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Whoever decided the New Avengers should be a bunch of twenty-something-year-old disaster individuals plus one chaotic uncle, definitely needed their head evaluated by several professionals.
It was pure chaos.
Not metaphorical chaos, literal, scientifically measurable chaos.
Yes, the team saved lives. And yes, they handled missions.
But once they came home?
Once they were bored, hungry, or unsupervised for more than seven consecutive minutes?
God have mercy on the furniture. The walls too.
And anyone in the blast radius.
And it’s not like some new Avengers were needed; the old ones were still around.
Not retired. No dead.
“Come on, Bob! If you don’t clean this up in five minutes, I will trash your room!”
Yelena screeched from somewhere in the kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon like it was a relic of power.
“It was your fault!” Bob yelled back, splattered in something neon green that probably wasn’t edible. “Why am I the only one cleaning?!”
“Because I'm the leader, and I say so!”
There was a beat of silence, during which the refrigerator hummed weakly, like it was praying to survive another day.
Then Alexei strolled past the kitchen wearing nothing but boxers and chewing dried beef from a suspiciously large bag.
“Kids,” he said without looking at either of them, “there is no point in fighting.”
There was absolutely a point in fighting, but nobody bothered correcting him.
John Walker, seated on the couch with three open folders and a migraine blooming behind his eyes, let out the long, slow exhale of a man questioning every life choice that brought him here.
“And I am the menace, right, Bucky?”
John didn't wait for an answer; he separated the mission folders with the precision of a man trying to control something, anything, in his life.
It was two missions; they had different cities and problems.
Superhero problems.
“I think we should separate for these two, while Yelena, Bob and I go to Naples. Alexei, Ava and you should go to Tucson. These seem like short jobs. Efficient. Thought-out. Logistical. Novel concept for us.”
He waited to hear even a grunt of acknowledgement.
Instead, the only sound was something humming in the distance. Elevator? Dryer? Something exploding? With this team, all were equally possible.
“What do you think, Bucky?”
Nothing.
John stared at the folders, giving Bucky one generous second. Then two. Then three.
Still nothing.
So he finally turned his head to see his companion.
And of course, of course, Bucky Barnes was sprawled on the couch like a mediaeval painting, legs stretched out, phone in hand, face illuminated by whatever rabbit hole he had disappeared into.
It was obvious he had stopped paying attention to John a long time ago.
Bucky was in his zero-attention moment.
With zero guilt.
And zero shame.
“Bucky?”
Bucky didn’t even blink.
“Barnes”
Not a twitch.
“Bucky Barnes.”
Still nothing.
John inhaled slowly, the kind of inhale that therapists talk about.
And then, he reached for the nuclear option.
“Buck.”
The effect was immediate.
Bucky’s phone slipped slightly in his hand, as if his brain forgot to keep holding it.
His eyes snapped up, unfocused at first, then sharp with confusion, surprise, and maybe something else which John couldn’t figure out what it was.
“That caught your attention, huh?”
John smirked and turned back to the files.
“What was that you said?”
Bucky asked while sitting up like a dog who just heard a treat bag. His gaze never leaving John’s face.
“We should split for the next…”
“Not that.”
Bucky interrupted John.
John paused, raising his eyebrows.
His head tilted slightly.
“What did you just call me?”
Bucky asked, and something about the tone made John’s stomach do something very inconvenient.
Was he angry?
Yes, John knew that nickname was only for those really close to Bucky. Still, he needed his attention.
“Sorry, if it bothers you I will not…”
“No no, I mean. Say it again.”
Bucky said, leaning in.
His eyes were sharper.
And now John was confused.
“...Buck?”
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even breathe. But there was something in his eyes now: interest.
Amusement.
Anticipation.
“Say it like you mean it.”
Fantastic.
John’s pulse picked up like it wanted to sprint out of his body.
The room around them seemed to fall quiet, or maybe John just stopped hearing anything except the blood rushing in his ears.
He looked up, met Bucky’s dark eyes, and said it again.
“Buck.”
It came out gently this time.
Lower.
Like it meant something.
Bucky’s ears turned pink. It wasn’t that noticeable, but John could see it.
“Can I keep calling you that?”
John asked before thinking.
“Yeah, whenever you want.”
John couldn't help but smile.
An unguarded little thing that startled even him.
He lowered his eyes.
And then a cold and metallic feeling brushed his fingers.
John froze.
His breath hitched.
His hand twitched.
John looked at his hand.
Bucky’s metal fingers were resting against his, brushing lightly, tracing his knuckles, skimming his fingertips.
Gently.
Soft.
Tentative.
Like Bucky Barnes, of all people, was nervous.
John’s brain shut down for a full two seconds.
“Good… Let’s get back; I want to decide this before dusk.”
“Whatever you say, Jonathan.”
John's soul left his body.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
He turned his head.
“No…no no no. Absolutely not. Take it back…”
Bucky’s smirk grew like he’d been waiting years for this moment.
“Why, Jonathan?”
John stood so fast he almost sent the coffee table to hell.
“We are not doing this. This conversation is over. You finish this.”
“Oh come on, Jonathan. Don’t get angry; Jonathan actually suits you more than John.”
John floundered, turning away so Bucky wouldn’t see the way his ears were burning.
John was utterly confused.
He didn’t know if he liked being called that or not.
One thing for sure was that it was weird.
Bucky leaned back, a smirk on his face.
John opened his mouth to say some response, but he shut it immediately.
It had seemed John and Bucky had been loud enough to bring everyone on the team near the living room.
Not only that, but for some reason some of the old Avengers were there too.
Natasha Romanoff stood in the doorway like she had accidentally walked into an intimate moment she refused to emotionally process.
Steve Rogers was opening and closing his mouth, as if he was regretting his life decisions.
Tony Stark was doubled over, wheezing like a broken accordion.
And Clint Barton was on the floor. Actually on the floor. Laughing so hard he might pass out.
“Jesus, Barnes, if you’re going to government-name the guy, at least buy him dinner first.”
Tony said between laughs.
John closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course this was happening in front of witnesses.
A little more into the kitchen.
Alexie was taking photos or maybe a video.
Ava and Bob were eating popcorn; John wasn’t sure where and when they would get it.
And Yelena was wearing the world’s smuggest expression.
“I fucking hate all of you!”
John stormed out of there.
“Oh come on, Jonathan!”
Yelena mocked.
“SHUT UP!”
Bucky noticed how, as John disappeared down the hallway, he was red-faced, furious, and mortified.
Bucky used his hand to cover a smile.
Bucky leaned back on the couch, grabbed a folder, and let out a satisfied sigh.
“Oh, what a good day. Jonathan.”