Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony is bent over a new prototype set of wings for Sam when he hears the door to the lab slide open. He continues working, waving a hand at whoever came in.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he says. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

Thirty seconds later, he realizes that whoever has entered the room has not moved from the doorway. With a sigh, he looks up to see Natasha standing by the door. She has her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as she looks at him.

“What?” Tony asks, not raising his hands from their positions inside the machinery.

She looks up at the speakers in the ceiling, which have been blasting Tony’s favorite work mix, a general selection of Black Sabbath, ACDC, and the like. Currently, Brian Johnson is happily singing “my balls are always dancing to the left and to the right. It’s my belief that my big balls should be held every night.”

“What?” Tony asks again, this time with a small grin.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’ve got word from Rogers,” she says. “He needs us in the commons area for a debrief.”

“Well you’re going to have to wait. If I let this go now the conflicting wires in this mechanism will cross and start a series of minor explosions up the suit.”

She wanders over and looks down at his work. “That sounds like it would be a design flaw anyway. You should wrap it up with something and come back to fix it all later.” She looks around and comes up with some electrical tape. “Come on, I think it’s important.”

Tony, with a fair amount of grumbling, starts wrapping up the exposed wires and stretches his back with a series of loud pops. As they walk out of the lab, he says, “Why are you still calling him Rogers, anyway? We’ve been a team for two years now. I think we should all be on a first-name basis. I call you Natasha. Even Barton gets to be ‘Clint’ every other week or so.”

“This is business,” Natasha explains. “He sounded real serious when he called in. We need to recognize that this might not be news we want to hear.”

They head down to the commons area, where Clint is already bouncing a ball around the room while Bruce reads, lounging in the armchair in the sunniest corner of the room.

“Big guy’s still out of town?” Tony says. “Other big guy, I mean.”

JARVIS pipes up, “I still have in place the protocols set for alerting you to any interdimensional or interplanetary travel, specifically with regards to our Asgardian friend.”

“Right, yeah. Keep those in place, then, I guess. Anyone else around?”

“Rhodey’s out in the middle east rescuing a group of hostages,” Clint informs him, scooting from sitting on the arm of the couch to reclining across its length. “And Sam is with Steve.”

“See?” Tony says, looking at Natasha. “He’s not using last names.”

“Shit, were we in mission mode? Sorry, Widow.” Clint grabs the ball from its five-bounce trajectory around the room and tucks it between the cushions of the couch. “Ready for briefing.”

Natasha glides past him and pulls down the control screen from the corner of the room. “I’m expecting Rogers’ transmission momentarily. He said he wanted to give us some information before reporting back in.” The bottom corner of the screen flashes red, and she swipes to accept the call and throw the video up onto the oversized television screen in the room.

“Good morning, team,” Steve says once the call goes through. “Uh. So.”

Bruce lays down his book and moves to sit on the chair next to Clint’s couch. Natasha moves to the couch and sits, not waiting to see if Clint will move his legs out from under her. Tony stands, tapping at his arm, eager to get back to his project.

“Let’s make it quick here, Captain,” he says. “I’ve got things to do. Planets to save. Children to conquer. Or should it be the other way around there?”

“Definitely not what you said,” Bruce says.

Steve is frowning, the small wrinkles between his eyebrows just growing deeper. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he murmurs.

“It’s the only idea,” Sam says from offscreen. “Unless you can think of another place to take him.”

And that piques Tony’s interest. “Him?” he asks. “Do you have a supervillain with you on board? Do you need to put him in custody somewhere? Because I’m pretty sure that SHIELD is the place with the resources for that sort of--”

“He’s not a villain,” Steve snaps. “He’s just...someone who’s going through a lot right now.”

“Maybe if you gave us the full report,” Natasha prompts.

Steve coughs and straightens. “For the past several months, I have been searching for the Winter Soldier,” he says, his eyes darting around as he looks to each team member’s face for their reactions. Unfortunately, with Natasha, Clint, and Bruce in the room, Tony is the only one who gives any sort of visible response.

“The Winter Soldier?” Tony splutters. “The guy who was Hydra’s biggest weapon and attempted to kill you and the lovely Natasha here on multiple occasions? Sounds pretty supervillainy to me.”

“Could you not be an ass?” Natasha hisses.

Clint leans forward on his knees. “Did you find him?” he asks in a low voice.

Steve nods. “Yeah. We got him.”

Clint grins. “That’s great!” he says. “Bring him home!”

“Home? Uh, Barton, I’m not sure--”

“The Winter Soldier was brainwashed and programmed by Hydra to be used as a living weapon,” Steve says. He is glaring at Tony through the screen, which should be less intimidating, but then again, no, now Steve is a giant projection on the wall and the glare holds that much more weight. “But before he was Hydra’s slave, he was my friend. He still is my friend.”

“Before…? The Winter Soldier has been active for years, long before you were in the ice.”

Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and Steve all look at Tony, waiting for him to catch on.

“His name is Bucky Barnes,” Steve says. He’s doing that jaw thing now, where he gets incredibly stubborn and will go through with any idea no matter how hare-brained. “And he’s been through a lot, so I’m bringing him to a safe place. You don’t need to interact with him if you don’t want to. I’ll keep him in my rooms, at least at first, and then we’ll figure out what to do from there if it’s a problem. But I will not tolerate anyone treating him like anything other than the hero that he is.” And with that, Steve cuts the transmission.

“Bucky?” Tony asks, blinking at the screen. “That’s…” He looks around the room at the other heroes. “Excuse me, I believe I have some research to catch up on.”

As soon as he hits the hallway on the way back to the lab--the other lab, not the one with the potentially exploding suit--he says, “JARVIS, find me everything you can on the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes.”

Tony leaves a message for Steve. Steve puts off watching it until he and Sam have gotten Bucky safely into Avengers Tower--without running into anyone else yet, thank God, since Bucky needs about a week-long nap before interacting with even the best of the team. Bucky is sleeping in one of the guest rooms on Steve’s floor, likely the guest room about to become Bucky’s room, and Sam is on the couch in the living room scrolling through TV channels and making sure there aren’t any other disturbances.

Steve sighs and goes to his bedroom to pull up Tony’s message on one of the private screens.

“All right, JARVIS,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Hit me.”

Tony’s face seems to loom large on the screen, despite being no larger than normal, really. But Steve knows that if Tony chooses to kick them out, that’s fully within his rights. It is his tower, after all.

“So, I was an ass,” Tony begins.

Steve blinks.

“But admittedly, I was an ass because you were also an ass, so let’s all just be fair here. I’m not sure exactly why you felt the need to conceal from me the fact that your best friend had been turned into a manic weaponized cyborg hobo and that you were looking to bring him in from the cold, but I feel compelled to remind you that I am a surprisingly competent human being who likely could have cut your search down at least in half, if not finding him before suppertime on the day you lost him. I do apologize for whatever I did to you that made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, you know, as your teammate. Who you saved the world with. But. You know. That’s in the past. The point is now.”

Steve, who had never quite gotten used to Tony’s patterns of speech but had gotten very good at gleaning out the important bits from whatever verbal nonsense he spat out, could feel a small smile beginning to form.

“I’m sorry for the insensitive statements I made earlier, and I’d like to let you know that you and your boyfriend are both perfectly welcome in the tower. Let us know what you need--time, space, thirty boxes of cookies, a couple dozen punching bags, condoms, whatever--and I’ll do my absolute best to assist you.”

And Steve sighs, but he is still smiling. Tony was right. He should have trusted his teammates. Tony is his friend, as are all the others, and they will be good friends for Bucky, too.

“But not with most of the bedroom stuff.” Oh right. Tony is still prattling. “I’m going to leave that for you to sort out, you know, whatever weird tendencies you--”

“Turn it off, JARVIS,” Steve says.

“Yes, sir.”

They’ll be good friends for Bucky. Eventually.

Chapter Text

The clock on the coffee machine is blinking 3:02. Clint stares at it in consternation. He has now officially been fighting this coffee machine for 36 minutes. He just wants his damn cup of coffee, but because Stark is an asshole, he has installed a machine that seems only capable of heating up for three minute periods and spewing out frothy milk. Every time he decides he’s given up, that he’s going to bed, fuck this noise, he turns back to the dark common room and shivers as sparks of blue flicker at the corner of his vision. Then he spins back to the lit kitchen and stares at the coffee machine again.

3:05. Damn.

There’s a prickling on the back of his neck. He can feel eyes on his back and spins, already sinking into a defensive position as his eyes scan the dark room, searching now for any figures and ignoring the jagged edges of his vision.

There is a figure standing in the middle of the common room. It raises its hands. The left one glints in the light from the kitchen.

Clint forces himself to relax. The Sold--Bucky. Bucky is not an enemy. That was something Clint told and retold himself while Natasha helped Steve and Sam to bring him in. Despite that, he can’t help the tension still in his shoulders as he waves back.

“Hey. If you want coffee, you’re SOL. I still cannot figure this thing out, no matter how many times I spend the night here.”

Bucky steps into the bright light of the kitchen. “It’s the middle of the night,” he says. Clint reads his lips, since he didn’t bother to put in his hearing aids before coming out. “Why do you want coffee?”

“Sleep is overrated. I was going to head down to the range and get in some extra practice,” Clint says with a light shrug. “What are you here for, then?”

Bucky stares around the kitchen. “Wanted to be up.” His gaze lingers on the fridge.

Clint snorts. “Sure you’re not just hungry?”

He wishes he could take it back as soon as he says it. Bucky looks so pitiful, his eyes wide and hair falling in small clumps around his face as he nods jerkily.

“I throw together a mean sandwich,” Clint offers. “Anything you particularly don’t like?”

“I don’t think so.”

“All right then. You just sit there and watch the master.” Clint smiles and goes to work, this time on something that he can actually do. Coffee machines can be upgraded, but there’s not much you can do to sandwiches. Bread’s in the bread bin, plate’s in the cupboard, knife’s in the drawer, and everything else he pulls out and throws onto the counter in a huge pile. He starts talking as he piles everything together.

“I’m someone who likes just about everything all together on one giant sandwich. Steve’s the same way, basically. All the meat, all the veggies, though he goes lighter on the sauces. Natasha just eats weird things, though. It’s all potatoes and weird spices and I don’t even know. Making a sandwich for her is an adventure. Tony will eat whatever you throw in front of him, but I think he may have a preference for grilled cheese? Bruce is vegetarian, so we always keep a good range of veggies lying around, though I have always been confused as to how he can manage to keep up his energy off of just leaves.” He throws a last layer of mustard and cheese onto the sandwich in front of him and slides it across the counter to Bucky, who sits uneasily on a stool. “Eat up. Let me know if there’s anything you want changed for next time. I’m always on sandwich duty in this house, at least when I’m around, so I try to keep track of everyone’s preferred orders.”

Bucky eyes the sandwich warily. “This does not look edible,” he says.

“Well try it, at least. I left off all the things that people usually give me grief for. It’s meat and cheese and lettuce, tomato, onion, mustard, mayonnaise, pickles, olives, avocado, bell peppers. No peanut butter, no chili, no jam, no anchovies. Just your basics.”

Bucky uses both hands to pick up one half of the sandwich, which starts dripping as soon as it comes off the plate. He sizes it up for a moment before turning his head sideways and taking a large bite off the side.

“Well?” Clint asks.

Bucky responds by taking another, larger bite and chewing swiftly. Clint watches in astonishment as the entire sandwich disappears within five minutes.

“So. Uh. Want another one?”

And who could resist those puppy dog eyes?

----------------

Natasha finds the two of them sitting on the couch the next morning. Clint is sleeping, his head pillowed on his hands as he leans against the arm of the couch and his feet tucked up behind James’s back. James is sprawled, his feet splayed in front of him and his hand lazily clicking through channels on the tv.

“Good morning,” Natasha says, eyeing the two of them. She heads over to the coffee machine, hits three buttons, and has a cup of coffee ready in two minutes.

“He doesn’t know how to do that,” James says, eyeing her cup and glancing over at Clint.

“The machine doesn’t let him get caffeine any time between ten pm and six am. It’s coded to his fingerprints. If it were up to him, he’d never sleep at all.” She leans across the back of the couch. “Did you two have a good night?”

“He made me a sandwich.”

“Well, then you’re friends.”

“Why doesn’t he sleep?”

“Same reasons as the rest of us.” Natasha sips at her coffee. “Some people just handle their nightmares a little more quietly than others.”

James winces. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s nothing new. Steve and Tony have their bad nights, too. We’re just all grateful Bruce mostly faces cold sweats.”

James looks down at Clint again. “I thought I’d woken him up when I came down.”

“He probably didn’t even hear you. He doesn’t usually wear his hearing aids until after the third cup of coffee in the morning.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize…”

“We tend not to publicize it. You understand.”

James looks down at the remote in his hand. “He let me pick the channel.”

“Well, that means you’re best friends.”

James chuckles, then looks slightly shocked at the fact that he was laughing. The movement is enough to jostle Clint, who responds with a light kick and by stretching his arms up above his head.

Natasha waits until he’s rubbed the sleep from his eyes to sign “Good morning, beautiful.”

Clint smiles up at her. “Morning, Tash. Sleep okay?”

She wobbles a hand from side to side. “Better than average,” she says and signs. “You heading home soon?”

Clint blinks up at the clock and nearly bounces off the couch. “Right, yeah. Thanks for the reminder.” His feet catch on the throw blanket tangled around his legs and he drops to the ground only to somersault back up and shout “I’m fine!” before running off.

“Home?” James asks.

“He’s got an apartment. And a dog. A dog that is liable to pee all over the living room if he doesn’t get taken for his walk.”

“I thought everyone lived here.”

Natasha shrugs. “We all use it as a sort of home base, I suppose. But I have a range of other places to stay, and Steve had his own apartment in DC for a while. Sam’s got a house up north. Tony has seven houses at last count, though none quite as extravagant as this one. Bruce goes wherever he needs to. Thor has his own realm. I think an apartment in Bed-Stuy is not really something to be raising an eyebrow over.”

Clint comes rushing through again, now dressed in sweats and a t-shirt with untied sneakers. “JARVIS, can you get me the sky cycle?”

“Mister Stark has instructed it only be used on missions, Agent Barton.”

“This is a mission! I need to rescue a dog!” Clint leans down to peck Natasha on the cheek and wave at James before racing out of the room again.

Natasha smiles fondly after him. Then she looks down at James, who is shaking his head with a small smile. “If you’re not ready to say hello to everyone else yet, you should probably head back to Steve’s floor.”

James stiffens slightly. “I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“You’re allowed to recover on your own terms. You’re lucky you ran into Clint first, actually. He’s annoying, but at least he’s actively friendly and won’t overstep his boundaries. I can’t promise the same for everyone else.”

“You’re friendly,” James says.

“I’m polite. There’s a difference.” She stands up and steps over to one of the armchairs. “I won’t blame you if you want to go downstairs for a little longer. You could probably use some more sleep anyway.”

She watches him for a moment as he considers his options. Then he nods once, firmly, and is up and on his way back to the elevators. A few minutes after he leaves, Tony comes wandering in, checking the room.

“Robocop emerge from hibernation yet?” he asks. He wanders over to the coffee machine and places his thumb on the pad, waiting for it to spit out his usual drink order.

Natasha shrugs. “You know as much as I do, Tony. It’s your tower, after all.”

Tony grunts. He takes his coffee and walks away. “If anyone needs me I’ll be in the lab. I have a suit to reverse engineer.”

Natasha sips her coffee and watches the sun coming up.

Chapter Text

In the month since Barnes moved into the tower, Bruce has not seen him once. So when Bruce is leaving the yoga room and coming into the common area for a snack, it takes him a moment to first recognize that there is someone standing in the living room and that that person is almost definitely James Buchanan Barnes. The fact that his hand is caught in an air vent registers distantly and makes Bruce rethink all of his current knowledge of the former Winter Soldier.

“Is uh,” Bruce begins, “is everything okay?”

Barnes is staring up at his hand with consternation. “It won’t come out,” he says.

“Did you reach for something shiny?” Bruce says without thinking. Then he remembers that he is not talking to Tony Stark or one of his other teammates but instead to someone recovering from a traumatic event who likely does not appreciate being compared to a trash-dwelling mammal. But now that he’s caught himself making the comparison, Bruce automatically thinks back to the original pictures he’d seen of the Winter Soldier, grease paint smeared across his eyes, looking more like a raccoon than a human being.

Barnes is staring at him. Bruce shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Why?”

Oh. “Well it’s a, there’s this video, it’s a raccoon, it reaches for something...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Bucky looks up at his left hand, still caught in the vent, which had closed around his fist. He mutters something into his shoulder.

“I didn’t catch that,” Bruce says.

“It looked like a camera,” Bucky growls, looking away.

Bruce blinks. “So there...there was? Something shiny?”

Bucky glares at him. “Why did the vent close?”

“Well we.” Bruce tries to cover a snorting laugh with a cough. “There was a problem. We thought there was a um. An infestation. Of. Rats. Sounds in the vents, food crumbs...Tony installed it. Make sure nothing got in.”

“You thought?”

“It was Barton. Clint. He swears he was trying to prank us but most people think he just liked sitting up in the vents. Anyway. Tony left the modifications in place. We were waiting to catch Barton like that.”

Bucky looks up at his hand, then down at Bruce. “Well let me go.”

“I um. I can’t.”

Bruce suddenly regrets ever coming into the common area. He regrets letting Tony leave the modifications, regrets ever trying to get into a prank war with Clint Barton. He looks at Barnes’ face, which keeps oscillating between angry, confused, and hurt, and Bruce regrets just about everything in his life, even more than he usually does.

“Why?” Barnes asks, small and slightly desperate.

“It’s Tony. He sets the codes. I can’t, well. I can’t override them.”

“Then get him.”

“Um. He’s. In Malibu.”

Barnes’ nostrils flare. “Then call him,” he grits out.

“Right, yes, sorry. Uh. J?” he calls out to the room.

“Yes, Dr. Banner?” the computer responds.

“Can you get me Tony on the line?”

“Certainly, sir.”

A few seconds later, the small wall screen lights up. Bruce crosses over to accept the call but does not send it up to the main monitor.

“Hey there, Madam Curie,” Tony says from offscreen. “I'd love to see your beautiful face again, you know how I appreciate our time together, but I'm caught--” he grunts loudly and there is a metallic ringing “--in the middle of something right now. Can you call back later?”

Bruce looks over at Barnes, who is slowly clenching and unclenching his free hand. “Uh, no, we kind of have sort of an emergency here. Of sorts. Nothing too big,” he says quickly, before Tony starts to think that there is another alien invasion coming their way or a hidden group of neo-nazis trying to destroy half the population. “I just need the override codes for the vents.”

Tony laughs. “Did we finally catch him, then? Hold on, I gotta get JARVIS to get me a picture.”

Barnes is looking wildly at the wall and breathing heavily.

“Tony, no--” Bruce starts.

“Oh come on. You can't tell me we caught the bird and not let me see the stupid look on his face. Where did he end up? Is he in the bathroom? Tell me he's in the bathroom.”

“Tony--!”

But Barnes has already braced his right hand against the wall, and with the loud shriek of bending metal he yanks his left hand out of the vent. Before Bruce can say anything, Barnes has curled his hand to his chest and bolted across the room to the stairwell.

On the screen, Tony's head pops up. He is smeared with grease and wearing large goggles pulled up into his disheveled hair. “What the hell was that?” he asks.

“It wasn't Barton,” Bruce says. “You're going to have to have the vent in the common area repaired. And find some way to convince Barnes to show you his arm so you can make sure it isn't busted.”

----------------

Sam is sitting on the couch in Steve’s living room when Bucky bursts through the door and looks around wildly.

Sam switches into emergency mode, scooting to the edge of the couch and looking up at Bucky. “Do you need something?” he asks.

Bucky looks up at Sam. He stiffens for a moment, his back straightening and his eyes locking onto a point in the distance. Then he freezes, shudders, and refocuses on Sam’s face. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Tools?”

Sam looks at Bucky’s left hand, pulled tight to his chest. He hasn’t moved it this whole time.

“Sure thing, man,” Sam says. He stands and walks slowly to his bedroom, keeping his body loose and relaxed as he walks past Bucky and turns his back on the man. He goes into his closet and pulls out a small tool kit that he brings out and sets on the table by the kitchenette.

“I use these to do maintenance on my wings,” Sam explains. “Never go into a fight with tech you don’t understand, or at least know how to do basic repairs on. That’s my philosophy, anyway.” He opens up the kit to reveal an array of tools in a range of sizes. “You need help, or you wanna do this on your own?”

Bucky’s mouth twitches as he looks down at his hand. He holds his hand out and seems to run some sort of diagnostics on it. “I think I’ll need help,” he says.

Sam nods. “All right, that’s cool man. Go ahead and have a seat, and you just tell me what you need me to do.”

Bucky pulls out the chair and places his hand palm-up on the table. “I need to remove the plates,” he says. “But the release mechanism is damaged. Can you lever under the ones I ask you to?”

“Yeah, sure man.” Sam grabs a couple of small flathead screwdrivers and waits for Bucky to point things out. He waits for almost half a minute before looking up at Bucky’s face.

Bucky is frowning, fighting to say something.

“It’s okay, man, let’s just get this done,” Sam says.

“Thank you,” Bucky manages. He still looks upset, though.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Sam says with a smile. “Happy to help.”

“Him.” Bucky jerks his head toward Steve’s bedroom. “You want to help him. It’s okay. I understand.” Then, under his breath, he mutters something Sam can’t hear.

Sam takes a deep breath and sets the screwdrivers aside. He doesn’t bother reaching for Bucky, who hasn’t seemed to appreciate a lot of physical touch. He does try to make eye contact and settles for looking past the man’s ear. “Steve’s a good guy,” he says, figuring if he starts on common ground he’ll get a little farther. “I trust him. And I do want to help him, and I can do that by helping you. You’re important to him.”

Bucky looks away quickly, then back at Sam. He nods. “This one.” He points down to a plate at his wrist.

Sam collects the screwdrivers again and starts work on the repairs. “So is it too much to ask how you managed to mess up your destructo arm?” And maybe that was too far, maybe he shouldn’t have joked--

Bucky laughs. Small and quiet, but it’s a definite chuckle. “Destructo tower,” he responds. “Stark. And Banner. And Barton. Why does he go in the vents?”

And it’s Sam’s turn to laugh. He pops up the wrist plate and starts working on the next one. “Who knows, man. Everyone on this team is batshit crazy, anyway. Bruce collects old photos, from people he doesn’t even know. Tony you already know about. Natasha uses too many emojis.”

“That’s not crazy.”

“She is a grown woman. She uses like fifteen smiley faces with every text. And, oh! Did you know she knows all the words to every Spice Girl song?”

Bucky smirks. “That’s a little crazy.”

“See? Everyone on this team’s weird. Even me. I signed up for this. Voluntarily!” Sam pops out another plate. “You get used to it, eventually.”

Bucky smiles and points out the next plate.

Chapter Text

Clint slides in next to Bucky at the breakfast table. Bucky is staring intently at the box of Cheerios in front of him. Clint reaches past that to grab the Lucky Charms and pours a large bowl.

“I hear you got stuck in the vents,” he says and takes a large bite of the cereal.

Bucky looks pained at the mention and flexes his metal hand, which at least seems none the worse for wear.

“It was a dirty trick, and I should’ve told you it was going to happen,” Clint says after swallowing. “I knew they booby trapped it. Didn’t think it’d rebound on you. Sorry.”

Bucky nods and pours himself a bowl of Cheerios.

“Want to get them back?”

And at that, well. At that, Bucky grins. “Did you have something in mind?”

Tony storms into the common room, screwdriver in hand, grease smeared across his face, left shoe untied. “All right,” he says to the people gathered there. “Who did it?”

Natasha looks up from her book for only a second before settling further into the chair. Steve goes so far as to turn down the volume on the television and turn to face Tony. Bruce doesn’t even bother to look over. Clint, in the kitchen, sticks his head around the corner and sticks another chip in his mouth.

“Did what?” he asks, spewing crumbs across the floor.

Tony spins to glare at him. “It was you,” he hisses. He shakes his screwdriver menacingly. “This is not over.”

“What was Clint?” Steve asks.

Tony opens his hand without looking away from Clint. The screwdriver stays stuck to his hand. Bruce finally looks up and chuckles. Natasha smirks and returns to her book. Clint laughs and claps a hand over his mouth as almost an entire chip attempts to fly out of his mouth.

“You and your shortcuts, you thought you could run back here and I wouldn’t suspect you,” Tony continues.

“What?” Steve asks.

Clint is shaking his head. “I am legitimately sorry to say that it wasn’t me. I’ve been here working on my sandwich for the last half hour.”

Tony stares at Clint, then turns to look over at the others. Natasha tips her head in acknowledgment of Clint’s statement, and Bruce shrugs.

“He was here,” Steve vouches. “When did the screwdriver thing happen?”

Tony narrows his eyes at Clint, then at Steve. “I was working in my lab,” he says slowly. “I put it down for a moment. Someone snuck in and put superglue on the handle.”

“You have cameras in your lab,” Bruce reminds him. “Check the recording.”

Tony spins over to the side monitor. He swipes at a few buttons and watches the feed for a moment before glaring up at Steve. “Barnes,” he growls.

Bruce laughs first. “Well, you did get him first,” he says when Tony looks at him as though he’s been betrayed.

Tony looks down at the screwdriver attached to his hand. “This is not over,” he mutters.

After a mission with SHIELD, organized by Hill and requiring both Clint and Natasha, they head back together to the tower to debrief and recuperate for a bit.

When they’re done with the debrief, Clint turns to Natasha. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks. “Your choice.”

She sighs and leans against the elevator wall. “You’ll watch anything?”

“I’d prefer it to be in English,” he modifies.

She grins wickedly. The elevator doors open and they walk together down to his suite of rooms. As they open the door, a torrent of water pours down on both their heads.

Clint gasps and wipes water out of his eyes. When he looks over, Natasha is glaring at him. “What?” he asks.

“You had to start this--”

“It was Stark!” he protests.

She waves a finger at him. “This is on you, too, and don’t think I’ll forget it.” She turns away and heads down the hall back to her own suite, leaving wet footprints all the way down the hall.

Clint watches her leave and says aloud, “I guess I’d better warn Bucky.”

Bucky and Steve finish up their morning run together and head up to the common room. Bucky sits at the counter while Steve goes rummaging through the fridge for a snack.

Steve pulls out a bottle of something green and viscous and shakes it. “Do you think this would be any good?” he asks. “There’s so many weird things these days. Half the time they turn out to be great, half the time it’s like someone threw up in a cup.”

Bucky chuckles. He looks past Steve into the fridge. “Just get some orange juice if you’re worried.”

Steve sighs and replaces the bottle, pulling out the pitcher instead and pouring two cups. He pushes one over to Bucky, who reaches across the counter and snags a donut out of the box there.

“You know those are bad for you, right?” Steve admonishes.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to be Cap around me, remember? You’re allowed to not be a good role model every once in a while.”

Steve smirks and reaches out to steal the donut out of Bucky’s hand. He takes a large bite and immediately gags on it.

“Oh my god,” he says, spitting it out into his hand. “What the hell is wrong with these donuts?” He grabs the cup and takes a large gulp, then immediately spews that out as well. “Augh! What the fuck?”

Bucky, wiping orange liquid from his face, reaches out to sniff first the donut and then the cup. “This smells like mayonnaise,” he says of the donut. “Is that...cheese juice?”

Steve runs to the sink and sticks his head underneath the faucet, taking a large mouthful and swishing it in his mouth.

Bucky starts laughing, rocking back on the stool, and laughs all the harder when Steve glares back at him and keeps drinking.

“All right,” Sam says, walking into the common room. He’s clutching a red rubber nose in one hand and a clown wig in the other. “It has been weeks. I’ve put up with all of this shit for as long as I possibly could, but you all need to stop now.”

The others are all gathered in the room, conveniently grouped off into their pairs. Clint and Bucky are perched over on the barstools by the kitchen counter, Tony and Bruce have two armchairs pulled together, and Steve and Natasha are lounging on the couch.

Sam shakes the wig at Natasha. “What did I say? When you decided to join their mess, what was the one thing I said? I said ‘leave me the hell out of it,’ and you go--”

“That one was me, actually,” Clint says, raising a hand. “Sorry. I had some props left over, it just came to me, everything got a little out of control.”

“A little…?” Sam seethes. “This from the man whose hair is still purple because of this stupid prank war?”

“Oh, like that’s the worst that happened in all this,” Tony says. “Bruce here is still afraid to walk through doors after the plastic wrap stunt!”

“And I’m afraid of walking through doors because of your stupid ‘Man With a Plan’ reprise blasting all day,” Steve says. “Don’t pretend you’re the real victim here.”

“Not to mention the PR crisis we’re still having over the pile of burning Captain America merchandise in the front yard,” Natasha adds.

Tony points at Bucky. “That was him, not me! How did I know he’d take the redecorating so badly? Who throws burning sheets out a window? Who burns Captain America sheets?!”

Bucky flips him the bird. Clint leans over the counter next to him and glares at Natasha. “I just can’t believe you stooped to the sugar-free gummy bears,” he says. “That was cold.”

“Your fault for eating anything put in front of you,” she says with a shrug. “Also your fault for putting glitter in my sock drawer.”

“You put ‘I heart Captain America’ stickers all over Bucky’s arm!” Clint looks at the arm in question. “It took hours to get those off!”

Bruce chuckles. Tony looks impressed. “I hadn’t heard about that one,” he says.

“It wasn’t funny,” Bucky says with a glare. “Neither was the spider.”

“It was fake,” Tony responds. “And you two taped all of Bruce’s shoes to the ceiling. And you covered the lab in tin foil!”

“Well you put explosives--”

“Enough.” Sam cuts Clint off and tosses the wig and clown nose onto the coffee table. “All of you are at fault here. You’re all acting like children, which I guess makes me the adult who’s going to end this.”

Clint sulks and looks down at the floor. Steve is starting to go red. Tony looks ready to argue, but Sam holds up a hand.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You all stop. This is ridiculous. You’re going to end up burning down the tower if you keep this up.”

At that moment, the air vents shoot out streamers, confetti, and glitter into the room, and a small fanfare of trumpets plays. Sam ducks in surprise at the noise.

“Congratulations,” JARVIS says, “to Miss Romanoff and Mr. Barnes. Your winnings will be dealt out accordingly.”

“What the hell?” Sam says.

“Tasha guessed the date,” Clint says. “Bucky got the phrasing.”

Sam looks around at everyone’s faces. “You bet on me,” he says slowly. ‘You bet on when I’d crack.”

“And what you’d say. The phrase ‘burn the tower down’ was specifically mentioned by Bucky,” Tony says. “I was personally rooting for ‘all kill each other.’”

Sam looks around at everyone. “That’s it. You are all insane. I’m quitting.”

A burst of streamers falls from the ceiling. “And further congratulations to Captain Rogers.”

Sam groans, throws his hands up, and walks out of the room to the sound of everyone else laughing. Well, he supposes, as long as everyone’s bonding.

Chapter Text

“...Watch out for loud noises, especially metal on metal, and if he doesn’t say anything just leave him alone. He basically only talks to Steve and Barton, anyway, for whatever reason. Personally I think he has a thing for tragic blondes, but you didn’t hear that from me. Don’t bother asking about the arm. He saw that rat patootie movie and now he gives a different story about it every time anyone even looks at it funny. Which is dumb because we all know what happened, Barnes.” Tony shakes his head and throws a hand up in the air in exasperation.

Rhodey sighs and rubs his head. He glances out the car door and back at his friend. “Are you done?” he asks. “Or are you just going to keep waxing poetic about this dude?”

Tony frowns. “Well forgive me for trying to rescue you from pain and humiliation. I suppose I should just throw you to the wolves then.”

“He’s hardly a wolf, Tony. I thought you were thinking of inviting him on the next mission. If you trust the guy enough for that, don’t you trust me to not make a complete ass of myself in the fifteen minutes it takes to say hello to everyone?”

“I’m not thinking of inviting him, Hill is. On the walking flag’s suggestion. I still think our little tin man needs more time to find his heart before he goes off on mission.”

“From what I’ve heard about the latest threat,” Rhodey says, “We’re going to need all hands on deck. So if you’ve got any hang-ups, get over them now. Especially since we’re here.”

The limo pulls up outside Avengers tower, and the two men walk inside. Tony is uncharacteristically silent on the way up, pulling up mission information on his StarkPad. He whistles low. “Atlantis?”

“There’s some strange things in the world, Tony,” Rhodey says. The elevator doors slide open on the common room. “This is hardly the weirdest one you’ve run into.”

“What’s hardly that weird?” Barton says. He is standing in the kitchen, holding a banana wrapped in American cheese and sprinkling it with garlic salt.

“Case in point,” Rhodey says, waving a hand at Barton. “How can you call Atlantis strange when you have this sort of thing living in your tower?”

“Atlantis?” Rogers says from his place over on the couch next to a man Rhodey assumes to be Barnes. Both turn to look over at the elevators.

“Apparently it’s attacking us,” Tony says. He throws the information up onto the main monitor. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Nat’s on mission already,” Clint says. “Deep cover. Something for SHIELD.”

“Then we work without her. Wilson?” Tony asks.

Steve points a thumb over his shoulder. “My suite. He wanted to read without everyone talking in the background.”

“And anyone got tabs on my favorite gamma specialist?”

“Dr. Banner is in his room,” JARVIS relays.

Rhodey looks around the room. “We’re going to need everyone helping,” he says. “Especially if we’re down a member. What position does Widow usually take in a battle?”

“Depends.” Clint shrugs. “Mostly support, though. Ground, air. Wherever it’s needed. She’s probably the most versatile.”

Rhodey looks at Barnes. The man is relaxed against the couch, his right arm slung over the back and a small smile on his face. “Barnes,” Rhodey says, and he snaps to readiness, arms at his sides and sitting straight and still as a rod on the couch. “Can you cover Widow’s job?”

Rogers tenses next to Barnes, and Barton seems to freeze with the banana half in his mouth. Barnes, though, smiles and nods. “Where do you need me?” he asks.

Tony taps Rhodey on the shoulder. “Uh, excuse me, this is my team.”

“Right, sorry. Go ahead, then, team leader. We’re all ready to go after the attacking army of Atlanteans.”

Tony looks at Rhodey, who nods. Barnes may still be working through things, but he’s here with the Avengers. It’s about damn time he started fighting with them. Tony sighs. “Avengers, assemble, I suppose.”

Tony was so absolutely right making the call to put Barnes into play. He’s definitely more of a brawler than Romanoff, who works more off agility and deception, but it’s working well in this fight. Barnes and Rogers are clearing a path together up to the big guy, some hotshot calling himself Attuma.

“A tumor?” Barton says with a thick accent, dropping the r. “I think I saw that movie. Help me out here. Is that the Schwarzenegger one?” He fires an explosive arrow at a thick patch of soldiers, helping to clear the path for the two foot soldiers.

“Well he’s certainly becoming a tumor on this city,” Rhodey responds. He is covering the south edge of the fight, keeping the civilians clear and the army from spreading. Tony’s got the north end, and Wilson is providing air support for Barnes and Rogers.

“Save the one-liners for the experts,” Tony says. “That goes for you, too, Oliver Queen.”

“Oh, are we resorting to comic book references now?” Barton quips back. “Hold up, I’ve been waiting for this. Cap gets to be Superman, so you can call him Kent from now on, and you get to be Batman, so everyone refer to Tony as Wayne for the rest of the battle.”

“Absolutely not.” It takes Tony a moment to place the low growl as belonging to Barnes, since he has not yet spoken during the fight. “No jokes on the line unless they are actually funny.”

“Excuse you, Stone,” Barton replies, “my jokes are funny.”

Tony has to think for a moment. “Cyborg?” he asks. He blasts a row of Attuma’s soldiers back from where they were trying to skirt his boundary.

“Heads up,” Rogers says. “Coming up on the final showdown. Anyone have an idea what the big glowing thing is yet?”

From back at the tower, Bruce chimes in. “It’s producing low levels of radiation, but they’re very different from what we’ve seen before. It’s not the tesseract or a byproduct, but it appears to be some sort of energy source all the same.”

“I’m betting it’s connected to that giant ship he’s got there,” Tony says. “Can you guys get that thing powered down?”

There’s a loud grunt and a burst of laughter on the line before Rogers says, “Negative. It’s another damn force field.”

“Any ideas on the weak spot?” Wilson asks. “I’m running out of steam up here. I’m gonna need to take a breather soon.”

“I’m not getting any sign of a force field on the monitors,” Bruce says. “Tony, can you try to get a closer look?”

“Just a minute. Hey, bird boy, want to trade places for a while? We’re pretty clear up here. Just make sure nothing sneaks through.”

“You got it.” Tony waits until he sees Wilson coming up north before jetting back down to the main action.

“Bird boy?” Barton says. “I thought I was the bird person. Hey, Sam should be Carter! For Hawkman. But is that confusing? I mean, we have a Carter on our team, and I’m the hawk--”

“Barton,” Barnes interrupts, “I don't know if you noticed, but this isn't really the time.”

Tony swoops in overhead just in time to see Barnes grab a soldier by the neck and toss him against a wall before being swarmed by another three. Tony almost cuts down to save him, but then Steve is there throwing them off and one goes down with an arrow in the neck.

“It's always the time. If you can't joke in a life and death situation, then when can you?”

“First, those weren't jokes, and second, I'm a little more concerned right now with figuring out how to stop these guys.”

“I think we can all agree with that,” Rogers adds. “Any update?”

“Bruce, what do you have for me?” Tony asks.

“It looks like the force field is being generated by a separate source. As far as I can tell, it seems to be coming from that fancy hat your big guy is wearing.”

“I can’t reach that,” Rogers says. “Buck, can you get in?”

“I got it,” Barton responds. “Get ready to smash that glow ball.” He fires an arrow at the largest jewel on Attuma’s crown. It shatters with an electrical buzz, leaving Attuma clutching at his head. Barnes races to Rogers, who crouches with his shield up. Barnes leaps up and off the shield, jumps up onto the pedestal where the power source is pulsing, and punches it with his metal arm. Tony shields his eyes from the following explosion.

“Holy shit,” Wilson says. “I saw that from up here. Is everyone all right?”

“Everything’s fine on this end,” Rhodey responds. “They’re all turning back.”

“Destroying the power source seems to have set off a reaction on the ship. Try to get clear. There may be some secondary explosions.”

Tony searches through the swarm of creatures and spots Rogers in his bright stripes. “All right, Cap, throw up your hand. Let’s get you extracted. Rhodey, can you find our resident Russian assassin and give him an assist?”

Rhodey flies up from the south. “I’m not seeing him. Barnes, throw up a hand or something.”

“I’ve got him,” Barton says, and Tony looks to see that he’s no longer on the roof, he’s sliding down a long line and reaching down into the crowd. “Oh god,” Barton grunts. “I did not expect you to be this big.”

The line dips under the added weight. Tony rejects making a “that’s what she said” joke in favor of pointing out the spot to Rhodey, who flies in to rescue both the idiot snipers, since Barton clearly did not account for the extra drag on the line when he estimated his ability to pull Barnes to safety.

“You guys better get out of there,” Bruce says. “The ship is giving off some weird waves of energy. I don’t know how much longer it’ll hold together.”

Rhodey reaches in and grabs onto both Barnes and Barton. “Shit, Barnes, you packing enough muscle there?” he asks, powering on the extra boosters.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Barton responds.

As the three fly up to safety, Barnes hanging loose in Rhodey’s grip and very possibly just coming out of unconsciousness based on his proximity to the prior explosion and his lack of response up until him raising his head in Rhodey’s grip, the ship blasts into pieces beneath them. With all the Avengers out of the blast range and the remainder of the fish-people army fleeing back to the ocean, Tony has no qualms saying, “And that looks like a job well done today, team.”

Chapter Text

“So during Christmas you kiss under a parasitic plant, and for Valentine’s you...shoot each other?” Thor holds up a paper image of a heart with an arrow through it. “I have to admit I’m confused by your symbols of love.”

Tony grabs the heart as he’s passing by and sticks it back up on the wall. “You don’t have to understand it, just recognize it. You have something picked out for Jane yet?”

Thor nods. “I selected her a piece of Asgardian jewelry. Ms. Darcy assured me that jewelry was the way to go.” He pulls a small wooden box and pulls up the lid to reveal a glowing gemstone nestled in a silver latticework of leaves and flowers. “I asked the smiths to make it specially. The flowers shown symbolize true love, and the gemstone is one I dug out myself a few centuries ago from the mines of Vanaheim.”

Tony stares down at the necklace with wide eyes. “That is...really nice,” he says. “I think she’ll really like it.”

“I hope so.” Thor closes the lid and tucks the necklace back in his pocket. “I hope to give it to her tonight after dinner. But I have a few hours before she will be free from her studies and thought I would see how all my friends were doing while I had the opportunity.”

“Well, as you can see, we are suffering in your absence.” Tony waves his hand around at the empty common room. “No one spends time together anymore.”

“Oh,” Thor says, furrowing his brow. “That is…”

“No, I’m just kidding. Most everyone’s downstairs working out. Bruce is in the yoga room, but I think the rest of the team is working on some group tactics. I was actually about to go join them. Care to come with?”

Thor grins and taps the hammer at his belt. “I would relish the chance to spar with you all again. I wouldn’t be disturbing anything?”

“No, it’ll be good to have the variety.” Tony leads the way to the elevators. “We have some new members that you get to meet. There’s Wilson, he’s the one with wings. Known as Falcon, or Sam. Then there’s Cap’s friend Bucky. He’s got a metal arm, and he’s a little sensitive about it. Tragic backstory and all that. Brainwashing, assassin, the whole deal.”

Thor nods. “I look forward to meeting them,” he says.

Tony looks at him sidelong. “Not concerned?”

“They are a part of the team. This is a team of heroes. I trust your judgement and that of the captain.”

Tony shrugs. “All right.” The elevator doors open up on a hallway with specialized training rooms on either side. “Looks like they’re down in E. Which is exciting. I like E a lot. E has the flying laser bots.”

He knocks on the door and the sounds inside grind to a halt. “It’s me,” he shouts through the closed door. “And I brought a guest!” He throws open the door.

Immediately, a suction cup arrow attaches to Tony’s forehead. Thor, standing behind him, laughs loudly until a second arrow attaches to his shoulder plate.

“Congratulations, you two are now partners until we can get our villain,” Natasha says, sliding up next to them. She pulls out a length of ribbon and pulls their wrists together. “New game. Forced teamwork. Have fun.”

Thor glances down at her ankle, which is tied to that of a man he does not recognize wearing a large machine on his back. “You would be the Falcon, then? Wilson Sam?” he asks.

“Sam Wilson. Pleasure to meet you.” Sam extends his hand, which Thor shakes gently. Tony’s hand, attached to that wrist, flops gently. “Real fan of your work. That light show.” Sam whistles low and laughs. “It’s nice to actually meet you.”

“Incoming!” Steve shouts, diving toward the wall. A hovering ball follows him, shooting small lasers. He is attached back-to-back with the metal-armed man.

“I’m calling bullshit, Natalia,” the man shouts. “Why do we have to be tied back-to-back when you just get an ankle and they get wrists?” He whips out a knife and throws it into the floating ball, which falls to the ground with a thunk.

“And you are Bucky?” Thor asks, automatically extending his right hand. He accidentally pulls Tony with him in the gesture. “Sorry, Tony.”

Bucky eyes Thor warily. He slowly reaches out his right hand. “Haven’t had the pleasure,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Thor Odinson.” Thor shakes the hand with a firm grip, responding to the pressure Bucky is giving. “I admit I have heard little of you as well. Only that you are a valiant and honorable warrior.”

“Yeah, well.” There’s a whistling from the center of the room and Bucky whirls again. Now Steve is facing Thor, and he simply shrugs while Bucky keeps talking. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Come on and get me, guys.” Clint’s voice echoes from the rafters. “I’m ready to mix up the teams again.”

Thor squints up and spots Clint perched in a corner of the room. “Is he wearing wings?” he asks.

“It’s in the spirit of the holiday, apparently,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Valentine’s Day. He’s Cupid, putting everyone in pairs. You have to fight with your true love.”

Thor looks down at his wrist, then up at Tony. “Is this a tradition as well?”

“Not really. I’m willing to bet this is mostly Barton thinking he’s clever. Can you get us up there so we can knock him off his perch?”

Thor takes his hammer in his left hand and spins Tony in close to his chest with his right. “I can at least try,” he says with a grin. “Let’s attack the villain!”

It’s Sam’s turn in the rafters. Natasha is now strapped to Thor’s back, holding both of her guns out and at the ready while her legs tiptoe at the ground despite Thor’s best attempts to keep low. Tony and Steve are still figuring out their three-legged race, and Bucky is staring daggers at Clint’s right arm, attached to his own left arm.

“I’m not happy about it either,” Clint says, looping his bow over his back. “I’m down my major weapon now.”

“Maybe if you didn’t fight with something prehistoric that requires both your hands,” Bucky grunts.

“Well luckily for both of us, not all my weapons are dual-wielded.” He flips out a crossbow, flipping a switch to make it spring open.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “And you will load it...how?”

Clint looks shocked, then stares down at the crossbow. “Damn. All right, fine, guns it is. Though I was hoping to be a little more...elegant.”

“That supposed to be an insult?”

“Well you are kind of a smash-and-grab individual…”

“Look out!” Steve shouts and throws his shield, smashing an incoming bot. The shield hits the wall next to them and drops to the ground with a thud. “You two need to stop bickering and get to work.”

Bucky uses his toe to flick the shield up and toss it back to Steve. “We’re getting. Stop fussing.”

“Hey Bucky,” Clint says with a grin, “Wanna see if we can take down more laser bots than the other teams?”

Bucky smiles back. “Combined,” he responds.

“Better hurry up then,” Natasha says, still strapped to Thor’s back but now using it as leverage to brace against a wall and shoot over her head. “You’re down by five.”

Clint reaches across to pull a gun out of one of Bucky’s holsters and starts aiming. “Good thing I’m left-handed.” The two begin shooting at any target they can spot.

“Is it possible for you to maybe enter a fight without a dumb one-liner?” Bucky asks.

“No.”

“Oh good. Because, you know. I was starting to think, you know, maybe someday I wouldn’t have to put up with your poor excuse for jokes.”

“Don’t worry. Me and my fantastic sense of humor are going nowhere.” Clint spies Steve across the room. “Bucky, come with me, I want to try something.”

The two step forward based on Clint’s lead. “Just a little more...here!” A laser bot appears from the wall behind them, and Bucky has his gun on it immediately, but Clint knocks his arm off-target.

“What the hell, man?” Bucky asks.

“Just watch.”

Steve, seeing the bot about to shoot, grabs his shield and throws. Clint throws up his right arm, pulling Bucky’s arm up with him. “Now!” he shouts, leaning forward.

Bucky uses his right arm to shoot the bot, this time sending it to the ground. His focus, though, is on his left hand, which catches Steve’s shield perfectly.

“Yes!” Clint shouts, pumping his left fist in the air. “Take that, Captain America!”

Tony is gaping at them and probably seconds from calling foul while Clint is just grabbing the shield and whipping it around the room. He’s not even hitting anything with it, just sending it in strange ricochet patterns and catching it again.

“Bucky,” he says, “What’s our count so far?”

“We’re at...thirteen, I think?”

“And everyone else?”

“Tony and Steve have seven, Natalia and Thor have nine.”

“Cool. Find me three more, will you? Check the port and aft walls. Those ones are due.”

“It’s a random algorithm, Barton,” Tony crows.

A bot appears from the wall on their left and another from behind them. Bucky shoots them as they appear.

“Random my ass, Stark. One more, Bucky, just lemme--nevermind, I got it.” Clint throws the shield in a path that looks completely wild but still hits an emerging bot and ends by knocking into Sam up in his corner of the room. Sam manages to catch the shield but falls from his perch and has to use his wings to catch himself. Bucky, seeing the opening, points his gun at Sam’s wings but doesn’t shoot.

“Stick ‘em up,” Bucky says with a grin.

“And you gave me grief for one-liners,” Clint says, shaking his head.

Natasha, unstrapping herself from Thor, nods at the two of them. Thor grins and says, “Well done! I’m impressed at your discernment of the patterns.”

Clint shrugs. He holds his right arm still while Bucky unties them. “I spent the first two rounds not dodging bots. Plenty of time to figure out how they were working before I needed to join the fight.”

“That was...it was random!” Tony splutters.

“No, it wasn’t. And it shouldn’t have been.” Bucky, no longer attached to Clint, crosses his arms over his chest. “Enemies are rarely random. They have patterns of movement. Being able to discover them is a valuable skill, and one we should all be learning.”

“A good point,” Steve says. He walks over to where Sam has landed and accepts his shield back. “And one I hadn’t thought of. Good job, Bucky.” He claps his friend on the shoulder. “I think it’s time we all head upstairs and get some food. And I think Thor has somewhere to be.”

“Indeed! My lady Jane awaits me.”

Everyone nods and starts heading out except Clint, who holds out his hands and says, “Wait, good job Bucky? And what am I?” until Natasha comes back, pats him on the back, and leads him back upstairs.

Chapter Text

It’s been a slow week around the tower, with Natasha and Clint out on assignment and Tony busy working. After some training with Steve and Sam, Bucky wanders upstairs to the kitchen. Bruce is cooking, using four burners on the stove. Bucky pulls out a stool and perches next to the counter.

“It’s curry,” Bruce says. “I never got very good at cooking, but I can manage this. Should be enough to share if you’re interested.”

Bucky rises up out of his seat to look at what’s on the stove. “How do you make it?” he asks.

Bruce blinks in surprise and looks down at the food. “Well I’m...it’s easier if I show you, probably, and I’m almost done with this. But I suppose we could make more if you want to learn.”

“I’ve got a big appetite,” Bucky says with a shrug. “And I know there’s other people who would be happy to have extra food lying around. If you’re willing to teach me.”

Bruce glances back at the food and then at the clock on the back of the stove. “What the hell,” he says. “Let me finish up what I have here. Then we can both eat and start another batch.”

Bucky sniffs at a row of spices that Bruce has set up, trying to select what he wants for his own batch of curry.

“You have a lot of experience with different spices?” Bruce asks.

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“How spicy do you like your food, then?”

Bucky shrugs again.

“Well, let’s just try something and we’ll see how it goes, then. Anything smelling good?”

Bucky points to a couple of canisters. “I like this one and this.”

“Easy enough, then. Go ahead and get the stove on and we’ll start the oil.” Bruce starts putting away the extra spices.

As Bucky starts the stove and sets the frying pan in place, he says, “Do you eat a lot? Have a lot of cooking experience?”

Bruce laughs humorlessly. “I definitely have my days when I eat a lot, but when I’m refueling I rarely pay much attention to what exactly ends up in my mouth. The Hulk is not picky about what he eats or whether it’s cooked, even.”

“Still doesn’t eat as badly as Barton, I’ll bet,” Bucky says as an attempt to lighten the mood.

Bruce actually laughs at that. “I doubt anyone could eat what he does and survive.”

“You’re a superhero. I’m sure a little bit of weird food wouldn’t kill you.”

“Probably not, but let’s not push it. Especially not when I can still make things I like and that are actually appropriate for consumption.” Bruce pours a splash of coconut oil into the pan and starts pulling onion and garlic out of the fridge.

“Where did you learn to make curry?” Bucky asks.

“India,” Bruce says. “Here, come chop.” He holds out a knife to Bucky.

Bucky takes the knife and flips it around in his hand for a moment, looking sideways at Bruce to see his reaction. Bruce just starts pulling out garlic cloves. Bucky grabs the onion in his left hand, slides the papery outer skin off, and starts chopping.

“When were you in India?”

“A few years back. After the...accident. Before the Avengers.”

Bucky finishes slicing the onion and spins it to start dicing. “That’s what you call it? The accident?”

“A little on the nose, sure, but I couldn’t think of anything better.”

“Makes it sound like you were in a car crash.”

“No, the car crash is what my life became after.” Bruce winces, as if just realizing what words came out of his mouth. “Sorry, that was--”

“Don’t apologize. You don’t gotta tiptoe around me. If anyone knows what it’s like to see your life fall to shit because you’re a monster…”

Bruce finds the garlic press and starts squeezing the cloves down. “Yeah, I know. You and this whole team. We’re all more than a little messed up.”

Bucky just nods at that. He finishes dicing the onion and wipes off the knife. The oil in the pan has started to boil, so they add the onion, garlic, and spices. Bucky watches everything cook and keeps sniffing the air.

He’s so caught up in the process of cooking that he jumps a bit when the elevator dings. He takes his eyes off the pan long enough to watch Natasha start walking slowly across the common room.

“Please tell me there’s something ready to eat,” she says as she pulls out one of the bar stools.

Bucky stays at his position next to the stove while Bruce wanders over to the fridge. “We’ve got some leftovers from earlier,” he says while pulling out a couple of tupperware containers. “I’ll reheat a dish for you.”

“Just hand me something I can put in my face now.” Natasha puts her head down on the counter and holds out a hand. “God, maybe I should’ve stopped for take-out.”

Bucky reaches over and plucks an apple from the bowl next to Natasha’s elbow. He puts it into her hand and goes back to staring at the curry, with occasional glances back to see how she interprets his action. Bruce, meanwhile, is putting together a plate of rice and curry to put in the microwave, unaware of the scene playing out behind his back.

Natasha slowly raises her head and looks at the apple, a Red Delicious, in her hand. Her head turns in stilted notches as she glares at Bucky. His face remains completely still for a full ten seconds before the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Just give that a minute,” Bruce says, turning around. “And then--”

Natasha tosses the apple into the air and shoots it five times with her widow bites before it falls to the ground in a squishy mess. Then she returns to glaring at Bucky.

Bruce stops and looks between the two of them and then down at the remains of the apple. “You know,” he says, still staring down, “I’m really not sure if I’m grateful or not that everyone has stopped being so careful around me.”

“You’re fine,” Bucky says. He raises a spoon to his lips to taste the food. “You’re a superhero. You’ve got it all under control now. Does this taste off to you?”

The microwave beeps and Natasha jumps up and darts around the two men to grab her food. “If all it takes to be in control is to call yourself a superhero, how do you explain Tony?” she asks. “This smells great, Bruce. I’m going to take it to my suite and fall asleep watching ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns, but I’ll bring the plate back tonight. Try not to burn down the kitchen with little Jimmy here.”

Bucky stares daggers at her back. “Who does she think I am? I’m a good cook.”

Bruce, dumping ingredients into the pan to try to save Bucky’s overspiced and slightly burned mess, hums in agreement. “She’s just tired when she gets back from a mission. She needs someone to make fun of until she gets back to feeling like herself.”

“Then where’s Clint? Wasn’t he with her on mission?”

“I don’t know. I try not to get involved or really even know what they do when they go out. As far as I can tell it usually involves some sort of infiltration or assassination. Or both.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “Got a problem with infiltration and assassination?” he asks.

Bruce sighs. He stares down at the pan of food while he continues to stir it. “I’m not...I didn’t join this to be a part of SHIELD. The espionage and the going behind people’s backs to get information or to take down targets, that’s not really me. It’s especially not what the other guy does well.” He manages a small smile as he looks over at Bucky, who seems to have given up on cooking entirely in favor of leaning back against the counter.

“So you got into this more for the smashing things up?” Bucky asks.

“No, that’s not...I didn’t want to get into this. This wasn’t something I wanted for myself. The Hulk seems to like smashing. It’s the clean-up that I always hate seeing.”

“But you’re still here.” Bucky tilts his head to one side. “If you hate it, why not leave?”

Bruce shuts off the heat and stirs the food one more time. “Trouble always seems to find me.” He grabs a couple of plates off the counter and starts spooning rice onto both of them. “As long as I’m here, I am around people I trust to look after me and to help me when something goes wrong. I’m not always in control when the other guy comes out, but I know the people on this team will make sure he does as little damage as possible.”

“So it’s a safety net? Staying with the Avengers?”

It’s Bruce’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with that?” he asks. He pours some of the curry onto each pile of rice.

“No,” Bucky says quietly. He accepts one of the plates from Bruce. “I just didn’t think...never mind.” He uses a fork to shovel in a mouthful of food. His eyes go wide. “Woah,” he says, mouth still half-full. “This is amazing! Wow, I really am a great cook!”

Chapter Text

“Steve, what the hell is this?”

Steve looks up from his book to see Bucky shaking a stuffed animal by one arm. His face falls a little before he plasters on an innocent smile. “It’s a bear, Buck. Thought you woulda recognized one of those by now.” He turns back to his book.

The bear lands in his lap. “Why does it look like that?” Bucky asks. He hasn’t moved from his defensive position, standing wide-stanced in the middle of the room with a clear shot down the hallway or toward the door.

Steve uses the moment he turns away to put his book down on the coffee table to let himself be sad before he looks back and picks up the bear with a smile back in place. “Well, the bright colors make it attractive to children, and the bright red nose--”

“Why was it on my bed?”

“I thought you might like it.” Steve holds the bear up by its arms and makes it dance back and forth in his lap. “I thought it was cute.”

“It’s not cute, it’s a joke. It’s a parody of a parody, based off that horrible comic run they did of us.” Bucky’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “I never even wore anything like that. They’re trying to erase what I was, what the war was. What I became.”

“I don’t--”

“You know that war was hell, Steve. Why do you let people romanticize it, talk about your part in it like it was all sunshine and rainbows?”

Steve sighs. He lets the bear fall still in his lap. “The war was hell, Bucky. And all the merchandise and comic books in the world won’t change that. But for me...people are talking about this. About what happened. And they always will. Forgive me if I like it when people remember some of the more heroic moments.”

“And how is that--” Bucky points at the bear. “Heroic?”

The bear is cartoonish. The arms are too long, the nose is huge and red, and the whole thing looks more like a sock monkey than an actual teddy bear. Steve tucks it up against his side. “It’s a hero to me.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Steve looks away from Bucky and toward the bear. He plays with its legs while he talks. “I get nightmares. Have for a while. Before the war. During it. Most of the time I got through it pretty well. It helped having other people around. Like you. Reminding me I’m not alone. Then you were gone, and I was in the ice, and everything was just...I couldn’t sleep. At all. I went down to the gym and I punched my way through all the flashbacks and the memories. Then I punched my way through an army of aliens. And when it was done, I still felt totally alone. I had the team, but they all saw me as Captain America. It wasn’t really like being with the Commandos. And even they saw me as, well, the icon, until you convinced them all I was just a kid from Brooklyn.”

He chances a look up at Bucky again. His friend has dropped his defensive stance and is simply standing there, staring. Steve looks back down at the bear. “I missed you. So much it hurt. I had nightmares every time I tried to sleep. And then I found one of these in a store. It looked totally dumb, but it reminded me of you. And when I fell asleep that night, I didn’t have a nightmare. For the first time in months. Years, if you count, well.” He breathes in a deep, shuddering breath.

“And I’m not the only one. When I go visit the hospitals, I give away Bucky Bears to the kids, and they all look so excited. It’s like they’ve got their own little hero helping to keep them safe from whatever monster they’re facing.” Steve looks back at Bucky. “That’s why this bear is a hero to me. And I thought maybe it would be one to you, too.”

Bucky groans and rolls his eyes. “Oh great. Now you’ve made me look like an asshole.” He steps forward and drops onto the armchair across from Steve.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I should’ve thought it through better. I should’ve known this might upset you.”

“Oh no, don’t you dare do that to yourself, Rogers.” Bucky straightens up in the chair. “You don’t get to be all self-flagellating over there. Come on, give me the bear.”

“What?”

Bucky stands and takes a few steps to swipe the bear from Steve’s arms before dropping onto the couch next to him. He keeps the bear in his own lap. “I’ll keep it,” he mutters. “Though I might need to repaint it. This blue is an eyesore.”

“You’re an eyesore,” Steve responds with a grin. “And I don’t think you should be painting the bear. That’ll probably mess up the fur.”

“I’ll dye it or something, then. A nice black.”

“At least leave the nose.”

“Oh, the nose will be the first thing to go.”

Steve looks over at Bucky, who is now smiling back at him and holding the bear tucked in close to his chest, and his breath catches. Bucky’s hair is falling free from a messy ponytail and brushing against his cheeks, and his eyes are bright and surrounded by laugh lines instead of worry lines for once. He’s got a wide grin all full of teeth, and maybe things aren’t so bad if he’s looking this happy again. Happy like he hasn’t been in what feels like forever. Steve’s hand twitches in his lap as he fights to keep from brushing the hair back from Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s gaze moves down to Steve’s hand and then back up to his face. He’s still smiling, but it’s a softer smile now. “It’s okay, Stevie.”

“I’m just not...I’m not sure. What you remember.” Steve’s gaze travels, rather against his will, to Bucky’s lips. He forces himself to look back up and meet his eyes. “About before...before everything.”

“I’m still remembering. Still relearning.” Bucky shifts his legs a little closer. “But who I was before, what I felt before. No matter what that was, it doesn’t matter like what I am now. What I’m feeling now. I don’t think I’ll ever be the way I was back then. I’m not going to go back to the Bucky you remember.”

Steve swallows hard and looks away. “I know that.”

Soft lips brush his cheek. “Do you think you could love the Bucky that I am now?”

Steve turns back with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can.” He lets his errant hand reach up to brush away that lock of hair, and his palm stays cupped on Bucky’s face. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

Bucky is still smiling. “Then come here, you big sap.” He leans in to close the last few inches and press his lips to Steve’s.

Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he smiles into the kiss. He can feel the wetness in his eyes threatening to spill over, but right now he doesn’t care. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling both him and little Bucky Bear into a hug. When he breaks away, he rests his forehead against Bucky’s and says, “I’m glad you like the bear.”

“It’s growing on me. Though I think I’d prefer a Cap Bear. Any chance I could get one of those to cuddle at night?” Bucky smirks.

“I think we could find you something Cap-shaped to cuddle.” When Bucky’s breathing hitches for a moment, Steve back-pedals. “Just a bear, if you want. We don’t have to take this any faster than you want.”

Bucky nods and comes in for another kiss. “That sounds good.”

“Okay, then. I’ll start looking for Captain A-bear-icas.”

Bucky snorts. “Please tell me that’s not what they’re called.”

“Oh, that is definitely what they are called.”

“I changed my mind. I’m sticking with Bucky Bear.”

“We could always get you a Hawkbear. Or a Bear Widow. Ooh, an Iron Bear!”

“Oh my god, I forgot how damn annoying you can be.” Bucky pulls him in close. “Good thing I know how to shut you up now.”

Steve just hums in agreement as Bucky occupies his lips with something far better than talking.

Clint is the first to notice them holding hands. They’re at movie night, and Clint is getting up for a popcorn refill when his better-than-average eyes catch the intertwined fingers shoved under an empty bowl as Steve and Bucky sit next to each other on the couch. He pauses momentarily in his walk, but when Natasha notices the hesitation he immediately turns it into a controlled trip over Bruce’s legs and a somersault to land back on his feet.

“I’m fine!” he calls out. Natasha rolls her eyes and goes back to watching the movie while the others had simply ignored him completely. When almost all eyes are off him, Clint nods at Bucky and winks. Bucky looks quickly away, but a faint blush still grows on the back of his neck.

Later that evening, Clint says to Natasha, “I want to pull my name from the betting pool with Steve and Bucky.”

She eyes him. “Is that what you saw tonight?”

He shrugs. “Can I pull my name? I can leave the money in the pot if it’s a problem.”

“You’ll…?” Clint watches her make the connection. “You’re winning, aren’t you? You won the bet. So why back out?”

He shrugs. “They look happy. I don’t want to be the guy that wins money off them just being happy.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “All right,” she says slowly. “I’ll drop your name. Do we tell Bruce he wins?”

“Nah. Let them tell us on their own time.”

“Careful, Barton. Keep this up and people might start to realize you have a heart underneath all those bad jokes and buffoonery.”

A flicker of blue flashes at the edge of his vision, whispered words echo in his ears. He offers a shaky grin to Natasha’s warm smile. “Only sometimes.”

Chapter Text

“Someone remind me why the hell we are freezing our asses off in the arctic?”

Tony continues to scan the sheet of ice below them as he remarks, “You know, I would’ve expected a lot fewer complaints about the cold from someone called the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky sends his skycycle low and to the side, reaching down his left arm to scoop up a handful of snow. “You know, as helpful as that statement was, it still didn’t make me want to leave here less, it only made me want to punch you more.”

“Get in line,” Natasha mutters.

Tony veers slightly to dodge the snowball Bucky throws at him. “Now that hurts. Why do all the Russians want to punch me? I’ve been nothing but good to you all. And I thought you’d appreciate being closer to home.”

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Steve replies. “It’s not just the Russians who are mad at you.”

“I’m not even Russian!” Bucky shouts.

Tony’s screen starts beeping. “Quiet on the line, I’ve got a read on our target.” The HUD automatically zooms in on the building hiding under the snow. “We’re not gonna get any sort of layout until I can get inside, though. I can’t see through the outer shell.”

“What about external weaponry?” Natasha asks. She slows her skycycle and starts to circle under Tony.

“I doubt they’ll have anything,” Tony says. “It’s an abandoned vault. Just storage.” Still, he sets to scan the surrounding area.

Bucky also slows to hover under Tony. “Because we all know how completely safe old Hydra storage units are. It’s not like they had really advanced weaponry back in the 40s when they built this damn thing.”

Tony grimaces. “Yeah, all right, point taken.” His HUD starts flashing again. “So, I never like to say someone else was right…”

“Just tell us where everything is,” Steve says. He’s still heading slowly toward the building.

“Well first of all, you need to take a hard right or you’re gonna be activating a gun tower. Everyone just hold back for a minute until I can figure out our approach.”

“You mean we’re not just diving in head-first on this one?” Bucky snarks.

Natasha chuckles. “Character development, I guess.”

“Now I just gotta convince Steve to think before he punches.”

“I do think!”

“I mean think something other than ‘aaaaaugh I want to punch this guy.’”

Tony even laughs at that one. “All right, looks like it’s mostly gun towers surrounding the bunker. Everyone step back. I’m sending blasts to incapacitate each one before we can activate it.”

“How do we know--” Natasha starts as Tony starts firing.

The ground beneath them starts to shake. Bucky sighs. “That it won’t be a trap?” he finishes. “I’m going to go out on a limb--”

“Ha!”

“Shut up Tony,” Bucky growls. “You’re the one who set off the bunker.”

“I don’t think it’s a bunker.” Steve is zipping around in a large circle toward the back side of the building. “Unless the word has changed to mean ‘six-legged building currently crawling out of the snow.’”

The building Tony had formerly classified as bunker but is currently identifying as some sort of Star Wars walker bullshit steps forward. A ton of snow sloughs off its back and toward Natasha, who is heading around its side.

“Widow, watch your head,” Tony calls.

She glances up and makes a sharp turn to veer directly away from the machine, just clearing the avalanche of snow. Once it settles, though, she spins one-eighty degrees again and flies the skycycle over the newly-formed hill to launch over the back of the walker. She jumps off the skycycle onto the walker’s back, leaving the cycle to spin off into the snow.

“Oh, now that’s just a waste of good tech,” Tony says. “Respect the machine!”

As Natasha starts to pull at an access hatch at the top of the walker, Steve and Bucky begin to circle the walker’s legs. “Should we be trying to trip this thing?” Steve asks.

“Not while I’m on it!” Natasha calls back. “I’m going to try to shut it down from inside.”

A pair of hatches open on each side of the walker and large guns emerge from each side. They start firing bright blue beams into the snow, tracking the movement of Steve and Bucky on their skycycles.

“Shut it down faster, will you?” Bucky asks, weaving down and under the walker to avoid the shots. “I’d rather not lose any other limbs on this mission.”

“Patience is a virtue, Brooklyn boy. Not everything can be done in a New York minute.” Natasha finishes getting the hatch open and drops inside the walker.

Steve falls back behind the walker. “Can you figure out how to steer it?”

“It’s an old rig, designed like a tank,” she replies. “I see a storage area to the back. Should I stop the rig first or look for our missing artifact?”

“Stop the rig,” Bucky and Steve say.

“Look for the stone,” Tony responds. “I’m going to go after those gun hatches so we won’t have to worry about it anymore. And if you accidentally get the thing to self-destruct, there won’t be enough time to rescue the artifact.” He aims his blasters at the guns on one side of the walker and manages to shoot one at the base and stop it from firing.

“It’s an old rock with fancy scribbles on it,” Bucky grumbles. “I think trying to keep us from dying is probably more important than--”

“Found it!” Natasha calls out at the same time Tony shoots off the next gun. “Whoa, hold up there Tony. I felt that blast in here, and now the controls are going wild. Looks like we’re about to have some sort of energy surge.”

“Get out of there!” Steve shouts. He’s already pulling up closer to the walker. Bucky slides out from under it onto the side where Tony’s taken out the guns, and Steve practically takes the space he’d vacated. “Get up and I’ll get up to grab you.”

But if there are energy build-ups in the machine and it’s likely to explode… “Negative, Cap,” Tony says. “I’ll grab Widow. You and the Soldier get out as far as you can.” He can just see Natasha’s hair poking through the access hatch, and he angles down to grab her.

“You’ve never going to be able to carry her long-distance,” Steve argues. “I can--”

Bucky growls into the coms, “Come on, get away from there! The whole thing is starting to shake!”

Tony grabs Natasha’s wrist and boosts straight up into the air to get away from the coming blast. “I’ve got her, Cap. Get clear.”

The walker shudders to a stop. Steve zips out from under it just as it blasts apart. Tony just has time to see one of the solid metal walls fly toward Steve before he is dodging smaller pieces of debris himself.

“Steve!” Bucky cries.

“Man down,” Natasha says into the open line connecting them to SHIELD. “I need medical support at our location.”

With Natasha rattling off coordinates and Bucky flying through the wreckage toward Steve’s last location, Tony feels a sinking in his chest. So much for an easy mission.

The first thing Steve registers is the regular beep of machinery. The second thing he notices is the smell of cleaner and disinfectant. Those two things combined with his aching ribs and head help him recognize that he’s in a hospital before he even opens his eyes.

When he does open them, he squints against the glare and looks over to his right to see Bucky perched in the chair by his bedside, sitting and staring straight forward.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky mutters.

“A nice thing to say when I’ve just woken up,” Steve groans.

Bucky rolls his eyes and stands. He walks over and presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m gonna go get the others. I’ll be right back.”

As he steps out, a nurse comes into the room and smiles at him. “All right, Mr. Rogers, let’s check everything again.”

When the nurse leaves a few minutes later, everyone else files in. Bucky immediately takes a place up by the head of the bed while Natasha claims the chair. Sam sits in the empty space at the foot of the bed and Clint picks a spot by the window. That’s strange, Clint had been on a mission in Madripoor, supposed to be gone for--

“Oh.” Steve looks around the room sheepishly. “So how long--?”

“Three days,” Tony says, striding into the room and grabbing the chart from the end of the bed. He glances at it briefly before handing it back to Bruce, who rolls his eyes and replaces it on the end of the bed. “You were out for three days. And not very fun ones. Scared us for a bit there. We’re all just lucky the doctors managed to convince Metallo over there that you’d be okay before he went all destructor on us.”

Bucky snorts. “Steve’s survived worse. We all have. Don’t know why he needed three days to get over himself and wake up.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Steve says, forcing a small laugh. But that hurts his ribs more, so he stops and just smiles at everyone. “Nurse said I could go in a couple days.”

“Only because of the serum,” Bruce notes. “We are all very fortunate that you were able to withstand the impact, and that no one else was injured.”

Tony flaps a hand at Bruce. “I believe what Brucie here is trying to say is thanks, but next time you save the day try to do it with a little less of a close call. Sound fair to everyone?”

“Do these rules apply to everyone?” Natasha asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“It certainly does seem like the sort of reminder we could all stand to have,” Bruce admits.

“Some people more than others,” Sam says, looking from Steve to Tony to Clint.

Tony holds a hand up to his chest. “How dare you insinuate that I am somehow more liable to end up in a life or death situation merely because I am regularly in life or death situations?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine, I promise to try harder to keep from getting hit by the giant robot next time. Now can everyone stay quiet so I can get some sleep?”

“Now that we know you’re healing I think we can all get back to our day jobs, actually.” Tony pulls out his cell phone and starts a call on the way out of the room. “Pepper, set up an appointment for me…”

Bruce sighs and smiles and follows him out. Sam pats Steve’s leg gently and gives him a warm smile before leaving. Natasha has already left, somehow, though Steve has no idea when that happened. Bucky sits in the vacated chair and goes back to staring at the wall.

“Hey, Buck?” Clint says, startling Steve, who hadn’t realized he was still there. “Think you could find us some caffeine to keep us up for a bit?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Clint but nods and goes to search for a coffee machine. Clint watches him go and moves up next to Steve.

“So I know he’s not gonna say it,” he murmurs, still casting furtive glances at the door, “but I need to make sure you know how important it is to Bucky that you stay safe.”

“I do--”

“He’s really counting on you, you know? I mean, on all of us, I guess, but especially on you. If something happened to you, who knows what would happen to him?” Clint pats Steve’s shoulder and leans down to look him in the eye. “You hear what I’m saying?”

“I’m hearing that you care more about my safety in regards to Bucky’s mental health than my own physical health.”

Clint grins. “Or maybe just you care more about Bucky’s health than your own.” He straightens and looks toward the door just as Bucky walks in with two steaming styrofoam cups. He walks over and grabs a cup before stepping into the open doorway. “Though I guess your hypothesis holds merit, too,” he says with a wink before leaving.

Bucky looks from the door to Steve. “What was that about?”

“I think Clint just gave me a shovel talk.”

“Really?” Bucky’s eyebrows go up and he sips his coffee. “Huh. Didn’t know he cared. He’s a bit late in the game, though.”

“Let’s not mention that. I think it made him feel better.”

Bucky laughs, and Steve takes a minute to enjoy the sound before he lets his eyes drift close again and he starts to sleep.