Chapter Text
Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness. - Terry Pratchett
Just outside Gilead, Maine
Bucky Barnes is perfectly content with his life, thank you very much. Is it the life he’d envisioned back in his youth, in the time before the war? Hell, no. But it is a quiet life, and a good one, which is more than he could have hoped or dreamed for back during those long years as the Winter Soldier.
This cabin in the woods of his, situated on the Maine/New Hampshire border, is the definition of quiet, especially in the late, late fall when the sun sets far too early and the air is almost unforgivably chilly. It’s not the only place Bucky’s got a claim to (both he and Steve have their names on the deed for an apartment somewhere near Coney Island, just in case the desire to return home gets to be too much for either of them), but it’s probably his second favorite place in the world to be. His first favorite, however…
Well, if he starts driving before the day gets too late he’ll be at the old house in Massachusetts by the time his niece and nephew get out of school. And his presence has been all but demanded there for the upcoming Christmas holiday, which gives him the perfect opportunity to spoil the crap out of them.
Not like much arm twisting is required to get him there. It’s safe to say that Bucky adores those kids, another bright spot in this shiny new future of theirs.
Bucky pulls a thick sweater over his head and cradles a cup of coffee in his hands as he steps out onto the porch, the mug warming metal and flesh quite nicely. He whistles once he’s out there, loud and long and sharp, and then waits, sipping at the coffee sending up tendrils of steam into the cold air. It only takes half a minute for the giant grey and white dog to come thundering out of the woods surrounding the cabin, clamoring up the porch stairs and skidding to a stop at Bucky’s feet. “Hey, girl,” he says, burying a hand in the dog’s thick scruff and giving her a scratch that sets her panting. “You ready for an adventure?”
**********
It’s well past 3 pm by the time Bucky arrives at the Massachusetts house, and at this time of year that’s almost evening. Frankie the dog wiggles about in the back seat of the ancient Jeep, more than eager to stretch her legs out for a run. And also possibly for cuddles (Bucky knows where his dog’s heart really is, and that’s halfway between belly rubs and stolen bacon). While there’s no picket fence around the house off of that wooded road where Steve and Darcy live, rock walls are far more common in this area, Bucky’s convinced that the house could have come straight out of one of their old fantasies about what they were going to do after the war. Put some of that hazard pay towards homes in the suburbs, and settle down quietly.
It may have taken them longer than they’d envisioned it, and the road far, far bumpier than predicted (and ain’t that an understatement, he thinks) but surprisingly they both made it.
Bucky pulls up to the garage and kills the engine. Frankie whines and scratches the door, making Bucky shake his head with a wry grin. Before he even takes his seat belt off he opens the driver’s side door, and watches as Frankie all but sails over him and takes off across the front lawn, tearing up grass as she charges towards the porch. Barely seconds after that Bucky hears the front door slam, and a child’s voice shouting out, “Frankie! Uncle Jimmy!”
Well, who is he to deny such an insistent call?
He slips out of the Jeep and hauls his duffel bag over his shoulder. As he crosses the lawn Sophie’s running hell-bent towards him, dark brown hair flying behind her with Frankie running right afterwards. “Hey, Princess!” Bucky calls out, opening his arms so Sophie can jump into them. “How’s my favorite niece?”
“I’m your only niece,” Sophie says, with an eye-roll that’s incredibly like her mother’s, Bucky notes. “But we’ve got all the lights up, and you missed the first night of Hanukkah, but you’ll be here for Christmas, right? Oh, and I’m singing in the holiday concert for school! You’re gonna come to that too, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bucky says, grinning down at her wide blue eyes. He hoists her up a little bit higher and heads towards the house. “Anything else important I need to know?” Realistically, he knows that Sophie wouldn’t know everything, but sometimes the kids spot things that not even their well meaning parents do.
“Joey accidentally set the stove on fire,” Sophie says.
Bucky grimaces, and pushes the front door open. Frankie pushes in past them, heading straight for the living room and yipping excitedly as she spots Joey, sitting on the floor and jabbing a pencil repeatedly at a notebook in front of him. Bucky takes in the intent frown on Joey’s face and the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and gets the feeling that all the kids desperately need the holiday break coming up. “What’s up, Joey?” he calls out in greeting.
Joey looks up at the sound of his voice, and smiles, though there’s a bit of a sigh in it. “You want to do my math homework for me?”
“Not if you paid me.”
The decor of the living room - warm and welcoming with more than a few quirky decorations that play off of the beamed ceiling and the large stone fireplace - is all Darcy, Bucky knows. Steve, for all his artistic tendencies, has the deplorable tendency towards plaid upholstery. The dark, squashy couches that looked like you could sink into them (and fall asleep on them all too easily, as they all know from first hand experience), were definitely Darcy’s choice, and everyone was grateful for it. “So what’s this about you setting the stove on fire?” Bucky asks, hoisting Sophie up a little higher on his hip. “I’m presuming it was a little bit bigger than just a burner if it’s making you blush like that.”
Joey frowns hard, scrubbing at his cheeks as if the movement will get rid of the sudden stain there. “You had to mention that, Soph?”
“It was kinda funny,” Sophie says, shrugging idly.
“It was an accident,” Joey fires back, straightening up from his slouch against the couch. “I can explain, I swear.” Then he arches an eyebrow, looking incredibly like his father, Bucky thinks. “And besides, I wasn’t the one who broke Mom’s - “
“HEY!” Sophie yells, close enough to Bucky’s ear to make him wince. “You promised you wouldn’t say - “
“All right,” Bucky breaks in, attempting to cut whatever argument is brewing off at the knees. Once upon a time he had a little sister himself, and he can tell that this argument isn’t even a remotely serious one, just one of those little spats that siblings always get into. But it’s still better to quiet them down before things get out of hand. “I don’t need to know any more.”
Sophie sticks her tongue out at Joey, who just rolls his eyes again.
That’s when the menorah in the front window, made of sturdy old bronze colored metal that’s been handed down through generations of Darcy’s family and adorned with simple white wax candles, bursts into flames that reach nearly a foot high. Bucky takes a big step back, ready to run out of the house with Sophie if the fire goes out of control. Frankie whines and weaves around his legs, the sudden appearance of the fire rattling her too.
Joey scrambles to his feet. “Aw, crap.” He scoops up his water bottle and twists the cap off, falling to the floor with a clatter of plastic on wood. With a few long strides, moving faster than Bucky has ever seen him move (and he’s seen the kid almost fly on ice skates), he reaches the menorah and dumps the water bottle over it. There’s enough water there to extinguish all of the flames, and smokes rises up towards the gauzy curtains with a sibilant hiss.
“What the hell?” Bucky mutters, looking between the damp, slightly blackened menorah and Joey. Joey looks more uncomfortable than anything else, and he holds his hands up in supplication.
“I can explain!” he blurts out, the blush stealing over his cheeks again.
At that moment Steve comes skidding around the corner right into the living room, fire extinguisher in hand, and the baby strapped in a carrier on his chest. It takes him a second to come to a stop, stocking feet sliding along the hardwood floor as his hand grips onto the wall, and his eyes fly around the room. “You got the fire out?”
Joey nods, holding up the water bottle and giving it a shake.
Steve nods back, the arm holding the fire extinguisher falling limp to his side. He looks over at Bucky and grimaces at the sight of Bucky’s face (which is somewhere between dumbfounded and incredulous, Bucky suspects). “Merry Christmas?” he says with a shrug.
“Merry Christmas,” Bucky responds, deadpan. He looks down at Ben, comfy cozy in his carrier and looking absolutely unperturbed by everything, eyes half shut and lazily sucking on some of his fingers.
“Oh, yeah, Ben keeps trying to fly too, s’why Dad has to carry him around everywhere now.”
Bucky just blinks at that. “What?”