assure him, ignoring Tony’s derisive scoff. “Thank you.”

“Christ, don’t write a sonnet about it,” Tony grumbled, secretly pleased. “Lemme get lover boy. Wax poetry to him instead.”

Steve’s dry lips cracked into a smile, and Tony squeezed Steve’s big toe as some weird form of comfort before he left the room.

Steve blew out a tired breath, trying to focus on the fact that he’d thankfully gotten the worst of the injuries. Why? Steve didn’t know. But he was too happy that no one else had gotten hurt to properly think about it.

The door opened a crack, and Bucky’s head poked inside. The sight of him instantly lit Steve up with joy, and he automatically relaxed muscles he hadn’t known he’d been clenching. “Stevie?” Bucky asked, voice rough as if he’d been shouting.

“Buck.”

Bucky’s face crumpled, and he rushed into the room, crouching to his knees by Steve’s bedside. He grabbed Steve’s limp hand and squeezed. “Yeah, I’m here, Stevie, I’ve got you.”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Bucky growled, face darkening. “Next time, I don’t care if I’m in danger, get you’re fucking shield.”

“I was handling it-“

“You tripped off a building-“

“I had it under control-“

“You got shot three times-“

“I was fine-“

“You weren’t. Steven Grant Rogers, you listen to me. You will bring your shield with you when there is an emergency.”

Steve sighed. “I’ll try,” he promised.

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to brush his fingers through the bloody, sweaty strands of Steve’s hair. “You scared me,” Bucky whispered, voice cracking.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty indestructible, Buck.”

“I guess I know that. But. I watched them drag you in here. Fuck, you were bleeding so much. You were so pale.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t do that to me again,” Bucky said, collapsing forward so that he was half-lying on Steve’s bed. Steve carefully twitched his hand over a few inches so that he was touching the back of Bucky’s head.

“Sorry.”

“You can’t go on these fucking suicide missions anymore,” Bucky went on. He lifted his head, and his eyes were red-rimmed.

“Why not?” Steve said, defensive.

Bucky looked at him like he was crazy. “It would kill me.”

Steve swallowed with some difficulty, suddenly hyperaware of everything. “Well, this wasn’t a suicide mission.”

Bucky scoffed. “Really?”

“No. I was just desperate enough to get to you that I didn’t think grabbing my shield would be worth it.”

Steve watched the line of Bucky’s throat as Bucky swallowed, mirroring Steve. “Oh.”

Steve lifted his hand, and his spine cried out, but this was important, so Steve ignored himself and loosely grabbed the back of Bucky’s neck, letting his thumb brush a circle over the stubbly skin along Bucky’s jawline. “Yes.”

Bucky took a shuddering breath. He leaned forward, grabbing Steve’s chin. He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, then to either of Steve’s cheeks. When Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s eyelids, lingering a little bit.

Bucky pulled back, just a little bit. They stared at each other, and Steve had never wanted full use of his body more in his life.

They both leaned in at the same time, hurried and uncoordinated, and their noses smacked together.

Steve hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, fuck, your nose is broken,” Bucky whispered, horrified. “Are you okay? Shit.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Bucky started to draw away, and Steve made a pathetic noise. “No, come back.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, then hesitated. “You want...?”

“Yes.”

Bucky cradled the side of Steve’s face. “Hold still,” he whispered in such a soft, delicate voice that Steve wanted to melt. Then, Bucky tilted his head to the side and leaned in until their lips pressed together with just the slightest pressure.

Steve breathed out shakily, knowing his breath was tingling against Bucky’s lips. Sure enough, Bucky shivered, pressing them more firmly together.

Steve felt like he was still passed out. This couldn’t... actually be happening, could it?

Bucky tentatively grazed his teeth over Steve’s lower lip, and Steve felt a jolt. Which was. Decidedly real. Steve licked at the seam of Bucky’s mouth, and he opened up without hesitation, and suddenly the kiss was so much deeper. Still slow, but deeper.

Steve heard the door open a crack and ignored it without much effort. He distantly heard Sam say, “Oh... right... I’ll, uh... be back... later...” but barely registered it. Because Bucky was kissing him, and the pain licking up his spine and tearing at his gut didn’t matter because he was so fucking happy and-

Bucky pulled away with great reluctance. “Fuck.”

Steve blinked, dazed. “Yeah,” he agreed, and his voice sounded wrecked.

“We need to... not do that while you can barely move,” Bucky said faintly.

“Who the fuck cares?”

“I the fuck care.”

Steve glared half-heartedly. “I can move.”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. “Steve, they told us you fucked up your spine. While it’s reconstructing itself, you may be temporarily paralyzed.”

Steve ignored the unease in his throat as he scowled. “I can move right now, though.”

Bucky leaned back a little bit. “Nuh uh. I am not going to be the reason you hurt yourself even more.”

Steve frowned. “Um. But you’ll stay? Here? With me?” he asked, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“What? Of course. Unless you don’t want-“

“I do,” Steve said hurriedly. “I really do.”

“Thank fuck,” Bucky sighed. He moved so that he was sitting next to Steve, half-on the hospital bed. He laced their fingers together.

Steve stared down at their hands in a kind of dull shock. Which was odd, considering the fact that they’d just been necking.

Bucky turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Steve’s head. “Get some rest.”

Steve would’ve argued if he hadn’t been in so much fucking pain. So instead, he just let his eyes slide shut and lost consciousness in less than a minute.

The next time Steve woke up, it felt like everything was dripping in sweet, honey-golden syrup.

Steve blinked slowly, blearily taking note that there were a lot of fucking people in his room. His eyes landed on Bucky and Sam sitting next to each other, and a languid smile spread across his face.

“Oh. He’s awake,” Natasha said from the other side of the room where she was sitting on Clint’s lap.

“We put you on fucking elephant drugs,” Tony said, sounding kind of annoyed. “Apparently they only worked for two hours.”

“Why are you surprised, bro? This has happened loads of times,” Clint said.

“Elephant drugs?” Bucky asked, looking kind of horrified.

“Elephant drugs,” Tony confirmed.

“Because Steve’s a fucking reckless punk bitch,” Sam added.

Steve opened his mouth to half-heartedly protest, but everything felt so nice and fuzzy around the edges, and he kind of didn’t remember how to speak English. He settled for Irish instead. “<I am a sensible sunflower.>”

Everyone stared at him.

“What the fuck was that?” Tony finally asked.

“<Irish.>”

“What the fuck is he saying?”

“Did he forget how to speak English?”

Worriedly, Bucky got up from his chair and approached the side of Steve’s bed. “You okay?”

“<You’re here. Of course I am.>”

Bucky made a face, but his voice was a little bit strained when he said, “I can’t fucking understand you.”

“<You are all uncultured idiots,>” Steve said fondly, reaching out to grab Bucky’s shoulder.

“I think he’s high,” Natasha observed.

“Elephant drugs,” Tony said.

Steve leaned forward and traced his nose along the tendons of Bucky’s neck, letting his eyes close. Bucky’s breath hitched.

“Bucky thinks it’s hot,” Clint observed.

“I absolutely do not,” Bucky muttered.

“<You are stunning.>” Steve murmured against Bucky’s skin, starting to press lazy kisses against his neck. Because he’d wanted to do that since the first time they’d met.

“Fuck,” Bucky said.

“This is not PG,” Sam noted, sounding both amused and disturbed.

“Do you want me to break it up?” Natasha asked, entertained.

“No!” Clint said, a little bit too quickly.

Steve nipped gently at Bucky’s jawline, smirking when Bucky let out a small whimper. “<I love you.>”

“What the fuck is he saying?”

“Who the fuck cares?”

Steve leaned back into the pillows with a smug smile, relishing Bucky’s dazed expression.

“What did he say?” Sam asked.

“No idea,” Bucky said.

“<Morons.>”

“We’re glad you’re okay too,” Clint said, grinning.

“<Didn’t you push me off a building?>”

“Yeah, I know I saved you, you don’t have to thank me,” Clint said.

Steve rolled his eyes.

Tony sighed and grumpily walked over to Steve’s IV. “More elephant drugs for you. Jesus, I hate knowing I’m being sassed and not knowing what the fuck you’re saying.”

Steve scoffed.

“Yeah, whatever. You’ll be unconscious in like two minutes, so I think I win this round.”

“<Fuck you, Tony.>”

“I think he just said my name.”

The already hazy edges of Steve’s vision started to go even wonkier. “Goodnight, bitches,” Steve muttered.

“What a fucking asshole,” Sam said affectionately, and Steve passed out.

Steve woke up, but this time he was in his bed in his floor of the Tower.

He didn’t feel high anymore. Or like he could only string words together in Irish.

But the absence of the elephant drugs meant awareness of the pain.

Steve was literally paralyzed.

“I can’t move,” he rasped.

“I apologize, Captain,” Jarvis said. “Is there anything I can do to help you be more comfortable?”

Steve swallowed, and his throat clicked. “Water?”

“Of course. I shall send in Professor Barnes.”

A moment later, Bucky opened the door, holding a glass of water. “Speaking English again?” Bucky asked wryly.

“I can’t move,” Steve said, wanting to wince at how his voice sounded thick with pain.

Concern immediately overtook Bucky’s features. “I don’t know if you remember, but they told us this may happen. You got shot in the back, and the bullet did a little bit of damage to your spine when you fell off the building, so as it reconstructs itself, you may fade in and out of paralysis.”

“Science,” Steve said.

“I don’t fucking know. I read history textbooks for fun, not medical journals,” Bucky said. “You thirsty?”

Steve considered making a lewd joke, and decided against it. “Yes.”

“Here.” Bucky put the glass on the side table and tipped Steve’s chin up. “Open your mouth.”

“I’m not an infant,” Steve snapped, but he opened his mouth anyway.

“No. You’re just paralyzed,” Bucky muttered, a line of irritation appearing between his brows as he reached for the glass. He slowly emptied the contents into Steve’s mouth, and Steve swallowed greedily.

Bucky brushed some of the hair out of Steve’s face when he was done. Steve closed his eyes. “Where are the elephant drugs?”

“We ran out,” Bucky said with a wince. “We only had enough to keep you asleep for about a day.”

“I’ve been asleep for a whole day?”

“Yeah. You got shot three times and then fell off a building.”

“Right.”

“Because you didn’t bring your fucking shield.”

“No. Because no one was watching my six. I was handling myself fine.”

“Goddammit, Stevie. Why d’you gotta fight me on this one?” Bucky asked tiredly.

“I’ll fight you on every one,” Steve mumbled, somewhat nonsensically.

“You know, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Bucky said sarcastically.

“Don’t objectify me.”

“I would never,” Bucky said, trying for a joking tone, but his eyes were serious. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Steve was about to lie with a dismissive, “I’ve had worse,” but something stopped him. Maybe it was Bucky’s worried gaze, or maybe it was how fucking tired Steve felt, or maybe it was something else entirely. “Buck, it fucking hurts,” Steve whispered, voice cracking.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand, squeezing tight. “I wish I could take some of it away.”

“I’m glad you can’t.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered, “You dumb fuck.” He leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss to Steve’s mouth.

Steve tried for a smile. “I’m glad I didn’t imagine that.”

Bucky laughed, and the sound was a little bit hysterical. “That’d suck.” He lifted Steve’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to Steve’s knuckles. “What’d you say to me? When you couldn’t speak English?”

“It was Irish,” Steve said, stalling.

“That’s so fucking cool. Your ma was an Irish immigrant, right?” Bucky asked, lighting up.

“Yeah, she was.”

“How much shit did you get for it?”

Steve wanted to shrug, but he settled for making a face. “Not as much shit as I got for being the most stereotypical fairy you could find.”

Bucky frowned. “Please do not ever call yourself a fairy again.”

“Oh. Sorry. I forget sometimes.”

“I know. I’m sorry too.” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You were distracting me. What’d you say to me?”

“I called you a moron.”

Bucky gave Steve an unimpressed look. “You were kissing my neck and calling me a moron?” he deadpanned.

Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Um. Yes.”

“You’re a liar, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Steve closed his eyes. “I will. But not right now, when I can’t move and am mostly delirious with pain.”

“Fair enough.”

Steve felt his body begging to take him into unconsciousness again. “Don’t go. Please,” he mumbled before he could go completely offline.

“’M not going anywhere, Stevie,” Bucky whispered.

Steve sighed contentedly and drifted off.

“Good news, Buck, I can move,” Steve exclaimed, sitting up and ignoring the pain that spasmed through his back.

Bucky jolted awake from where he’d been dozing on the other side of the bed. “Wha-?”

Steve started to try to swing his legs off the edge of the bed when Bucky scrambled into wakefulness.

“What? What are you doing? Oh my god, lie back down. Are you fucking insane?”

Steve frowned. “But I can move.”

“So? Lie down, fucking hell. You sustained injuries that would have killed a normal person like two days ago,” Bucky snapped.

“But I’m not a normal person.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Lie down.”

Steve felt slightly bewildered. He had never gotten this kind of reaction to the superhealing before. “But I’m okay.”

“You’re still on bed-rest, Rogers, and you will continue to be until I say so.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

Bucky glared at him. Steve glared back.

Finally, Bucky wavered slightly. “I have incentive.”

“Oh?”

Bucky’s cheeks darkened, and Steve tried not to get his hopes up. “Yes. If you lie back down.”

Curious and anticipant, Steve settled back into the pillows. Bucky crawled over to him and swung a leg over so that he was straddling Steve’s lap. He braced himself by placing his hand on the headboard, then met Steve in a kiss. Which was. Very nice. Steve’s hands settled on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky leaned back on his heels and smirked. “Alright. Now I’ve decided we’re going to continue the glorified movie marathon.”

Steve frowned. “Okay. But consider this: necking.”

“You make a valid point,” Bucky said, then pretended to consider. “Just for a little bit more. I want to watch movies with you.”

“Alright,” Steve murmured. He suddenly lit up, and Bucky arched an eyebrow in question. Steve leaned close so that his breath tickled Bucky’s ear when he said, “Glorified movie marathon and chill.”

Bucky burst into laughter, semi-collapsing into Steve’s chest. “Oh my god. No, Stevie, nooooo. That was so bad. Never do that again.”

Steve couldn’t suppress a little giggle. “I got a meme joke right.”

“I would be more proud of you if it hadn’t been that particular meme joke,” Bucky laughed, feigning horror. “I am so disappointed.”

“That’s okay. I’m proud enough for the both of us.”

“God, you’re fucking adorable,” Bucky said, kissing him again.

“I’m the most dangerous soldier in history,” Steve protested against Bucky’s mouth.

“And you’re adorable.”

Steve lost himself in the sensation of the kiss, wanting to melt into the feeling forever. After a moment, Steve restlessly rolled them over so that Bucky was on his back and Steve was hovering above him, not paying any mind to the twinges of pain in his gunshot wounds.

Bucky sighed happily and nipped at Steve’s lip. Steve refocused his attention on Bucky’s wicked-sharp jawline, delighting in Bucky’s hitched breath.

Steve slid a hand under Bucky’s shirt, feeling the warm, muscular skin there. Bucky stilled, and Steve pulled back slightly. “You good?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You sure?”

“Mmmmmhm. Help me take off my fucking shirt.”

Steve smiled and did as he was told, taking note of the tension in Bucky’s muscles. Steve let his eyes drift over the scarring on Bucky’s left side before their eyes met. “Can I touch?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath and nodded.

Steve dropped his head to move his lips over the scars. He kissed Bucky’s stump, then up his collarbone.

“Don’t leave me high and dry here,” Bucky said, voice rough. He tugged at the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

Steve sat back on his heels and yanked it off.

Bucky ran his hand over Steve’s stomach, pausing at the most prominent indentations- the newest gunshot wounds. Bucky frowned. “Don’t these hurt?”

Steve shrugged awkwardly. “I guess.”

Bucky shot him a glare, which shouldn’t have been as intimidating as it was when Bucky was pinned beneath Steve’s weight. “You guess,” he echoed.

Steve scowled at nothing in particular.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve made the decision like the fucking responsible adult I am. We’re not doing this.”

Steve’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“We’re not having sex while there’s still the possibility that you’re going to hurt yourself,” Bucky said, sounding irritated.

“Why not?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steve?” Bucky demanded. “I swear, it’s almost like nobody’s ever taken care of you before.”

When Steve didn’t say anything and wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eye, Bucky frowned.

“You... you have had someone take care of you before, right?”

Steve clambered off of Bucky and sat back against the pillows, suddenly feeling very grumpy. “Nobody ever needed to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“Stevie,” Bucky said, voice going all soft. Steve hunched his shoulders. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Bucky pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed Steve’s cheek. “You have a lot to learn about being taken care of. But I’m a good teacher.”

Steve was finding it very difficult to swallow. “I don’t need help.”

“I want to help,” Bucky whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

Steve didn’t say anything. What did that even mean?

“It’s okay to rely on people sometimes. Especially when those people want to be relied on.”

Steve finally turned to look at Bucky. “You want me to rely on you?”

Bucky flushed. “That sounds dumb, doesn’t it?”

“No... I just don’t know if I get it.”

Bucky’s face crumpled like that made him really sad, which just confused Steve even more. “That’s okay. I’ll try and help.” He cleared his throat. “We’re gonna continue the glorified movie marathon now.”

Steve sighed. “Okay.”

“You’ll like these next ones. I promise.”

Bucky climbed out of the bed and grabbed his laptop.

“Come on,” Bucky said, looking determined. “You and me are gonna cuddle.”

“We- what?”

“Cuddling, Steve,” Bucky repeated. He got in bed and settled back on the pillows, letting his legs fall open invitingly. He patted the space between them. “Get over here.”

“Do I have a say in this?” Steve asked.

“Steve. I live off of cuddles.”

Steve sighed, trying to sound exasperated, as he crawled between Bucky’s legs and scooted back so that his back was pressed against Bucky’s chest. Bucky put his laptop on Steve’s legs and clicked a few icons until he pulled up a movie. Steve furrowed his brows. “High School Musical?”

“It was released in 2006,” Bucky said. “Its sequel was released in 2007, and the third one was released in 2008. This franchise is an icon of modern pop culture.”

Steve stared at the photo of people in mid-jump, highly skeptical. “Um.”

“It’s brilliant. You’ll love it.”

Steve huffed a breath and snuggled back into Bucky’s chest. The skin-on-skin contact was kind of amazing, and Bucky was so warm. For a minute, he understood Bucky’s proud stance on cuddling. It almost rivaled necking. “Okay,” Steve said reluctantly, talking about the movie.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head and clicked play.

Halfway through the movie, Steve muttered, “What if I was a singing basketball player and you were a singing mathlete?”

Bucky giggled. “Are you still high?”

“No. ‘M serious. What if we were, like, destined to remain in different spheres forever, but we just didn’t?”

Bucky let out a breath, and Steve felt it warm his skin. “Why are you being so philosophical?”

“Buuuck,” Steve whined.

“I just- isn’t that how we already are?” Bucky said, his arm tightening around Steve’s torso. “You’re a big hotshot super hero and I’m just a history professor at a relatively obscure university.”

“’Just a history professor’?” Steve deadpanned.

“You know what I mean. Anyway, the point is, we were probably never meant to know each other. We were probably supposed to stay separate forever, like a mathlete and a basketball player. But it turns out, we both sing.”

“And what does singing stand for in this metaphor?” Steve asked.

Bucky paused, thinking. “History, I guess.”

Steve thought about that. It was true. They were both tied to history in irrevocable ways- Steve because he was deeply entangled within it and Bucky because it was his passion. Steve closed his eyes for a moment. “You know I love you, right?”

“What?”

Steve stared at the screen as Sharpay demanded everyone stick to the status quo. “I do.”

Bucky cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice cracked, “Yeah. I do too.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s, and they watched the movie.

“I don’t dance,” Steve sang to himself absentmindedly. “There’s not a chance.”

“IF I CAN DO THIS THEN YOU CAN DO THAT!” Bucky shouted as he jumped out of the bathroom, striking a ridiculous pose.

Steve yelped, startled.

Bucky laughed.

“How do you know the words?”

“Are you kidding me, Stevie?” Bucky said incredulously. “High School Musical lyrics are engrained on the brains of the entire population.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Steve asked defensively. “I was frozen for seventy years.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You can’t pull that card with me. I’m immune.”

“Immune to my suffering?” Steve prodded with a pout.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re an overdramatic asshole?”

“Multiple people on several occasions,” Steve admitted.

“Sirs,” Jarvis cut in. “The Avengers are on their way to your quarters.”

“Thanks for warning me, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

Bucky picked up his shirt and slipped it back on. “You want yours too?” he asked, holding Steve’s shirt.

Steve was about to respond when the door opened.

“Jarvis wouldn’t let us in earlier,” Tony declared breezily as he stepped inside. “So I figured either someone was balls deep or someone was paralyzed.”

Bucky went a very interesting shade of red.

“Balls deep?” Tony asked sweetly.

“Paralyzed,” Steve answered.

“Shame.”

Sam pushed Tony aside so that he could walk into the room. “How you feeling, man?”

“Fine,” Steve said, shooting Bucky a nasty look. “Buck won’t let me get up.”

“Kinky,” Tony said, and everyone ignored him.

“He wants to just walk around like normal after he almost died,” Bucky grumbled, scowling. “Honestly, he’s the worst patient ever.”

“I’m better than you,” Steve snarked back. “You think you’re king of the world when you’re sick.”

“Because when I’m sick you should dote on me.”

“That is literally not how it works-“

“Okay,” Tony interrupted, clapping his hands together. “I guess your sass wasn’t damaged.”

“He didn’t get any brain damage in the fight,” Natasha pointed out, stepping into the room from what looked like nowhere.

“But he was always stupid,” Clint said, and Steve looked up, finding Clint’s head poking out of the air vent. “Hey, fellas.”

“Why do you always do this?” Bucky asked Clint.

“Do what?”

“Climb in air vents.”

Clint blinked slowly. “Oh. Is that weird?”

Bucky just sighed.

“So, what’ve ya’ll been up to?” Sam asked, sitting down in the corner chair.

“We’re watching High School Musical,” Steve said.

Natasha lit up and launched herself onto the bed before crawling over to snuggle into Steve’s side. “Count me in. I fuckin love these movies.”

Steve smiled fondly at her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Do you know all the songs too? Bucky knows all the songs.”

“Is that even a question?”

“I could go for some HSM too,” Sam said, nodding thoughtfully.

“Same,” Clint said.

They all stared at Tony.

Tony scowled. “What do you want me to say? That I want to cuddle up and watch bad movies with you?”

Bucky and Natasha issued twin squawks of indignance. “Bad movies?” Bucky demanded as Natasha said, “Get the fuck over here and educate yourself.”

Five minutes later, the Avengers had all clambered onto Steve’s bed to watch Bucky’s small laptop screen.

“I feel like there are more productive ways about this,” Tony muttered. “I could have J put this on a much bigger screen and-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tony.”

Tony fell silent, and Bucky played the movie. And Steve had never felt more surrounded by love than he did in that moment.

Bucky was hovering like an annoying mother hen as Steve shuffled into his apartment.

“You don’t have to watch me like a hawk.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Bucky sighed in irritation, rummaging around in Steve’s kitchen. “I know we’ve already been over this, but allowing yourself to be taken care of is not a goddamn weakness.”

Steve glared at his apartment, purposefully moving around as much as possible just because he knew it would annoy Bucky.

Bucky grabbed his shoulder. “You know, you don’t have to fight me.”

Steve felt his expression darken. “I’m not.”

“Then what?”

“Look, this is just the way I am,” Steve snapped, rolling his shoulders restlessly. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Stevie, if we’re going to start a fucking relationship that means we have to talk about shit.”

Steve ground his teeth together.

“Unless... that isn’t what you want,” Bucky said, and he suddenly sounded more unsure of himself than he ever had before. He dropped his hand and took a step back, looking small.

Steve threw his arms out. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He stared at the ground.

“It’s that I have so many fucking issues.” Steve started counting off on his fingers. “PTSD, depression, born in 1918, only friends are dysfunctional superheroes, angry at everything, represses feelings and other issues like it’s a competition, can never sleep.” He ran his hands through his hair. “And then, if we were together, you’d have to worry about me not dying all the time, on top of everything else.”

“Look, buttercup,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not all rainbows and sunshine either.”

“I know that. I just don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

“I appreciate you being up front about it,” Bucky said slowly, as if handpicking each word. “But I think I can handle it. I think you’re worth it.”

Steve didn’t really have a response for that. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I feel like I haven’t slept in seventy years,” he finally whispered.

Bucky’s hand closed around his wrist, gently prying one hand away from his eye. “You sleep fine after we fall asleep during movies.”

“Yeah? What’s your point?”

Bucky laced their fingers together. “I’ve been good with everything so far. And if I can maybe help you sleep a little, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“I love you,” Steve said, trying not to shrink under the eye contact. “You’re worth it without the benefits.”

“And you’re worth it with all your shit,” Bucky said firmly. “Because I love you.”

Steve dropped his head so that it landed on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’ll be a lot of work- maintaining a healthy relationship,” he warned.

“I know. I think it’ll be worth it.”

Steve clung to Bucky in the middle of his kitchen, breathing him in. Bucky, for his part, clung back just as tightly. “I think so too,” Steve finally whispered after a long while.

Bucky dropped a kiss onto Steve’s head.

STEVE: So Bucky and I got together officially.

SAM: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SAM: GET IT BOI

STEVE: Sam pls.

SAM: IM TELLING THE SQUAD

STEVE: SAM NO.

GROUP TEXT: THE AVENGERS AKA THE GET-STEVE-ROGERS-LAID SQUAD

SAM: THEYRE OFFICIAL

CLINT: YAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

NATASHA: [Moon emoji]

THOR: WHO ARE WE REFERING TO?

SAM: STEVE AND BUCKY

TONY: I’m confused. I thought they already were together.

STEVE: Sam why do you hate me.

SAM: Steve ur MY BRO AND I LOVE U

CLINT: And we want you to GET LAID

STEVE: This is literally so creepy of you guys.

NATASHA: No. Creepy would be secretly watching you get laid.

STEVE: NAT WHY

NATASHA: [Smirking emoji] [Sunglasses emoji] [Knife emoji]

THOR: CONGRATULATIONS, CAPTAIN.

STEVE: Thank you, Thor. You are my only normal friend.

THOR: I APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT.

CLINT: GET LAID GET LAID GET LAID GET LAID

STEVE: Goodbye.

CLINT: GET

CLINT: LAID

It had been over three weeks since Steve had last seen Bucky Barnes.

He shifted restlessly throughout his debriefing as Sam sent him pity looks. It wasn’t fair. It had been over three weeks, and Steve wanted to see his Bucky, but the fucking debriefings were taking forever as usual and-

“You’re dismissed,” Maria Hill said, and Steve launched himself out of his chair, shouting a distracted good-bye at an amused Sam as he ran to the elevator and down to his motorcycle.

Steve knew Bucky was still at the university. He was probably in between classes right now, grading papers in his office and preparing for his next lecture. Maybe he was wearing those black slacks that clung to his thighs in that amazing way. Maybe he was tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he read through his papers. Maybe he was half-asleep, daydreaming about his next chance to find some coffee.

Steve glanced down at himself as he pulled his motorcycle to a stop. He was in a little bit of disarray from the final scuffle of the undercover mission, but he didn’t look too bad. Bucky probably wouldn’t care either. As long as Steve was safe.

(Bucky was strangely but endearingly obsessed with Steve’s safety.)

Steve paused outside the door to Bucky’s office and drew in a deep breath before knocking softly.

“Come in,” Bucky called absently.

Steve cautiously stepped inside, noting that Bucky was staring down at a stack of papers, scribbling furiously, an adorable furrow of concentration between his brows. “You busy?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked up sharply, and his entire body lit up. He clambered out of his desk and launched himself into Steve’s arms. “You’re back,” he exclaimed happily, running his hand over Steve’s head to check for injuries. “How was the mission?”

“Good. We won. I didn’t get hurt,” Steve said, knowing that this was the only information Bucky cared about right now.

Bucky relaxed slightly and smiled widely. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve leaned forward, and Bucky met him halfway for a kiss. The kiss was hurried and slick, dripping in relief and happiness. Fuck, Steve never felt more at home than when he was in Bucky’s arms, and this was no exception. Steve grabbed the backs of Bucky’s thighs and hoisted him up, backing them into Bucky’s desk and setting Bucky down on the edge. Steve broke away from Bucky’s lips to suck as the skin on his neck.

“Shit, I’m teaching in an hour, don’t give me a hickey, they’ll ask questions,” Bucky said roughly, in that wrecked voice that Steve loved so much.

Steve hummed vaguely. “Fine.”

“Oh, hey, wait,” Bucky said, slapping Steve’s shoulder lightly. Steve pulled back to look at him. “That’s so weird. I’m actually just about to start the Steve Rogers unit in the strategists class.”

“Really?” Steve asked. “Is it weird to lecture about me now that you know what I look like during sex?”

Bucky choked on his next breath of air, narrowing his eyes. “It is,” he admitted, resolutely ignoring half of Steve’s statement.

“Are you still looking to change it up?” Steve asked, running his hands down the broad lines of Bucky’s back.

Bucky gave Steve a soft, vaguely awed look. “You remember that?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

Bucky tapped their noses together. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Steve said warmly. “Anyway, maybe I could be a guest lecturer or something.”

Bucky stared at him blankly. “Are you really sure you’re up for that, Stevie?”

Steve rolled his eyes, trying to be dismissive. “I can talk about the past without having another nervous breakdown.”

“I know that. But would it be counterproductive to talk about it?”

Steve smiled. “I think I’m good.”

Bucky pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“So you’ve said,” Steve laughed, capturing Bucky’s lips again, kissing him deeply and thoroughly, trying to make up for over three weeks’ lack of kisses.

“We’re not having sex in my office,” Bucky breathed as Steve bit on Bucky’s lower lip.

“Who said anything about sex? We’re just necking,” Steve shot back innocently.

Bucky giggled. “Do you know how adorable it is that you call it necking?”

“It’s what we called it.”

“Still. Adorable.” Bucky ran his hand through Steve’s hair and arched his back a little bit. “I can’t wait to get home,” he said lowly.

Steve shifted his hips, smiling when Bucky’s breath caught. “Mmmmm... Me neither.”

“Professor Barnes?” someone squeaked from the doorway.

Bucky immediately pulled back and shoved Steve’s shoulders. Steve stumbled a step back, watching delightedly as Bucky quickly crossed his legs and flushed. “Yes, Mr. Altman, come in,” he said with as much casual authority as he could.

Steve tried not to laugh as he sat down in Bucky’s comfy swivel chair.

Altman looked like he wanted to die. “I... um... just wanted to ask a few... questions... about Elie Wiesel?”

Bucky switched from mortified boyfriend to passionate professor so quickly that Steve had to blink a few times to reorient himself. He didn’t hear much of what Bucky was saying because Bucky was kind of unfairly distracting when he got on really passionate tangents.

When Altman left, Bucky buried his face in his hands. “I cannot believe Teddy saw us making out.”

“You have an open office,” Steve pointed out.

“Still.”

Steve grinned. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky lifted his face, trying to look despondent. “I hate you.”

Steve tipped his head back and laughed.

Steve watched as students filtered into the room. Bucky rummaged through some papers at the podium, and Steve pretended that he didn’t feel completely out of place as he leaned against the whiteboard with crossed arms.

He was amusing himself by watching students’ reactions when they looked up and saw Captain fucking America at the front of the classroom. One poor girl had dropped all her books. Which was hilarious, but in a kind of sad way, so Steve felt bad for internally laughing.

Steve could tell that Bucky was also entertained by their reactions. It was great.

When class started, Bucky began casually.

“Alright, guys, so we’re gonna start discussing Captain Steve Rogers’ role as a strategic genius today. Over the course of the unit, we’ll primarily analyze his decisions during World War II, but we will also look at some prominent Avengers battles, like the Battle of New York and shit. We have a guest speaker today who happens to be a Captain America expert,” Bucky said, a little smug smile tugging at his lips.

Steve stepped over to the podium as Bucky stepped away, Bucky giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze as they passed. Steve looked over the shell-shocked crowd of students and felt a wave of anxiety hit him.

Steve turned and caught Bucky’s eye. Bucky gave him a tender, private smile, and Steve felt a bloom of warmth ebb some of the anxiety away. He turned back to the room of students, knowing that Bucky would be at his six, watching to make sure he didn’t fuck up, watching because he loved Steve.

And for once, Steve wasn’t absolutely terrified to look at the past.

Because, for a goddamn history professor, Bucky had a remarkable way of helping Steve finally be interested in the future.

Steve took a deep breath. “I was twenty-two when they attacked Pearl Harbor...”