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Climb into my arms with blood on your clothes - tigriswolf

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Climb into my arms with blood on your clothes - tigriswolf

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Bucky Barnes was always dangerous.

What no one realizes is that so was Steve Rogers.

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Climb into my arms with blood on your clothes - tigriswolf - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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(I Fought The War) The War Won - RayShippouUchiha

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(I Fought The War) The War Won - RayShippouUchiha

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“Finish it,” Tony tells him, face bruised, chest broken, and heart just … gone.

It has been ripped out by the roots again, like it had been once before not so long ago, on a couch in Malibu, with a familiar buzzing in Tony’s ears and betrayal high and sick in his throat.

And Tony doesn’t want to feel like this again, didn’t want any of the things that led to this.

Hadn’t wanted them right from the start.

All Tony had wanted was to keep their family safe.

Just like all he really wants Steve to do right now is stop.

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(I Fought The War) The War Won - RayShippouUchiha - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Ain't No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) - spitandvinegar

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Ain't No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) - spitandvinegar

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It's six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don't. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It's very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.

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These American Dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) - kariye

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These American Dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) - kariye

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In which Bucky has a house, a dog, an herb garden, and a serious case of insomnia. Welcome to Havensport, Indiana (population 8,294), where Tom’s Neighborhood Grocer stays open all night, little old ladies call the car shop to get their refrigerators repaired, and the heat of summer days and the length of summer nights can make you think that this perfect world will last forever.

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These American Dreams (ain't no white picket fences left for me) - kariye - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Bucky’s been at the Avengers Tower for three weeks before he finally gives in to Steve’s gentle coaxing and Stark’s cheerful waving of fistfuls of circuits, and lets them scan the arm.

It doesn’t go well.

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Unusual Weather - novembersmith - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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He’s a hundred and he has had sex with exactly one person in his whole life, and now that person doesn’t seem to be aware that sex exists. He’s out of his depth here. Does Bucky know that sex exists? God, had anyone given him a refresher sex ed lesson, just to make sure? Should Steve be the one to administer that lesson?

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covert op - mcwho - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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there's space for you right here - deadeels

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there's space for you right here - deadeels

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"You're telling me the Winter Soldier, the world's greatest and deadliest assassin, showed up at your remote cottage in Iceland for a booty call?"

Steve grows a beard, gets fucked and is gifted a dog—not in that order.

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there's space for you right here - deadeels - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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The S. Rogers Memorial (it’s NOT a shrine) to J. B. Barnes - SkyisGray

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The S. Rogers Memorial (it’s NOT a shrine) to J. B. Barnes - SkyisGray

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When the Avengers realize that Steve doesn’t have anything to remind him of Bucky Barnes, they embark on a project to track down Bucky memorabilia. But it seems that Steve isn’t the only visitor to the (unofficial) J. B. Barnes memorial (which is totally NOT a shrine, Tony).

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Tony is in Steve's apartment because, really, it's Tony's apartment, and he can damn well make sure his tenants aren't violating any health codes.

Every dish is clean, dry and stacked neatly in cupboards. (He might be going through Steve's cupboards. Technically, his cupboards.)

All items of clothing are balled unobtrusively in the hamper or folded crisply in drawers. (There's a possibility he's digging through Steve's drawers. He can't actually make an argument that he owns the dresser.)

So everything appears ship-shape on Steve's floor; no health code violations here. However, landlords should always be proactive about checking these things.

"Tony, what purpose could you possibly have for being in my apartment?" Steve says when he catches Tony staring into his medicine cabinet. Steve sounds more bemused than angry, so Tony goes for the truth.

"Honestly? I just wanted to see if you had any fun vices stashed away. You know: porn under the mattress, online casinos in your browser history, expired medications lying around. That sort of thing." Steve blinks at him.

"Tony, I haven't even been unfrozen long enough for prescriptions to expire," he says.

And that got awkward fast.

"Love what you've done with the place," Tony tells him with a winning grin, but when Steve doesn't instantly forget what they'd been talking about in the face of a compliment, Tony forges on. "Seriously, that afghan? Brilliant and a desperately needed pop of color in the living room. If you like deep reds and bright oranges, that is. And the fridge? I'm diggin' those magnets, where'd you get them? You know how I feel about the industrial aesthetic."

Tony's eyes search the living space desperately for more things to point out as he slowly backs away from Steve.

Fuck it. He's got nothing.

"Damn, Cap, you actually don't have a whole lot in here." He scans the blank walls. "J.A.R.V.I.S., why is Cap's apartment so depressingly barren of decoration and tchotchke?"

"Captain Rogers has not attempted to decorate beyond the drawing taped to his bedroom wall. Perhaps he has a healthy appreciation for minimalism," J.A.R.V.I.S. tells him. Damn, Tony's inventions sure are sassy today. First Dum-E bringing him a mug of dry coffee grounds and now this.

Tony had (of course) noticed the drawing in Steve's room, had even briefly scrutinized it to see if it contained any breasts or toilets or whatever weird shit is wont to show up in modern art. The drawing is just of Bucky Barnes, Cap's archetypally faithful (and, unfortunately, long-since splattered) sidekick from the war. Tony had grown up with pictures and tales of Steve-and-Bucky; one more picture on Steve's wall isn't exactly earthshattering. It's expected and therefore boring.

Tony escapes Steve's totally unfair guilt-trip about respecting other people's privacy and goes back to his lab. He spends about fifteen minutes adding enough American flag-themed decorations to his Amazon cart to cover every wall and surface of Steve's apartment, and then Pepper calls him, because she's asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to tattle on him whenever Tony is attempting to make non-work-related purchases in excess of five grand.

"No," she says without preamble when Tony connects the call. "Take all that stuff out of your cart."

"But Steve doesn't know anything about physical space embellishment," Tony whines. Yes, Steve needs patriotic salt and pepper shakers, he decides. "I'm trying to help him adjust to the new apartment and the new...well, life."

"Steve has enough stars and stripes in his uniform. He doesn't need to be assaulted with it in his down time, too," Pepper states calmly.

"I am affronted and aghast that you don't think our national icon wants an American flag shower curtain," Tony shoots back. "Of course he wants a fucking American flag shower curtain. He loves this shit."

"Did he say that, Tony?" is Pepper's response. "Did he actually say the words, 'I like decorating my living space with American-themed décor?'"

"No, he didn't technically say those words." Tony rolls his eyes at how literal Pepper can be sometimes. "But babe, he needs this! He doesn't know a thing about surrounding oneself with happy things; his walls are barren and empty and very, very depressing. I'm trying to do something nice for the guy! I want him to like living here and like this century, by extension."

Tony's practically whining at this point; doesn't Pepper want Steve to have something besides a window overlooking the ruins of the Chitauri attack to look at? Tony does, because Tony's a good friend.

"He doesn't have anything on the walls? Not even a clock?" Pepper's voice is softer now. Tony is totally going to win this.

"Not even a mind-numbingly boring landscape. Nothing. Completely bare." Then he remembers one small detail. "Oh, except for this picture of Bucky Barnes that he drew and taped up. I got him a picture frame to put that in, but I couldn't really remember what size it was, so I actually got six picture frames. There's one that looks like the constitution."

"He drew it himself?" She still sounds thoughtful, even though Tony doesn't see why that matters. Steve's an artist; artists draw the things they know.

"Yes. Do you think Steve wants a mouse for his laptop? Mice are pretty passé, but that sounds like something he'd be into. Because there's this mouse pad-"

"Tony, stop," Pepper commands gently. "The only picture of Bucky Barnes that Steve has, he drew himself?" Tony makes a noise indicating affirmation, still scrolling and not seeing her point. "Tony. That's...that's incredibly sad."

"Mmm, why?"

"He doesn't have anything to remind him of his best friend. The only thing he has, he had to make when he woke up." And that's when Tony gets it. He stops shopping and really thinks about what she's saying.

Shit. It really is sad.

"This isn't going to be fixed by flag paraphernalia, is it?" he asks a moment later. He swipes the screen a few times and hovers over the 'Delete contents of cart' button.

"I wouldn't think so."

"So how do I fix this?" Tony asks as he clicks and then opens up a blank document. He types 'Grieving Cap/No Bucky stuff' at the top and waits for Pepper to guide him to the light.

"I don't know, Tony. Why don't you ask the other members of your team? I'll brainstorm today, but I have to go now." They exchange a few words about dinner and then hang up.

Tony assembles the Avengers, minus Steve, in his rec room the next afternoon.

"Why did you call me off the firing range and say it was an emergency?" Natasha asks as she glares daggers at Tony.

"My experiment is at a crucial point," Bruce chimes in.

"Okay, you?" Tony says, pointing at Natasha, "Don't need to be any scarier with a firearm. And you," he now points to Bruce, "should have taken me up on my fucking offer to staff your lab with 'bots. So now you deal with your own decision. Anyone else have a reason why they shouldn't be at this very important team meeting?"

"Why is the Captain not here as well?" Thor asks, sounding distressed. "Has something befallen our leader?"

"Cap is actually the reason why I called this pow-wow," Tony says as he sinks into a couch and takes a sip of his scotch. Of course, the important meeting hadn't gotten underway until everyone had a drink in their hand. Bruce has a soda, and Thor has a wine cooler, while Clint and Natasha both have straight vodka in eight-ounce tumblers. Tony highly suspects that Clint is just trying to keep up with Natasha.

"Okay, so the long and short of it is that I was conducting an investigation into Cap's potentially salacious personal life yesterday-"

"You were snooping," Clint cuts in, right at the same moment as Bruce asks, " Why were you doing that?"

"Hey, we're a team. It's not fair if the team has dirt on all of its members except one," Tony insists with his hands raised to ward off any physical rebukes, though, not quickly enough to stop Natasha's jab to his ribs. She's kind enough not to break anything.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. The guy doesn't even have spices in his kitchen, seriously, nothing interesting there. But," he continues, getting ready for the big reveal, "I did learn something about our esteemed Captain."

No one appears to be perched at the edge of his or her seat; instead, all four of his teammates are looking at Tony like they're more interested in the morality and ethics of his foray into Steve's apartment.

"You're no fun. Here it is: Cap only has one thing up in his apartment... And it's a picture of Bucky Barnes." He takes a deep breath, ready to really savor the looks on their faces as they work through it. "He drew it himself."

Tony is prepared for it to take a few minutes to sink in, like it had for him. It only takes seconds for the four Avengers in front of him to get pensive. Except Thor, and god, Tony loves Thor.

"Our friend Steven is a talented artist," he says quizzically. "What is the significance of displaying his own work on his walls?"

"He must not have any actual pictures," Natasha beats Tony to the punch. "Maybe he has some other stuff of Bucky's," she says to Tony, turning to face him fully.

"Uh, unless it's stashed somewhere besides his dresser, his desk, his closet, or his nightstand, I don't think so," Tony says, trailing off when everyone glares at him again.

"Oh, man," Clint says.

Bruce adds, "poor Steve."

"You're all making with the empathizing much quicker than I did," Tony admits.

"But why are we meeting?" asks Clint. Tony claps his hands to get their attention.

"Right, so, we need to find a way to solve this. Our Captain is emotionally compromised by his loss, true, but we can come up with a better coping solution than sticking up Bucky-doodles on the wall. American flag décor won't work," he says definitively in case someone wants to try that route.

Natasha takes a sip of her vodka, and holy shit, the glass is nearly empty. Clint's is still at least half-full and he's not hiding his grimace from Tony every time he raises it to his mouth.

"So we need to help him track down some actual pictures of Bucky?" she asks.

"Or things that were owned by Bucky?" is Clint's contribution.

"What about things that just remind him of Bucky?" asks Bruce.

"Who is Bucky?" Thor wants to know. And, oh yeah, Thor hasn't really grown up with stories of Cap-and-Bucky, has he? Clint and Bruce tell the story and Thor is greatly impressed to learn that Steve has a noble brother-in-arms.

"On Asgard, we commemorate our fallen brothers by enshrining their favorite weapons in places of honor," he says when he understands enough of the story to actually be helpful.

"Yes, a shrine! Now we're thinking," Tony says as he waves his glass in Thor's direction.

"I like this weapon idea," Natasha tells the room as she refills her own drink. Clint sighs and abandons his on the coffee table, clearly giving up in the face of her Russian liver. "But a shrine is tacky."

"A shrine is perfect. A Bucky Barnes shrine," Tony says happily. There, he's solved the problem without help from Pepper. She'll doubtlessly be impressed.

"When you say 'shrine,' what exactly are you picturing?" Bruce asks nervously.

"Like, a big picture, and lights, and candles. Maybe some food for any deities Cap wants to invoke." Drawing on any previous and possibly flawed knowledge he can find in his head about shrines, Tony doesn't get more than a sentence in before a chorus of voices are telling him "No, Tony."

"Absolutely not. Steve's not tacky," Natasha shuts him down. "We can just get him a few things to keep around the apartment and give him a physical connection to the memories."

"So a Bucky Barnes memorial?" Bruce asks. To Tony's ears, it still sounds like a damn shrine, which is an awesome idea by the way.

"I'm all for that," Clint tells them. "Let's start looking for some Bucky Barnes memorabilia. How hard can it be to find with a SHIELD salary and an artificial intelligence who can scour eBay day and night?"

As it turns out, Clint learns, it's really fucking hard to find authentic Bucky Barnes shit. 'Collectors' have snapped up most of the stuff that the museums were too slow to find, plus Bucky didn't really have the money to invest in the 1940s shit that really stood the test of time.

Clint looks at an iron from 1932 on an antiques website, has a weird moment of disorientation when he realizes that his friend and this iron are contemporaries, and then wonders if he can fool Cap into thinking that Bucky had once owned this iron.

He floats the idea to Natasha, who asks him, "Are you stupid?" before strapping on a Kevlar vest and heading out for the night.

Clint tries to feel offended, then accepts that the idea may not be his brightest.

He thinks of who among his acquaintances is good at finding shit, and comes up with a grand total of his ex-wife. This is probably not a good option, but Clint is out of ideas.

"Hey, Bobbi, it's Clint," he says when she picks up after the third ring.

"I do have caller ID," she tells him dryly. "What do you want, Clint?"

"I need some ideas for how to find something for a friend. Something special, pretty rare I guess, that's hard to find even online."

"I have no interest in helping you shop for your girlfriends. Goodbye, Clint," she says as he hangs up.

He redials.

"It's for Captain America," he tells her when she picks up again.

"What?"

"The thing, the present. It's for Captain America. I need help."

"Why are you looking for a present for Captain America?" He somehow feels like it would betray Steve's trust to share the detail about the lone, hand-drawn picture. Even though Steve hasn't actually told Clint about it, and it's all second-hand from Tony's snooping.

Speaking of the snooping, Clint is really hoping Tony will try the same shit with Natasha. That will make for good entertainment.

"It's a long story. Just- I need to find something that belonged to Bucky Barnes. There's not a lot of it, and it's damn near impossible to verify."

"I'm not really an expert in where to find Great Depression-era things," Bobbi tells him, but Clint can tell that she doesn't hate the idea.

"Well, you're certainly an expert in shopping. My credit card is still recovering," he jokes.

"I'm not going to help you if you tell lame divorce jokes, Barton."

In the end, Bobbi does agree to help. She puts out "feelers," which makes Clint think of tentacles, into several antiquing and collecting communities. A week later, however, Clint has nothing.

"Okay, let's try a new approach," Bobbi suggests. "You're going to need to go to the library for this one."

"Can I not?" Clint half-begs.

"Find out all the addresses Bucky Barnes had from, like, age ten and up. You might even have to ask Steve for this; I don't really know how you're going to do that without giving yourself away, though."

In the end, after a few fruitless searches for Bucky's enlistment information online, Clint tells Steve that his ex-wife is obsessed with Bucky Barnes and wants primary source information. Steve crinkles his forehead as he writes down a few addresses, probably long gone, on a notepad he keeps on his kitchen counter.

When he gives the addresses to Bobbi, he's mum on how he asked Steve for them.

"Okay, so most of these buildings have been torn down, but we can still figure out where they were," she says after spending a few minutes with the addresses and her smartphone. "That's your next task. Mark all of these points on a map of Brooklyn and then google 'pawn shops, Brooklyn, 1930s.' Mark those points too."

Clint had definitely not predicted there would be so much homework involved in cheering Steve up.

He finally completes Bobbi's herculean task and he finds that there are or were several pawnshops on the blocks where Bucky (and sometimes Steve) used to live. Bobbi does the easy part of the research, discovering that two of the shops are still operating, and they take an awkward trip to Brooklyn.

"Hi, I'm looking into some family heirlooms that were pawned here in the 30s or 40s," she says with a flirty smile to the balding proprietor. "Do your records go back that far?"

"Paper records do," the man says, transfixed by how long and shiny her hair is. Clint totally gets it.

"Okay, great, we're looking for the last name 'Barnes,'" he cuts in. The man snorts.

"We ain't got nothing owned by Bucky Barnes. Plenty have checked," he says with a shake of his head. It's unclear if he thinks the fuss is unwarranted or if he's judging Clint and Bobbi for only showing up now.

"What about George Barnes?" Bobbi asks him, looking discretely at the notes she's typed up on her BlackBerry.

The man sends a gaunt teenage boy to look at the records, but he can't find anything. Clint is truly discouraged by this point and ready to revert to the iron plan.

"Typical," Bobbi says with a shake of her head and a smile as Clint dutifully follows her to the next pawn shop. "Giving up after the first try."

"I thought you said no divorce jokes," Clint argues with a pout.

"Do you hear me laughing?" she asks, still smiling enough that it's not a fight. Clint thinks. Clint hopes.

At the next shop, the dialogue goes basically the same way. The shop manager laughs at their request for something belonging to Bucky Barnes, but when Bobbi mentions George Barnes, the manager actually goes to check and comes back with news.

"We had a watch pawned by a George Barnes in 1929. Sold to Jacob Newell in 1931."

They look up Jacob Newell and learn that he had one child (a son) who had one child (another son) who had one child (yet another son). It's laughably easy to trace him with the SHIELD database at their fingertips, and soon, Clint is emailing the great-grandkid with a fake story about being a watch repairman and wanting to check in on the family heirloom watch.

The great-grandkid, Trevor, meets Clint at a coffee shop in Chicago the next time his awesome Hawkeye business takes him to the middle of the country.

"So, like, is it valuable?" Trevor asks without bothering to stifle his enthusiasm. "Because as far as I knew, it was this junky old pocket watch that's been in the family forever. I obviously don't wear it or anything. Haven't looked at it in over a year."

Clint cuts to the chase and shows his Avengers ID.

"Look, man, the watch might have belonged to Bucky Barnes before grandpappy got his hands on it."

Trevor's eyes go wide.

" The Bucky Barnes?" he asks. Clint can practically see his pupils morphing into dollar signs, so he heads the guy off.

"Well, his dad, technically. I'll give you two grand for the watch."

"If it was actually owned by Bucky Barnes, it's worth way more than that," Trevor says shrewdly. Dammit, why does this guy have to be relatively intelligent?

"It probably is, but if you sell to anyone else, they're going to put it in a 'private collection,'" Clint says, physically making air quotes to demonstrate his point. "If you sell it to me, I'm going to give it to Captain America. Give him a piece of the friend he lost all those years ago."

Clint's laying it on a little thick, but the dollar signs give way to stars. Honestly, who wouldn't want to do something nice for Captain America? Terrorists, that's who, Clint decides.

"Um, okay. I guess I could part with the watch... for four grand." Clint scowls and writes the check.

When he gets the watch, he has no way to tell if it's actually been owned by a member of the Barnes family. He figures the odds are way better than those of the iron, however, so he polishes it up as best as he can and gives it to Steve at a team meeting.

"Hey, Cap, I came across this and thought you might like to have it," Clint tells him, shooting glares at his fellow Avengers because no one's contributed to the Bucky Barnes 'memorial' yet; without context, Clint looks weird giving a random, hella heartfelt gift.

He pushes the watch across Tony's kitchen table that's doubling as a conference table at the moment and Steve blinks at the watch.

"Um, okay, thank you," he says as he picks up the scarred metal and dragging chain. He pokes at it for a minute, then his mouth falls open.

"Where did you get this?"

"Just came across it," Clint says nonchalantly, not owning up to the month-long hunt, with his ex-wife of all people, for the damn thing. "Was told it might have been owned by-"

"George Barnes," Steve interrupts him, still staring at the watch with open adulation. "Bucky used to steal it and we'd play 'grown-ups' with it. I know because," and he flips the watch around to show Clint the back. "We scratched our names into the back with a safety pin and his pop got so mad, so he got this metal buffer but it stripped some of the sheen off. Exactly in this spot."

He shows Clint the tiny discoloration like it will lead to automatic recognition in anyone's eyes. Clint smiles and nods, feeling like he deserves a pat on the back. Steve is happy, beaming from ear to ear, and Clint made him look that way. Oh hell yes; Clint is an awesome friend and teammate.

"That doesn't look like a big enough spot to hold names," Tony says, always overanalyzing and trying to ruin what is clearly the best gift ever.

"Well, part of our names. S. Rogers and J. B. Barnes," Steve says distractedly. He's running his fingers over the watch in an almost pornographic manner, gaze locked on to the object in a trance. Remembering days long gone.

"Hmm, well, I guess it can go in the shrine," Tony muses. Natasha smacks him and Bruce groans.

"Shut up, Stark, it's not a shrine," Clint tells him.

"What?" Steve asks dumbly, still staring at the watch in his hands. Is he going to cry? Clint hopes not. That would be too emotional even for the investment in this gift.

"We're kind of helping you put together a shrine, Cap," Tony tells him as Natasha pinches really hard. Clint's been on the receiving end of those pinches before, and shit, they are not fun.

"Not a shrine. Just some stuff to help you remember Bucky," Clint corrects.

"A memorial to a fallen warrior and brother," Thor says solemnly. That gets Steve to look up.

"Guys...you don't have to..."

"We want to," Tony says when Steve trails off. He braces himself for another attack from Natasha, but she nods in satisfaction at his comment. He continues after a minute.

"We noticed that you just had the one picture of Barnes and it's not like a real picture or anything, just drawn from memory. So we're going to help you put together some stuff that reminds you of him. It'll be therapeutic. We want to do it. It was actually my idea," he says, and it was probably too much to hope that he could really get through a monologue without veering into egotistical territory.

It's okay, though. Stark covered the important stuff, and Steve looks like he's going to swallow the damn watch so he can be that much closer to it. Clint considers it a job well done.

And done he is; it's time for the other Avengers to get their asses in gear with the memorial project. Clint can't be the only one stepping up to the plate around here. He's definitely not up for that responsibility, seeing as he would have to be, well... Responsible.

"I can't fucking believe Barton scooped me," Tony complains while Pepper gargles with mouthwash in their ornate master bathroom. "This was my idea and, of course, Clint has to rush in to be the first to give Cap something for the shrine. What a fucking douche-hole-ass-hat-ball-licker." Pepper quirks an eyebrow at his choice of language as she swishes and then spits out the bright-blue liquid.

"How long did it take him to find the watch and give it to Cap?" she asks as she fills a glass with about an inch of water and then proceeds to swish with that too. Damn, Tony's never really observed Pepper's oral hygiene routine before, but it's very intricate.

"Like, a month," Tony tells her. "I seriously can't believe him."

"Okay, Tony, a month? You had plenty of time. You all had plenty of time. Clint didn't 'scoop' you so much as everyone else dropped the damn ball. Whatever happened to trying to do something nice for Steve?"

She pulls a piece of floss from the little box and Tony decides he's seen enough. He walks back into their bedroom and flops down on the four-poster bed, pitching his voice so she can still hear it while she extracts every tiny morsel of food from her teeth.

"We are doing something nice for Steve! It's not my fault that Barton picked the easiest possible solution. Bucky's dad's pocket watch. Give me a fucking break."

"You're being unreasonable," her voice is slightly muffled. "I know for a fact that watch wasn't easy to track down. Plus, it's not like you've been working day and night on your own present." She comes out of the bathroom smelling minty.

"Umm, not to completely shut you down, Pep, but you're so wrong. I have been working diligently, tirelessly, indefatigably-"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," he ignores her smirk. "I know exactly where my contribution to the shrine is and I've been working on it since the day I proposed this brilliant plan."

"Bruce specifically told me that it's not a shrine; it's just a collection of objects for Steve's apartment. They technically don't even have to be displayed. You still haven't given up on the decoration thing, have you?"

Tony closes his eyes and tries to be patient with Pepper. He loves her dearly, but sometimes, she really just doesn't get it.

"Obviously, it's a fucking shrine. What else is a shrine if not a collection of objects with sentimental value exhibited on one's walls in individual shelving units?"

"Again, I don't think they're going to be-wait a minute," she narrows her eyes at him. "Let's talk about how you display your suits."

Tony would rather not, so he escapes to his lab. He hadn't planned on sleeping for at least a few more hours anyway.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., update me on the status of our special project," Tony tosses out to the ceiling as he flips on the lab's lights. Dum-E and You look up guiltily from whatever the fuck they're doing by the wall, and Tony ignores them.

"Very good, sir," the AI replies crisply before displaying a holographic projection of an intricate chart. "Shall I add to the existing data?"

"Can't hurt," Tony tells him. He sits in his chair and almost slips to the floor; getting back up, he sees that someone has left an oily rag on the seat of his expensive roll-y chair, so now both the chair (and his jeans) are filthy.

"Okay, who did this?" he asks the 'bots wearily. Dum-E tries to turn and face the wall, which results in him smashing his claw-face-thingy into the wall while You lowers his claw-face-thingy to the ground like a hangdog. "You're cleaning this up, You," he says threateningly as he steps out of his pants and leaves them lying on the table.

It certainly won't be the first time he's gotten his clothing covered in grease or fuel or maybe the teensiest bit of blood.

"Okay, I'm ready, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he tells his only artificial intelligence to truly live up to the name. "Hit me."

"Time and date recorded; Tony Stark, on a scale of 1-100, what is your aversion to entering into Stark Mansion and retrieving the item required for Operation Shrine?"

"I'm feeling like a 55 right now. Probably correlated to Barton's totally selfish need for Cap's attention." J.A.R.V.I.S. adds the data to the graph, and it's the most inclined score in the display. "Huh. Guess I'm nearing a breakthrough."

"If I may say, sir, tracking your inclination/aversion to enter your parents' house and retrieve an item of Bucky Barnes' from Howard Stark's possessions does not seem to be yielding any true results. If indeed the recent spike in inclination is attributable to Barton, and therefore an outlier, then the data trend does not indicate that you'll make headway anytime soon."

Tony closes his eyes and leans against a lab bench. He hates to admit it, but if the other Avengers are finally making moves on this project, then it's time for him to do the same. He's not really doing anything besides trying to desensitize himself to going back to the mansion by looking at pictures of it and trying to be slightly more proactive about dealing with his memories instead of shoving them into little boxes, then blowing the shit out of them with metaphorical Jerichos.

"Fine. Fuck it. Let's go now."

"It's one in the morning east coast time, sir."

"Do you have a point, J.A.R.V.I.S.? I said I'm going now. What car should I take? Do you think Pepper wants to go upstate with me?" Tony's already moving out of the lab and snapping his fingers at the 'bots. "Butterfingers, you're in charge," he calls over his shoulder. "Keep these two in line."

"Might I suggest pants, sir?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks pleasantly when Tony is almost at his garage. "Also, keys and a cell phone. If you're inclined."

Tony retrieves pants, keys, his phone and his wallet. He debates about waking Pepper up, but decides that he doesn't want her to see his fucking daddy issues on full display, so he lets her sleep. J.A.R.V.I.S. also suggest that Ms. Potts may not appreciate being woken out of a full sleep to go on a spontaneous road trip in the middle of the night, so Tony pretends that that's why he's going alone.

He picks the Ferrari, probably unconsciously because Howard had thought them ostentatious, and he's going to be better equipped to handle this if he goes in with a fuck-Howard attitude primed and ready.

Flying down the dark, practically deserted highway as it gets later and later, Tony fights the urge to turn around several times. He plays with the idea of sending someone to go through his father's things; sending Pepper even, if she's not too busy running his company and organizing his life. But the thought of sending an employee to rifle through his Father's things when he himself barely knows what's there is shameful, and the idea of admitting this weakness to Pepper even more so.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., read me a list of everything shitty my father ever did," he asks as he approaches the upstate New York town where his ancestral home happens to be located.

"Shall I start pre or post Manhattan project?" Car-J.A.R.V.I.S. says and Tony doesn't answer. He can't wait for this to be over.

When he pulls up in front of the mansion, all the windows are dark. He'd expected it; it's three AM nearly, but it makes the place look completely abandoned and tomb-like. Tony knows there's at least a few caretakers running about the place and imbuing it with as much life as it's going to get while Tony's the owner.

Because it's Howard's house, there's no key, just a thumbprint scanner on the doorknocker. Tony submits to it half-hoping that the house will reject him, and when the door swings open, he sighs and steps inside.

"We're at about a 99.7 right now, just FYI, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says to the air. Sometimes he forgets when J.A.R.V.I.S. can't actually hear him; sometimes he forgets that he's not in the suit and is instead completely exposed and alone. "Let's fucking do this and get it over with."

He treads up the lushly-carpeted stairs with a confidence he doesn't feel, and when he gets to Howard's west study, he again submits his thumb for a scan.

The inside of the west study, where Howard always kept his Captain America crap, is dusty. Tony wonders if any of the housekeepers who clean most of the mansion have access to this room; it's hard to tell with Howard. Tony could always update the security programming, but he likes that certain parts of his father get to stay locked away from light and air.

This is certainly one of them. Tony was weaned on stories of Cap saving the day, and he's got nothing but respect for the living, breathing Captain, but he's always hated and envied his father's obsession over the frozen hero. It grates that Howard had been right, had been possibly the only one not to lose faith that Steve was out there somewhere in the ocean, just waiting to be brought back and wound up.

He doesn't rule out the idea that part of his obsession to help Cap fit into the modern world stems from guilt over how much he'd hated Steve's effect on his family from the always-distant possibility of finding him.

Tony pokes around his dad's shit, mostly case files and weapons prototypes and a few artifacts of Steve's that Tony honestly doesn't think he'll miss. It's mostly military gear and maps. The good stuff, like the shield prototypes, weren't even stored here.

He finds what he's looking for when he opens a closet and finds a sealed trunk in the back underneath stacks of files and notebooks. He drags it out, blows away the dust, and sees the label, "J. B. Barnes."

He wonders for the first time what he'll give Steve if the trunk disappoints. He's never looked in it; Howard had been an asshole, saying that the only stuff Steve would care about was in that trunk, so Tony just has a general idea of what it contains.

It's a pathetic offering at first, when he breaks the lock off after slamming it over and over with a screwdriver. Sometimes, even when you're one of the world's most powerful and precise superheroes, you still have to hit things with a screwdriver.

The top of the trunk is covered in more old maps, pieces of paper with random numbers and words on them, and a few dirty comic books. Dirty, as in, 'old man' dirty.

"Yowza," he says as he flips through one of them. Which is what he's pretty sure you're supposed to say in the old days when you come across a drawing of a woman wearing garters and bending over like that. "Gee whiz."

He discards the comics and gets to the next layer of the trunk. Playing cards that literally fall apart in his hands, pencil stubs, a pocket knife that gets Tony really excited before he sees the name "J. Morita" etched into the surface.

This is all junk. Why in the hell had his dad told him Steve would give a shit about this trunk?

He thinks he's found something wrapped in cloth a moment later, and he pulls the wrapping away only to discover that it's something in and of itself; it's a dark blue, relatively lightweight coat.

"Jackpot," he whispers as he unfolds the coat and looks at it, really looks at it. It's dark blue with copper buttons. There's a faded insignia on the left sleeve.

Holiest of shits, he has Bucky Barnes' coat. The iconic coat that's in every comic, painting, and movie representation of the fallen Commando and now it's Tony's. Well, temporarily Tony's, until he passes it along to Steve.

Why hadn't he been wearing this when he fell? Did he have more than one? Tony fingers at the material and realizes that it's not a coat meant for harsh weather. A summer coat, maybe? Whatever, Steve will tell him.

He refolds the coat respectfully and looks into the bottom of the trunk to see if anything remains. A generic Bible that looks like it's never been opened, a bunch of very dead twigs and leaves, and some sort of old-timey military lantern. Well damn, had Howard just upended Bucky's pack into the trunk and locked it up? Why the fuck is there foliage in here?

He tosses everything but the coat back into the trunk and goes to put it away. Then, on the off-chance that one of the scraps of paper or the borrowed knife or even the fucking twigs has meaning to Steve, he picks up the trunk by one handle and drags it to his convertible outside.

"Everything go alright, sir?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks politely as Tony hefts his finds into the passenger seat and then slides across the hood dramatically. Now that he's dealt with the house, and he doesn't have any reason to come back here for a long-ass time, he feels light.

"Everything's peachy," he says, and then frowns as he starts the car. "Well, not counting the fact that my own employees have no idea someone just broke into my house and stole a very important historical artifact. Should I be worried about that?"

"It's possible that they were unaware due to the fact of it being their employer, therefore a man with total access to the house and its security system, breaking in."

"Still feels unsafe," Tony fires back. "Yet another reason not to visit." He guns the engine and speeds off into the night. When he gets back to the tower, he slips into bed beside Pepper and cuddles up to her for a whole thirty minutes before her alarm goes off.

"When did you come to bed?" she asks with an adorable yawn. Her breath still smells clean and minty.

"Very recently," he admits. "But I took care of Steve's thing." She smiles and kisses him, and he falls asleep.

Two days later, the Avengers are assembled in Tony's rec room again for movie night. Tony very specifically wants to give the coat to Steve in front of Barton so that the archer can enjoy the feeling of knowing Tony's contribution to the shrine is better than a rusty old watch that Bucky probably played with, like, three times.

"So, Cap, I have something for you," he says when the credits roll on Inception.

"I think I'm still digesting the movie, Tony," Steve admits.

"Sometimes it helps to draw a diagram of the timeline." Natasha is already moving to get paper.

Tony briefly protests and then ends up joining in. Thirty minutes later, they've lined up the three interlocking timelines and explained everything several times to Thor.

"Okay, Cap, I have something for you," Tony tries again. This time Steve looks at him and crinkles his forehead.

"Okay," he says, sounding confused. Then his whole face brightens. "Uh, is it something else like the watch? Which you guys really don't have to do," he says, resting his fingers on his pants pocket where he's probably got the precious stashed away safely.

"Better than the watch." Tony beams. "From the personal Stark collection." Steve looks excited, but Clint rolls his eyes.

"Are you kidding? That's cheating."

"I'll have you know that I had to work through a plethora of daddy issues to get this, Barton."

"Well, I had to work through a...lot of ex-wife issues to get the watch."

"Read a book, Barton, it'll do wonders for your vocabulary," Tony says as he goes into the kitchen to get the trunk and brings it back to the rec room.

"Open up, Cap." He's all tingly with anticipation for the reveal of his hard-won gift.

Steve opens the trunk and sees the shitty collection of twigs and generic army stuff. His eyes go wide anyway.

"Oh, wow, Tony." He lifts out the funky lantern and Morita's knife. "This is actually Bucky's stuff from the war." He shuffles around and picks up one of the random leaves. "He had the strangest obsession with the trees wherever we were sent."

Steve looks like he's going to cry, or hug Tony, or both. Tony's a little confused. Steve likes the flotsam and jetsam in Bucky's trunk; Tony had wanted to fake him out and then reveal the coat.

"Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate this. I know it wasn't easy for you to-"

"Fuck it, I'll be right back." He walks out on Cap mid-thank you, which is probably illegal, and returns with the coat folded nicely (by Pepper) into a garment box.

"This is the real shrine thing," he says as he hands the box over.

"It's not a damn shrine, Tony," Natasha snaps.

Steve opens the box and makes a noise like a stepped-on puppy. "Oh my god." He's dropping the box to the floor and holding the coat up to the light like it will somehow show a watermark and prove its authenticity.

Tony waggles his eyebrows at Clint.

"It's not a competition, Tony," Bruce informs him.

"That's because I'm winning the shrine."

"Still not a shrine," Bruce tells him.

Steve is actually sniffing the coat now, and Tony is slightly concerned. He'd debated getting the thing dry-cleaned, but he wasn't sure if that would be good or bad for fabric which hasn't been washed in 70 years.

"This is part of his uniform," Steve says. He's choked up and he holds the coat against his chest.

"Thank you, Tony. Seriously, you can't know how much this means. Thank you." He goes back to staring intently at the coat, which is far better than staring intently at the watch, and Tony smirks.

"Bet he looked real sharp in that, Cap," he preens. Steve nods.

"You have no idea," he says, sounding breathy, to which Tony arches an eyebrow. He catches Clint giving him an identical, quizzical look.

Well, that's kind of an odd level of appreciation for how good your male best friend looks in uniform, but okay.

Tony's gift is the best, and that's all that matters.

After Tony makes the memorial project a competition (and why is Bruce surprised? Everything becomes a competition with Tony sooner or later), Bruce has a brief period of panic.

Clint tracked down Bucky's dad's pawned watch. Tony tracked down Bucky's light coat from fucking World War II.

There is simply no way that Bruce is going to match their finds. Once he accepts it, he calms down.

He spends a few hours browsing for anything related to Bucky Barnes online. He's not looking for authentic, Bucky-touched-this, Bucky-sneezed-on-this stuff; he's just getting a sense for his options.

He debates several books about Captain America which discuss Bucky Barnes in various amounts of detail, a handful of movies and TV programs which feature Bucky, and some Bucky-themed toys. He rules out the action figures because the little Bucky-faces are blurry and nondescript, but he has positive feelings about something called a Bucky Bear.

Oh, who is Bruce kidding; he'd had a Bucky Bear as a child. He'd loved his Bucky Bear.

Bruce drops in on Steve one rainy afternoon and attempts to suss out Steve's attitude toward the subject without explicitly asking, 'So what are your feelings on stuffed bears dressed as your dead best friend?"

"Hey, Bruce," Steve tells him as he admits the scientist to his apartment. "Everything okay?"

"Fine, fine, everything's fine. I just wanted to bring you some tea. It's one of my favorite blends from Argentina," he explains as he hands the mug over.

Steve looks a little puzzled, but he takes a sip and hums appreciatively.

"Oh, that's pretty good. You want to watch some TV with me for a bit?"

It's a good opening to float the idea of the bear and see how Steve reacts. Also, Bruce realizes as Steve sits at one end of the couch and checks like he's making sure Bruce has enough room on the other three cushions, no one comes by to just watch TV with Steve, do they?

"What are we watching?" he asks as he settles in and feels a wave of guilt crash over him. Everyone on the team likes and respects Steve, including Bruce; they're working on this big memorial project because they care about Steve enough to want him to acclimate and find some peace over Bucky's death. But maybe they've been remiss in the little things like stopping by with a cup of tea.

"19 Kids and Counting." Bruce pauses mid-sip.

"I'm sorry that you know that show exists." Steve huffs a laugh.

"I found it a few days ago and I like it. I like shows about ordinary Americans. I still don't really have a feel for how people live nowadays - I get that the way we live in the tower isn't actually the norm."

"This is not a cross-section of America, I assure you," Bruce says, pointing to the plasma screen. "And I can't believe that you like reality television. No one at SHIELD is going to believe this." He shakes his head briefly and smirks.

"They seem more realistic than some other people on TV. I don't really care for the Kardashians," Steve says off-handedly.

This time Bruce actually sputters on his tea.

"I somehow feel the need to apologize for my century," he tells Steve when he regains his composure. Steve laughs at him, easy and deep, and Bruce really wants to get him something nice for the Bucky shr...a nice Bucky thing.

Speaking of the Bucky project, he runs his eyes over the bare walls of the apartment as he and Steve fall into easy conversation about television. He doesn't see any evidence of the watch, the coat, or the other junk that Tony had gifted to Steve.

"I'm not much of a decorator," Steve tells him as he sees where Bruce's eyes are skimming. "Tony's already informed me that that's considered a character flaw nowadays."

"Oh, it's totally fine," Bruce tells him as he makes a mental note to scold Tony later. "Tony really shouldn't say stuff like that. Just ignore him; we all do."

"Don't worry. I'm not taking it personally." Steve stands up and heads toward an open door. "I just never had money to decorate when I was younger. Food or decorations? It was always going to be food. But Bucky's stuff is mostly in here if you want to come see it." He sounds childishly eager to show off his Barnes collection, so Bruce follows him into his bedroom.

"Coat's in the closet; I should probably get one of those big dry-cleaning bags to keep it in to preserve it, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. I just like being able to see it hanging there." The coat doesn't even look that out-of-place hung next to Steve's carefully-pressed slacks and button-down shirts. Bruce awkwardly stares into Steve's closet and admires it.

"And the watch is on my bureau. Fun fact; it doesn't actually tell time anymore. Clint just set the hands before he gave it to me." Steve doesn't sound upset by it, and, because the thing is broken, Bruce feels like it's okay to pick the watch up and look at it in his palm.

"It's really cool-looking," he admits. Steve smiles at the praise like Bruce is complimenting his child.

"Yeah, isn't it?"

Steve leads them out of the bedroom, and points to the bookshelf in his living room.

"Most of the other stuff is on that shelf. I sent the knife to Morita's granddaughter, and I donated the Bible. Bucky never cracked the thing once he saw what war was really like."

It's a little odd that Steve's given away things that belonged to Bucky, but maybe that's telling. Maybe it's not enough to have been owned by Bucky; maybe, to truly make the memorial, it has to be something that he cared about. This makes Bucky Bear look woefully inadequate.

"What'd you do with the foliage?" Bruce asks. Steve groans and half rolls his eyes.

"Threw them to the wind. What a...Darcy said the term now is a 'derp.' I can't believe he had those mixed in with his stuff and Howard didn't clean them out."

This is actually a sign that Steve is grieving healthily; had he plastered the dried, dead leaves from 1944 to his wall, Bruce would have been worried.

"Kept the pencils and the lantern; I can still us those. The paper and stuff that has his handwriting on it is just in my desk drawer." A blush quickly rises and falls on Steve's cheeks. So apparently he did keep something basically useless after all.

"Well, it's all really nice. I'm glad you have some of his stuff now; everyone deserves to have some physical reminder of the people they've lost." He thinks of a single earring of Betty's, one that she'd left at his place long ago, that he keeps in his wallet.

"I agree. It makes me smile when I see his stuff around here." Steve does smile when he says it, and it has the expected elements of sadness, but it's also a very soft and fond. It again brushes an image of Betty against Bruce's mind.

"So did they tell you about Bucky Bears?" Bruce says abruptly, shaken by that smile and the effect it's having on his memories.

Steve wrinkles his brow.

"What's a Bucky Bear?" he says as he resituates himself in front of the television and reaches for his tea.

"It's a toy, like, a teddy bear. It's dressed up as Bucky Barnes, though." Steve frowns but looks intrigued.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is it dressed up like Bucky?"

"Because it's a Bucky Bear. I don't know; someone decided that kids liked Bucky, so they made a toy after him?"

"Sounds cute," Steve admits. "Bucky would have hated it."

Well, there goes Bruce's best idea. Now that he knows it has to be something Bucky cared about, he can't give Steve something they both know Bucky wouldn't like.

"How do you know?" Bruce asks, because he's not going to just up and leave even though Steve's shot his idea down.

"He hated all that stuff. Comics, radio shows, decoder rings. Anything that depicted him like a kid sidekick; and it always did, for some reason. I have no idea why. Maybe they thought two heroes was too many?"

"Maybe," Bruce agrees loosely. "Or maybe they wanted to really pitch that stuff to the kids."

"Makes sense." Steve shrugs. "Anyway, he used to get so mad. Seriously, those comics. They were embarrassing enough for me, but they made him look like he was thirteen." A wicked grin crosses Steve's face. "He used to write into the comic editors all the time, telling them he was the real Bucky Barnes and demanding that his story be changed. He'd get in such a fit over it. It was hilarious." Steve laughs and then catches himself, looking contrite.

Bruce just grins. He's got an idea for the memorial now.

"Friends are there to be laughed at," he assures Steve. "Why do you think I'm friends with Tony?"

That night, Bruce asks J.A.R.V.I.S. for a favor.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., can you do a little comic recon for me?" he asks very politely. Even though he knows it isn't necessary, he still thinks that Tony can be too harsh with his inventions.

"I would be happy to, sir. Can you please elaborate what it is you wish for me to do?"

"I'm looking for an old Captain America comic from the 1940s. I don't which comic, or if it even exists, but I want to see if Bucky Barnes ever got a letter printed." J.A.R.V.I.S. assures Bruce that he'll be diligent about peeking through many scans and summaries. Bruce smiles as he makes himself his 8 th cup of tea and goes to check on his experiments.

If all goes well with J.A.R.V.I.S., he might be able to track down something that Bucky Barnes had clearly cared about, even if he never owned it.

J.A.R.V.I.S. tells him the next morning that he didn't find anything matching Bruce's description, and Bruce's smile falters.

"Thanks for trying, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says wearily. Well, that didn't work; what now?

"Sir, I have been able to locate a letters page with information related to your original request, though not directly matching it."

"What'd you find?" He's curious, but he's already wracking his brain to think of a new idea.

"I was able to locate a letters page from late 1943 with a letter from a J. B. Rogers. I wasn't sure if it was relevant to your purposes, but the name aroused my curiosity." Bruce's eyes widen.

"Show me the letter."

J.A.R.V.I.S. brings up a PDF scan of the original letters page, faded with age and smudged by many fingers. He located his glasses in the mess on his desk and leans forward to read the letter.

"Dear Marvel," he mutters aloud. "I am a long-time fan of Bucky Barnes, but I want to know why you keep making him a teenage boy. Everyone who's seen real footage of Captain America knows that Bucky is twenty-three. He's a real dashing devil, too. I'm sick of him looking like a kid following after Captain America and getting into trouble. Cap's the trouble maker and Bucky keeps him safe. Signed, J. B. Rogers."

Bruce sits back in his chair.

"That's good, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says after a minute. "That was very smart of you to extend the parameters of your search."

"Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to assist with Captain Rogers' project. I believe that he will like this gift very much."

That reminds Bruce that he actually has to track down this comic book now.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., do you think you could send me a list of places where I can get this specific comic book from?"

"Certainly, sir. Are you interested only in mint-condition copies, or are you able to expand your search to the more easily locatable, and affordable, copies?"

Bruce thinks of Bucky's jacket hanging in Steve's closet, sans plastic sleeve, so that Steve can look at it and touch it when he wants.

"Any copy is fine, J.A.R.V.I.S.. As long as it's still readable."

Bruce learns about a copy for sale at a comic shop downtown, and he walks into the store bracing himself to be recognized. While he isn't green or growling right at the moment, he's done enough press events with the Avengers to be semi-recognizable among people who follow super heroes.

Like, he's just going out on a limb here, the patrons of a comic shop.

"Uhh, hi," he tells the young lady working at the counter. Her nose is pierced and she looks bored by Bruce's instinctive shyness around strangers. "I'm looking for an old Captain America comic. I saw online that you might have it."

"Which one?" Bruce pulls a sticky note out of his pocket on which he's written the name and number of the comic he wants. He waits at the counter while she pulls it from the fancy glass case where they apparently keep the rare comic books, and while she's gone, Bruce notices another man lingering near the front of the store.

"I think she'll be right back," he says politely. The man gives him a nasty look that takes Bruce aback.

"Did I hear you say you're looking for Captain America 16?"

"Um, yes. I'm buying a copy for a friend." The man steps forward to place something small and plastic on the counter; Bruce sees that it's a credit card.

"I'll be buying the Cap 16. I've been saving up to buy all the old Cap comics here, and I can't have a hole in my collection."

"Uhh..." Bruce says intelligently, then he opens his own wallet and puts his own credit card on the counter.

"Well, I actually asked about it first. But I think there's a collector in town who might sell, if you want his name." The man knocks Bruce's card off the counter and Bruce feels the stirrings of the Hulk inside of him.

"Then go buy it from the collector," the man says with a glare. "I'm on issue 12 and I'm going to buy all of the old war comics in the case."

The girl returns with the comic and blinks at them.

"Sorry, is there a problem?"

Bruce opens his mouth to ask her to get his card where it fell behind the counter, when the man pushes in front of him.

"Cassandra, I've been coming here for years. I know that means a lot to this store, so please let me buy the comic."

"Sure, Eddie," she says. She turns to Bruce and he feels the anger continue to build in his gut. "Sorry, dude, this is on hold for someone."

"You literally just put it 'on hold,'" Bruce tells her, unimpressed. "I heard him talk to you; I was standing right here. You just put that on hold and it's not fair."

"Sorry, dude," she says again. "Customer loyalty beats random strangers off the street any day." Bruce looks three feet to his left where he sees an advertisement for the latest Avengers-related comic book. More to the point, he sees a picture of his green alter-ego towering above a very tiny-waisted, suggestively-posed Black Widow.

"I'm not really a random stranger on the street," he says and then he shows the girl his Avengers ID.

"Yeah, right," she says as she looks at the picture. "My friend has one of these. They're really popular. Get a life, mister; pretending to be an Avenger at your age isn't cool."

He feels it arch up his spine; a band of energy and accompanying rage that signifies the first part of the transition. He struggles to hold on to control because he'll be damned if these two punks are going to break him after months of yoga, yoga and more yoga.

"Hulk want to buy comic book!" he yells as he sees his forearms start to bulge and a green film slides over his eyes. The man, Eddie, jumps backwards and the girl's jaw drops.

"Holy shit," she says. Bruce struggles to quell the anger in his core as his buttons start to pop. 'Go back, go back,' he mentally chants as his muscles begin to reshape themselves.

"You can have it!" Eddie is yelling. Bruce takes deep, calming breaths until the green haze clears entirely.

He asks Cassandra to pick up his credit card, and as she's ringing him up, she asks if they can put "The Hulk shops here" on their promotional materials.

"Sure, go ahead," Bruce tells her, a little embarrassed for almost losing his cool over rude treatment in a comic shop. Seriously, he deals with Tony on a daily basis and this is what almost breaks him.

"Bye, Mr. Hulk!" Cassandra waves to him as he leaves. The other patrons don't look up from their cell phones, where they're filming his exit.

Fury mentions the incident at a team meeting that evening.

"And I feel the need to address why Doctor Banner nearly Hulked out in a Manhattan comic book store today." Bruce groans. "It's all over YouTube. My nephew sent me the link to a very high-quality video."

"You have a nephew?" Tony asks.

"What were you doing in a comic shop, Doc?" Clint asks as Natasha arches an eyebrow. Steve just looks supportively at Bruce.

He sighs and takes the comic out of his briefcase.

"Here, Steve. I didn't get a chance to, well, do anything with it." Steve takes the comic from him, slips it out of the plastic sleeve and flips through the pages. It's not in pristine condition, but it's not falling apart, either, so the pages turn easily.

"Thanks, Bruce," Steve tells him with a smile. Bruce knows he didn't get all the way to the letters page.

"Keep flipping," he tells Steve. Then he gets a chill. He didn't personally flip to the back of the comic before giving it to Steve; what if it's the wrong comic? Or worse, his panic flares up again, what if the letter wasn't even written by Bucky? It's not like every reader of that comic hadn't known Steve's full name and at least part of Bucky's.

His spike of panic is broken by Steve chuckling and smiling even wider.

"Oh, Buck," he says fondly as he runs a finger over the letters page. "I didn't know they actually ran this. This is great. Thanks, Bruce."

"What is it?" Tony rolls his chair over to Steve and hooks his head over Steve's shoulder to see. Clint does the same thing on Steve's opposite side. The image is juvenile and sweet.

"I believe it's an awesome gift," Bruce says cockily, briefly caught up in the game now that he's playing it. Fury nips that in the bud.

"A gift that caused you to Hulk out in Manhattan? You already broke Harlem, Doctor Banner."

"Well, yes, that did happen," Bruce admits. He starts to tell the story to Fury and his teammates as Steve returns to the beginning of the comic, opens it, and begins to read.

Thor is deeply pleased by all of the gifts which have been presented to his friend, the Captain, so far.

The Hawk had given him a token of Barnes' father.

The Man of Iron had given him Barnes' battle garments retrieved, Thor understands, after a fierce battle with his inner demons.

The gentle monster had given him a letter written by Barnes to defend his reputation.

All of these gifts please Thor, but they also strike him with a dawning awareness that he is also expected to provide a gift. Unfamiliar with the gift-procuring customs of Midgard, and still hazy on the legend of the warrior Bucky Barnes, Thor excitedly decides that he must seek out help from his lady.

'JANE MY LOVE WE MUST SKYPE' he texts her, followed by thirty emoticons. It does not produce an immediate response.

Frustrated, but practicing the art of patience, Thor leaves his quarters and goes to find his friend Bruce.

Bruce is in his own quarters, but the Captain is there too.

"Bruce, Steve, it is good to see you both," Thor greets them.

"Yes, because it's been so long," Bruce says as he holds open the door. Thor frowns as he walks into Bruce's quarters. It can't be more than an hour since the team last congregated with the one-eyed man, Fury.

"Am I interrupting?" Thor asks, sitting down on the couch and helping himself to a handful of delicious tortilla chips from the open bag. The Captain is also sitting and watching something on the television.

"We're working on a sitcom project," Bruce tells him. "Care to join us?" Until the lady Jane texts him back, Thor is content to be wherever the chips are. They watch a group of people talk on screen, and the dialogue is quite funny, but there are no fight scenes or love scenes.

Thor points this out, and Bruce makes a vaguely rude sound.

"Have you seen any movies or TV you liked yet?"

"I very much enjoy the works of Quentin Tarantino."

"I really liked Inglorious Basterds," Steve tells Thor. "That's the war I fought in." Thor is delighted to hear this.

"Okay, sorry to run out on you, but I have a gym date with Clint in about five minutes. Either of you want to come?" Steve asks soon after.

"Do I look like I work out?" Bruce asks him.

"I have no need to attend the gym," says Thor. He certainly is not trying to brag, but Bruce glares at him anyway.

"Later, gators," Steve tosses over his shoulder as he leaves.

"No, Cap, I didn't show you Friends so you could pick up 90s catchphrases," Bruce insists to the closing door. He turns to Thor once Steve is gone. "Well, what do you want to watch now that it's just us?"

"I simply seek company whilst my Jane is busy." Thor crunches on his snack for a few minutes before offering an observation. "This task that we are working on, the task of helping the Captain remember his friend, it is a good thing."

"I agree with you there, Thor."

"It brings us closer as a team. The Captain is spending more time outside his room and more time with us." Bruce nods.

"Yeah, he's been around more lately. Making time to hang out with me, making time to hang out with Clint. It's possible that he's even spending more time with Tony, although I don't know why he would voluntarily subject himself to that."

"It is a good thing," Thor repeats. He muses in his head that he must not break the chain of excellent gifts; he doesn't know how he's going to do it, but he can't disappoint the Captain now that everyone else has made him happier and lighter.

It is a heavy task for one so clumsy in this Midgardian world as Thor. Luckily, his phone buzzes.

"My Jane summons me to Skype!" he says excitedly, thanking Bruce for the company and the food before running back to his own quarters.

The sight of Jane's beautiful face on the computer screen fills Thor with love.

"How pleased I am to look upon you," he tells her, smiling when she blushes. "Of all faces, this is the one I like most."

"Thor, shut up, I haven't even showered," she says with an embarrassed laugh. "Anyway, did you just want to talk or do you need something specific?"

Thor wants to learn every detail about the 32 hours that have passed since he last spoke with Jane, but he has a task to complete first.

"Jane, I need your advice and assistance. I am tasked with finding a gift for Captain America and I do not know what to look for or where to find it." He describes the Shrine project, the gifts that have been given so far, and his own conundrum.

"Okay, wow, those are really good gifts," Jane says when he finishes. "Poor Steve, though. I think this is a really great idea. Did Natasha come up with it?"

"No, it was Tony who set this quest in motion." She raises an eyebrow.

"Tony? Okay, interesting. He's always full of surprises." She takes a band off her delicate wrist and uses it to bind her hair back. "So we have to find something with sentimental Bucky Barnes value to Steve while accepting our limitations. There probably aren't more watches or coats out there."

"Alas, I think not," Thor says sadly.

"Well, you said this got started because Tony saw a picture of Bucky in Steve's room?"

"Yes. The picture was hand-drawn, so our friend Steve lacks a true photograph of his friend."

"That's perfect, then!" Thor is puzzled.

"What is perfect?"

"Everyone thought so big, that no one's gone the simple route and tracked down a photo of Bucky. Thor, your genius friends are actually morons!" Thor does not like to hear his friends insulted, but he considers the idea and finds it excellent.

"A photograph of Bucky Barnes?"

"Yes, it's a great idea! There were a handful taken during the war, and I, uh..." She trails off. "I might have had a folder with his picture on it at some point. In junior high." Thor feels the stirrings of jealousy and Jane cuts him off. "Oh my god, don't make that face. Everyone had one! Bucky Barnes is one of our most famous war heroes and it was basically that or the Backstreet Boys!"

Better to choose a folder displaying the visage of a warrior than whatever a backstreet boy is, Thor decides. Still, Jane's embarrassment reveals that she thinks Barnes handsome.

He uses the Google to summon a picture of Barnes and much of his jealousy dissipates. Truly, the man is handsome; he should not begrudge him female attention when the gods have gifted such tragic beauty.

"Did he have a woman?" Thor asks Jane.

"No, he just had Steve. It's really sad when you think that they died, like, a week apart, but then Steve came back and Bucky didn't."

Thor finds a picture of the Captain and Barnes standing side-by-side; he recognizes his friend, but what he doesn't recognize is the look in his eye as he smiles at the darker-haired man next to him.

"Were they lovers?" he asks Jane. Her jaw drops and she looks at him in confusion. "Barnes and the Captain."

"Uh, no. They were like brothers," she tells him. "I mean, not that some people don't think, but they weren't like that. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but they didn't, they weren't like that."

Thor hears her stammering, but he looks at the closeness between the warriors and thinks of the Theban army in Valhalla.

"Well, how do I get a photograph that I can hold in my hand," he says, dropping the matter because Jane's mind is made up.

"You can download any picture and upload it to a printing site," Jane tells him. "Let's find a good one."

They search the Google for several minutes before Thor finds a picture of Barnes in uniform, standing in front of a tank. He's captured from the waist up and he's unsmiling as he looks directly into the camera. Thor copies the link and sends it to Jane.

"I like this one. It's not candid, but it looks like him. I keep finding pictures where his hat obscures his face, but this one is good."

Jane looks up printing websites while Thor plays a quick game of Minesweeper.

"Oh, idea, idea!" she tells him. "I just found a website that says they can colorize old black and white photographs! Wouldn't that be cool! It would actually look like Bucky Barnes."

"Yes, we must do that," Thor says excitedly. This is going to be a truly spectacular gift.

"It's kind of expensive, but I'm going to get the highest quality colorization. SHIELD pays you, correct?"

"I believe so," Thor says, going to fetch what Coulson had called his Debit Card. "Midgardian money is of no consequence." Especially because he doesn't really know how it works, just that he has some.

A week later, the photograph arrives in an orange envelope with lots of air-filled padding. It's heavier than Thor had expected, but that turns out to be because the photograph is already encased in a black, metal frame.

Jane thinks of everything.

Thor cannot wait to give his gift to Steve, so he happily runs up the stairs three flights to Steve's quarters. Tony and Pepper are already there, playing a game that Thor knows well; Wii bowling.

"Hey, Thor, awesome, you can play Steve next round," Tony greets him.

"I come, not for the Wii bowling, but to bestow a gift upon the Captain for the shrine."

"It isn't a shrine, Thor," Pepper tells him with a smile. "Please don't listen to Tony."

Thor thrusts the picture toward the Captain because he's out of patience and Steve holds the frame in two hands to look at it.

"Wow," he says after several seconds. The bowling game has been abandoned and Tony and Pepper are coming to stand next to Steve. "I didn't know there were any color pictures."

"Please accept this gift from myself and my lady, Jane. She helped me choose and obtain it," Thor credits his love.

"Why didn't I think of a fucking picture?" Tony grumbles. Pepper shoots him a look.

"I think it's wonderful. I've never seen an actual color picture of Bucky Barnes before," she says appreciatively. Thor wonders if Tony will react like he did earlier at the note of admiration in Pepper's voice, but Tony just nods.

"Solid gift, Thor. He's even wearing the coat that was my gift to-"

"His eyes are blue, not brown," Steve cuts Tony off. Thor's heart metaphorically sinks, both Tony and Pepper look closer at the picture. "They...must not have known that. His eyes were pretty dark. It's an easy mistake to make."

"Captain, I apologize," Thor says with emotion, but Steve smiles and shakes his head.

"No, this is great, don't apologize. It still looks more like him than anything I've seen on the internet." He looks around at his living room. "It's going on the wall," he says decisively.

"Holy shit, it's going on the wall!" Tony says exuberantly. "He's actually putting something on the wall! We need, like, nails and shit."

"I have nails," Steve says as he goes to a drawer in the kitchen area.

"Well, then, we need a hammer. Hey, Thor, call Mjolnir!"

"No need; I have a hammer," Steve informs them.

"Why do you have a hammer and nails, boy scout?" Steve shrugs as he looks around, seemingly trying to find the perfect place for Thor's gift of questionable success.

"They seemed important to have. I like to be prepared."

"Steve, how about you put it between the two windows?" Pepper suggests. Two floor-to-ceiling windows occupy on side of the living room and look over New York, still scarred from the Chitauri attack at the hands of Loki. There's a stretch of wall about four-feet wide between the windows. Steve goes over to it and knocks.

"Okay, what are you doing?" Tony inquires.

"Looking for a stud."

"I think there's three in this room." No one acknowledges Tony's lame joke. Steve knocks again and then takes a nail from between his teeth, holds it up to the wall, and hammers it in.

"Truly, Mjolnir would not be appropriate for this task," Thor admits as he sees the little taps with which Steve is hitting the nail. He finishes, sets the hammer down and then holds his hand out to Pepper for the photograph.

"I like it here," he says when the photo is hung and they're all admiring the placement.

"Yeah, unless you're up close, you can't even see the little faux pas with the eyes."

"Oh, Tony," Pepper scolds. "I think it looks wonderful, Steve. It's just what this place needed." She takes Tony's hand to pull him out of the room, vaguely protesting, and then waves to Thor. 'Let's go,' she mouths silently and Thor turns to see Steve still staring at the picture, hands on his hips.

The three of them silently creep out of the apartment, leaving Steve alone with the image.

Now that the boys have taken their turns, Natasha needs to get Steve something for the memorial.

She hadn't waited so long because her gift was hard to track down; she simply gave the boys two months to get their acts together because her gift is the best gift.

A simple internet search reveals that Bucky Barnes had used a semi-automatic scoped M1941 Johnson rifle in the war.

Natasha has a lot of skills, but tracking down specific guns might just be her favorite skill.

It takes a grand total of two days to make some calls and locate a barely-used, mint condition M1941 in Boston and she takes the trip in her SHIELD-issued Corvette Stingray. Money changes hands, she looks over the rifle to make sure it's in ideal working condition and the scope is intact.

Which of course means that she has to fire it at least once. She buys some replacement bullets, just in case Steve wants to do the same thing.

Natasha and the rifle make their way back to New York, making a slight detour on the way. The first part of her plan is child's play, but the second will actually take some wheedling.

"Stark, I need your help," she tells him after quietly barging into his lab. Stark drops a welding torch and nearly sets his foot on fire.

"Jesus, where'd you come from?! I didn't even think you were in the state."

"I need your help with my present for Steve. In return, I will owe you one favor at a time of your choosing, up to but not including killing someone for you." Tony manages to turn the torch off and summons his adorable little robots over to clean up (read: exacerbate) the mess.

"You're not killing someone for me, what? What do you want?" She hoists the rifle off her shoulder and lays it gently on a work bench.

"I need you to customize this baby like your dad did in the forties."

Stark stares at the rifle for a moment, and then he laughs at her.

"Isn't that something? Miss-I-already-know-what-I'm-getting-Steve-I'm-just-saving-it-for-last needs my help." He throws himself into a chair and rolls for at least a foot before stopping. "Tough luck, sweetie, I already gave Cap my present. Thems the breaks. I couldn't do it even if I wanted to, Howard's files are up at the mansion and I've already been traumatize-"

She cuts him off by placing several file folders on the lab bench in front of him. He hesitates in his sentence and then starts to flip through the top file. It only takes him a second to notice.

"Fuck, did you steal these from my house?"

"If by 'house,' you mean the abandoned family mansion you visit only under duress, then yes."

"You need my finger or the print of one of my staff members to get in!" he complains.

She gives him an, 'are you really that dense?' look.

"Right, you're scary, I lost sight of that for a minute. But I'm still not helping you." He continues flipping.

"I think you are," she tells him in a sing-song voice.

"And why do you think that, toots?" She brings her foot up, lightning-quick, and kicks him in the balls for the pet name.

"Because. Open the second file." Cupping his groin and looking at her with daggers in his eyes, Tony flips through several more sheets of notes and schematics before opening the second file.

"Oh. I hadn't considered that adjustment to the rifle." She sees the gears in his brain start to turn. "Kinda sucks that I'm not a weapons designer anymore."

His fingers twitch unconsciously toward the gun. She waits him out.

"Fine. Yes, I want to play with that," Tony says a minute later, exasperated. She smirks and turns for the door.

"Have it to me by Friday, Stark."

"You still owe me a favor!" he shouts after her. She hears one of the robots decide only now to spray the fire extinguisher at Tony's foot.

The Avengers are having a team dinner on Friday when Natasha excuses herself, ostensibly to use the rest room. She goes into Tony's bathroom, out the window, down two stories, into her own apartment, in which she's relaxed the security measures that would normally make this sort of thing slightly difficult.

She retrieves the customized rifle from its hiding place along with some other supplies, goes up one flight of stairs, and breaks into Steve's apartment. Making sure the rifle is unloaded, she drills the slots of a small gun rack into Steve's living room wall directly under the picture of Bucky Barnes, and she places the rifle carefully under the photo.

Even she must admit; it looks pretty damn shrine-like.

She takes a piece of paper and a pen from the counter and writes Steve a note.

"It's not the actual rifle - that one was passed around to other soldiers, decommissioned, and destroyed," she writes. "But it's the closest thing. Even Tony deserves some credit for helping me customize it." She doesn't sign it, assuming that it's obvious, and goes upstairs to rejoin the team.

Later that night, she hears a knock on her door. Based on the strength of the knocker and the timing between raps, she knows who it is.

"Steve," she greets him as she opens the door just enough to stand in it and block the line of sight to into her apartment. She doesn't care, but she assumes Barton won't want Steve to see him naked and tied up in the middle of her living room.

"Natasha," he responds. "I wanted to thank you for the Johnson rifle. I know that would have been his favorite present." He smiles at her, but his eyes are watery. "That's all I wanted to say."

"No problem, Cap," she says, slightly uncomfortable with the expression of gratitude. It's why she hadn't given him the rifle in person. But seeing him in front of her doorway like this makes her heart go out to him.

"Let's go look at it," she says, stepping out and closing the door behind her. Clint will get over it.

Steve turns to walk for the stairs and she pads silently after him in stocking feet.

The rifle gleams in the lamplight and it looks amazing beneath Bucky's picture and between the view of New York at night.

"It's a pretty gun," she comments.

"He started with an M1903A1 Springfield," he tells her calmly, emotion tearing at the vowels just a little. "Then Stark gave all the Commandos a choice, whatever weapon they wanted with a custom Stark modification, and his eyes just went straight to the Johnson."

Steve smiles.

"He loved that gun more than he loved most people. And I'm not getting on him for being a jerk; he really did like people. He just liked the gun that much more."

Steve reaches out and runs his fingers over the scope, probably imagining it pressed to an eye decades in the past.

"I've actually tried to track it down before. I've tried to find a lot of his stuff, but I kept hitting dead ends. You guys were so creative in your approach; I never would have thought of replicating the gun exactly, or going to pawnshops, or looking in the back of comic books to see if his letter had been printed."

Steve runs a hand over his face, and the tears that have been threatening to fall after two months of the memorial project finally slip onto his cheeks.

"I'm very grateful. I don't really know how to show my gratitude, but please just tell everyone that I'm very grateful."

Natasha reaches out and awkwardly pats his shoulder.

"We were glad to do it, Cap. Believe it or not, we really like you. We want you to like us and like the 21 st century. Even if we can't replace what you lost," she says as her eyes go to the picture of Bucky again.

"So you think he'd like the rifle?" she asks a minute later when Steve's mostly gotten himself under control.

"Oh. Yeah, he'd love it. Most of the other stuff he'd consider junk, but the rifle, he wouldn't be able to stay away from."

"Well, it's not junk to you, but I agree that the rifle is the coolest thing in your apartment," she says with a grin. He laughs at her and she drops her hand.

"No, it's not junk. It's something tangible, you know, something physical that I can look at or touch. And it really drives it home that he existed. That he was... Bucky and we had each other even when we had nothing. That my old life was real."

Natasha gets it; she's lived several lives of conflicting reality, and she still doesn't know what was concrete and truly hers, and what was just a false memory implanted by the Red Room. She knows why Steve needs this, how it must balance him and keep him in the here-and-now if he doesn't have to question his past.

"It was real, Cap. Not a dream before you woke up here with us; it was all real, even though it probably doesn't seem like it most days." Steve smiles with one corner of his mouth as he follows her back to his door.

"Would have been a great dream, though," he says, clearly trying to elevate the mood after he's just cried in front of her and then they'd had a moment where she's come closer to talking about the Red Room with anyone on the team other than Clint.

She thinks about the Great Depression, Steve's childhood illnesses, the loss of both Rogers parents, and the cruelties of the war. A great dream? Then her eye catches on the picture of Barnes as the door shuts, and she gets it.

Steve lets himself into his apartment after a run with Sam and the first thing to catch his eye, as always, is the rifle and Bucky's picture.

He won't admit that Tony is right, but he's glad that his walls aren't bare anymore. It makes him lighter, somehow, to feel like he's connected to Bucky and his past even amid the mind-blowing technology and the weird villains of the future.

"Ran 34 miles today. That's basically like running around Brooklyn," he says to the empty room and the photograph. He obviously doesn't think he's talking to Bucky, because he's not out of his mind with grief; he gets that Bucky is dead and that's just a photograph. A few times a day, though, he has something to say that Bucky would find interesting, and no one else is around to hear it, so he just kind of...tells the picture. He hopes that it isn't too strange.

He pulls his sweaty Under Armor from his body as he walks into his bedroom, but then something makes him stop. He stares at the comic book on his bureau, and he has the weirdest impression that it's been moved.

Have Natasha or Tony been in his apartment again? He actually doesn't mind if Natasha has broken in because he trusts that she would only do so with a reason, but he's going to be miffed if Tony's been snooping again.

He picks up the watch, protective instincts kicking in and making him wary about the only few possessions he really cares about. The watch looks untouched. Then Steve hears a very small sound from his hand, and with wide eyes, he flips the watch open.

It gives him the correct time, which, as far as watches go, isn't that strange. This watch, however, wasn't able to tell time this morning because it wasn't working.

He definitely knows now that it was Tony, but he can't find it in himself to be mad.

"While I asked you to stay out of my apartment, I owe you a thank you," he says to Tony as the Avengers situate themselves around Bruce's table for a late lunch. Tony looks at him with a mouthful of sorghum.

"I didn't go into your apartment, per your request, Cap." He looks earnest enough, so Steve turns to Natasha.

"I guess I owe you the thanks, then?" Her eyes flash as she scents danger before the rest of them catch on.

"What are you talking about, Cap?"

"Someone fixed Bucky's dad's watch," he says, trailing off into confusion when no one claims responsibility for the kind gesture.

"Maybe it started working again randomly. I had a watch that did that once," Bruce says after a minute.

"I swear some stuff was moved," Steve tells them. They all look at him blankly, no one copping to the watch repair. "Oookay. I could be wrong, but I think someone was in my apartment and they fixed the watch. If it's no one at this table, then we might have a problem."

"J.A.R.V.I.S., was anyone in Cap's apartment today?" Tony asks the ceiling.

"Yes, sir. An unidentified male entered Captain Rogers' apartment at 09:34." The team put their utensils down and look at Steve worriedly.

"Don't suppose you have camera footage of that," Steve asks after a minute.

"All cameras on Captain Roger's floor, the floor above, and the floor below malfunctioned from 09:21-09:55."

"What? J.A.R.V.I.S., why the fuck wouldn't you tell me that?" Tony asks angrily and possibly trying to save face in front of his friends.

"I made my report to you immediately sir. You informed me that you were having a dream about Kate Upton and asked to be left alone. I'm paraphrasing, of course; your actual choice of language-"

"Okay, thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony says quickly. Clint smirks at him as Natasha says, "So we had a major security breach this morning. Steve was out; Tony was asleep; I was on my own floor and I wasn't aware. Where were you three?" she directs to Thor, Bruce and Clint.

"I was watching cartoons in my living room."

"I was in my lab. I didn't hear or see anything weird."

"I was with you, Nat," Clint says sounding annoyed. She pushes her chair back and stands up.

"We need to find out who was in the tower and what he did while he was here. Tony, see if you can figure out what crashed the security cameras. Steve, go sweep your apartment and see if anything's been taken or planted. Thor, go with Steve in case he needs backup. Clint, come with me. Bruce, finish the chili." She gives orders and everyone but Bruce disperses.

Steve makes his way back to his apartment with Thor in tow.

"What are we looking for?" Thor asks excitedly.

"Bugs, booby traps, I don't know. Anything out of the ordinary." Steve opens his door with a little too much force, angry that someone's been in his apartment near Bucky's things. If anything is missing or damaged, he's going to be furious. And also, he's probably going to throw up.

He checks those things first; the coat is in the closet, seemingly untouched; the rifle and the picture are still hanging on the wall. The bullets for the rifle are still in the safe. The random notes in Bucky's handwriting are still in his desk. Everything checks out there.

He begins to pull furniture away from walls, running his hands over every surface, looking for anything that shouldn't be there. Thor thinks he's helping and pulls all of the sheets off Steve's bed, holding up the mattress to examine it.

They spend thirty minutes virtually trashing Steve's apartment and looking for anything suspicious. They don't find a single bug or anything remotely dangerous.

Steve calls Natasha to give her the news.

"Cap, I think you should see this," she tells him after he makes his report.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the main security room off the penthouse. Get Bruce on your way up; Tony and Clint are already here."

Steve and Thor take the stairs while Bruce is happy with the elevator. They arrive at the Penthouse and go into a room that Steve's never been in, a regular occurrence in the tower. This room is covered in computer screens, and the other three Avengers are sitting in spinning chairs in the middle of the room so they can constantly turn to see the footage covering every wall.

"I don't really have a traditional security system," Tony tells the newcomers. "J.A.R.V.I.S. monitors everything, or at least he's supposed to, so I don't need some guy sitting in this room all the time."

Natasha hits a few buttons on the tablet in her lap and several of the screens go fuzzy.

"For more than thirty minutes this morning, a frequency interrupted the cameras' ability to record on your floor and the surrounding floors. They weren't transmitting information to J.A.R.V.I.S. and they weren't saving information. This is a high-tech, fairly long-range frequency disrupter. I haven't seen a lot of these."

"We looked at the cameras outside the building and got the same thing," Clint tells them. "But Nat's smart."

"We hacked into the security systems of the surrounding buildings, and the S. G. Bank got footage of what was going outside our building at 9:32." She hits another button, and grainy footage pops up in on the main monitor. Steve squints and sees a figure dressed in black with long hair and something shiny on its arm floating up to the building on some sort of levitating platform and slipping through the window of what must be Steve's floor.

The window that's right next to the rifle.

"Man or woman?" Steve asks, referring to the hair.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. said a man and the build looks like that of a man," Tony tells him.

"We know it's a man, because we know who it is," Natasha surprises all of them. All five men in the room turn to look at her, Clint muttering about her sense of drama.

"Who?" Steve demands. Who's been in his apartment with his possessions?

"It's the Winter Soldier." She takes a breath and it's one of the few times Steve's seen her look nervous. "He's a highly-trained former Red Room operative; like me. He's been active for several decades, available at the highest prices to terrible people all over the world."

"So what does that mean for us?" Tony asks. "Is he targeting Cap, specifically, or just us?"

"I'm not 100% sure. You really didn't find anything in your apartment? Did you check the vents and floorboards?"

"Vents yes, floorboards, no," Steve tells her. "But you're telling me that we should be worried about this guy? Even me?" He's not boasting; if a human mercenary poses a threat to Steve, then he's dangerous enough to hurt any of them. Although if the man comes from Natasha's program, then his degree of humanity is in question. Natasha's a person, but there's all sorts of serums floating through her veins, and she's highly trained besides.

"Even you, Cap. I think it's time to go to ground, at least until we figure out what or who he's after."

"Does this mean we get to go to one of your famous safe houses?" Tony asks eagerly. She shoots him a look.

"Everyone pack and be ready to go in thirty minutes. Tony, tell Pepper to take a vacation. We'll take three cars. Everyone move." The Avengers with military training snap into action with the order while Tony, Bruce and Thor stare at her.

Steve goes back to his apartment and packs a duffle bag of clothing, toiletries, and some art supplies. He puts Bucky's picture, the comic book, and the watch in the bag, then he drapes Bucky's coat over his arm and slings the rifle over his shoulder along with his shield. He debates for a minute before opening the safe to take out the small box of shells, which he slips into the duffle as well.

He's in the garage at the appointed time and he's told that he'll be riding with Natasha. That, more than anything else, makes him think that he was the target of this winter soldier's break-in. She gives handwritten directions to Clint and Bruce before climbing into a beat-up Jetta that she's been storing here for months as a getaway car. Looking longingly at the Stingray, Steve climbs into the driver's seat.

"I take it you're navigating?"

"It's time to drive, Rogers. We need to move." She sounds calm, but she glances back at Clint and Tony before facing forward.

"We're all meeting up at your safe house, right?"

"We're all going to different safe houses. Time to go, Cap." He turns the car on with a grumpy rumble and puts it into drive.

"Am I correct in thinking that you and I are headed for the safest house?" She looks at him side-eyed with a humorless smile. "That's what I thought. So this guy is in all likelihood after me specifically, huh?"

"It's hard to tell, but that's my assumption. He's too good to pick a random entry point. It's too much of a coincidence that he broke into your floor specifically during the time window when you were out. It makes me think you're being watched."

Steve cranes his neck to look out of the windshield at the roofs around them.

"Sounds not good."

Natasha taps her fingers lightly against the side of her abdomen and her silence speaks volumes.

After switching cars three times, Steve knows that the spy life is not for him. How Natasha does it is beyond him. He's completely exhausted from all the backtracking and bouts of acting by the time they get to an apartment in New Jersey that looks like it's seen better days.

Natasha lets him in and tells him to sleep while she checks the perimeter and keeps watch. Steve drapes Bucky's coat over the back of the apartment's lone chair and then settles down on the mattress in the corner to sleep. He unconsciously hugs his bag to his chest, feeling off-kilter.

He hears Natasha come in a few minutes later.

"How do you even find a place like this?" he asks to make conversation. They'd mostly been quiet in the car earlier, but they'd had the radio.

"I own this building." It's news to Steve.

"I hate to tell you this, but I feel like a lot of shady things happen in this building."

"They probably do. Hiding out isn't exactly glamorous, Steve." She sits next to him on the mattress and props her upper body against the wall. He feels her fingers smoothing through his hair, and wonders at how comfortable she is in this life.

"Go to sleep, Steve. You've been driving for hours." He obeys.

When Steve wakes up several hours later, Natasha isn't sitting next to him. He rolls over and arches his spine, the movement alerting him to the fact that Natasha is slumped on the floor next to the mattress.

He sits bolt upright. Natasha would never fall asleep when she's supposed to be keeping watch, and she'd never sleep with her face against the dirty floor, her arm flung out haphazardly.

He turns slowly toward the chair on the kitchen linoleum.

There's a man with long, brown hair that desperately needs a wash even more than the carpet in this place. He's sitting in the chair and looking right at Steve. He's wearing a mask like a muzzle and his eyes are partially covered by his hair.

He's wearing Bucky's jacket. And holding Bucky's rifle.

"Those aren't yours," Steve tells the man as he slowly stands up, hands raised in front of him. "And Widow had better still be alive." He shuffles slowly around the mattress, telegraphing each movement in advance, until he's next to Natasha. Without taking his eyes off the man, he lowers one hand to her neck and feels a weak, but present, pulse.

Steve stands up fully, aware of how exposed he is. He sees his duffle ripped open and his t-shirts and underwear flung about next to the bed, so he doesn't doubt that the man's located the shells and loaded the rifle.

"Are you here to kill me?" he asks. He doesn't get an answer. "Because you could have just hid in my closet at the tower. Would have saved you the trouble of following us up and down the turnpike."

The man aims the weapon at Steve. He knows he can survive a hit from this rifle with his enhanced strength and healing, but there's always a way. If the man pumps every single shell into Steve's heart, that sounds like an effective way to kill Captain America.

One second Steve is standing helplessly before their attacker, the next, he's flipping through the air and kicking the man in the chest. The soldier fires the weapon as the chair tips backwards with him in it, plaster and dust raining down on them as the bullet hits the ceiling.

Steve kicks the man again by the time he rights himself, and he tosses the weapon aside carelessly before taking out a knife and a much more compact gun from the black combat gear underneath Bucky's coat. It enrages Steve to see it on him, so he ducks and weaves away from the weapons as his fists connect with the man's blocking arms.

"Take it off," he growls as he throws the man into the counter. The winter soldier goes with the throw and uses the counter to catapult himself back towards Steve after he's struck it with a force that would break a normal man's back. So Steve knows he's dealing with someone jacked up on Soviet copycat super serum.

Steve connects a punch to the man's ribs, but he gets hit in the head a minute later. It blurs his vision for just a second and, apparently, a second is all the winter soldier needs. He grabs Steve's wrists and wrenches them behind Steve's back, then Steve feels some sort of metal cable encircle his wrists and secure them.

He slams his head back into the man's face, and he hears a groan as he tries to break the impromptu bindings. The metal doesn't give, and Steve knows he's dealing with Vibranium or Adamantium or one of those compounds.

He turns to see that his hit has knocked off the soldier's mask and the man's nose is bleeding freely. Spitting blood and hair out of his face, he punches Steve in the gut with the arm Steve quickly realizes is made of metal and forces him to his knees. Then he brings the metal arm back, winding up, and slams it into Steve's temple.

He crumbles, losing consciousness for a few seconds before curling into himself and willing the healing to speed itself along.

The soldier drags him back to the mattress and rolls him onto it. Steve sees some blood on the pillow, so he knows that he's bleeding from at least one place on his head.

He watches the soldier bend down and pick up the picture of Bucky. Steve loves that picture, but it's not like the coat or the watch that are truly irreplaceable, so he keeps silent.

"Who?" the soldier asks and his voice is cracked. Raw like he never uses it, preferring to communicate with abject violence.

"Wha'?" Steve responds intelligently. He needs three, maybe four minutes, then he'll shake this concussion and be fine.

"Who is the man in the picture?" the soldier surprises Steve by stringing together a sentence, still sounding like someone who rarely uses his vocal cords.

Steve drags himself into a sitting position, not understanding why the soldier cares.

"That's Bucky," he says after a beat. "He's my best friend. He died in 1944." The soldier stares at the picture.

"His eyes are brown. Like dirt," he croaks, and Steve doesn't know if this conversation would make sense without a head wound or not.

"Actually, his eyes are blue. It's a long story. His eyes should be blue, but no one knows that, because they just have black and white photos of him."

The soldier puts the picture down and looks around at the mess on the floor. He picks at one of the dirty sheets on the mattress and then raises it to his face, probably in an attempt to wipe off the blood and grime, but only succeeding it smearing it around. He drops the sheet corner and pushes his hair back with his hands, holding it above both ears like a headband.

He stays like that and looks at Steve like he's waiting for Steve to say or do something. There's a question in his eyes and

his eyes and

his eyes and

his

eyes

are

Bucky's.

Steve stares into his face, filthy and bloody, with two damningly blue eyes staring at him and pinning him to the bed.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he breathes. And then the word that he's been saying but never addressing for far too long: "Bucky?"

"Steve?" the soldier whispers back. His voice doesn't sound any better and it jerks Steve back to the present.

"Cut my hands free," he orders, still in disbelief. The soldier bends forward with yet another knife that materialized from his uniform and cuts through the metal.

As soon as Steve can move his hands, he brings them up to Bucky's face, slapping him with the franticness of his movements. His wooziness is gone, replaced by intermingled delight and terror.

What if he isn't seeing this right?

What if he is?

He runs his thumbs over Bucky's face, he knows it's Bucky's face, and doesn't know where to start.

So he pulls Bucky's face forward and kisses him, like he'd always meant to all those years ago.

James, as he prefers to be called this week, sits on Steve's bed and waits for him to get out of the shower. The door to the bathroom is open and he can see Steve's shape through the blurry glass. It both arouses and comforts him. He can't handle not having Steve in his line of sight for more than a few minutes.

While he sits, he runs the chain of the pocket watch through his fingers. He remembers breaking in three weeks ago and fixing it. James is good at repairing mechanical things, because he himself is a machine.

Well, there were some steps between breaking in and fixing the watch. Breaking in; seeing the rifle that seemed to call out to his hands; seeing the picture of the young soldier that pinged some recognition, though he couldn't remember from where; seeing the coat that practically demanded to be slipped over his shoulders; seeing the comic that gave him a flash of annoyance without reason; picking up the watch and feeling like he shouldn't be touching this; and then catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror through the open door. So that's what the picture had reminded him of - his face.

From there, James remembers fixing the watch frantically before anyone found out it was broken, looking around the apartment to bug it like he'd been ordered, yet somehow leaving without planting a single listening device.

His Hydra employers hadn't been happy. But something was loose in his head and no one left on the Winter Soldier project really remembered how to control him. That knowledge had died with several generations of handlers.

James knows that there are people out there who want to collect him. He knows the other people in the tower don't trust him, especially the red head. But he wants to be around these things that bring back his memories... Remind him of who he was before he was chopped and zapped and drugged.

And nothing brings back the memories like the man in the shower does. Steve is the most familiar thing that tethers him to his past and gives him hope that he can eke his way back to the man who'd cockily described himself as a 'dashing devil' who keeps big, powerful Steve safe.

And even though he thinks it was not like this in the past, in this new future, he's allowed to creep into Steve's shower whenever he wants. So he does.

"Can we find more stuff for the shrine?" he asks eagerly as he curls against Steve's back and lets the spray hit the top of his head.

"You've been talking to Tony. I don't think either of you actually knows what a shrine is," Steve says with a laugh as warm water washes over his face and shoulders.

"I like it," James argues. "I want more. There has to be more, right?"

"In museums and places like that," Steve tells him as he turns and slides his hands up James' sides. It tickles. "We can go see them."

"But I can't have them?" James asks bluntly. He's still getting used to having wants at all.

"No, you can't," Steve speaks directly into his ear. The reverberations are interesting that way.

"I still like the stuff you have here," James says, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Gratitude is another thing that's new for him.

"I like it too," says Steve. He pushes his lips against James' forehead. "It helped me find the most important part of the J. B. Barnes memorial."

"The rifle, right?" James clarifies. It's a really cool rifle and he's looking forward to being trusted enough to shoot it again.

"Yeah, James," Steve says. James can hear a smile in his voice. "I'm talking about the rifle."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The S. Rogers Memorial (it's NOT a shrine) to J. B. Barnes - SkyisGray - Captain America - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Tony is in Steve's apartment because, really, it's Tony's apartment, and he can damn well make sure his tenants aren't violating any health codes. Every dish is clean, dry and stacked neatly in cupboards. (He might be going through Steve's cupboards. Technically, his cupboards.)

# data[].attributes.body
The subject continues to cause trouble.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Surveillance - Chapter 1 - Sproings - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.body
Extracts from materials relating to the official biography of Steve Rogers (A Kid From Brooklyn, Yale University Press, 1999)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Subjective Histories - Odsbodkins - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
Steve Rogers Might Wear Tights, but He's Not Your Pin-Up Girl - RosaLui and what_alchemy

# data[].attributes.subject
Steve Rogers Might Wear Tights, but He's Not Your Pin-Up Girl - RosaLui and what_alchemy

# data[].attributes.body
Bucky enrolls in a college course about Captain America. It doesn't go well.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Steve Rogers Might Wear Tights but He's Not Your Pin Up Girl.pdf

# data[].attributes.headline
Scenes from a Marriage: The Kandinsky - Speranza

# data[].attributes.subject
Scenes from a Marriage: The Kandinsky - Speranza

# data[].attributes.body
"Hey, we're a Brooklyn construction company," Barnes replied with a shrug. "We fix things—"

Steve laughed. "Not like that we don't," he said, grinning, and then: "Well, I don't know. Maybe. Just this once."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Scenes from a Marriage: The Kandinsky - Speranza - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.body
They say that once you give your heart away, it’s never really yours again. Oh, you can take it back if you want, of course. You can try to reclaim it. But once it’s beat in your lover’s chest and his blood has flowed through it, it can never truly belong to you again, now, can it.

Or,

A story about Bucky Barnes’s heart.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Postcards from Golgotha - kariye - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) - This Girl Is (non_sequential)

# data[].attributes.subject
Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) - This Girl Is (non_sequential)

# data[].attributes.body
Steve is sent undercover to catch an elusive Russian assassin. He didn’t want to do it in the first place; he’s damn certain he won’t be asked again.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) - This Girl Is (non_sequential) - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
No One Wants Your Opinion - thepinupchemist

# data[].attributes.subject
No One Wants Your Opinion - thepinupchemist

# data[].attributes.body
Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
No One Wants Your Opinion - thepinupchemist - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
Mistake on the Part of Nature - idiopathicsmile

# data[].attributes.subject
Mistake on the Part of Nature - idiopathicsmile

# data[].attributes.body
Steve takes in Bucky's betrayed look and Sam's confusion, follows Sam's gaze to the pile of mangled fruit in the trash can. Sudden comprehension fills his face.

"Oh," he says. "Bucky found out about bananas."

In which an American icon is mourned. But probably not the one you're thinking of.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
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meliscoolio, jbthepug, sassyprep87, MillyTheDragon, themuppetyone, MadBits, SmutLover, rebornhoneybee, Quoth_the_raven, guineapignom, bellebelle1, supergirl3130, TabbyNundo, bookwormgirl910, Mikayla673, itsprobably2amhere, I_am_french_fuck_you, Jennosaur, WhenasInSilks, Sagisen112, chapter_61, DorkyRogers, Jolrael, Rilaya, yen9674, poisonphantom, littlebitsofnothingness, wolfwine, Homestuck (MCU_is_awesome), Salicia, hateful_donuts, umetnica, agustdaisy, hereweareagain, Abellati, readeroffiction, Rhidee, LymeandCoconut, Branca, TheShyOrator, gryffindorkwinchester, HappilyyStrong, Inkhue, nyamphaie, Belzzibub, ricecracker, leoiswithoutidea, alittlelillium, tiani_j, wakandan_wardog, redlinenap, This_ismy_wish, clockworkowl, demonickiwi, FiguredOn, ShiftingOfFate, Hoothootmotherf_ckers, sophiereadsfics, roseline96, Mkaybuddy, aubergineautumn, ladyknightanka, Clumsymusician (clumsymusican), Phoenixfire15, Evedawalrus, amyrose512, c9eeeeed, SocknSock, ging_and_tonic, LittleRunaway, Oort, 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KittKatt, MariusAngelicaSue, LeeTheNerd (AnimeVamp4Life), rosysea, vamoosi, NoControl_Larry, SpotterD, Yokogreyword, Ismira_Daugene, kannst_du_nicht, dragongirlG, Amn159, Seneska, londonsabre, TheThingYouNeedToKnow, Blizzen, gigilysrose, 45bullets, CaseyDoodle, CuddlesandCommunication, Chicklet_Girl, YankingAwry, ApocalypseAngel, heroofolympus, alldogsarepuppys, paralyticpen, HeroMaggie, ReehSilva, Valkyrie4clex, CaffeineSystems, kafrickinboom, KatiesGhost, zizizrites, Marykhln, me1ika, neptuneking, Fedora, breathofmidnight, ShadowStrike21, Maledictius, TheMsMeep, junkyarddoll, merdragon, hate2love, MadianTheGreat, tom_bedlam, Tigerlily103, kilme, LittleRedSpark, d_dog, ISingTheSkyElectric, PrincessFireBug, Potatochutney, wanderer7, evdi, Geneva89, TrinkitTheCat, peglegMeglikeskegs, HiiighNooon, cinnabean, Fulwoodbabylon8, SimplePleasantries, BokoTChocobo, lewovo, Koganetsuki, mixian, BrightPinkSheets, Iamhungry11, gatoradedays, SomethingElls, FrenchKey, TheWaywardSon, LatinGeek, 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Mistake on the Part of Nature - idiopathicsmile - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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He's been in Steve Rogers's company for less than twenty-four hours and he's already losing sight of his mission.

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no heart to recall - KiaraSayre - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Mouthy, Tiny, and Pig-Headed - phoenixflight

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Mouthy, Tiny, and Pig-Headed - phoenixflight

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If Colonel Phillips had been the kind of man to take the Lord’s name in vain, he would have sworn to God that Private Steve Rogers had been put on this green earth specially to be a thorn in his side.

In which Colonel Phillips has a headache and heartburn, and their names are Steve Rogers and Steve Rogers' -boyfriend- sergeant.

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If Colonel Phillips had been the kind of man to take the Lord's name in vain, he would have sworn to God that Private Steve Rogers had been put on this green earth specially to be a thorn in his side. A tiny, five foot-two thorn.

At first, Rogers was just the vehicle of his annoyance at Dr. Erskine for picking this skinny streak of piss with more balls than brains, and less muscle than either. The kid wasn't much to look at, but he had a set to his jaw that Phillips recognized. He'd seen a lot of recruits, and that particular brand of stubbornness didn't make for a good soldier. He shot Dr. Erskine a grimace. The doctor just smiled.

When it became clear that the tiny kid was determined to kill himself during basic through over exertion, Phillips became irritated at Rogers for making him contemplate having to write another condolence letter before they'd even shipped these boys off to war.

When Rogers stepped out of Stark's machine, all gleaming, sweaty six feet of him, Colonel Phillips momentarily entertained the fantasy that he was done being annoyed at Steve Rogers.

That feeling didn't last long with Dr. Erskine (who, he would never have admitted, had been a friend) dead on the floor and Senator Brant looking at their only supersoldier with dollar signs in his eyes. Wasn't it just like a politician to take a million dollars worth of army research and turn it into a propaganda tool? None of that was Rogers' fault per se, but Phillips had worked himself into a broad, generalized kind of rage, and Rogers was certainly in the target zone. The kid had the world's most valuable biotechnology running through his veins, and he was going to join the circus as a chorus girl.

No one was particularly happy when the Star Spangled Circus showed up overseas, not the soldiers, apparently not the chorus girls, certainly not Phillips. He'd spent the morning signing condolences until his hand cramped when Captain Tights came storming in trying to tell him how to do his job.

Colonel Phillips rubbed his forehead. Rain pattered down on the canvas overhead. There was a persistent throbbing behind his right eye and two scalding cups of shitty coffee had just made it worse. "They're 30 miles behind the enemy line. We'd lose more men than we'd save but I don't expect you to understand that because you're a chorus girl."

Rogers did the thing with his jaw, looking exactly like the stubborn kid he'd been in basic despite having 175lbs and 10 inches on his past self. "I understand you perfectly sir," he bit out. That look was giving Phillips heartburn.

After Rogers left he could feel Agent Carter behind him about to say something uppity like always. She was a good spy, excellent code breaker, terrible subordinate. "If you've got something to say," he grunted, not looking at her, "Now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself."

At least she could follow a direct order. He heard her footsteps in the mud when she walked away. Phillips bent his head over the papers spread on the table and tried to tell himself that there was nothing Rogers could do, no more than there was anything he could do to save those boys. Didn't they think he would if he could? He was a career soldier, one of the lucky ones who made it out of the trenches in the Great War. Swallowing back the bitter bile of thoughts like "if only I could..." was second nature.

"Colonel?"

Phillips frowned. Majors Wesley and Olson were looking at him expectantly. It wasn't like him to go drifting in his head. Damn Rogers anyway, with those clear, bright eyes of a boy who'd never been to war. "The report from HQ, Colonel?" Wesley pointed at the clipboard his aide was holding out.

"You know the drill, Major," he said gruffly. "I need to look into something." The men saluted.

Phillips sat down at the wobbly camp desk, and picked up the list of dead and missing at Azzano. The cheap paper was flimsy and slick in his fingers. Four hundred odd names, neatly typewritten along with the names and addresses of their next of kin, only filled up seven pages. The B's were on the first page, and between Baldwin, Raymond W and Baron, William K was -

BARNES JAMES B - 32557038 SGT MIA

And under it, where other soldiers had listed parents, siblings, or wives as next of kin, was COUSIN, ROGERS S G, and an address in Brooklyn.

Phillips pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and swore very quietly and very emphatically. Cousin. That only ever meant one thing. Carter was barking up the wrong tree, apparently. He spared an unkind thought for Dr. Erskine who had managed to find not only the mouthiest, tiniest, most pig-headed lab rat in Uncle Sam's army, but the kid was a fairy as well.

It was none of his goddamn business of course, as long as Rogers didn't do anything stupid. All things considered, that seemed like too much to hope for. Rubbing his temples, Phillips imagined the report he would have to make to Rogers' handlers at the State Department. ROGERS AWOL AFTER BOYFRIEND MIA STOP SEND BOURBON STOP

There was a splash of muddy footsteps, and an aide ducked under the canvas of the tent, breathing hard. He saluted, rain dripping from his cap. "Sir!"

"What is it, Corporal?"

"Captain America is missing sir. And so is Stark's plane."

Colonel Phillips let out a breath very slowly, feeling the throbbing in his head increase. Well, at least he had the telegram already composed.

Phillips didn't have any actual proof that Agent Carter had been involved. "The look in her eye" probably wasn't enough evidence to court-martial her. And Stark wasn't technically military although there might be a case to be made for "willful neglect of Army property."

Officially, Captain America going missing wasn't his problem. The man was on some sort of strange loan from the SSR to the Office of War Information, via the Army. He ought to report it, and wash his hands of the whole mess. He did compose a more circumspect telegram, but instead of handing it to his aide with the regular batch, he put it aside. It was simply a formality, he told himself. The army didn't notify other agencies of every enlisted man gone AWOL. And whatever else he was, Rogers was currently a private in the US Army.

Three days later a commotion on the edge of camp drew Phillips out of the command tent, and there was Steve fucking Rogers marching at the head of a column of muddy, battered men.

Well, goddamn.

Arms crossed, Phillips watched Rogers approach and salute. "I present myself for disciplinary action, sir."

The man at Rogers' shoulder hung back, but not as far as regulation dictated and Phillips eyed him up and down. He was indistinguishable from the other rescued soldiers - dark haired and pale, with a bruise on one cheek and stubble on his chin - except there was an uncannily familiar set to his jaw. His eyes moved like a sniper's, sharp and flickering, but they kept coming back to Rogers.

Phillips felt his heartburn coming back.

Rogers was still at attention, awaiting discipline. Phillips fantasized briefly about slapping him with a court martial, but decided he would settle instead for the satisfaction of burning the fat folder of condolence letters on his desk.

"That won't be necessary."

Of all the things the serum had changed in Rogers, from his muscle mass and metabolism to his apparently photographic memory for Nazi maps, his suicidal stubbornness was not one of them.

Now the newly promoted Captain Rogers was standing in front of him, telling his superior officer that the new special task force would include a Negro and a Jap, along with some miscellaneous Allied soldiers.

Phillips could have told you from the moment he laid eyes on Rogers that this kid given an inch would take a mile - and he'd already been thirty miles, into enemy territory and back. So now here they were.

Agent Carter was shuffling papers by the desk pretending not to listen. He made a mental note to assign her something as tedious as possible. Standing at attention just outside the tent, visible through the open flap, was Rogers' shadow, Barnes.

"Rogers, you realize this is an army unit, not a tea party," Phillips growled. "You don't write the invitations, you show up and say yes sir."

"With all due respect, sir..."

"Captain, I put those stripes on your arm and I can take them off." He saw Rogers shoulders tense and his mouth curl as he fought to bite back whatever stupid thing was on his tongue. "Strike teams are put together by the officer most qualified to assemble men. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Rogers bit out. It sounded like it hurt.

"Good." Phillips looked down at the papers in front of him and wished for an Alka-Seltzer. "You'll have whatever men you want, and I'll get it past the politicals. Dismissed."

"Sir?"

"Something wrong with your hearing, Rogers?" He was sure Carter was laughing at him. "Agent, you too. Whatever you're doing, do it elsewhere."

"Thank you sir!" Rogers saluted and turned to go, Carter along side him.

"Send Sergeant Barnes in," Phillips added. Rogers paused, looking ready to protest, and Phillips waved a hand. "Just an administrative question. Scram, Rogers."

Outside the tent, Rogers and Barnes exchanged words, and then Barnes ducked inside, coming to attention in front of his desk. Phillips looked up. Shaved and in a clean uniform, the man looked like a credit to the Army, if a little underfed and hollow eyed. Who wasn't, these days?

Phillips pulled a thin file out from a stack. "Sergeant Barnes."

"Sir."

"I wanted to update your next of kin in the army records. Since the person we have listed for you is now serving active duty along side you."

He looked up in time to watch Barnes go white, but to the man's credit his voice was steady.

"Sir?"

"Is there anyone else back home?"

There was a short silence, and then Barnes said, "My mother. Winifred Barnes."

Phillips copied down the address he recited and closed the folder. "It's unusual to list a cousin as next of kin when your mother is alive."

Barnes' eyes were fixed on the canvas above Phillips' head, cheeks pale. He said nothing. There was a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Phillips sighed and tossed his pen down on top of the folder. He was so tired his eyes ached. He ought to have told Carter to bring him coffee. "Look after Rogers for me."

"Sir?" Barnes' gaze snapped to him.

"He's valuable government property. Someone's got to look out for America's investment because it's sure as hell not gonna be him. He's in your hands, Sergeant."

A tiny twitch moved the corner of Barnes' mouth. "Yessir."

"Good." Looking down at his desk, Phillips picked up the map of HYRDA bases Rogers had drawn, the next campaign unfolding in his mind. "Dismissed."

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Mouthy, Tiny, and Pig-Headed - phoenixflight - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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If Colonel Phillips had been the kind of man to take the Lord's name in vain, he would have sworn to God that Private Steve Rogers had been put on this green earth specially to be a thorn in his side. A tiny, five foot-two thorn.

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Just A Part Of Someone Else's Show - SparklyFiend

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Just A Part Of Someone Else's Show - SparklyFiend

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Steve's used to second best.

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Steve's desperate to get a glimpse, just a shred of his Bucky back, so of course he tries to take him 'round their old haunts, tries to spark something within his best friend; his everything.

It doesn't work out as planned.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't work.

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Impastata - hitlikehammers - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us - jimmoriatyisthebestboss

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Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us - jimmoriatyisthebestboss

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"Bucky Barnes didn’t know how he got here. One minute they were drinking and the next it was a dick size contest. Literally."

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Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us - jimmoriartyisthebestboss - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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“S’too bad,” Steve says thoughtfully. He puts his hands back into the bucket, plucks Bucky’s underwear out of the sudsy wad of fabric down at the bottom. “If you’d gotten some of Erskine’s juice, maybe you’d still be taller than me.”

It does the trick: Bucky’s eyes flash. “I am still taller than you,” he says, threatening. Steve shrugs. “I am,” Bucky says, louder, and stands up, dripping water and soap.

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Ever I Saw Your Face - hansbekhart - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Steve is everything that matters.

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Absolution - varooooom - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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A Seed Once Sown Never Dies - stevergrsno (noxlunate)

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A Seed Once Sown Never Dies - stevergrsno (noxlunate)

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“Do you need backup?”

“No, I need my aunt’s superhero war boyfriend to stop calling me in the middle of missions.” Sharon says, but it’s a little more fond than when Nat says similar things so Steve thinks he can get away with it. “I don’t know what to tell you Steve. Get a pet? Wait, no, don’t get a pet. God no, please don’t do that. Get a plant. A couple plants.”

“A plant?” Steve says, feeling strangely confused by the suggestion.

“Yeah, it’ll be good for you. Start a garden or something. Just, do anything that isn’t calling me at 3 in the goddamn morning while I’m on an op. Call me at like 11 on a Sunday when it’s my day off. That’s a normal time to call Steve. If you catch me in a good mood we can even do brunch.”

Aka Steve Rogers starts a garden and it goes better than anyone expected.

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A Seed Once Sown Never Dies - stevergrsno (noxlunate) - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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“Was s’pposed to be next week,” Bucky mumbles. He’s shivering slightly, tiny ripples of vibration that shake the mattress as he pushes the covers the rest of the way back and rolls onto his side.

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what we've got - endofadream - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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He doesn’t touch it then and tries not to think about later. The same way he tries not to think about how fast the cuts on his back and sides and arms are healing under the ragged clothing.

The serum heals things, and Bucky tries to figure out how to deal with what it’s given him.

A shameless PWP.

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In the Heartlands - Claudia_flies - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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i couldn’t forget you if i tried - endofadream

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i couldn’t forget you if i tried - endofadream

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There’s a pause, and Bucky’s voice is very, very soft when he says, “Nonexistent.”

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i couldn't forget you if i tried - endofadream - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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1930s, comics era- but Bucky is 20 instead of 16. 90% porn.

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fine and mellow - reservoirgays - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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a desert in my heart and nowhere to hide - endofadream

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a desert in my heart and nowhere to hide - endofadream

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Steve struggles to push himself upright, already muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” and stops when Bucky’s metal hand clamps down onto the back of his neck. It’s hardly more than its usual gentle hold, but immediately Steve melts, tension leeching from his body even as his heart pounds in his chest.

Bucky draws in a ragged breath behind him. “Is that what you want?” he asks after a pause.

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a desert in my heart and nowhere to hide - endofadream - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Bucky doesn't consider his Steve Rogers problem as a problem so much as the solution he hadn't realized he was hoping for to help him through the transition from the Bucky Barnes he'd been before his accident to the new, shiny version of himself.

No, the problem isn't with Captain America and The Howling Commandos fandom.

The problem is the amount of porn Bucky managed to write and draw about Captain America before finding out that he's less than one degree of separation away from Steve Rogers. 'Less than' as in he's sitting across the table from him.

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the Steve Rogers problem - relenafanel - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
The Universe has Moved for Us - Kittycombs

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The Universe has Moved for Us - Kittycombs

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Captain James Barnes, better known as Captain America, heroically sacrificed his own life on March 27th, 1945. This was shortly after the death of his wife, Sergeant Stephanie Rogers.
Or, at least, that had been the plan.
Now he's a 21st century man, and he has to balance being a living legend and trying to reconcile to loss of everything he's ever known.

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The Universe has Moved for Us - Chapter 1 - Kittycombs - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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The first thing Bucky does after there's a fucking alien attack is ask Stark to set him up with the internet, and gets it after the first ten minutes of explanation. He lets Stark keep talking anyway; his voice cancels out any of the noise in Bucky's head.

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Forced to wed to keep his inheritance, Steve finds himself married to a handsome but gravely wounded soldier. There are a number of issues surrounding this arrangement, but the most prominent one is also the most unexpected of all: Steve's dying husband is no longer dying.

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The Bargain - GoodbyeBlues - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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It had been 6 months since the decision was made and Bucky woke up every day to the sound of chickens on a hard bed at the far end of the servants’ corridor at the Rogers Estate for quite a time now.

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Chapter Text

Chapter One
Bucky wasn't fond of surprises. He's had enough of them in the army and the one time he wasn't prepared for it cost him his left arm. Frankly, he was sick of it. He wanted nothing more than to retire in a sleepy town and live quietly. Unfortunately for him, Becca-his twin sister, was having none of it. She got him to therapy, paid for his flat in Brooklyn and gave him a job at her company as an accountant.
He hated it.
It wasn't like he didn't try. He wasn't completely useless at his new job; he had a degree before shipping off to the army. It also wasn't so bad that the CEO of the company was his sister; people didn't dare say anything about his suspiciously gloved hands.
He was just simply tired of it all. There had been a time when he thought his life couldn't go wrong. His family had money, though not as much as when his sister took over the previously small family business. There had been a time when he had his life all planned out. And surprise, surprise! It all went to hell.
Which was why, he went and decided it was time for things to turn around.
***
It had been 6 months since the decision was made and Bucky woke up every day to the sound of chickens on a hard bed at the far end of the servants' corridor at the Rogers Estate for quite a time now.
Becca had been enraged. Luckily, Bucky had been clever enough to make his escape beforehand and half way to his destination, he'd finally picked up his phone to listen to her furious shouting over the safe end of the line.
It was a fresh and new start, making him breathe easier since waking up on a hospital bed with a missing left arm. Bucky had been on his new job for almost 5 months now and it was the best decision he's made in all his life. Admittedly, he's always been shit at making decisions before.
Finding the job was a lucky streak, timing and all. The Rogers' Estate wanted to hire a new head gardener and Bucky had been lucky enough to know about the occupation to drop in his resume. The ad was written on the morning newspaper and Bucky was an old-fashioned soul who subscribed to them on regular. Also because it drove Becca absolutely nuts.
Naturally, the Rogers' Estate was huge just like all estates. Bucky had been awestruck the whole time he was toured around the place. Helen, the housekeeper, had been amused. The mansion (a fucking mansion) had two stories, over 60 rooms and the entrance hallway was bigger than his childhood home. The grounds were vast, the gardens and fountains were magnificent and there was a big stable on the Far East ground to house the livestock.
The place was absolutely marvelous. Bucky immediately loved it. With the old bricks, the Victorian chandeliers, the gorgeous gardens and antique furniture, he felt transported in time. He couldn't believe the place existed in Upper New York, way out in the middle of nowhere. Mansions and old country houses for him existed only in movies. The place wasn't easy to maintain even with a number of staff and Bucky had been amused to see one of the house maids' vacuum a carpeted sitting room, the piece of modern technology looked out of place.
The staff had been wary of him the first week he was there and he couldn't blame them. He wasn't comfortable with talking to people anymore and his metal arm didn't add to his charm. The arm was a courtesy of Stark Industries, silver and menacing in harsh light. Tony's explanation about the mechanics went over his head but he was thankful.
When Helen finally coaxed him into telling them what happened, her eyes went soft and she gave him a hug.
"Thank you for your service." She murmured softly to his ear and Bucky had hugged her right back.
The next week after that, everybody seemed to treat him differently in a nice way. Timmy, a house boy, had spilled the beans on what was going on and that was when Bucky first heard the story about the young master of the house.
Apparently, the man was Captain in the army and had to retire early in his service to take over the family business. The man lived in the city now and wasn't often home to run the multi-billion industry.
It was clear that everyone loved the master of the house. Helen had endless compliments on the man and everybody referred to him with admiration in their tone. As a new member of the staff, Bucky couldn't help but partake on the respect they gave the man. He sounded like a good master.
Timmy had also revealed that the man had serious PTSD after his time in the army. All men who went to war did. Bucky had been through loads of therapy to get over his. Bad nights come every now and then but it's been less since he started working at the estate. It was sweet of them to understand but he'd have preferred for them to act normal.
The Roger's family was old money, Bucky had been told. They were very private and not the type of people who lived a celebrity life. Their ancestors took part in the government but sometime in the last century they preferred to stay out of the public's eyes. Their businesses were based overseas and only a chosen few family friends were invited to their ancestral home. Helen had tried to go over the history of the family dating back the 18th century but Bucky had blanked out halfway through the story. He wasn't very fond of history as it would seem.
***
Working as a gardener was the last thing everybody expected of Bucky which was why he wanted the job in the first place. He'd tended to his aunt Moira's gardens all his life and it was the most relaxed atmosphere he'd always liked since childhood. Plants were easy to understand and they were good company. He's yet to meet a plant in his life that was a bad listener.
Philip, the previous head gardener of the house, was a stubborn old man who refused to leave the job to him without strict instructions on how to tend to the grounds. His granddaughter had insisted on his retirement because of his rheumatism but he was welcome to stay in the estate to facilitate on the ground maintenance. Bucky was just basically his errand boy, giving orders on the most ridiculous things from scrubbing the blackened moors on the fountains to giving the old man's shoulders a rub.
If there was anything Bucky was good at, it was following orders. He was from a military family, his dad and his grand dad served in wars and so did he. Old man Philip's orders were relatively mild compared to what he was used to in the army. Although he'd been surprised the man had let him touch him with the metal arm. People he met were either very careful not to look at his left arm or they constantly eyed it as if their eyes were magnetized.
Philip took one look at him and his left arm and promptly demanded Bucky to lift an absurdly large brick stone to a position. Bucky had done it with little difficulty and Philip had nodded in approval. The young man visibly preened at the appreciation.
That had been the start of the endless ordering around and Bucky, eager to please, had followed every single one of them. The theatrics seem to amuse everyone to no end.
"He really likes you, doesn't he?" Helen had said to him, smirking as she handed him a hefty plate of sandwiches. "He never lets anyone near his Damask roses but he lets you."
Bucky had been taken aback because that was the first thing he was ordered to tend to after the brick stone fiasco.
"I don't know about that." Bucky replied with doubt. "He's still sore about his "forced retirement". Beth kept bugging me on about his vitamins and he cursed at me when I handed him his medicine."
Beth had been texting him non-stop about his grandfather and Bucky was given the task of not only tending to the gardens but also the care of the stubborn old man. It was a real task to make him take his morning meds but Bucky only had to be silent for a few minutes as the old man ranted and hand him a glass of water before he relented. It was an established routine after a month.
"Well, he still takes them, doesn't he?" Helen said knowingly and nudged him out of the kitchen to deliver the sandwiches to the pond where the old man was waiting.
It wasn't perfect, Bucky still had to wake up in cold sweat once in awhile and he still flinched every time there was a sudden sound. But it was better than his life at the city where he barely kept up with the rest of the society. The estate was a safe haven for a guy who wants a simple life and away from the competitive world.
***
The first time he rode a horse was when he was eleven, at a school tour. It was exhilarating and he never wanted to get of the magnificent beast's back. But the tour was ending and his teacher had to force him to part with his new friend. It had been awful saying goodbye to the gentle animal. Bucky continued to visit the farm to see the horse for years after that and when it died with old age, Bucky had been devastated.
There were three at the Rogers' Estate and Bucky was absolutely ecstatic to meet them. Hamish, Denver and Jacques were beautiful, strong and healthy breeds. Hamish and Denver were a bit touch-starved; they kept on butting their heads on Bucky's hands to be petted. Jacques had been proud and wouldn't let Bucky near him at first. Bucky discovered eventually that carrots did the trick for all three of them.
Murray was in charge of the few livestock on the estate. He lived in town, a few minutes drive from the estate and only came once a week to do the occasional check up. He was a paid veterinarian and had a clinic running up in town. Gareth, Helen's nephew, fed and took care of the animals on a daily basis.
The horses were kept healthy by the vet and Gareth but they didn't know how to ride them. And these animals were made for riding, they weren't meant to be kept on a leash or stuck in a barn. Bucky took it upon himself to do the task. (Which wasn't really a task, more like a privilege.)
The first time he took one of the horses for a run was like learning how to ride a bicycle all over again. It was equal parts exhilarating and frightening. He hadn't ridden since he was shipped off overseas a few years ago. But his body remembered what his mind forgot and it also helped that Jacques was re-learning his training likewise. They spent the afternoon learning each other and by the end of it, Bucky had toured the grounds a few times. It was marvelous to see the place on horseback.
Several of the staff had gaped at him when he dismounted the horse at the back door of the dirty kitchen where they ate, and he had smirked at their dumbstruck faces as he tied the leash of the horse just outside. He still hated surprises but it was fun to watch people's faces when he surprised them.
Helen had stood to meet him on the door, still gaping at him. "Are you sure you're just a gardener, James?" She asked with a disbelieving look on her face.
Bucky shrugged and grinned at her. "I have many talents."
Helen raised an eyebrow at him dubiously but rolled her eyes. "Do tell us about these talents. I'm sure you're very eager to brag about them."
Bucky laughed and shook his head. "It's a secret."
She laughed at the teasing tone of his voice and dragged him inside to bribe him with food to reveal his hidden blue blood identity.
***
Bucky's life at the estate fell into a routine.
Every day he would wake up at 6 am, take his meds dry and shower with cold water to full alertness. He would go take his breakfast at the back kitchen with the rest of the staff before facing Philip's ranting and help him take his own morning meds. Then he goes to the greenhouse behind the house to water the seedlings and potted plants, transferring the month-old stalks of imported tulips to separate boxes for easy transport. Another week and they would start budding; Bucky had to transfer them to the empty soil beds for more sun. Tending to the plants would take him the whole morning and it's a good thing he had help from Gareth in letting the horses out to graze because he can't keep an eye on them all the time.
Cleaning the grounds was the most exhausting part of the day after tending the plants. It was almost fall and the leaves were being a pain in the ass. He'd started his job mid-spring so the plants were blooming with flowers all over the place; he just had to keep them hydrated. He had no idea how to run the place during winter. Good thing Philip was there for instructions he seemed to enjoy giving Bucky.
Riding the horses was his favorite task of the day. He would take them around the area and take turns in giving them exercises to keep their muscles in good shape. It was fun to ride the m around and let his mind float into instincts on stirring the creatures.
Bucky was elbow-deep in mud while transferring the magnolias to the beds on the front porch when Gareth came running from the back of the house.
"Bucky! Helen wants to see the staff in the kitchen immediately. She's got news." He panted and was visibly vibrating with excitement.
"All of us? Should I get Philip?" Bucky straightened from his crouch and wiped his palms on his dirt rag. He must look like a sight, with his dirty arms and his jeans caked with dried mud from all the kneeling. He's certain there were dirt streaks on his face and neck too.
"Philip's there now. The rest of the outdoor staff is on their way. Let's go!"
"Okay, okay. Cool down, hot shot, geez." Bucky chuckled and made his way down the porch. Both of them walked o the side of the house and behind it to get to the back door. He's been told that the staff couldn't use the front entrance because they were for guests. Bucky couldn't understand the wealthy people's way.
The kitchen was crowded when they got there. Everyone was excitedly talking over each other and Bucky watched the proceedings with amusement and curiosity. It wasn't all the time that they get to be this chatty.
"Alright now, everyone! Settle down! I have good news for you!" Helen was saying and everyone immediately turned down their voices. Bucky could see from the doorway that she looked positively radiant. She only had that expression when she was talking about-
"Steve is back in America and he's coming home this weekend!"
Everyone erupted into cheers at the news and Bucky couldn't help grinning at the excited staff. He'd been expecting that. He'd always been a bit curious about the owner of the house since he heard about him. Helen had been the one to interview him when he applied for the job and she forwarded his profile to the young master for approval. It must have been accepted because he was hired and now he was curious about the man who evoked this kind of reaction to his household staff. They talked about him often to him and he only heard good things about the man. Bucky was the stranger in their midst because these people have worked in the estate throughout their lives. But they were gracious enough to let him near their space. This place was home to them, no matter the grandeur, and now Bucky was generously given his own space in it. It was heart-warming.
The next days were busy and lively. The house was buzzing with energy and Bucky was endlessly amused with the cheerful attitude of everybody. Cynthia, one of the housemaids was even humming while she dusted the bookshelves in the library. She hated dusting and often nagged about it to anyone who would listen. It was all so peculiar.
Bucky thought Philip was the only one to keep his cool about the master coming home. He only smiled when he heard the news. But when the weekend came, Bucky had been surprised to see him up and about the kitchen first thing in the morning. When Bucky handed him his medicine, he took it without his usual grumbling and possibly hummed on his way out of the kitchen. Bucky had stared after him with a frown.
Helen was laughing at his slaw-jacked face and he turned his confused look at her.
"He's happy, that's all. No need to look so worried." She chuckled. "Are you excited to meet him?" Helen didn't need to elaborate on her question.
Bucky grinned at her and nodded. "Have you seen the place? I don't think I've seen it so clean and spotless. Everyone's excited."
The woman beamed. "It's just been so long since he came home. We missed him around here. He's been so busy after Sarah passed away but he loved this place and made sure to visit once in a while." She smiled fondly at the memory.
Bucky had finished his tasks on the gardens and went to see the horses that afternoon. The owner of the house was expected to arrive before nightfall so he wasn't worried about missing his arrival. The stable was free from all the tension going on in the house however positive and Bucky found it comforting. He decided to stay there petting the horses to escape for a bit.
He quickly lost track of the time fixing the saddles and before he knew it, it was well into the evening. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he'd missed the arrival.
Bucky had been excited to meet the man, yes. But he didn't think he could handle all the commotion he's sure would happen. He was better, sure, but he wasn't exactly fixed.
He finally made his way to the back door of the house when he deemed it safe to return without anyone noticing he was missing.
The kitchen was loud and lively when he came in quietly from the doorway. Everybody was there and chatting cheerfully with each other. At the center of it all was a blond man with handsome features and bright blue eyes. He was listening to Philip, of all people, and smiling the whole time. Nobody seemed to notice when Bucky slipped inside and he was relieved to take a seat at the end of the table.
"Bucky! Look at what Steve got me!" Janet was beaming at him, oblivious of how he appeared all of a sudden and showed off her ears. Bucky didn't have an eye on jewelries but it wasn't hard to guess that the earrings were expensive. They were beautiful golden sparrows.
"Those look pretty on you, Janey." He smiled and the girl preened at the compliment.
Bucky was listening to her talk about the dresses that she would pair them off when he felt eyes on him. He glanced around the table and found curious blue eyes looking at him. The man was still smiling and he appeared to be listening to Philip with his nods but he was throwing Bucky curious looks.
Bucky didn't know how to handle that. Janet didn't seem to notice Bucky's brief eye-contact with the master of the house from across the room and Philip was clearly intent on his monologue about something. Nobody in the room appeared to have noticed their strange exchange of curious looks.
The man flicked a look at him again and Bucky met his eyes for a few seconds before giving a small nod in acknowledgement. The man blinked once before the smile in his face widened. Bucky gave a small smile back before turning his attention to the girl in front of him who hadn't broke in her discussion about fashion statements, ignoring the feeling of being watched.
***
The next few days were, for the lack of a better word, strange.
Bucky still followed his routine and did his job at the greenhouse; only he always seemed to run into the master of the house quite often. Bucky thought that being the owner of the house meant sitting back and letting the staff tend to him hand and foot. Steve was different in every sense of the word.
He didn't let anyone tend to him. Just like everyone in the house, he came down to the kitchen for meal times and helped Helen on the dishes. For a billionaire, he seemed very normal. Frankly, Bucky had been disappointed. The image he had of the man had been haughty and high-class like the rich guys he saw on movies. Steve was very normal. The only thing that fits with Bucky's imagination was his physicality.
Steve was very hands-on with the proceedings in the house. The staff didn't seem to mind their master's behavior and Bucky was probably the only one to get a wrong picture. He'd always thought wealthy people were different from commoners like him.
Then he would give Bucky these undecipherable glances sometimes when he thinks Bucky isn't looking. He could feel it on the back of his neck, lingering gazes that he tried very hard to ignore. He doesn't succeed.
***
"Bucky! Tom!"
He pulls his head out of the hood of the pick-up truck he was helping Tom fix and from the doorway of the garage were Gareth and surprisingly, the young master with the perpetual smile on his face. Tom slid out beneath the truck and quickly straightened to stand, grinning at the two.
"Well, I'll be damned. Steve Rogers in my garage. What do I owe the pleasure?" Tom said sarcastically and Bucky watched the exchange in apt attention.
Rogers was chuckling, shaking his head briefly and stepping to hug the older man. Tom was filthy, so was Bucky after hours of working on the engine, and the blond was looking pristine with his casual clothes. It was interesting to see the contrast but nobody seemed to mind anything. Bucky was completely fascinated.
"I'm going to town today. You got a car besides the Rover?" Steve asked when they pulled away.
Tom frowned. "What's wrong with it?"
Steve shakes his head. "It's fine. But I'm on vacation. The Rover attracts unwanted attention."
Tom was nodding and glancing at the said automobile. It was glorious, and like what Steve said, not exactly subtle. Bucky drove a car like that before and he hated it.
"Well, you could take the Honda?"
Bucky was grimacing and before he could school his expression back to neutral, Rogers was glancing at him.
"What's wrong with the Honda?" He asked, directly addressing Bucky. Tom and Gareth looked at him.
He sighed, already weary to explain. "It's...not for you."
Steve frowned at him. It was the first time Bucky saw him frown. It was a nice change.
"What do you mean?" Tom asked, raising his eyebrow at Bucky, curious. Gareth looked equally curious.
Bucky pointedly looked at him and shook his head. "Tell me you honestly want him to take the thing. Look at him." He tipped his head to Steve's direction without thinking, but the man seemed amused with the exchange.
Tom's frown was lighting up in understanding, glancing at Steve and looking him up and down. "Yeah. I guess not. I wasn't thinking, sorry."
If Steve was offended at the way they were talking about him, he didn't look it. Instead, his blue eyes were bright with amusement.
"Okay then. I'd really like to see this thing now. It can't be that bad." He said, grinning boyishly and Bucky grinned right back.
Tom led them further to the back of the garage and into one of the storage. Bucky dabbled a little in mechanical engineering at college. The Rogers' Estate had a dozen cars, all of them worth a fortune each. It was heaven.
Bucky was looking right at Steve's face when Tom slid open the door. He saw the exact moment it widened with horror and he looked at Bucky, scandalized. He couldn't help a laugh out of his mouth.
"Well, it really isn't for you." Tom said, looking over the bright yellow contraption. It was a good car, standard issue but a 6 ft tall man like Rogers, like the rest of the population couldn't be caught driving it. Bucky's eyes were watering just looking at it.
Steve was laughing and it took a second for Bucky to notice he was smiling back at him.
***
Philip was back to normal a week after the young master's arrival and Bucky's days slowly diverted back to his routine with small adjustments to the man of the house.
Bucky was busy shoveling hay into a mound in the stables one afternoon when he heard a brief knock on wood. He glanced up and Rogers was standing at the entrance with his knuckles on the door. He was smiling, as usual.
"Hi."
Bucky wiped his forehead with a towel and straightened to face him. "Hey."
The man's smile widened and he stepped inside the door, his eyes roaming the interior before landing back on Bucky. "So, you're not just a mechanic then?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow at that and shrugged. "I help out wherever they need me. But officially, I'm the gardener."
Steve was nodding, walking further inside the stables and stopping a few steps in front of Bucky.
This wasn't the first time they'd actually spoken to each other but Bucky doesn't know how to act around him. Aside from the fact that he was his boss, Bucky was developing an unhealthy crush towards the man and he doesn't really want to know how to handle the situation.
Blissfully unaware of Bucky's internal freak-out, Rogers had the gall to up his thousand-watt smile and step even closer to his space. Bucky wasn't sure he was aware of the movement but nevertheless, stayed still as if the man wasn't an inch away from stepping on his toes.
"Helen sent me to get you. She said dinner's ready."
Bucky was painfully aware of the way his hands curled on themselves, gripping the handle of the shovel in a tight grasp. He was aware of Steve's body heat at this proximity and how his breath was warm, close enough to feel on Bucky's cheeks.
He cleared his throat and nodded, looking down on his boots to avoid those blue eyes. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there. Thanks."
Steve-no, Rogers didn't seem to notice Bucky's discomfort and offered to keep him company while he was cleaning up the rest of the manure. He didn't seem to mind the smell of the animals and the barn in general. Which was an addition to the oddity of Steve Rogers. Rich people were incomprehensible in Bucky's opinion. Or maybe Rogers' was just an exemption.
Bucky had so many questions but like always, he kept it all to himself.
"So," the man says as they started towards the main house together. "Bucky?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow at the questioning tone of the man. "What about it?"
"Your parents named you Bucky?"
Bucky could hear the laughter in the man's voice and knew he was being teased good-naturedly.
"It's actually James Buchanan. My younger sister gave me the nickname. Now, I'm Bucky forever." He explained.
"You have a sister?" He looked delighted by the information.
"Three of them, actually. Rebecca, Mandy and Julia. Becca was the one who invented the nickname." Bucky doesn't know why he shared the info, but shrugged it off, seeing the blond grin at him.
"I like it. It suits you." He said, rolling the name in his mouth and testing how it sounds on his ears. Bucky had to swallow hard at the sudden dryness of his throat. His mind was actively playing scenes of how many more ways Steve could say his name.
Rogers was smiling at him and Bucky smiled back albeit tightly, reaching the door to the back kitchen. Both of them shuffled inside and Helen looked up from where she was stirring a big pot that he suspects to be curry judging from the smell of the room.
"Go take a seat, Steve, honey. Bucky, go wash your hands." Helen barked at them, turning around to stack plates on the table.
Both of them shared a look before complying with the orders. Arguing with Helen simply doesn't end well for anyone and Bucky suspected she had Rogers on her thumb. That wasn't hard to believe, given how she could look at Bucky and make him feel like he's twelve again.
When he went back to the table, Rogers was sitting with his hand on the next seat beside him. Bucky was about to cross to the other available seat when he felt Rogers eyes on him. He made a mistake of glancing at the man and he was leveling Bucky with this look. Evidently, Bucky took his seat beside him with the back of his neck feeling warm.
He glanced at the man and he had a smug look on his face that Bucky wanted to punch and simultaneously want to kiss. God, he hoped he wasn't so obvious.
He felt the man shift beside him and suddenly their shoulders were touching. That point of contact between them remained throughout the whole dinner and Bucky might have leaned into the touch a few times. If the other staff on the table noticed their proximity, they didn't show it.
Dessert was apple pie and Bucky devoured his in five bites. He looked at his plate and up to see Rogers grinning at him and promptly refused to blush. To his surprise, the man nudged his plate towards him, his pie half-finished.
"Uhh, I'm fine." He said, looking at his empty place, embarrassed.
The man chuckled beside him, reaching for his empty plate before placing his pie in front of him. Bucky bit his lip and eyed the man sideways. After a moment, he picked up his fork and sliced into the pie. He could feel the beam of Rogers' smile even without looking at him.
He doesn't really know what's going on but whatever it was, how much harm can it cause him? He's been to war, and he'd like to think he could handle someone like Steve Rogers.
...right?

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sweetest kind of hell - Chapter 1 - honeybunny101 - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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Chapter One Bucky wasn't fond of surprises. He's had enough of them in the army and the one time he wasn't prepared for it cost him his left arm. Frankly, he was sick of it. He wanted nothing more than to retire in a sleepy town and live quietly.

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A-mage-ing Grace - leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

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A-mage-ing Grace - leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

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Steve was a mage, not a fighter: he'd entered the tournament to face other mages. But when he had to face the Winter Soldier, he never thought he'd wind up being responsible for him, even if it was only for the time it took to get him off the Baron's lands. He hadn't dreamed it would lead to the Winter Soldier following him through half the kingdom.

Steve wasn't sure why it was happening, he wasn't sure what the man wanted, but for the moment he was willing to wait and see. He just hoped he wasn't making a terrible mistake.

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Steve stared in disbelief at the herald. "What do you mean I have to fight him?"

The noise of the crowd rippled over the once-green fields, now torn-up and muddy from the day's events. The sun beat down, reflecting off colourful pennants snapping in the breeze, and Steve felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. He wasn't wearing robes, preferred trousers and a tunic, but it was still hot on the field with no shade available. He'd loosened the laces at his neck, but it wasn't helping much.

The herald was clad in gold and purple, the Baron's colours-appropriate since the Baron was hosting this tournament-and he shifted impatiently, bouncing a beam of sunlight off his gold-capped boot into Steve's eyes. "I'm not sure what part was unclear," the herald replied, looking down his nose at Steve. Which wouldn't have been difficult, even without the attitude; Steve barely reached his nose. "You are the winner of the mage's tourney. He is the winner of the fighter's tourney. You must fight each other to determine the winner of the tournament entire. If you don't, no purse of gold will be awarded."

The herald's eyes narrowed. "And I can guarantee that if you rob the crowd of their final entertainment, more importantly if you rob my Baron," the herald pointed his staff of office at the large man lounging on a stand high above the proceedings, waving genially to the excited crowd, "of his final entertainment, he will be Greatly Displeased." Idly, Steve wondered if heralds received some sort of special training that let them pronounce capital letters. "You'll be blacklisted as far and as fast as word can be carried."

Steve took a good long look at the man standing on the other side of the field, the man he was expected to fight. He hadn't signed up for this-or apparently he had signed up for this, he just hadn't been aware of it at the time. The man was dressed in leather, not heavy armour, and Steve-drawing on his complete lack of knowledge of all things martial-thought it was designed more for ease of movement than blocking heavy weapons. That probably meant he was fast. "Who is he?" he asked. "Are you allowed to tell me anything about who I'm going to be fighting?"

The herald stared at him, professional heraldness slipping a little. "You mean you don't... Have you been living under a rock?"

Steve favoured him with a flat smile. "Close. A village in a place you'd never have heard of."

"I see." With a tiny shake of his head, the herald said, "That's the Winter Soldier."

"The Winter Soldier? Doesn't he have a name?"

"Not one anyone knows. He's a mercenary of sorts, this season he's been fighting under the flag of Viscount Rumlow. He's called the Winter Soldier because he's cold, deadly, merciless. Never hesitates. Rumour has it he's killed more men than some armies. I don't know what Viscount Rumlow was thinking, bringing someone like that to a tourney, but he outranks the Baron." The herald caught himself and cleared his throat. "But I'm sure you'll be fine, these fights aren't to the death." He fixed Steve with a sharp look. "You are going to fight him?"

Steve watched the Winter Soldier, who was standing calmly, hands resting on his swords. The noise of the crowd was rising as they grew restless. They'd cheered Steve when he'd won the last match, sinking his opponent-mage into the ground up to the neck and trapping him there, but he had a feeling their mood could be best summed up as: What have you done for us lately? He looked down at his hand, spread his fingers and summoned magefire to wind itself up his arm. There were leylines running under the ground all around them, so he hadn't needed to touch his own personal reserves of power. And he really needed that gold. "I'll fight."

The herald smiled. "Good choice," he said and strode off towards the Baron.

Steve kept watching the Winter Soldier, who gave him with a wide, dangerous smile, and had the feeling he might have made a terrible mistake.

It didn't take long for the herald to return, striding into the middle of the field, proclaiming to the crowd, something about the afternoon's entertainment, and praising the Baron, but Steve wasn't paying attention. There was nothing casual about the way his opponent was standing now. He was poised like a predator, eyes fixed on Steve. It was unnerving and Steve was certain that was the point. Two could play at the game, though, and he pulled magic from the closest leyline and let it surround him, glowing like pale fire.

He could see the Winter Soldier's teeth gleam white as he smiled again. Or bared his teeth like an angry wolf. Steve honestly couldn't tell and then there was no time because the herald had dropped the flag and gotten the hell out of the way and Steve was staring at a charging mass of whirling steel. He reacted automatically, trying what he'd used on his last opponent, opening a sinkhole under the man's feet, but he leapt over it, barely breaking stride, landed easily and kept coming. He was moving more cautiously now, sizing Steve up.

Steve couldn't set him on fire-well, he could, but that wasn't, he wouldn't do that, not even if it had been in the letter or spirit of the tournament. As the Winter Soldier closed the distance between them Steve raised a shield: invisible, but it would block all physical attacks for as long as Steve could pour power into it. Tempting as it was to let the other man exhaust himself trying to get through it, to let him batter his swords on it until he collapsed-if Steve could hold it that long-Steve knew that wouldn't be entertaining. If the Baron was displeased no one would win. So he went on the offensive. He sent a jet of fire spiralling out in front of him, but the Winter Soldier evaded, slipped around Steve so fast Steve couldn't keep track of him even as he whirled.

The man moved like a cat, twisting out of the way as Steve threw fire, threw ice, opened holes in the ground. He responded with hurled knives, slid in close to cut at Steve's legs, sending Steve stumbling back because his shield didn't extend that low. He barely got them covered in time.

The two danced across the field, Steve constantly on the defensive, the Winter Soldier aggressively pushing Steve the longer the fight went on. Steve summoned fire and sent it dancing down his swords, heating them instantly, but instead of dropping them the other man hurled them at Steve, drew daggers and kept coming.

This wasn't his sort of fight, he had no experience with this, and he was getting tired. It was getting hard to concentrate. Hard to hold the shield. The Winter Soldier knew what he was doing, he was going to keep pushing and, sooner or later, Steve knew he was going to get through. Steve was going to slip. His shield was going to drop and, looking into those cold eyes, Steve didn't think the other man was going to settle for a quick tap on the head to claim his victory.

Steve could pull power and throw fire, just like any mage, but his true affinity was for shields. Affinity enough to try something only desperation made him think might be possible, but it meant dropping his shield. He sent a blast of fire at the Winter Soldier, pushing him back, and started to work, twisting the shield he'd been holding around himself into a solid, circular mass. The Winter Soldier seemed to sense he was vulnerable and lunged forward, swinging the sword he'd retrieved at Steve's arms as Steve flung the shield like a discus.

He couldn't see it, couldn't evade it, and it crashed into his head.

The Winter Soldier dropped like a stone, unconscious, and the crowd roared. Steve stared down at him, then dropped to his knees, pressing two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse. He sat back with a small sigh of relief when he found one. A shield wasn't meant to be used as a weapon, and he'd had no idea it was going to knock the man out.

The crowd's noise was deafening and the herald was pulling Steve up and proclaiming him the winner, pulling him towards the Baron. Steve bowed low, managed to get out some words he thought were appropriate. He accepted the purse of gold and a gaudy, ribbon bedecked trophy which he thought was some sort of rabbit, and bowed low again, and once more, and thanked the Baron, who beamed at him. His heart wasn't in it, because from the corner of his eye he could see a man who must be Viscount Rumlow and his attendants approaching the still unconscious Winter Soldier.

The Viscount gestured and one of his men reached down, ripped the Rumlow colours off the unconscious man's chest and kicked him. Steve found himself bowing again to the Baron and murmuring apologies and running back to where he'd been. The herald, who'd obviously been watching along with Steve, followed, one of the Baron's guards falling in beside him.

"Viscount Rumlow," the herald said, "you cannot just leave a man with the Winter Soldier's reputation to run around uncontrolled within my Baron's lands."

"He failed, let himself be beaten by this one." Viscount Rumlow pointed an unimpressed finger at Steve. "He's unfit to wear my colours and there's nothing in the rules that says I'm required to keep him. So I'm not."

The herald's lips thinned but he inclined his head. "Very good, my Lord."

Viscount Rumlow turned, his attendants in tow, and walked away.

"What happens now?" Steve asked.

"Now?" The herald sounded suddenly weary. "I don't know."

"We ought to put him down," the guard growled, nudging the Winter Soldier with his toe. "Not going to have another chance like this one."

"He's done nothing wrong!" Steve protested.

"He's a threat," the guard said, glaring at Steve. "You don't let a feral animal run around, you put it down."

Before Steve could reply, the herald flashed him a warning look. "He was allowed into the tourney only because he was under Viscount Rumlow's control. With that control gone, I'm not sure there's another option my Baron would find acceptable."

Steve looked down at the Winter Soldier, still unconscious, features peaceful and slack. When he'd fought he'd been controlled, careful. Deliberate. If he'd been feral, Steve wouldn't have had such a problem. "What if someone else was responsible for him? If he was under someone else's control?"

The guard opened his mouth but the herald raised his hand, cutting him off. " That would be an acceptable option."

Steve had thought it might be. "I'll pledge to be responsible for him, at least until we leave your Baron's lands."

"You'll be responsible for any damage he does," the herald warned, "any of my Baron's people he kills, if you can't control him."

"I understand," Steve said. "But I think we'll be fine."

The guard snorted in disgust. "On your head be it."

Steve and the herald watched him walk away. "I'll inform the Baron," the herald said, giving Steve a quick nod before following the guard.

Steve knelt beside the Winter Soldier once more. "Don't suppose you want to wake up?" he asked quietly. When there was no response, he sighed. "I guess not."

Being the winner of the tournament made it surprising easy to find someone with a pony cart and a burly assistant willing to help him-for one of the gold coins in the purse, of course. They balked slightly when they realised he wanted help with the Winter Soldier, but after some reassurance from Steve they heaved him into the cart, went to pack up Steve's belongings, and trundled their way towards the border of the Baron's lands.

The owner of the cart and his helper were decidedly uneasy being so close to the Winter Soldier, however unconscious he might be, but Steve's presence-and the fact that Steve was the one who'd made him that way-went some distance to easing their fears. Steve tried to find out exactly why they were so wary of their unconscious passenger, tried to find out exactly when he'd apparently carried out these terrible deeds, but neither could give him details. It was only rumour and stories and what everybody knew.

With every passing mile, Steve felt better about his decision.

When they reached the edge of the Baron's lands they found a decent place for Steve to set up camp, unloaded the Winter Soldier, wished him luck, and trotted away. Steve put his tent up around him, covered him with a blanket, and waited.

And waited.

And fell asleep, sitting up next to the man.

He woke to darkness and the sound of a clearing throat. Momentarily confused, it was automatic to summon a magelight and it showed him pale skin and cold eyes and a hand holding a dagger.

"Easy, easy," Steve said quickly. "You're safe. What do you remember? Do you remember me?"

"Yes. You're that skinny mage from the tourney. You," he frowned, "I was about to win and then you did...something. Everything went black. Did you knock me out?"

Steve winced. "I did, sorry."

"It's fine. That's how it goes. Kidnapping me is not so fine."

Steve winced again. "I didn't..." He trailed off and slumped a little. "Okay, I guess I did kidnap you. Sort of. It was for a good cause."

The Winter Soldier's knuckles went white around his dagger. "Explain."

"Viscount Rumlow." The Winter Soldier went still. "He said because you lost to, to me he didn't want you in his service anymore. The Baron's guard was talking about killing you because you weren't under anyone's control so I said I'd, uh, be responsible for you."

"Did you."

"Yes. Until we were off the Baron's lands, and we're outside them now so it doesn't apply anymore. But I didn't want to just leave you out here alone and unconscious, so." Steve gestured at the tent and the blanket.

"And you did all this out of the goodness of your heart."

Steve shrugged.

"You're not going to stop me if I try and leave?"

"No?"

Eyeing him warily, the Winter Soldier pushed off the blanket and rolled to his feet, then pushed out of the tent. Steve watched him as he scanned his surroundings, then turned slowly in a full circle and fixed Steve with a look he didn't know how to interpret. Steve raised his chin and met his eyes, held them for a few long seconds, then the other man whirled and ran, disappearing into the woods.

"Well, goodbye, then," Steve called after him, then sighed. "And good luck."

A bad feeling, like an itch under his skin, had settled over him when he'd realised he'd have to fight a mage. He didn't like mages, didn't trust them, but this was a tourney fight and all he had to do was win: breaking an arm, breaking both arms, should do the trick. Mages needed their hands to work their magic.

When he saw the mage he was going to be facing, talking to the herald, something in him eased slightly. Yes, magic users didn't have to be big to be dangerous, but this one looked like he'd blow over in a stiff breeze.

Bucky favoured him with a threatening smile from across the tourney grounds and when the flag hit the ground, launched himself forward, both swords a blur.

Much of the fight was a blur. The little mage was clever, fast and smart, but he didn't seem to be trying to hurt him, which Bucky knew how to deal with, and he could do things with shields Bucky had never seen. Just when Bucky thought he had him, knew he had him, everything had gone black.

When he'd woken to see the little mage sitting next to him, he'd almost killed him-in his experience, waking in a strange place with a mage next to him could only lead to pain. He'd pulled a dagger silently from its sheath, but he'd had to push a blanket out of the way to do it and it was the blanket that made him pause. The little mage had covered him with a blanket. Had left him all his weapons. Was asleep next to him. Bucky wasn't secured, wasn't locked behind a mage shield, wasn't restrained in any way.

Which made no sense.

He cleared his throat, dagger held obviously at the ready, and waited for the mage to wake up. He blinked awake, looking groggy and confused as he summoned a magelight, and his only reaction to the dagger in Bucky's hands was to start reassuring Bucky.

As their conversation progressed, Bucky started to think-if there was one drop of truth to the story the little mage was telling-that there might be something wrong with this mage. He had no problem believing Viscount Rumlow would have dismissed him from his service. He'd only ever seen Bucky as a weapon to be used to garner prestige among his fellow nobles-Bucky had always known the moment he lost, he'd be out. It was the rest of the story he found hard to swallow.

Regardless, everything Bucky owned was still in Rumlow's camp and he wanted it back, and since the little mage was apparently going to let him leave...

Bucky ran into the forest with the mage's goodbye ringing in his ears.

He could run all night without stopping, practically see in the dark, and he arrived at Viscount Rumlow's encampment just after midnight. He knew the sentry patterns, knew the layout, and it didn't take him long to retrieve what he wanted. His spare weapons were nowhere to be found, likely already scavenged, but he had no sentimental attachment to them and what he was carrying was enough. What he wanted were his clothes, his tent, the things he needed to survive, and no one had scavenged those. He bundled them up, slipped into the kitchen tent to help himself to salt and spices and tea, and departed the camp as easily as he'd come.

There was a reason people called him a ghost.

The tournament fair was still in full swing, drunken people filling the grounds, and he heard the Winter Soldier mentioned more than once. Wrapped in a cloak, no one recognised him and tracking the gossip revealed that the little mage-whose name was apparently Steve-had told the truth. When Rumlow had torn his House colours from his chest, tossing him out on his ear, the Baron's guard had suggested killing him and Steve had taken responsibility for him, both events acquiring more drama depending on the drunkenness of the teller. What was missing from the gossip was why Steve had done it. There was speculation aplenty-ranging from the absurd to the obscene-but no explanation.

Lacking anything better to do, and not wanting to be found inside the border of the Baron's lands, Bucky made his way back to where he'd left Steve. He wasn't going to approach him, just follow him for awhile, see what he did. Where he went. He was curious and he had nothing better to do. No one else was going to want him for the tournament circuit, not after Rumlow had dismissed him-no one would chance Rumlow taking it as an insult-and the thought of hiring out to fight made him uneasy in a way he didn't want to consider too closely.

So he'd follow the mage.

Steve hadn't been born with magic. No one in his family, as far as they knew, had ever had magic. By all rights Steve shouldn't be a mage.

Steve's powers had been a gift, given to him by a dying mage, more powerful than Steve thought anyone had understood. He was still coming to grips with everything he could do.

Erskine had come to their village as an old man, tired and fleeing the aftermath of war in a faraway land. He'd been seeking peace. Steve didn't know if he'd ever found that peace, but he had found friendship of a sort in Steve. Steve, who'd been the only one in their village not afraid of the great and powerful mage suddenly in their midst. Who'd gone to see if even a great and powerful mage needed help with simple things. Who'd organised for milk and cheese and bread to be delivered. Who'd sat and talked to him, sometimes late into the night, when Erskine had been unable to sleep, the hounds of memory biting at his heels.

They'd understood each other somewhat, even though Erskine was a great mage and Steve the son of the village midwife, because they were both alone, both knew they wouldn't live much longer: Erskine old before his time with all he'd given to the war and Steve, whose body was betraying him.

When Erskine had said to him, "If you had my power, what would you do with it?" Steve had thought they were just talking, the late night rambles that happened when the moon faded into the morning's light.

"Help people," he'd replied.

Erskine had smiled. "You're angry, though," he'd pointed out, because Erskine had always seen Steve for who he was. "You don't think you'd use it to get rid of the people you're angry with? Just wipe them out completely? It would be simple."

Steve was quiet for a long time, looking down at his hands. "I don't want to kill anyone," he'd finally replied. "I don't like bullies, I don't like people who hurt other people, who don't protect the ones they're supposed to keep safe, who think they can treat people lower than them like, like things, but that doesn't mean I'd want to kill them." He looked up at Erskine. "Besides, if I did that, wouldn't I be just the same as them?"

"That is a very good answer. If only we'd had someone like you teaching mages in the old country."

It was the last and only time Erskine had spoken of it.

Steve didn't think any more of it until Erskine was dying. Until he'd beckoned Steve to his bedside and taken his hand. Until he'd said, "Steven, I want to give you a gift," smiling weakly but his eyes had been bright, "and in some ways a curse. Because you are a good man. Because it should not die with me. Will you accept it?"

Steve had bowed his head and said yes. Erskine's smile had grown sad for a moment, then warmed and he'd pressed his shaky hand against Steve's skinny chest. Power had ripped through him, Erskine's power, flowing out of Erskine and into Steve, crackling through his veins, his bones, and it had been agony. Steve had braced himself, teeth clenched, eyes closed, and he could see lightning, smell rain, feel magic filling all the spaces inside him: all of Erskine's power and Erskine's knowledge and Erskine's control, settling into his soul like it had always been there. His, now.

His eyes had snapped open and met Erskine's, he heard him say, "Stay a good man, my Steven," and then he was gone.

It had taken him days to recover, days in which the magic settled deeper into his body. And, as if the magic was determined that it would have a suitable home, it had worked changes on him. Fixed his lungs, his heart, his back, his everything. For the first time, he was living without pain.

Without physical pain, for he felt the loss of Erskine deeply. Never more so then when he went far out into the woods, took a deep breath, and called his magic. It came quickly.

A little too quickly.

A few trees became kindling before he got the hang of it, letting the knowledge Erskine had given him guide his hand. There was no doubt, he'd thought as he'd watched magefire crawl across his skin, he was a mage.

He'd packed up what he could carry, trading what he had for what he'd need to travel, and left the next day, determined to help people with his new found power. Travelling, he soon discovered, took money, so he'd entered a few tourneys, hoping to win enough to keep himself in food.

All of which had led him to this moment: realising he was being followed by the Winter Soldier.

He wasn't certain for how long. Steve had only noticed him because the town was so small a man in black leather stood out. Not that there weren't other men in black leather, it being the colour of choice for mercenaries and sell-swords, but Steve had seen him up close and personal. He recognised the Winter Soldier. The man paused, meeting Steve's eyes like he was waiting for something, and when Steve only stared, turned away, apparently unconcerned, and walked off in the other direction.

That night, Steve doubled the strength of the shields he put up around the tent. He didn't know what the Winter Soldier wanted with him, but since Steve was directly responsible for him losing his position, he didn't think it could be anything good.

Steve continued to catch glimpses of him on the road over the next few weeks. There was no doubt: he was definitely being followed, but his concerns had long since faded, replaced by curiosity. The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, didn't threaten him, kept his distance, just kept following him, like there was a long rope tying him to Steve.

He was reminded a little of the stray dogs he sometimes picked up, who'd travel with him for awhile then disappear back the way they'd come-only this one was too wary to approach.

Steve didn't feel like a confrontation was warranted and he thought leaving food out wouldn't go over well, as much as the idea amused him-somehow he thought the Winter Soldier wouldn't appreciate the joke-so he kept going, pretended he wasn't being shadowed by, if the rumours were to be believed, one of the most dangerous and unpredictable men in all the lands.

But rumours were a chancy thing, he'd found, having followed more than his fair share only to find nothing but empty air at the end of them.

The latest rumour, however, led him to far more than empty air. It led to a farming village, lush and green and under threat from a mated pair of basilisks who'd decided this was the perfect place to raise their inevitable young. The Knight whose lands the village and farm land belonged to would surely have acted to deal with the threat-if for no other reason than it was valuable farm land-but she was away, competing in the jousts. Her seneschal, caring for the lands in her absence, was either unwilling or unable to muster any aid.

So far, only two people had been lost to the beasts, but that was two people too many as far as Steve was concerned. The villagers and farmers greeted Steve's arrival like a miracle-once they realised he was a mage. Someday, Steve thought, amused despite the circumstances, he might have to invest in a set of robes, just so people would start recognising him for what he was.

Basilisks were incredibly dangerous: lizards the size of draft horses, claws longer than a man's hand and fangs to match, and an uncanny gaze that could transform anyone into solid stone. They weren't anymore evil than a wolf or a wildcat, but they belonged in the mountains, far away from people. They had to be dealt with.

How was the problem. There wasn't a leyline in the place, which meant relying on his own reserves, so he was going to have to be careful how much magic he used.

Steve had one of the goatherds show him where the two were nesting-in his experience, goatherds were generally fearless and when the woman offered to stay and help, he wasn't surprised. "No, it's all right. You go back to the village. I'll come back when it's done."

She looked dubiously at him down her long nose, reminding him of a goat herself. "If you're certain, mage. Basilisks are nasty beasts with tempers worse than a rutting buck."

"That's kind of what I'm counting on."

She tut tutted at him, but she left.

"All right, let's see if this works." His plan, such as it was, was make the basilisks angry enough to use their stone gaze, get them both pointed at him, then get the hell out of the way by dropping straight down into the earth so they hit each other. If pressed, he'd admit it wasn't the greatest plan in the world. Luckily, no one was here to see him. If it didn't work, he'd be a permanent statue and no doubt cautionary tale for the locals.

It was surprisingly easy to make a basilisk angry. His mere presence seemed to do the trick. "Story of my life," he muttered as he focused, willed it, and ported forward twenty feet, both basilisks in pursuit. He couldn't do that trick often, it took a lot of power, but it was good for getting him out of trouble. Or into it.

So far, there'd been no sign of their stone gaze, just snapping fangs and claws that scraped against his shields, which meant they weren't angry enough. It wasn't like he hadn't been trying; he'd been antagonising them for at least half an hour.

He'd have to up his game.

Steve set their tails on fire, sending them whipping round to face the new threat, then threw ice as he snuffed the flame, focused, and ported towards them, shocking them into skittering back a few paces. They recovered quickly and fixated on him, eyes beginning to pulse wildly, the warning sign of a stone gaze. With a gulp, Steve split the earth and dropped out of sight, wrapping himself in a shield as he fell.

Above him was only silence.

A few minutes later, he cautiously raised himself up and peered over the edge.

He saw a basilisk claw made of solid stone, glanced over and saw another, and he grinned.

As it turned out, the goatherd hadn't gone far. "Well, bugger me," she said as Steve walked down the path towards her. She pushed her hat off her head and looked him up and down. "Didn't expect to see you alive, there, mage." She grinned at him. "Happy to be wrong, though."

"Glad I could surprise you," Steve said dryly, then grinned back, tired and drained, but very pleased. "Your town's now the proud owner of two basilisk statutes."

"I'm sure the goats will be thrilled."

Steve didn't know what the goats thought of it, but the rest of the townsfolk were incredibly happy. They asked Steve to stay the night, tried to press all manner of things on him, including a goat, which he swiftly declined, but Steve shook his head, said he needed to keep moving, but he appreciated the offers of hospitality. He kind of wanted to be out on the road again where his shadow could find him.

Which he knew was ridiculous.

He was regretting his decision as the sky started to darken, and regretting it even more as he made camp and it started to rain. There was still no leyline he could reach, so he pulled the energy for the camp's shield from his reserves, which were down to the dregs. The shield was solid, but as he started the fire with a spark of magic, he realised he was exhausted.

Thunder cracked overhead and the rain bucketed down, bouncing off his shield. "Okay, maybe this wasn't the best idea." He should have taken them up on their offer. He could have been asleep in a bed right now, under a solid wooden roof, instead of scraping the last of his reserves to keep a shield over his fire and over his tent, which had never been waterproof.

Steve huddled as close to the fire as he could get, warming himself, when, with no warning, his shield finally gave up, disappearing as the energy to hold it ran out of him. Freezing rain almost instantly soaked him to the skin. The fire hissed, started to smoke, and died to nothing as he scrabbled in the near-dark of a sputtering mage light to pull up the hood of his cloak.

A sudden cracking noise made him jump to his feet.

The Winter Soldier was standing at the edge of the pool of dull yellow light, rain sheeting off his thick waterproof cloak, expression unreadable in the depths of his hood.

The world swam around him as Steve tried to call his magic. He didn't know why the Winter Soldier was here and while he'd stopped worrying about him when he was keeping his distance, right now he was too close and too big and Steve...was out of power. Magefire should have flared around his hands, bright and red and dangerous. Instead, he and the Winter Soldier watched as a few pathetic drips of light rolled off his palm and splashed to the ground.

Steve thought the Winter Soldier almost looked amused, but it faded as Steve shivered. He couldn't seem to stop, the shivers wracking his body, a combination of draining himself dry and the cold starting to eat into his bones from the soaking rain.

The other man walked forward, hands extended, palms down, and started to speak. Steve couldn't hear him over the sudden roaring in his ears. The world shifted sideways. He lunged forward and Steve tried to pull energy from inside himself, to raise a shield, to protect himself, but blackness swallowed him.

The last thing he felt were hands closing on his arms and then he was gone.

Bucky had been following Steve for weeks now, staying back, not approaching, just watching.

The longer he watched, the more confused he got.

For a start, why was he out on the road in the first place? Oh, mages travelled, but they travelled in caravans, not on foot. They travelled with extensive retainers and guards and entertainers. Not with old tents and the occasional stray dog that they fed half their food to.

As far as Bucky could tell, Steve wasn't a mage. Except for the part where he did magic. A lot of magic. For poor people, for tenant farmers, for travelling merchants, for anyone who needed help. On one memorable day, he'd watched Steve lift a toppled hay wagon off its side and hold it in the air while two farmers replaced the wheel. They were so grateful they offered him a ride and he watched Steve disappear into the distance, curled, apparently happily, into a pile of hay.

It made no sense.

He let Steve see him one day in a small town where they'd both stopped. Bucky was half hoping Steve would approach him, but all he did was stare and then Bucky was turning away. He still didn't like mages, he still didn't trust them, but if not for the evidence of his own eyes, he'd be prepared to swear Steve wasn't a mage.

Bucky kept waiting for his true nature to show. It never did.

And then there were the basilisks. The fucking basilisks. Bucky became his shadow in truth then, because basilisks were dangerous. He armed himself to the teeth and shadowed Steve into the forest. Steve never knew he was there and he didn't admit even to himself what he was doing, that he was prepared to step in and help if they threatened him, because Steve was a mage.

Bucky didn't like mages, Bucky didn't trust mages. Mages had turned him into the Winter Soldier.

But Steve was a skinny drink of water going out all alone to face down a mated pair of basilisks for a bunch of farmers and peasant townsfolk and, mage or not, he was probably going to die. Somehow, Bucky couldn't let that happen.

Of course, what actually happened was that Bucky got an inkling of how powerful Steve was. And how stupid. Bucky had almost stepped in, but he hesitated, waiting, and Steve had it under control. Barely. Bucky wasn't sure if Steve had planned any of it or if what he'd watched was controlled chaos, but it had worked.

Afterwards, he set up camp far enough away from Steve that Steve wouldn't see him, but he found himself leaning against a tree close to Steve's camp, keeping an eye on him.

Was it invasive and creepy? Probably. Was it also a good thing? As it turned out, yes, because Steve was having problems and this time Bucky didn't hesitate. He caught him before he could hit the ground, folded his cloak over him, and-once he got a look at Steve's useless leaky tent-carried him to his own camp.

The only thing that gave him pause was stripping Steve out of his wet clothes, but he did it quickly and dressed him just as quickly and bundled him into his own bed, tucking the fur cover around him. Then he went and packed up Steve's things and carried them all over to his camp.

He didn't let himself think too hard about what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he couldn't leave everything there-if someone came along (in the dark, in the storm) and found an unattended camp, they'd steal everything.

Slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head, Steve woke up. He was incredibly warm and something was radiating heat all along his front. He could feel fur against the skin of his face, against his hands, and he was very confused. He was afraid to open his eyes because he knew how much it was going to hurt.

Tentatively, he shifted.

A man's voice, a voice he recognised, said, "You're safe." There was a hint to it, like the speaker didn't expect to be believed, and Steve felt the source of heat tense slightly. Which was when he figured out that the speaker and the thing keeping him warm were the Winter Soldier. His heart stopped, then started again, pounding out a beat like galloping horses. "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't hurt you."

As much as he could manage with the pain in his head, Steve tried to assess. He was warm and dry. That meant he was wearing different clothes. But he felt fine. Apart from his head, he felt okay. "Where am I?"

"In my tent. Yours isn't warm enough, or waterproof." There was a faint hint of disapproval. "I brought everything here."

"Do you have my bags?"

"They're here."

"Green bag, front pocket, there's a bag with some powders in it. Could you mix one with some water?"

"Yes." The warmth beside him disappeared and Steve missed it. He curled up and tried to figure out what was going on. He'd obviously blacked out and then...the Winter Soldier had picked him up and changed his clothes and put him to sleep in his own tent because Steve's wasn't warm or dry enough? That...that didn't make any sense.

His thoughts were interrupted by the other man's return and he still wasn't going to open his eyes. Struggling, he tried to sit up and it sent pain shooting through his head like a dagger through his eyeballs. After a second there was a tentative touch at his back supporting him and a heavy mug was placed in his hand. He sucked down the disgusting mix like it was honey mead, shuddering as he swallowed the last drop, and lay down again, curling into a ball. He felt the Winter Soldier take up position next to him, like a little portable fire that radiated heat, and he couldn't help shifting the smallest bit closer.

It didn't take long for the powders to start doing their job. The pain in his head was starting to die down. There was a certain level of floatiness, of euphoria, which came with them, but he'd take it. Cautiously, carefully, he opened his eyes and met the gaze of the Winter Soldier. His long hair was falling over his face, he was bundled in warm clothes, looking very different out of the black leather, and he was half curved over Steve, but there was nothing even close to aggressive in the way he was sitting, watching Steve. He looked...worried.

Steve blinked. He could feel his reserves were starting to fill back up, magic starting to simmer under his skin once more. He could pull up a shield-it would hurt, it would cost him, but he could do it. He didn't. "Could you maybe tell me what's going on?"

"I came to check on you, to make sure you were all right. And you weren't." A tentative hint of a smile. "So I brought you here. I," he looked away, "had to get you out of your wet clothes, I didn't want to leave you in them, there was no way to get you warm if you were still wearing them. Sorry." He glanced back.

Steve lifted the fur he was snuggled under and looked down at himself. They weren't even his clothes, had to be the Winter Sold..."Look, have you got a name?" At the puzzled look, he said, "Something I can call you besides the Winter Soldier? Even in my head it feels strange to think of you that way."

"You want to know my name." The strangely gentle man he'd woken up next to had faded away and in his place was the man Steve had first seen on the tourney field. "Why?"

"Well, you have seen me naked," Steve said lightly, preparing to raise a shield and knowing that, depleted as his reserves were, he was royally screwed if he had to fight. "And you helped me when you really didn't have a reason to. I'm Steve."

"I knew your name." The Winter Soldier was slowly fading. He licked his lips and glanced away, then back. Seemed to reach a decision. "My name's Bucky."

Steve hid his surprise, because if there was ever a name that didn't suit the Winter Soldier it was Bucky. But he was beginning to think that this man was a long way from just the Winter Soldier. "Bucky. That's an unusual name," he said, smiling so Bucky would know it wasn't a criticism.

Something moved behind Bucky's eyes. "Is it?"

"Uh, yes? Maybe not where you come from."

"It's just my name. That's all I know." Bucky's eyes had gone opaque, unreadable. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Steve had the feeling he'd just come very close to something he shouldn't touch, wanted to offer something in exchange. "I overextended myself, kind of ran out of power, which gives me a splitting headache. That's what the powders were for. They help with the headache." He rubbed his temple a little sheepishly. "Thanks for your help. I'd probably be lying there in the cold and the rain if you hadn't come to check on me."

Bucky's eyes warmed. "You're welcome."

Tentatively moving his head back and forth, testing how it felt, Steve decided it wasn't likely to kill him and he shuffled into a sitting position, somehow not surprised when he felt a hand between his shoulderblades, helping him. "Can I ask you something?" Bucky tilted his head, which Steve took to be a yes. "Why have you been following me?"

Bucky avoided his eyes.

"You have been following me. I didn't imagine that."

"No, you didn't imagine it."

"But why?" Steve persisted. "At first I thought you were after me because I'm the reason you lost your place with Viscount Rumlow."

Bucky's eyes snapped back to his. "You thought? No, that's not why."

"No, I figured out it probably wasn't that when you didn't try and kill me."

"You thought I was going to kill you."

Steve lifted one shoulder. "Not for very long."

"Well, that's okay then," Bucky huffed, looking at Steve like he was an idiot.

"But why?" Steve ignored the look.

It took Bucky a long time to answer. "I didn't really know what else to do."

Turning so he was facing Bucky, Steve studied him. Bucky's expression was calm and open but there was nothing there to read. "What do you mean?"

Bucky shrugged. "I still don't know why you helped me. I thought maybe if I followed you I'd figure it out, and I don't have anywhere else to go. Still haven't figured it out, but you don't act like a mage. You keep helping people. It's strange."

Steve pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and set his chin on his knees, not sure which to deal with first. "What do you mean you don't have anywhere else to go?"

"Not sure what part of that's hard to understand." Bucky gave him a sardonic look. "Especially since you had to keep them from having me killed while I was out cold."

"Oh." Steve turned that over in his head. "I helped you because it was the right thing to do, because you hadn't done anything wrong, because what they wanted to do was wrong. The guard said you were like a feral animal, but you didn't fight like that. You were the opposite: calm and cool and deliberate. If you'd been feral, I could have beaten you easily."

Bucky gave him a look. "I don't think so."

Both Steve's eyebrows went up. "Oh, I think so."

"Not a chance. I saw you with those basilisks. Did you even have a plan, or did you just run around and hope it would all work out?"

"Excuse me, I had a plan! And it work- Wait. What do you mean you saw me with the basilisks?" Bucky pulled in on himself, shifting away from Steve in the closed confines of the tent and didn't answer. "Bucky?" Steve said his name gently.

"Basilisks are dangerous and there were two of them. So I followed you. I watched you."

"Why?"

Bucky wouldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't want you to get killed."

"Oh." Steve didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to react. It was one thing to know Bucky had been following him, but that he'd been prepared to, what, intervene? That was something very different. "So you know."

Startled, Bucky looked up. "Know what?"

"That I definitely would have beaten you if you were as feral as that guard said."

For a moment Steve thought he'd gotten it wrong, Bucky searching his face, Steve meeting his eyes solemnly, then Bucky grinned, eyes bright, and Steve's breath caught in his throat because he was beautiful. Don't go there, Steve. Just don't. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Steve gave him a quick grin in response. The tent was small, but didn't feel crowded. Steve should have been uncomfortable, with Bucky so close, but he wasn't. He felt strangely comfortable, though at least part of that was probably how floaty the powders made him feel. The whole world felt soft. He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought, then tilted his head. "If you really don't have anything better to do, instead of following me, do you want to travel with me?"

Bucky froze, his easy happiness fading like it had never been. "You want to travel with the Winter Soldier."

His voice was suspicious, flat, and Steve made sure his was gentle when he said, "I think it might be nice to travel with Bucky." When Bucky didn't reply, he went on, "I know I get lonely on my own, you probably do, too, and if you're going to be following me anyway, wouldn't it make more sense to travel together?"

"Nothing about you makes sense," Bucky muttered under his breath, but his tension was easing.

When Bucky didn't say anything else, Steve added, "If you think about it, we're already travelling together. Sort of."

Bucky blew out a breath. "You really want that?"

Steve lifted one shoulder. "If you want to."

"Your tent's garbage. If we're doing this, we're not using it."

"I usually put a shield over it, so it doesn't matter." Bucky's eyes narrowed and Steve held up his hands, hiding a smile. "Okay, fine, no using the garbage tent. Does that mean you're saying yes?"

Bucky gave a small nod. "But I doubt it'll work out."

"That's the spirit." Steve couldn't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes and a reluctant grin tugged at the corner of Bucky's mouth.

The first day went well, Bucky matching his pace to Steve's and the miles passing in companionable silence. When they found a good place to stop for the night, Bucky put up the tent and Steve started to set shields over the camp, had his hands poised to cast, when Bucky asked, "What are you doing?" in a voice as cold as new fallen snow.

Steve stopped, letting his hands fall. "Shielding the camp?"

"Why?"

"To keep animals out, and people, to keep rain off the fire, to keep the tent warm." Bucky's gaze was flat. "To keep us safe. Because it's what I do." He studied Bucky, trying to work out what was wrong. "It won't hurt you," he finally said. "It won't stop you from leaving. I'll key them to both of us, you'll be able to come and go as you want." He tried a smile. "Just one of the benefits of travelling with a mage."

Bucky's eyes didn't change and Steve's smile faded. "I won't if you don't want me to, but we'll have to set a watch if the camp's not shielded." He paused. "Bucky, are you... What's wrong?"

It seemed to snap him out of it. "Shit," he said under his breath and rubbed his face. "Sorry. No, shield the camp. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

With a quick, concerned look at Bucky, Steve raised his hands, fingers twisting in complicated gestures as he set a shield over the camp, keyed to let them both walk through but no one else, to let smoke from the fire out and air in, but no rain. It was complex, but shields were what he was best at. Bucky's eyes never left him as he worked and he let go off the magic with a small sigh, feeling it settle over the camp like a warmth against his skin. "There."

"It's done?"

Steve nodded.

Bucky frowned. "I didn't feel anything."

"You wouldn't," Steve said. "It's for the camp, not for you. If you'd felt it, it'd mean I did something wrong."

Later that night, after a dinner of roast rabbit Bucky caught and cooked, because Steve could cook porridge well and that was about it, lying next to each other in the tent, Steve said, "You don't like magic, do you?" He felt Bucky tense next to him. "You don't have to answer."

There was a long silence before Bucky said, "No."

"I'm a mage, though. Magic is what I do. It's all I do."

"I know."

"Is that, are you going to be okay with that?"

Bucky's voice was gruff as he said, "Just don't surprise me. And don't use it on me."

Steve was suddenly wide awake. He sat up. "I would never use magic on you without your consent, Bucky. Never."

There was another long silence. "Okay."

"All right. And I won't surprise you. Or, I'll try not to." Steve lay back down. "Sometimes things don't go according to plan and I end up surprising me. That means it's probably going to surprise you, too."

A choked-off laugh escaped Bucky. "Are you sure you're a mage? Because you don't act like one."

"I'm sure." Steve's words were interrupted by a yawn.

"Go to sleep, Steve."

Bucky still wasn't sure why he'd said yes to Steve. Still wasn't sure why he'd told Steve his name. His name was all he had of who he'd been before he'd been made into the Winter Soldier and he'd just given it to him. Steve was a mage. He did magic. Two things Bucky didn't trust. Somehow it was different when it was Steve, when it was Steve doing it. It didn't trigger that bone deep fear, that soul deep anger.

Except when he'd looked up and seen Steve's fingers moving, seen him about to use magic, he'd frozen. He'd reacted. He'd forgotten it was Steve and only seen magic about to be cast and he didn't know why or what or if it was about to be cast on him.

Bucky knew any other mage would have been furious at being interrupted, at being questioned. Steve had stopped, explained, had been worried for Bucky. He'd been trying to do something good for both of them with his magic and had offered not to cast it if Bucky didn't want him to. Bucky believed Steve when he said he'd never use his magic on him, but he still didn't know why he believed him.

Sleeping next to him should have been impossible. At first it was awkward, and he didn't get much sleep that first night, or the next. Gradually, though, as the weeks passed, he realised the sound of Steve's breathing was a comfort. Was what lulled him back into sleep when he woke in the middle of the night. The wary part of himself, the buried feral animal inside his soul, kept trying to remind him that Steve was a mage but the rest of him was ignoring it in favour of the knowledge that Steve was Steve.

They travelled together down the roads of the kingdom, Steve talking to merchants and bards and guardsman and messengers: people who travelled, people who knew the news from more than just their little corner of the kingdom. Steve was looking for word of people who needed help who weren't getting it from the people who were supposed to be helping them. People who had nowhere else to turn.

Sometimes they were able to hitch rides on hay carts or dray wagons. Once they spent three days travelling with a merchant's caravan because the merchant's brother's cousin was someone Steve had helped with a missing pair of carriage horses.

"Missing horses?" Bucky asked. They were perched on the back of the caravan, swaying with the motion of the wheels.

"Mmm, they were a matched pair, beautiful, not that I know anything about horses. The cousin had been trying to find a pair that matched his House's colours for years-he didn't really care, but it's something expected of Merchant Houses in that city-and he was a genuinely good person, really looked after his workers, and you know that's not common." Bucky nodded. "A minor noble from a rival Merchant House stole the horses, bought an illusion spell from a mage to disguise them, and was using them in plain sight. Poor guy never stood a chance of finding them. Except someone came along who could see right through the spell and break it."

"And was that someone you?"

Steve grinned. "The noble who stole them was a complete asshole. I might have arranged for the spell to break right in the middle of the town square while the lunar festival was at its peak, in full view of everyone, including the royal guards."

Bucky burst out laughing.

"Well, he deserved it. It was such a petty, shitty thing to do. I never did find the mage who sold the spell, though." He sighed. "I would have had words with him."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. We've got this power, we should be using it to do good things."

Bucky felt a little rush of affection flutter in his heart as he nudged Steve with his shoulder. "Steve, you're something else."

It was sheer chance that led them into the town of Two Cows. They were there to buy supplies, for once not following rumours and whispers on the wind, and it was a surprise to find what looked like the entire population gathered in the town square.

Steve made his way through the people, looking for someone in charge, and approached the person with the fanciest clothes. "What's going on?"

The woman turned to look at him. "The cow fell in the well and we can't figure out how she got in or how in the nine hells we're going to get her out."

"I might be able to help with that."

She gave him a dismissive once over. "I somehow doubt that," she said and turned away.

Steve could feel Bucky bristling behind him. He summoned magefire, let it crawl over his hands, up his arms, the people nearby drawing away with gasps, and tapped the woman on the shoulder. "You'd be wrong," he said as she turned back, annoyed expression fading into fear as she realised what Steve was.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know-"

"Don't be sorry." Steve let the fire fade. He hated it when people were afraid of him. "I know I don't look like a mage. Maybe next time," he said gently, "don't be so fast to dismiss someone who says they want to help."

"No, no, I won't."

"Good. Now let me see exactly what the problem is? I'm sure I can do something."

A look of surprise passed across the woman's face. "You'll still help us?"

"Of course."

"My name's Bronwyn, I'm the Mayor of Two Cows."

"I'm Steve." He didn't introduce Bucky. He'd learned that Bucky preferred it that way and as the Mayor led the way to the well, which did indeed have a very distressed cow at the bottom of it, Bucky took up position at the edge of the crowd. Steve shook his head as stared down at the cow. She stared back up at him. "Does the cow have a name?"

"Daffodil." It wasn't the Mayor who answered, but a young girl who was almost as distressed as the cow. She looked hopefully at Steve. "Are you going to save her from the well?"

"What's your name?"

"Kathryn."

"Is she your cow?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to try."

"She's a good cow."

"I'm sure she is." Steve awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. "You go stand over there next to him, okay?" He pointed at Bucky. "Tell him Steve said you should."

"And you'll save my cow?"

"I'll do my best, I promise."

She fixed him with a measuring stare, as if weighing up whether he could be trusted, then nodded and hurried over to stand next to Bucky, who looked startled, then confused, then flashed Steve a dark look. Steve shrugged and turned his attention back to the cow. "Ma'am," he said to the Mayor, "if you could get everyone to stand back, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, mage, right away."

Steve could hear her hustling people away, but he kept his attention on the cow. "Okay, Daffodil. I'm going to need you to keep nice and calm. I have no idea how you got down there, and no idea how you landed on your feet, by all rights you should have broken your damn fool neck, which between you and me would have simplified matters a hell of a lot." Daffodil let out a low, and Steve fancied offended, moo. "Hey, I'm not the one who fell down a well." She snorted. "That's right." He closed his eyes and reached for a leyline, found a nice strong one thrumming under the town, and pulled, felt it crackle through him. "Here we go."

Twisting his fingers, he built a strong, solid shield in the mud under Daffodil's feet, built walls up the side of it, turning it into a box, something strong enough to hold a full grown cow. Daffodil stamped her feet. "Easy, girl. I know. But most cows are sensible so I need you to live up to that." When it was solid and strong, he carefully started to lift it.

Daffodil bucked like a wild thing, throwing herself against the sides of the shield.

"That is not helping." He stopped, built a lid on the box, and called, "Kathryn? Can you come here, please?"

When she hurried to his side, Steve said, "I need you talk to Daffodil, try and keep her calm. Can you do that?"

She nodded firmly and started crooning to the cow, whose ears twitched. When Steve started to lift her again she stayed calm, attention focussed on Kathryn. Steve brought her up and over the edge of the well, set her gently down on the ground, and dismissed the shield with a flick of his wrist. He would have hit the ground himself, momentarily shaky as he let go of the leyline, except Bucky's hands closed around his shoulders, holding him up.

Daffodil shoved her head into Kathryn's chest, there was a general cheering, and Bronwyn was grabbing Steve's hand to shake it enthusiastically. "I can't thank you enough, mage, that was great what you just did. I thought we were going to have to kill the cow and drag her body out, and that would have put us down one cow, not to mention what it would have done to the well."

"I'm glad I could help." Steve tugged, trying to get his hand back. He could see Kathryn giving the Mayor a glare that could slice through glass as she led Daffodil away. The cow didn't seem to be any the worse for wear from her adventure down the well.

"And you'll stay with us tonight, you and your friend? Our inn's not much, but we can give you a room of your own and a nice meal, on the town of course. Just our way of saying thanks."

He looked over his shoulder at Bucky, giving up for the moment on reclaiming his hand. Bucky lifted one shoulder, indicating he didn't mind. "That would be kind of you, thank you."

The Mayor finally returned Steve's hand, but that seemed to be the cue for everyone else to come up and shake his hand or curtsy or pat him on the back and say thanks. It wasn't the first time it had happened, so Steve was used to it. No one tried to do it to Bucky, in his black leather and his swords, looking inscrutable, though he garnered a few respectful nods which he dutifully returned.

Bucky stayed standing at Steve's shoulder while what seemed like the entire town came up and thanked him. No one asked who he was or questioned his presence. Bucky figured most of them assumed he was Steve's bodyguard.

So far, no one in any of the places they'd found themselves, no one they'd encountered on the road, had recognised him-or if they had, they'd kept it to themselves. He was still waiting for someone to point at him and say: it's the Winter Soldier. Was waiting for the fear that always followed. He wondered what Steve would do if it happened.

Eventually, they were able to escape to the inn. It had a bathhouse attached to it, which filled Bucky with absolute joy. He hated being dirty, and he knew Steve felt the same way. Every time they camped near a lake or a pond or even a big enough puddle, the two of them would scrub themselves clean. This was so much better and when Steve used a touch of magic to get the water even hotter, Bucky didn't bat an eye.

They chose to eat in their room: thick delicious stew, fresh baked bread, butter and cheese and apples, and Steve collapsed across the bed with a groan of happiness.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, feeling warm and content. "Good thing the cow was okay."

"Yeah, a cow's incredibly valuable. Milk, cheese, butter, more cows."

"That too. But I was more thinking if you hadn't come along they'd have had to change the name of the town." It took Steve a minute. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared, then started laughing and Bucky grinned at him. "One Cow doesn't have quite the same ring to it." Steve chucked a pillow at him. "Thanks, I'm keeping that now."

"I'll just wait 'til you're asleep and then steal it back."

"You're still going to sleep without a pillow."

"We're sleeping in a bed. I think I'll be fine without a pillow."

"Good point." Bucky lay down across the bed, parallel with Steve, and shoved the pillow under his head. "Is this really what you're going to do forever, wandering around looking for people that need help?"

Steve turned so he was lying on his side, facing Bucky. "I mean, maybe not forever, but other than that, yeah, pretty much." It wasn't exactly a surprise, and Bucky was, for the most part, content. Being with Steve was the simplest and happiest he could remember his life being-not that that was saying a great deal, given how little he could remember of his life. "I sort of gave my word."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked. Steve's expression closed off in a way he wasn't used to seeing. "What is it?"

"It's..." Steve hesitated. "I've never actually told anyone who didn't at least know the basics."

Bucky was surprised to find that it hurt. It shouldn't have, he knew better than that, but still, it hurt. "It's fine, Steve. I wouldn't expect you to tell me something important. You don't trust me. You don't really know me. I'm nobody." He said it lightly and gave Steve a reassuring smile.

He wasn't prepared for the wash of anger that crossed Steve's face. "You are not nobody. And I do trust you. It's nothing to do with not trusting you. It's me. I've just never told anyone. I don't know, it's... I'll tell you, I want to tell you. I'm going to tell you but, dammit, Bucky, you are not nobody."

Bucky swallowed and forced himself to keep still, Steve's anger making him want to pull away. "Steve..."

Steve closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he was calm. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at me. I didn't mean to make you feel like that."

"You don't have to tell me, not if you're only doing it to make me feel better."

"If telling you would make you feel better, that would be enough reason to, but that's not why I'm going to do it."

Bucky had to smile at Steve's earnestness. "It's all right, Steve. I forgive you, okay?"

"I'm not after forgiveness. I just need you to believe me. You're not nobody. You're Bucky, you're my friend, and I trust you."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"You should know the answer to that by now."

Bucky did. "Okay. Okay, Steve. I believe you. Now tell me your secret."

"All right, my secret is I'm kind of a fraud." One corner of Steve's mouth lifted. "I wasn't born with magic." Bucky's brows pulled down in confusion. "I was born in a small village, smaller than this place. My mother was a midwife. A few years ago, a mage moved into a place not far out of the town, looking for somewhere quiet to live. We became friends. My mom was gone, I didn't have anyone else, I was sickly, probably not going to live much longer than a couple more years. He was old and he wasn't either." Steve took a deep breath. "When he died, he gave his magic to me and it fixed everything that was wrong with me. Guess it wanted somewhere healthy to live." Steve's quick smile was rueful. "But he asked me once what I'd do if I had his powers and I said I'd help people. So that's what I'm doing. It's what I want to do. It's what I need to do."

Bucky was drowning under the sudden burst of understanding and he slowly sat up, never taking his eyes off Steve. Steve, who suddenly made sense. "I understand now," he said softly.

"Understand what?"

"Why you don't act like a mage."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mages are selfish and untrustworthy and arrogant and half of them are evil. You aren't any of those things. I've never been able to figure out why. Now I know."

Steve was looking up at him in confusion. "Mages are just people, Bucky, they're not-"

"They are." Bucky's could feel himself slipping sideways into the Winter Soldier, could hear the change in his voice, knew his eyes were going cold, but Steve just lay there, trusting and calm. "Are you afraid of me?"

Steve shook his head.

"Why not? You know what they say about the things I've done, the things I can do."

"Because I know rumours lie as often as they're true. Because I've got the evidence of my own eyes. Because I trust you." He smiled a little. "Because I know you."

"Do you?" Bucky's smile was nothing but teeth. "I don't."

"Bucky?"

"There's a hole in my mind, in my memories. All these things I'm supposed to have done, all these people I'm supposed to have killed? I don't remember them except for flashes. But I know people are afraid of me. I know the rumours, the whispers. I know what I'm capable of. The things I can do, the things my body can do, they're not normal. Mages did that."

Steve's eyes were wide with shock. "Bucky-"

" No. Mages took me and twisted my body into something else, burned out my memories of what I was before, left me with nothing but shadows and nightmares." His heart was pounding, his breath harsh in his throat. "Mages turned me into a weapon and they used me to kill. Bucky's the only thing I've got left of what I was before they got their hands on me, the only thing I remember."

Magic crackled over Steve's skin, magefire crawling over his hands, making Bucky flinch. Steve took a deep breath and got himself under control, his magic fading. Carefully, giving Bucky a chance to pull away, he pressed one hand against Bucky's chest. The point of warmth was like a balm, soothing Bucky's soul, and he wanted to grab Steve's hand and press it harder against him, until it dug into his skin. "Do you know who?"

"What?"

"Do you know who it was?"

"No. There's shadows. Voices. If I heard them again, I'd know them. I don't know if I escaped or if they were done with me, but I ran and I ran until I was far enough away I thought I could stop running. Until I thought I'd be safe."

"You are safe."

"I'm not." Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall. "I can't ever be, not really."

"You are." Steve's fingers tightened in his shirt. "Because if any mage ever tries to touch you again, hurt you again, I will set them on fire." Bucky's eyes snapped open. Steve's eyes were cold and hard. "I will burn them to ash. Bucky, I know the last thing you probably want is magic used on you but if you'll let me, I'd like to put a shield on you. You won't know it's there, but there's almost no one in the world that could ever get past it." Steve smiled, showing all his teeth. "I'm very, very good at shields."

Before he could think about it, he said, "Do it," shivering as the words left his mouth, because this was letting someone, even if that someone was Steve, use magic on him.

"It won't hurt, I promise," Steve murmured. "It's to keep you safe." His eyes went distant and he crooked his fingers and Bucky fought the urge to cringe away, fought the tiny urge to lash out to make Steve stop, and then there was the faintest sensation of warmth against his skin and Steve's eyes were normal again. "There. No mage I've ever heard of will be able to get through that to do anything to you. I should have offered to do it right away."

"If you had," Bucky said, going for brutal honesty, "I'd have run and never come back."

"Good thing I didn't then."

Steve's hand was still wrapped in the front of Bucky's shirt. Bucky gently touched it. "Good thing."

They looked at each other for a minute, then Steve let go and sat up, pulling in a shaky breath. "I meant what I said. Anyone who tries to hurt you is going to have to go through me to do it. And I'll use all of my power to protect you."

Bucky felt it like a truth in his bones and for the first time in forever he felt safe, like the shield Steve had put on him had weight, like he could feel it standing between him and the world. And if the shield failed, he knew, like an article of faith, that Steve would be waiting. "I believe you." Three simple words, but he was amazed his voice didn't shake.

"Good." Steve ran his hand over his face, looking suddenly as exhausted as Bucky felt.

"We should try and get some sleep."

"You don't mind sharing the bed with me?"

"Why would I mind sharing?" Bucky asked, genuinely puzzled. "I'm just glad we're not sharing it with anyone else, like they do in the cheap rooms."

"Because..." Steve trailed off and gestured at himself.

Suddenly Bucky understood. "Because you're a mage." Steve nodded. "You've always been a mage. You didn't suddenly stop being Steve because you know what happened to me. Don't start treating me any differently."

"You're right, sorry. I won't." Steve nodded once, quick and decisive. "Same goes for you, now that you know about me."

"Nah, that just means I like you more now."

It surprised a quick chuckle out of Steve and he wriggled down under the blankets. Bucky followed, letting out a long sigh, and closed his eyes. Steve snuffed out the mage light and left them in darkness.

Bucky opened his eyes hours later, not able to sleep with the memories he'd stirred up, and realised Steve was still awake. He was curled into a ball, radiating tension, his back to Bucky. Bucky thought about it, then rolled onto his side, facing away from Steve, and slid across the bed until their backs were pressed together. Steve stiffened, then relaxed with a tiny, heartfelt sigh. "Better?"

"Better," came the soft reply, and with the feel of Steve against his back, feeling his heart beat and his steady breathing and his warmth, Bucky drifted off.

"Are you that mage that helps people?"

Steve looked up from his ale. Beside him, he felt Bucky go on the alert. "Yes, that's me." They'd stopped at the inn to have dinner, something Bucky didn't have to hunt, and ale and the company of other people. Not that Bucky was particular keen on the latter, but Steve didn't mind listening to people talk and there was supposed to be a bard later, and they were always good for news.

He hadn't been expecting someone to come looking specifically for him.

"Thank the gods. They said I might find you here. Sir Samuel sent me. Will you come? Our dam's close to breaking and no one else has been able to help. If it goes, it's going be bad."

"Of course I'll come." Bucky sighed, drained his ale, and asked the landlord to wrap their pies.

The messenger had two spare horses waiting, long-legged, elegant beasts...which was how Steve discovered he didn't like horses. Or didn't like riding them, at least. He'd never been on a horse and he was wishing he'd kept it that way.

A short while in, Bucky took pity on him (or possibly on Steve's horse) and put Steve up in front of him, one arm holding him securely against his chest. Steve put a mageshield over his ass and other bits (he wasn't proud, but he was also incredibly sore) and leaned back into Bucky. Bucky didn't bounce; Bucky moved with the horse like he was part of the animal, which kind of made Steve hate him a little bit-but not as much as he hated the horse.

It was around an hour of fast riding to reach Sir Samuel's lands, then another half an hour to reach the dam. When they pulled to a halt, Steve slid to the ground, just about fell when his legs gave out, but Bucky grabbed him and hauled him up.

There were torches illuminating the scene, but Steve absently flicked his fingers and threw magelights up in the air, turning the night into day. There were two leylines under the ground and more within reach and he was happy to use as much magic as necessary. There were gasps and people turning to look at him, but Steve only had eyes for the dam.

It was tall and wide, easily stretching down twelve feet to the river below and around twenty feet across, holding back Steve didn't want to think about how much water. It had been shored up, but everywhere he looked it was leaking. He could almost feel the pressure of the water, the shifting of the stone through the earth. He didn't know anything about stonemasonry, but he could tell when something looked bad and this looked bad.

There was a tall man walking towards them, well-dressed and well-armed, who must be Sir Samuel, but he didn't have time.

Steve sank his attention into the ground under the water behind the dam and started weaving a shield, pulling on the two leylines, linking the shield into the leylines as he built it, running it up the inside of the dam. He could hear Bucky talking, knew he must have intercepted the Knight, and spared a brief moment to hope that would go well, then turned his attention back to his creation.

This had to last without him. It had to be perfect.

He sank into the leylines as deep as he could go, lost himself as he poured magic into his shield, coaxed the power into following the path he'd woven between the two leylines, creating a new dam, a shield of pure magic behind the failing one of stone and mortar, and when it was perfect, when it was humming with power, he let it go.

Steve came out of it with a gasp and started to fall. As always, he didn't hit the ground because Bucky had him.

"It's not leaking!" a voice cried. "There's no more water coming through!"

"Steve." Steve blinked, not quite back in the here and now. "Hey, Steve." Bucky lowered him to sit on the ground and moved to crouch in front of him. "You with me?"

"Hmmm?"

"Gonna take that as a no. How's your head?" Bucky touched his cheek. "You need your powders?"

"What? Oh, no. No, opposite problem. Too much power. Just taking me a minute to remember I'm not a leyline."

"To remember you're...right. I'm going to pretend that made sense. Do you think you could stand up? I think Sir Samuel wants to know what you did to his dam."

"Sir Samuel's okay with you staying where you are, actually." Bucky winced and Steve looked over his shoulder to see the man he'd seen before looking down at them. "I take it you're Steve? The mage? Stay down," he added as Steve started to scramble to his feet. "It's fine."

"Uh, yes, Sir Samuel."

"And you did something to fix my dam?"

"Not fix, I don't know how to fix it, but I put a," he frowned, trying to think how to explain, "a temporary dam made of magic behind it. So you can fix the actual dam. It will last, well, I tied it into the two leylines that run under your land, so it should last for a few years. Long enough to have the dam fixed, at any rate."

Sir Samuel smiled, wide and warm, and crouched next to Bucky. "Steve. Thank you. I don't know how to repay you."

"There's no need. I used the magic in your leylines, so it didn't cost me anything. I was happy to help."

Sir Samuel's smile got wider. "At least let me offer you the hospitality of my manor for the night."

"We'd be happy to accept," Bucky said, before Steve could reply.

Steve hadn't been intending to say no and he huffed at Bucky, before saying, "Thank you, Sir Samuel. Like Bucky said, we'd be happy to accept."

"Excellent." Sir Samuel rose to his feet. "It's a short ride to the manor."

Steve stifled a groan as Bucky pulled him to his feet.

The manor was a huge, sprawling building, surrounded by high stone walls, the interior all warm wood and cream stone, hung with thick tapestries.

There were a number of servants waiting to greet them, but as they entered, Sir Samuel turned to Steve. "Steve, can I have a word with you?"

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky. "Of course, Sir Samuel." The Knight beckoned to him and Steve followed him to a cosy room Steve thought must be his study. A fireplace burned cheerfully along one wall, the opposite wall was hung with weapons and an assortment of falconry gear, there were leather chairs and a long wooden desk, and a hound sprawled in front of the fire that raised its head, looked at them both, then went back to sleep.

Sir Samuel gestured for him to sit and Steve perched on the edge of a chair while Sir Samuel sat in the other. "Forgive me if I'm about to do the wrong thing, but after what you've done for me and my people I feel like I need to take the chance. Do you know who that is you're travelling with?"

Steve's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, biting off what he'd been about to say. He might be a mage, but he was still a commoner and Sir Samuel was a Knight, a member of the nobility. Nothing good would come of insulting him in his own home.

"Ah." Sir Samuel had understood at least the gist of what Steve hadn't said. "It was the wrong thing. Damnation, I was afraid of that." He sighed. "You know very well you're travelling with the Winter Soldier, it's not a concern to you, and I've just shoved my giant boot into my mouth." Steve stared at him in shock and Sir Samuel favoured him with an easy smile. "I wasn't always a member of the nobility. Commoners can be knighted if they happen to be in the right place at the right time saving the right life."

Steve sat back. Thinking. Finally he said, "People aren't always who rumour says they are. He's not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore, if he ever was," Steve said quietly, meeting Sir Samuel's eyes. "He's a good man, one of the best men I've ever met, he's been through things you can't imagine and he's still a good man. I'm lucky to travel with him, to count him as a friend."

Sir Samuel gave him a considering look. "Ah," he said again, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I see how it is."

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "I understand you spend your time travelling, looking for people that need your help. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"I imagine that's going to be unpleasant come winter."

"Yes," he said again, not sure where Sir Samuel was going with this.

"If the two of you would like to winter here with us, you'd be welcome. We can't offer anything fancy, but it's warm and we have the room."

Completely taken aback, Steve blurted out, "Why?"

"Because you're a mage who looks for people who need his help." Sir Samuel spread his hands. "Because I owe you a debt. Because I wasn't always a Knight. Anyway, think about it." He stood. "We'd better get back to your companion. He'll be getting worried."

"Probably. Uh, thank you for the offer."

Sir Samuel inclined his head and ushered Steve out of his study. Bucky was waiting impatiently where they'd left him. "Harold will show you to your room." Sir Samuel indicated a young man standing near the stairs. "When you're ready for supper, just ring the bell."

They didn't say anything while they followed Harold up the stairs to their room, but as soon as the door was shut, Bucky asked, "What was that about?"

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. "He knew who you used to be. He wanted to make sure I knew."

Bucky started to pace. "And he still gave us a room? I'm surprised he didn't tell us to get off his lands. Well me, anyway. He'd be happy to have you stay."

"Actually, he offered us a place to spend the winter months."

"Offered you, you mean."

"Offered us." He reached out and grabbed Bucky's hand, stopping his pacing.

Bucky studied Steve's face then finally said, "He really said we could both spend the winter here?"

"He did, Bucky." Steve squeezed his hand. "He may have known who you were. But he also knows who you are now. And that's what counts."

Steve wasn't sure what woke him, whether it was the hitch in Bucky's breathing or the tiny, high pitched sound he made. It didn't matter. It pulled him up out of a deep sleep and into the reality of Bucky's nightmare. His body was like steel, like he'd shatter if Steve touched him, and the noises he was making were enough to break Steve's heart.

"Bucky," he called softly, not sure touching him was a good idea, however much he wanted to. "Bucky, wake up." He flicked his fingers and conjured a low magelight, just enough to chase away the shadows. "It's a nightmare, it's not real."

Bucky came out of it with a gasp, eyes wide and fixed on Steve's face. He was trembling.

"It's not real. It's a nightmare. You're safe," Steve soothed, low and gentle.

"It's real," Bucky rasped out. "Was real."

Steve lifted his hands, held them hovering in the air, desperately wanting to comfort him, afraid to make it worse. "Can I touch you?" He didn't know what else to do, how else to help.

After a moment, Bucky nodded, staring up at Steve, and Steve gently pressed his fingertips to Bucky's shoulder. When Bucky held still under his touch, didn't flinch, didn't tense, he started rubbing gentle circles. "You're safe, you're shielded, and I'm right here. Nothing can touch you." Bucky's eyes were locked onto his, like he thought Steve might be lying to him and he could find the truth if he just looked long enough. Steve slid his hand over Bucky's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, and you're safe. I promise."

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, and another, and then he was moving and Steve suddenly had an armful of Bucky. Bucky was burrowing into him and Steve lay back down and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. "Okay, Bucky, shhh you're okay." They settled with Bucky's forehead pressed against Steve's neck, his chin digging into Steve's collarbone, but Steve didn't care. Bucky's body was draped over his and Steve held him tight, whispering nonsense words into his ear until his tension faded, until he drifted off to sleep.

Steve kept holding him, not willing to let go even though he could tell from Bucky's breathing he was deeply asleep, and it shook him to the core-he was a mage, same as the people who'd hurt Bucky, and still Bucky trusted him for comfort, for safety.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to let go, wasn't sure he ever wanted to.

Bucky woke slowly. He was incredibly warm, incredibly content, and more than a little confused, because he was wrapped in Steve's arms, and as amazing a feeling as it was, he wasn't sure why he was there. Then last night's terror came roaring back and he remembered. He hadn't had a nightmare in a long time, not since he'd had the sound of Steve's breathing to sleep beside. As if in reaction, Steve's arms tightened, a small, concerned noise escaping his throat. It made Bucky smile, driving away the lingering shreds of the nightmare.

Of course Steve was still holding him. Of course Steve hadn't hesitated when Bucky had thrown himself at him. Bucky wanted to stay here, Steve curled around him, the feel of Steve's breath against his neck, ruffling through his hair, but he shouldn't. He'd long since admitted to himself that what he felt for Steve was beyond fond, well past friend, and tumbling headlong into something else. It was fine, he was fine, but it meant he should really move.

After a minute, he tried to free himself without waking Steve. Steve, it turned out, didn't want to let him go. He hung on tight, all the strength in his wiry arms locking Bucky into place. "Steve," he said softly. "You have to let me go."

"No." It was a sleepy mumble.

"No?"

"You need me."

There was nothing in Steve's breathing that made Bucky think he was awake. Bucky let his eyes slip shut. "I'd better stay then."

"Good." Even in his sleep, Steve sounded smugly satisfied and he squeezed Bucky once and snuggled closer, then subsided.

When he finally woke up, Bucky felt him start in surprise, then he let go and shoved himself up, leaning over Bucky. "You okay?" There was no trace of awkwardness, only concern.

"Fine, Steve."

Steve searched his face, then patted his chest. "I was worried."

"Is that why you wouldn't let go of me?"

Fascinated, Bucky watched the tips of Steve's ears turn pink. "You started it."

It startled a laugh out of Bucky. "That's very mature."

Steve huffed and folded his arms and Bucky was overwhelmed with a sudden rush of love. It hurt, but in a good way, like a dislocated joint snapping into place. He threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. "Come on, let's see if we can get something like breakfast in this place." After a moment, Steve followed and maybe it should have been awkward, maybe it should have felt strange, but it didn't. It felt right.

And when the morning after that, tucked away in their tent, he woke up with his arms around Steve, Steve curled in the curve of his body, that felt right, too.

Every night, they went to sleep on their own sides of the tent; more mornings than not they woke up together. They didn't talk about it, didn't even mention it, but Bucky never felt safer than when he woke up in the middle of the night and Steve was holding him.

The early autumn weather was perfect, the sky gloriously blue, the clearing they'd found to set up camp in was surrounded by trees just beginning to turn gold and the stream passed just close enough to fill the air with pleasant sound. They were taking the opportunity to do some much needed laundry and air out everything they owned. The trees were festooned with wet clothes and bedding, Steve was sitting on a fallen log, idly chewing on a piece of grass, and Bucky was sharpening his swords.

Suddenly Bucky stood, stripped off his shirt, and dropped it on the grass. Steve stared. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see," he replied distractedly. He slipped off his boots and stood, toes flexing, then scooped up both his swords. Steve watched him stride out into the clearing and pause with his head down.

There was no warning. Between one heartbeat and the next he exploded into movement, a spinning, elegant, deadly fight against invisible opponents.

As his blades swung with lethal grace, Steve could almost see them.

There were shades of the man Steve had fought in the tourney, blades moving with the same careful skill, but there'd been no joy then, just cold methodical precision.

This was pure joy.

Bucky was so alive, his eyes bright, his smile wide. Steve had no doubt each of his invisible foes was vanquished, and he could see them, one, two, five, a dozen, each of them falling under Bucky's blades as he whirled and leapt and danced his way across the clearing, but Bucky's joy wasn't for their death. It was pure joy in movement, in the slide of muscles under skin, in the singing of steel as it sliced through the air, and Steve was mesmerised.

Bucky finally slowed to a stop, chest heaving, sweat beading on his skin. He was smiling so wide, so bright, it rivalled the sun and Steve thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Standing there, he was more beautiful than Steve had ever seen him and he realised he was hopelessly, irrevocably, desperately in love. He must have made a noise, some small sound, because Bucky's eyes met his and his smile faded slightly, became hesitant. "Steve?"

"That was amazing."

"Yeah?" There was something almost shy in the way he said it.

"Absolutely amazing, Bucky. Incredible."

He was grinning again, looking proud of himself. "It's been a long time since I did that."

"You should do it more often. You looked like you were having fun."

"I was."

"Of course, now you need another bath."

Bucky's smile turned wicked and he stalked towards Steve, who stood up and started to back away. "Maybe I'm not the only one," he said, leaning his swords against the log Steve had been sitting on.

"Bucky," he said warningly.

Bucky lunged for him. Steve tried to dodge, but he was never going to be as fast as Bucky. He was laughing as Bucky grabbed him and rubbed his sweaty self all over him. "Stop that!" Steve tried to shove him away but it was like trying to shove a mountain and, truth be told, Steve wasn't all that unhappy with where he was. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"I know." Bucky grinned and let Steve go. "Now what was that you were saying about a bath?"

That night, Steve was careful to keep his distance, but when he woke up in the morning, Bucky was draped over him like a blanket, nose pressed into the back of his neck, and he couldn't help a little sigh of contentment. Wanting what he couldn't have was a recipe for disaster, Steve knew that, but if he kept it contained to tiny moments like this one, with Bucky warm and solid against his back, it should be fine.

It would be completely fine.

It was near dusk when they stumbled over the caravan, pulled over on the side of the road. People were milling about, obviously distressed, and Bucky knew Steve was going to stop and see if they needed help the way he knew the sun was going to come up the next day. He just wanted to find a good place to stop for the night, but he sighed and followed.

When Steve introduced himself and asked what was wrong, one of the women replied, "Anne, our daughter, she's missing. We think she got lost in the forest but we don't, none of us know how to find her. We're cloth merchants, not trackers."

Steve's face fell. "I don't think I can help with that."

Bucky, hating to see that expression on Steve's face, found himself saying, "I've got this one." He could track anything and with Steve to make a magelight, this shouldn't be that hard. Unless the kid was dead or stolen, neither of which he was going to mention.

"Bucky?"

"I can track. If you can give me enough light, I should be able to find her." The hopeful look on the parents' face, not something he was used to seeing pointed at him, made him turn away to face Steve.

Steve's eyes were bright with pride and he lifted one hand like he was going to touch him, then let it fall and gave him a warm smile instead. "I can do that."

"Show me where you saw her last?" The parents led the way to edge of the forest. With Steve at his shoulder, magelights floating high above Bucky's head, it didn't take long to find her trail. She'd been following a rabbit, Bucky guessed, the animal's footprints visible under and next to the child's, then found herself deep in the forest with no idea how to get back.

She'd tried, but it had just taken her farther and farther away from the road. He lost the trail a few times, had to backtrack and circle around, the kid so light she didn't leave much of a mark, but he found it again. He had a brief moment of worry as they approached the river, though why he cared if some kid he didn't know drowned he wasn't sure, but he heaved a sigh of relief when her trail turned to follow it. "Smart kid," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Following the river. Eventually that's going to lead to people."

Before it led to people, it led to a rock pile Bucky would have had trouble climbing over, so there was no way a kid had managed it, and there was no sign of her trail leading away from it. He studied it in the magelight and spotted a deeper shadow, a crevice, just big enough for a kid to squeeze into. "I think she's in there." Bucky pointed. "Go and talk to her, get her to come out."

Horrified, Steve held up his hands. "Me? I'm terrible at talking to kids. You send me over there and she'll never come out. You're going to have to do it."

"Steve. She's going to be cold and scared. She needs someone who's going to make her feel safe. That's not me, so it's going to have to be you."

"I don't know, if I was a little kid lost in the woods, I think a big strong warrior coming to save me would make me feel pretty damn safe." Bucky gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Bucky, she doesn't know anything about you, about who you are or who you were. Just that you're here to help her. Go get her."

Bucky sighed, but he knew there was no point arguing with Steve. "Take these." He unbuckled his swords and handed them to Steve. "This is a bad idea." If it came to it, he could drag her out, keep her from getting away and hand her back to her parents, but everything in him balked at the idea. Poor kid would be scared enough already.

"You'll be fine."

Flashing Steve a quick glare, he made his way over to crouch next to the crevice, a second magelight hovering over his shoulder. "Hey, I'm Bucky. Is there someone named Anne staying in there?"

There was no answer, which didn't surprise him. Steve's rescue fantasies notwithstanding, Bucky was pretty sure he wasn't exactly a comforting sight. "I'm only asking because I'm stuck in the woods with an idiot and I heard there was a smart kid named Anne around here who might be better company."

Still no answer, but he heard shuffling around and saw a flash of pale skin.

"Anne's parents sent us to find her, which I'm fine with. Everyone gets lost sometimes, but they sent me out here with someone ridiculous. So if you are Anne, it would be great if you could come out and rescue me. Or if you're not, just pop out and let me know and I'll keep looking."

A dirty face peered at him suspiciously from the crevice.

"You look like an Anne. Are you Anne?"

She nodded.

"Thank god. He's ridiculous. See?" Bucky pointed at Steve, who waved awkwardly. "He's supposed to be a great and powerful mage and he's wandering around the forest at night carrying my swords." Bucky heaved a dramatic sigh. "What are you supposed to do with someone like that?"

"What are you telling her?" Steve called.

"Nothing," Bucky called back. "Nothing that's not true," he added quietly, with a quick grin.

Tentatively, she smiled back.

"You did really good, you were smart, following the river like that and then staying put when you couldn't go any further. But I think it's time to get out of here. You've got to be cold and hungry and you've probably had enough forest for one day." Bucky held out his hand. "We'll take you back to your parents."

"They're not mad?"

"No, sweetheart, they're not mad. I promise."

"Okay." She took his hand and Bucky helped her out, steadying her on her feet, and led her to Steve.

"This is Steve. Steve, this is Anne."

"Uh, hi." He waved again.

Bucky exchanged a look with Anne and mouthed ridiculous as he took his swords back from Steve and strapped them on. He unbuckled his cloak, wrapped it around her shoulders, and then crouched in front of her. "So, it's a long walk back. Do you mind if I carry you?"

She thought about it, then shook her head.

Bucky had never actually carried a child, so he wasn't sure how to do it exactly, but he scooped her up and she clung to him, and it seemed to work. She put her head down on his shoulder, Bucky tucked his cloak securely around her, and they made their way back the way they'd come.

When they walked into camp, Anne was asleep, her arms in a stranglehold around Bucky's neck. Her parents rushed over and Bucky was half expecting them to yell at him for touching their precious child, but they patted him on the shoulder, on the back and her father burst into tears as he reached for his daughter. Bucky gladly surrendered her. She woke up as he passed her over, throwing herself at her father and kicking Bucky in the gut as she went. The whole family was hugging and trying to pull Bucky into it, but he evaded and then Steve was sliding between them.

The head of the caravan shook Bucky's hand and told him how grateful he was and Bucky was in a daze, because this was what people did to Steve, not him. Steve was the one who helped people. Steve was the one people liked, but here they all were, lining up to say thank you and pat him on the back, tell him what a good man he was, what a good job he'd done, and it was making him desperately uncomfortable.

Steve was there again, giving their apologies, they couldn't stay, they needed to keep traveling. Everyone seemed genuinely sad and Bucky pulled in on himself. Someone handed his cloak back and he buckled it on gratefully, hiding in its depths. Someone else passed him a warm, delicious smelling package and told him it was for their dinner, and then they were putting on their packs and Steve had taken his arm and was leading him away while the whole caravan waved at them and called thank you and goodbye.

It was Steve who found somewhere for them to stop, got the tent set up, unrolled their bedding, shoved Bucky down and curled up next to him. Bucky didn't wait for them both to fall asleep, just rolled over and pulled Steve into his arms. There was a muffled squawk of surprise, but then Steve just sighed and snuggled closer.

The next morning they were sitting on a fallen tree, eating cold roast hen, courtesy of the delicious smelling package, the fire crackling merrily, when Steve asked, "Are you okay?"

Bucky stared into the distance. "I'm fine."

"Really? Because last night you looked like someone hit you in the back of the head with a shovel."

"Why a shovel?"

"It's hard and you could really swing it. Could have been a manure fork, I guess. Or maybe a hoe."

"You've put some thought into this."

Steve shrugged.

"Should I worry that you've been planning what farming tools to whack me with?"

Steve just smiled. "Can I ask again?"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Bucky admitted.

"You were looking a little freaked out. What I don't know is why."

"They were so..." Bucky shook his head. "Grateful."

"You found their kid, of course they were grateful."

"No, it's not." He paused. "That's you, that's what you do. You help people and they love you for it. That's not me."

"It was last night." Steve weighed up his words carefully before he went on. "It could be again. There's things I can't do with magic, like find that girl. And I don't know half the things you know. Face it, Bucky, I come from a village. I'm still figuring out how the world works. Up 'til now it's been me helping people and you helping me, which I lo- appreciate more than I can tell you. If you wanted, it could be us helping people. I bet there's things we could do together I could never do alone."

Bucky stared at him, like he was waiting for the punchline, and Steve let the silence linger. Finally Bucky said, "Steve. Did you forget what I was?" He rose to his feet and paced in front of the fire. "That's not for someone like me, that's for someone like you, someone who's a good person. You were given all the power in the world, you could do anything, and all you do is help people. I don't get to be that person." He shivered. "Last night they were all thanking me and touching me and telling me what a good thing I'd done, like I was some sort of, sort of hero," he almost spat the word, "and I'm not, that's not who I am, they have no idea, it's-"

Steve watched him patiently, expression gentle, and Bucky seemed to deflate.

With a sigh, he walked over to Steve, dropped to his knees, and put his cheek on Steve's thigh. "I didn't know how to deal with it, with them saying those things."

After a moment, Steve started running his fingers gently through Bucky's hair. "What, that you're a good man who'd done a good thing?"

Bucky laughed bitterly. "Yes."

"But you are a good man and you had done a good thing. You found their daughter, Bucky. I couldn't have done it. You didn't have to."

"I only did it because you couldn't."

"It doesn't matter why you did it. You did it."

"But you know I'm not a good man."

"Do I?"

"The Winter Soldier is not a good man."

Steve stroked Bucky's hair, tucked an errant strand behind one ear. "If something's painted yellow and I paint over it, paint it blue, is it still yellow?"

"No one's painted me, Steve."

Steve closed his fingers in Bucky's hair and tugged gently. "Answer the question."

"No, it's not still yellow. It's blue."

"I'm not saying I agree you ever weren't a good man. Knowing what I know, anything you did wasn't your choice, but even if you weren't, Bucky, you're painting over it. You're not the Winter Soldier anymore. You're just Bucky. You are a good man."

"And you're an idiot," Bucky mumbled half-heartedly.

"Not about this." Steve kept sliding his fingers through Bucky's hair, fought down the urge to lean forward and kiss his temple. "You get to have this. If you want it, you get to have it."

"We don't always get everything we want."

"No," Steve agreed, smiling a little sadly down at Bucky, glad Bucky couldn't see him. "But you can have this."

"Maybe." Bucky rubbed his cheek against Steve's thigh and then let out a long, slow sigh. "Yes. Yes, I'll help people with you. You're right, there's things we could do together you can't do alone. Better planning for one thing. But it's on one condition."

"Name it."

"I get to say something to you and you don't get mad at me or make me leave or do anything else bad."

Steve brows pulled down as he stared at Bucky, fingers tangled in his hair. "Of course, Bucky. You don't have to- You can always tell me anything you want to."

"Okay." A fine tremor ran through Bucky's body. "I love you."

Steve went completely still. "Bucky?"

"You can pretend I never said it, but I wanted to. Just once."

Steve brushed his fingers against Bucky's cheek. "You could say it again."

"No, that would be," he shook his head, "saying it when you don't feel it back would be too much. I only wanted to see what it felt like."

"Bucky." Steve could feel his heart wanting to fly out of his chest it was beating so fast. "You could say it again."

It was Bucky's turn to go still, then he sat up and met Steve's eyes. "Steve?"

"I love you, too." Bucky was searching his face and Steve nodded. "I do. Honestly, I do, I love you like you're the missing part of me."

A slow smile spread across Bucky's face. He gently nudged Steve's knees apart and shuffled forward until his chest was touching Steve's and Steve swayed forward as Bucky settled his hands on his shoulders, thumbs brushing his neck. "Like I'm the missing part of you?"

"Yeah, well." Steve slid his arms around Bucky, trying not to smile and failing miserably. He could feel his pulse fluttering under Bucky's touch. "It's true."

Bucky nudged his nose against Steve's as he trailed his fingers up Steve's neck to cradle his face between his hands. "I didn't know you were a romantic."

"You also didn't know I loved you," he pointed out, leaning into Bucky's hand.

"No, I didn't," Bucky said and his voice was soft with wonder.

"I do. I love you. And this would be a really good time to kiss me." He turned his head to press a light kiss to Bucky's palm. "If you wanted to."

"If I...Steve." Bucky dipped his head and kissed him, long and slow and sweet, leaving Steve wide-eyed and breathless. He lifted his head long enough to say, "If I wanted to," and then he was kissing him again, soft and slow at first, but Steve pulled him closer and kissed him back enthusiastically. He knew he was making soft, happy sounds and maybe he'd be embarrassed by that later, but he didn't care. Right now all he cared about was that he had his arms around Bucky, he was kissing Bucky, Bucky who loved him, Bucky who he loved.

"You know," Steve said when they came up for air, Bucky nuzzling his way down Steve's neck, "maybe we should have figured it out when we kept waking up wrapped around each other."

"Maybe we're very stupid." Bucky slid his hands under Steve's shirt, grinning as his fingers left a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Steve couldn't think past the sudden rush of heat and he dragged Bucky closer. "Maybe you should keep kissing me."

"Whatever you say," Bucky said and kept kissing him, and kept kissing him, and kept kissing him and Steve had nothing to complain about. Not then and never afterwards: not the next day or the next month or the next year or for the rest of their lives.

Over time, the legend of the Winter Soldier faded into obscurity, a lost relic of times past, scoffed at as a tale for gullible children.

A new tale rose in its place, one that was true in every way that mattered. There were two men who travelled the kingdom, a great mage and a great warrior, who served not the nobility but the common people. Who would help those who couldn't help themselves. Who would protect those whose sworn protectors turned away. Who were fierce with enemies and gentle with friends and whose love for each other was so bright it outshone the sun.

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A-mage-ing Grace - leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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Steve stared in disbelief at the herald. "What do you mean I have to fight him?" The noise of the crowd rippled over the once-green fields, now torn-up and muddy from the day's events. The sun beat down, reflecting off colourful pennants snapping in the breeze, and Steve felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine.

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"I look at our son and I believe that Thor is going to be a good king. Then I see our youngest and I know that Loki would be brilliant."

Long live the King. But the King is old, his politics unpopular and shared by the Crown Prince. The whispers that demand his youngest son should sit on the throne turn into screams. As the nation descends into chaos America takes advantage of the opportunity to expand their influence on Asgard.

In the midst of everything are Thor and Loki, two princes who try to not end up as a pawn in someone else's game. Steve, an American DS agent struggling with culture shock and his strange feelings for his colleague James. Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist and weapons manufacturer just wants to get his business deal done and maybe see if his charms also work on real royality

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Stars hide your fires - boleyn13 - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Steve and Bucky, from the view of an outsider.

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Side by Side - ghostdude101 - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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a Fairy Tale From a Russia That Never Was
On her fifth birthday, Vasilisa received the most wondrous doll from her mother. The doll was called the Winter Soldier.

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Shatter Me - darth_stitch - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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On her fifth birthday, Vasilisa received the most wondrous doll from her mother. Her doll was as handsome as a Prince in a storybook, with skin the color of snow, hair as black as winter's night and eyes the color of a winter's morn.

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"This is a serious coup, James. Steve Rogers has never sat down with a member of the press and given an interview. Ever. Do you know how rare that is for the fourth-string star on a cable reality show, much less the biggest movie star in the world?"

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Off The Record - Brenda - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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my heart's a ticking clock - dottie_wan_kenobi

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my heart's a ticking clock - dottie_wan_kenobi

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“He was informed of the situation as ‘there’s a guy in the hospital with your time on a blue, and he’s in on soulmate related conditions, hurt himself watching your interview’. Not a great way to be told, especially for him.” She exhales through her nose. “He’s been kind of out of his mind, waiting for this meeting."

OR

Bucky has a blue timer, the color signifying that its a romantic relationship, and so does Captain America. His sister forces him to watch the Captain's first interview and he... well, you could say he reacts badly. Also, everyone has a crush on Steve.

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Bucky's got quite a few of these damn timers. Some have gone off already; Natasha-the-spy and Sam-with-wings. He still has others, two more. There's two on each wrist, and they, like every other timer, were implanted in his skin when he was born.

Sam and Nat's are green - or, well, were, since they're now the gray that signifies a met 'mate. The one under Sam's is orange. Green is generally for platonic soulmates, while blue or red is romantic, and the lucky few who have orange ones say is familial, but that's not always the case. He can't tell with his own - it hasn't gone off yet. He doesn't know who it belongs to.

But that so isn't the point.

The point is, Bucky has a blue timer.

When you're born, your timers start - the oxygen hits it and they start ticking off the seconds. Some could say hours, some could say anywhere from 1 to 100+ years. One person's said five minutes. One said the person would meet their 'mate in 112 years. There's no guessing this stuff.

There's no guessing the color, either. The colors don't come until the other is born - Bucky was born with two white timers, a green timer and a blue timer.

Doctors at the scene will often write down what time the active timers say, and what color they are. Bucky's did no different - so it's known, been known since the day he was born, that he would meet his soulmate when he's 26.

But then he turns 26, and nothing happens. It's not supposed to, his timer doesn't go off right at 26, but it feels like something should've. Bucky feels that so strongly, that he tells his mother, "something is weird about this one." He tapped his blue. "Something should've happened."

She gives him a look, happy but stern. "James, it still has almost three months on there! You have a ways to go, raincloud." She smiles at him, one black timer replacing his father and twenty years of experience.

"I'm not the raincloud here," he grumbles, looking away to little Rosie, now 20 years old and way too interested in alcohol. "And she's not allowed to drink!" He says the last part loud enough for her to hear. She flips him off and downs another shot. Ma, at his side, huffs.

Bucky narrows his eyes and desperately wants to reprimand her, but he's stopped before he can take even one step.

Becca slides up, smirking the same smirk that always got him in trouble when they were in high school. "Hottie, 3 o'clock. Don't look!" She whisper shrieks as Bucky's head snaps around. Their Ma rolls her eyes at them, and moves away, towards their younger siblings.

The woman is one of Rosie's friends from college, with a tight ponytail and a tight pencil skirt, just like Pepper Potts. She's a business major, if Bucky guesses right. And Bucky always guesses right - it used his job to be observant.

"What about her?" Bucky whispers back, turning back towards Becca.

"I figure, if she's trying to get with someone, one of us might get with her. You know Rosie is ace and Tyler is biromantic but only wanting sex, anyway, so that leaves us. What do you think?" Becca is completely serious.

Bucky sighs, admiring curves and long eyelashes. He looks back to his sister. "You can take a shot. I'm...." He waits too long to find something to say that she won't capitalize on.

"Waiting?" She sings, throwing her hands up delightedly. "That's adorable, bro. I'm sure your blue is going to be super grateful that their 'mate is inexperienced." She nods sympathetically, so much like their Ma, who's now dealing with a sullen Jessica and Christopher.

He would push her, but it's his birthday party. He's 26; he's a freakin' adult now. And Becca is 24 - she's an adult, too, and he taught her well in hand-to-hand. She would deck him, birthday or no. And as much as their younger siblings would love to see that, Bucky isn't feeling the headache that would cause.

So, he, in true adult fashion, flips her off. But he makes sure no one else sees, so Ma won't be able to give him shit for it.

Becca just smiles and slinks off. She gives a two finger wave at him as she walks toward the woman in the living room.

Bucky stays by the food table for the rest of the party.

On the news a few weeks later, they say Captain America has finally been found and returned to New York, and not in the body bag everyone expected.

They say his timers counted all those years - the gray one didn't, but the blue and orange ones did. They say he's only got a month and a half left on his blue.

They also say his timers are so old, it's coming out of his skin, which can't be true. The comics say his skin is impenetrable, so that seems kinda crazy to Bucky, but whatever. He can't imagine his timers coming out of his skin. God, that sounds awful, nevermind it actually happening.

Bucky hasn't had much physical pain dealt to him in his life, mostly emotional pain. He doesn't think a timer coming out of his skin, leaving his body, would compare much to the concussion he got at ten, any of the fights he got into in high school or the time he got shot in Iraq. Or even losing his dad at twelve years old.

Anyway....

Bucky kind of thinks it's bullshit. Captain America is long dead, and everyone knows it.

Everyone but Jessica, who calls him within hours of the story being in the news cycle.

Her rant is something like: "Bucky, he's so hot. He's so hot, and he's from Brooklyn, he lived three blocks down from us! We all need to try to hit that."

To which he responds, every single time, "Jess, you're seventeen, a lesbian, and Rosie is ace. Chris is too young, too, and straight. Only me, Becca and Tyler could try, not that Ty would want to. You know he's into twinks."

To which she responds, "stop ruining my dreams, Buck!" And then she hangs up.

And then Christopher calls. His youngest brother tells him, "Jessica is telling Mom you threatened to kill her future with your dick. Christ, Buck, get me out of this house."

To which Bucky responds, "I had to suffer Becca and Tyler. You can handle Jess and Rosie, Chris." And then he hangs up.

Becca grew up kind of... idolizing Captain America. All the time, she pulled Bucky and Tyler, her partners in crime, into watching documentaries about him and Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. And then Rosie was old enough to get into watching tv, so she was dragged along, and then the twins were pulled in too.

So, when the first official interview comes on a month later, Becca forces them all to watch it. Even Ma joins in.

There's Ma's chair, the loveseat and the couch. Ma's in her chair, a crossword in hand, while Rosie and Tyler are in the loveseat, and Bucky's squished between Christopher, Becca and Jessica on the two cushions on the couch.

Chris, on his left, is not entirely uninterested, but he's texting his friends. Bucky's no snoop - okay, yes he is, but shh - but he can't help but look over and see that they're talking about volunteering at an animal shelter. That's a whole hell of a lot better than what Bucky did at Chris' age, messing around too much with Darcy, Clint, Matt and drugs.

On his other side, Becca is practically vibrating. She's bouncing up and down, giggling with Jess about Captain America. Rosie says, "he's probably just a robot, Beck. We all know he's not the real guy."

Becca immediately set her bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. "How dare you!" She points a finger at Rosie, a long, fake nail threatening the air.

Rosie, like Bucky, doesn't take well to threats, especially ones so obvious as Becca's nail in the air. She raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth, ready to spit insults, but Ma cuts in.

"Kids," she warns, like it's the summer of Bucky's senior year, and they're all at each other's throats because they're too bored to do anything else. As if Bucky isn't slowly getting a teaching degree to teach science to high school students, as if Becca isn't working her way up the chain at Google and Tyler isn't helping people with their sexualities and veterans with their PTSD.

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes the exact moment Rosie does, and Jessica snorts at them. Of all of his siblings, he's closest to Becca and Tyler, but most like Rosie. Jess and Becca are more alike, while Chris and Tyler are practically twins in every way except physically. But most of all, they all reflect their parents.

Ma raises an eyebrow challengingly. She's dealt with Bucky's two tours overseas, Becca's sexual crisis, Tyler's sexual crisis, Rosie's alcoholism, Jessica's many existential crises and Chris's rampant insecurities. She is beyond him. So Bucky, despite almost being thirty years old, immediately stands down. Seeing this, the rest of his siblings do too. It's always been like that - Bucky leads and they follow and Ma is always going to win.

Chris looks up at the ensuing silence, and wonders aloud, "what's going on?"

Tyler smiles gently but hides his teeth, his fake-soft smile as he calls it, and responds, "they're acting like children. And, they're just prolonging the time we all spend waiting to watch this interview." He addresses the last part to his other siblings. Tyler and Chris are the sweethearts of this family, but that's not to say they can't be a little snippy.

Chris opens his mouth to respond but Becca, immediately more concerned with the tv, shushes everyone loudly. "I swear to god, if I miss a word of this, I will end you."

Ma snorts at her crossword. Becca huffs, but doesn't say anything.

On the tv, the host starts listing all of Captain America's strengths. Becca grabs his arm and squeezes, and Jess starts hyperventilating. Bucky rolls his eyes.

It's not like this is anything new. And Jess is only copying Becca because Rosie isn't much of a role model.

Anyway, everyone is tuned into the tv now. The music is playing, and Becca says, "he's coming out now! I wonder if he's gonna talk about Peggy Carter. Ooh, or Arnie Roth!"

Bucky.... Bucky's hearing is going out. His sight is tunnelling. His blue timer is throbbing.

Captain America walks hesitantly onto the screen, and Bucky stops breathing. Bucky looks right at Captain America and just pauses. Bucky... passes out.

Becca and Ma are the ones that are sitting at his bedside when he wakes up.

His eyes blink open sluggishly, feeling crusty at the edges. He groans, and Becca bolts upright. She glimpses his blue eyes and shrieks, jumping at him. Ma wakes up in the time it takes her to latch her arms around his neck.

He blinks at her over Becca's shoulder. "Oh, Bucky," she says, and he knows something's wrong. She never calls him Bucky, unless he's hurt. The last time he got called Bucky was when the hospital skyped his mom and told her he'd been shot.

Becca starts sobbing into the crook of his neck, but he doesn't realize it, because he's looking in Ma's eyes. Ma's eyes, which are shiny and wide and stressed.

"Oh my fucking god, Buck, you saw Captain America and passed out! You hit your head! You... dick!" She sobs. Bucky, unable to help himself, laughs, and maybe it was a little hysterical but it's whatever.

Ma tears up more at the sound and rushes over. She rests her hand on his bicep, and informs, "the doctors are going to let you out soon." She says it because she knows how much he hates hospitals, how much they remind him of Dad and getting shot. "They say you had a bad reaction to a 'mate thing."

His throat closes up, not even thinking about being able to leave. He's heard about these kind of reactions before, but only when.... "Which one's black?" He tries to come off as indifferent, but his voice cracks.

"No, honey, no," Ma soothes. "That's not what I meant."

Becca sniffles, and clears her throat. She lets go of his neck and shoulders and sits up slightly. When she speaks, her voice is soft but all-business."We told them what happened, and the doctors think that your blue is... Captain America. Because," she says sharply when she sees he's about to interrupt, "the times on both of yours are the same."

"That doesn't mean anything, though," Bucky snaps. "That happens all the time."

Becca gives him the patented "Barnes Look of Doom". "The whole show, he was messing with his timer. He said he felt faint, like you did when you passed out and hit your head. Not that I would know that, actually, because I didn't get to see it."

Bucky sighs and closes his eyes. His head is starting to hurt. "You did too. You just didn't get to livetweet it. And can you please, for the love of all that is holy, not go between sobbing sister and angry sister at me, a man in a hospital bed?"

Becca rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Buck. I'll stop being mean when Captain America gets to see if it's true."

Bucky pauses. Just, completely and totally pauses. He thinks his heartbeat flat lines for a moment. Ma, on the other hand, just glares at Becca.

"What? WHAT?" Bucky - doesn't screech, exactly, but he comes close. Becca winces.

Ma tries for damage control. "Raincloud, you understand that it has to happen." She pauses, and then whispers, "the time changed on your blue, sweetheart."

Bucky rips his wrist up to his face so face, the IV in his arm twinges painfully. There are loud footsteps down the hall; he has no idea what his heart is doing. The time on his blue is a few days. It's a few days, it's a few days.

Bucky.... freaks out.

By the time Bucky enters the Stark Tower a few days later, only a half hour counting down on his blue, he's calmed down some. Haha, right. He's not nervous, or anything.

He feels like he may puke.

His siblings seem to vary in their opinions, Ty and Jess thinking he should just get it over with and not be nervous at all while Rosie and Chris think it's cute that he's so nervous. Becca, on the other hand, has no sympathy, and is texting the girl she met at his birthday party, Danielle, who, according to Becca, is very interested. They're all worried about his head injury, though, and Ty went so far as to contradict himself and tell him not to go. He goes anyway, though, because he feels like he has to.

And Bucky only brings Becca along because she promised she'd come over to his apartment and do his dishes every other day for a month if he let her. He wishes he could withstand her and her bs. He knows she'll do it a few times, then pull out the excuses. She knows it, too.

As it is, he's ignoring that and trying to lean on her for emotional stability while staying away from her indifference. Because he's like that, and he needs support from his shit-head little siblings.

Of course, since he has actual friends, he also talked to Sam and Nat. Sam told him to calm down, there were only two outcomes: he is or he isn't. And somehow, that helps. It makes it so Bucky can think about this a little more rationally.

Nat, on the other hand, told him she'd be there with him for every step of the way and hung up on him. When he told Becca, she laughed at him, and said, "if I hadn't already met her, I'd say she was stalking you."

Bucky, in true adult form, had slapped his hands at her like they did when they were kids, to which she immediately retaliated. Of course she did, they're like responsible teenagers together. It makes him smile, now, calms his nerves a little.

He and Beck are sitting in the lobby, getting curious looks from the workers and a death glare from the janitors and receptionists. They don't sit long before, of all people, Nat comes from the elevator doors.

Bucky gapes, taking in her black, skin-tight suit. The last time he saw her face-to-face, her hair had been blonde and straight, down past her shoulders. He's seen it a myriad of colors, but this one is new. Now it's red, curly, and just past her ears.

Becca pays no mind to the change, and leaps at her, hugging tight with a "Nat!"

She hugs the younger woman tight and whispers something that makes Becca laugh. They haven't seen each other for too long, Bucky thinks.

His brain is kind of frying, though. He wonders aloud, "what is up with your hair?"

Nat smiles gently, and drags Becca over to him. "I had to change it for a mission."

His eyebrows raise in acknowledgement. Becca looks between them, confused.

"Look, is this some weird 'mate thing? What are you doing here, Nat?"

She pauses, seeming hesitant. Hesitant is a new expression to her face, as far as Bucky is concerned. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet and subdued. "I'm an Avenger." Becca gasps and Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Steve asked me to come down here and get you guys."

And just like that, Bucky's heart is going into dangerous-speeds territory.

Nat lays a hand on his shoulder. "He's just as nervous as you are, James."

Bucky scoffs. "I highly doubt that, Miss Avenger. What happened to being a government agent?"

She catches his meaning, and purses her lip, ignoring his question. "I'm not lying, моя звезда. I swear. The last time I lied to you, it cost a life. I won't lie again, especially about something like this."

Becca looks between them, confused.

Bucky, though, smiles at the term of endearment she's called him since they met when he was first coming out of high school. "Tell me more."

"He was informed of the situation as 'there's a guy in the hospital with your time on a blue, and he's in on soulmate related conditions, hurt himself watching your interview'. Not a great way to be told, especially for him." She exhales through her nose. "He's been kind of out of his mind, waiting for this meeting, and now Tony is giving him some help in how to go about this."

"Tony Stark?" Becca asks, almost casually disinterested. She can't manage it, though, because she doesn't like him.

Tony Stark had met them before, when he was still trying to get Bucky to work for his new Veterans Affairs department of SI. Tony had leered at her, Bucky had flatly refused about a billion times, and Ty had almost died when Tony instead employed him.

Bucky doesn't hate the guy, but he doesn't like him much, either.

Nat nods slowly, picking up on the siblings' matching half-frowns. "Yeah, Tony Stark. But don't worry, Steve's not going to listen to anything he says."

Becca's face stays the same while Bucky feels his nose scrunch up. Just the reminder of actually meeting Captain America makes him cringe. And god, he should probably call him Steve, shouldn't he?

Nat, who's always been great at reading him, smiles. "Stop it, моя звезда. All that's going to happen is that we'll go up there and you'll meet everyone and it'll be awkward until someone's timer goes off. Alright? Not too bad."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, mouthing not too bad? just to piss her off. Her eyes narrow, and Becca cuts in.

She giggles sharply, saying, "Buck, do not get into a fight with an Avenger!" Then she tugs on his arm, and drags him toward the elevator Natasha had come out of. Nat follows behind, and when he turns around to give her a pleading look, she sticks her tongue out at him.

She pushes him into the elevator once the doors open, squishing him between Nat and Beck. The redhead pushes a button with no number, then pushes one with A1 on it. He doesn't pretend to know what she's doing.

The doors close, the elevator shoots up, and he feels an old panic welling up in his throat. Becca pushes her hand through his hair, scratching her nails on his scalp. He rests his chin on his chest and takes deep breaths.

Natasha watches, a sympathetic look in her eyes. From what she's told him of her past, she was taught to kill her soulmates when she met them, and was often subjected to groups of people whose timers went off when she looked them in the eye.

Bucky knows only one timer will go off, since his orange still has a few years and his blue has about a minute. You have to look your 'mate in the eye and then your timer goes off, so it can't go off and his 'mate not be in the room.

The elevator stops going up and he jerks. Becca rests her hand on the small of his back and Nat turns her back to the closed doors, looking at them.

She instructs, "I'm going to introduce you, and they'll meet your eyes and I'll introduce them. If you need to tap out, just say so. Your comfort is the most important thing here." She pauses, "and just so you know, everyone is nervous."

Then the doors open, and Tony Stark is peering over Nat's shoulder. "Hiiiiiiii, Bucky! Becca, you too? All for little ol' me?" He sings.

Becca clenches her jaw and says, "no, I'm trying to get my brother some dick, not some dickhead."

Tony throws his head back and laughs. He pokes at Natasha, who's still standing between them. She doesn't move. "Natty, move. I wanna see the new extra!"

"Extra?" A voice shouts, sounding distinctly female. "I am not an extra, Tony!"

Bucky nods, "neither am I." Seeing Tony is bringing back the muted annoyance he always feels around the older man, and flushing out some of the panic.

Tony raises an eyebrow suggestively. "nothing wrong with being an extra here, Barnes. You get to know lots of people who are better than you, and there's always pop tarts...."

Becca huffs, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Nat jokes, "I'm sure their spank banks are fine, Tony. Please move."

Tony, reluctantly, goes off to one side, allowing Natasha to move past him. And....

Steve Rogers stands there, someone who can only be Thor standing next to him. Bucky's eyes meet his and the telltale beep hits the air.

Becca shrieks again, and rushes past Nat and Bucky to get to Steve. His eyes are comically wide and he steps back, looking startled.

"Sorry, sorry, but oh my god, you're my brother's 'mate! This is - "

Nat pulls her away, giving Steve a look. She pushes him toward a door that Bucky can see doesn't close, like a swinging door. He goes along willingly.

She turns to look at Bucky and gestures that he follow Steve. He obeys immediately, knowing her well enough now that if he doesn't she'll sic something awful on him.

Bucky stares at the ground as he moves toward the door, avoiding the eyes of the Avengers and the so-called "extras".

He stops outside the door, takes a deep breath and stands at attention. Then he pushes the door open.

He sees that it's a kitchen with his first step in, and also notices that the blenders, toasters and even the dishrack are clean and new. He can tell they've been used, but there's a degree of rich people quality that takes over it.

And he also sees that Steve Rogers is feeling awkward, the lines of his body tense and his shoulders hiked up.

"Uh, hi? I'm Bucky," he says, making himself small.

Steve reaches out a hand, and Bucky takes it and shakes. "I'm Steve, but, uh, I'm sure you already know that."

Bucky smiles and nods. He's channeling Tyler and Chris and also Rosie, a little bit, because those three know how to make people feel more comfortable. Steve really needs to feel more comfortable, and Bucky does, too.

"Uh," he swallows. "Yeah, I do. My sister, Becca - the girl out there - she's a big fan." He exhales and drags a hand through his hair, calming himself. "Hmm. I guess - well, okay, um. I don't, uh, expect anything out of this. We can take this at your pace, and that's fine by me because I'm kind of fucked up - and I just cussed in front of you, wow, great first impression...."

Steve cracks a smile. "I'd say it's okay to fucking cuss, Bucky. Not like it's anything new."

Bucky grins back. "Yeah, duh. You're army, too. I should've known better." He stuffs his hands in his pocket. "I - I get that you're probably still grieving hard-core right now. So, I'm thinking we should take this slow."

Steve nods, and opens and closes his mouth a few times before offering, "uh, would you like to get lunch sometime? I mean, as friends first, I'm not ready to just, uh, jump into this - "

Bucky waves a hand around, "no, no, I mean, yeah, that sounds great. When?" God, he thinks, my game died in Afghanistan.

"Uh, Wednesday at noon? Or Saturday, if you have work?"

"Saturday is better. I have school on Wednesday. And could we do it here? Would that be okay?" Feeling unusually shy, he ducks his head.

Steve nods. "That would be best. My fans, a lot are even more aggressive than your sister."

Bucky laughs, picturing a modern beatlemania and Steve running away from droves of teenagers. Steve smiles at him, a little hesitantly.

"It's a date, then?"

"It's a date."

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my heart's a ticking clock - dottie_wan_kenobi - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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Bucky's got quite a few of these damn timers. Some have gone off already; Natasha-the-spy and Sam-with-wings. He still has others, two more. There's two on each wrist, and they, like every other timer, were implanted in his skin when he was born.

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Latent: existing but not yet manifest; hidden; concealed.

Everyone knows about Captain America, the male super soldier with artificially enhanced senses that never zone thanks to science. He now leads the Avengers. No one but Bucky (not even Steve, who’s a huge liar, self-sacrificing, and awful at self-reflection) remembers Stevie, the sickly, stubborn, latent female Sentinel who fought to protect others no matter the cost to herself. Torture destroyed Bucky’s chance to come Online as Guide, but when the Winter Soldier fails to assassinate America’s Alpha Sentinel Prime, both he and Stevie get one last chance to become their true selves.

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Chapter Text

Stevie Rogers came of age during the great depression as a poor, Irish immigrant's kid with bad health and would not be shamed for it. Fighting became a way of life in Brooklyn. Being female on top of it all just meant she had to fight smart and dirty.

Her father had died standing up for what was right in WWI. Her mother had dedicated her life to helping others as a nurse. Stevie couldn't help but try to live up to their examples of honor and service. Few things made her as mad as injustice and bullying and in her mind, there was no justification for apathy or cruelty.

Lots of people called her tomboy, hellion, or troublemaker for all the fighting she got up to-her best friend Bucky calling her a punk didn't count, because his eyes smiled when he said it-but a few people also called her helpful, kind, and fearless, and those were the opinions that counted. Although the parish Priest's sighs got louder and longer each time she went to confession, and the other girls avoided her as if she might be contagious, Stevie had Bucky Barnes for a best friend and a mother who loved her daughter's heart and that was more than good enough. When her knuckles and nose were bloody more often than not as the 1920s turned into the 1930s, when her hospital stays for pneumonia got longer and longer each winter, and when her body failed to develop curves like all the other girls, well, that was simply Stevie's lot in life and not worth crying about. Someone else always had it worse.

Personally, she considered herself brave, stoic, and fierce. If she wanted to do something, she wouldn't give up until she'd found a way. Unfortunately, the fragile reflection in the mirror never matched that perception; well, fragile except for her unfortunately large nose and square jaw. As other girls in the neighborhood became either sturdy or svelte, Stevie merely lost all baby fat and turned into a wire coat hanger. People either overlooked her or looked at her with pity and distaste. Very few people actually saw her for who she really was, even rarer were the people who liked what they saw.

Nevertheless, Stevie refused to let anything hold her back from living life on her terms. Better bull-headed than rabbit-hearted. She refused to passively accept things that were wrong or unfair. Even only half-grown, she knew better.

Speaking of which-"Hey Buck, do you think only boys should get to be Sentinel Captains and King of the Slide?" Talking split the scab on her lip again, dribbling a fresh trickle of blood down her chin. Her left eye also felt achy, but at least she could still see out of it, so the swelling couldn't be too bad. If Stevie pulled her hair over her that side of her face when her Ma came home, she might not even notice the signs of fighting.

Bucky plopped down on the bench facing her with a damp cloth in one hand. "I dunno, why? Is that the stupid thing you were fighting about today?" He frowned and pressed the cloth hard against her lip to stop the bleeding.

"Ouch! And it wasn't stupid," she defended in a muffled voice. "Are you saying I'm not allowed to be a hero just because I'm a girl?"

"No, of course not," Bucky sighed, lifting the cloth away, folding it, and wiping off the blood crusting her chin. "You're the most heroic person I know, Stevie. If anyone in Brooklyn was worthy to be a Sentinel Captain like in the comics, it'd be you, but you don't have to prove it all the time by getting your face bashed in."

"That's not what happened," she said, mollified by his answer and tipping her head back to look at the ceiling so he could clean the blood off her neck that she always missed. "Besides, I just meant on the playground. Everyone knows girls never turn into Sentinels with all five enhanced senses. That only happens in story books. I heard that sometimes a girl comes Online as a Guide, able to sense emotions and bond with a Sentinel to help level his senses and keep him from zoning out or getting sick from sensing too much in his environment, but even that's really rare. Nobody knows why, but there aren't many Sentinels or Guides around anymore at all, and those that do show up usually stay latent with only occasional flickers of talent and never come fully Online. The government's so desperate they draft anyone with even a flicker of a gift for service."

"There, done," Bucky grunted, sitting back and tossing the bloody rag over his shoulder to land with perfect aim in the kitchen sink. "And that's more information on Sentinels than we ever learned in class or from the comics. Where'd you even hear all that?"

"Oh, I stayed after class one day and asked a few more questions, but that's all I got out of the teacher. Well, except for how the comics supposedly got it right: that isolation, danger, and pain can activate a latent Sentinel's senses and turn him Online, but that the same will make a latent Guide go dormant and even destroy their chance to ever come Online or bond with a Sentinel. The Sentinel community is really secretive about how their senses work, maybe to keep people from using their weaknesses against them."

"Or from realizing they're lying about half of what they can do," Bucky snorted, pulling out a deck of cards from his back pocket and dealing the two of them hands. "But getting back to your ugly mug, you never said who hit you," he prompted with a fake casualness that utterly failed to hide the vindictive look in his cold blue eyes.

"No I didn't," Stevie said mulishly.

Bucky skewered her with a sharp look. "This talk of Sentinels hasn't distracted me, Stevie. I thought you were finally going back to work today minding Mr. Babcock's front counter after being out sick last week. So what happened?"

Scowling, Stevie discarded and drew two more cards. "He's got a new counter girl already and refuses to take me back. I only got him to give me my back pay because Father McLaughlan walked in while we were arguing. There're too many people looking for work in this town and not enough jobs to go around."

"Well, he's an idiot then," Bucky said loyally, discarding three cards from his own hand. "You were the best counter girl he ever had."

"Darn right I was!"

"So how did this lead to your fat lip?" Bucky circled back, refusing to be distracted.

"Fine," she sighed with aggravation. "I had time to kill until you got done with your shift, so I made friend with this cool looking spotted dog with round ears and a short muzzle."

Bucky tsked, "You know feeding strays is a bad idea."

"I'll remember that next time you're hungry," she mocked, placing a card on the table. "Anyways, me and the spotted dog went walking by the park and I saw big Mike and his friends playing Sentinel Captain. I wasn't going to go in, but then little Susie Chambers, the one who broke all the running records at school even though she's only ten," she waited for Bucky's nod of recognition before continuing. "She went over and asked if they wanted to play King of the Slide and do you know what they said?"

Lowering his cards, Bucky rolled his eyes, "I'm guessing something stupid that made you mad?"

"Darn right it made me mad," Stevie cried. "Mike stopped the game of Sentinel Captain and told everyone they were going to play King of the Slide instead, but when Susie tried to join in, he pushed her down and told her she wasn't welcome, that it didn't matter if she was the fastest kid in school, because girls aren't good for nothin' but making food and cleaning up and tending babies! He said only boys got to be Sentinel Captains and King of the Slide, that girls weren't good enough."

"So you hit him for being a jerk and he hit you back?" Bucky asked, playing his cards.

Stevie grinned, reopening her split lip with a burst of copper on her tongue. "Nothing so simple. I'm a strategist. I waited for him to get to the top of the slide ladder and yell, 'Boys rule and girls drool!' Then I ran underneath and yanked his feet off the rungs. He fell face first down the slide and landed with his butt in the air. When he sat up, Susie bounced a pinecone off his forehead and he fell over again. Everyone laughed. It was great! But I don't run as fast as Susie, so he caught me on my way over here and roughed me up some. I got in a few more good hits though. The spotted dog even sat with me until I caught my breath."

Bucky frowned. "Do you need one of your asthma cigarettes or a shot?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

Tilting his head to the side, Bucky ran his eyes critically over her face. "Least it's not too bad this time. The swelling by your eye is already going down, though it's going to bruise. The split lip will take a few days."

"Barely stings," Stevie boasted. At least, it had when Bucky was touching her, though that was more because he had to sit close enough that she could get lost in his familiar scent and catalogue the unique shapes of his freckles and inside his irises, could sometimes see the strange polygons that hid in his skin if she focused hard enough, could practically feel the vibration of his heartbeat and organs though his skin, but it would sound too weird to say those secrets out loud.

Everything was always better when Bucky was around, but you couldn't just flat out say it like that or it would be weird.

Stevie was very careful to never let their friendship get weird. They were forever friends and being opposite sexes wasn't going to change that. Bucky had already been girl crazy for years and she didn't want any of that crazy to splash over onto her. Stevie might secretly like him like him, but if things turned romantic, it would inevitably fall apart. Stevie couldn't compete with all the gorgeous girls out there. Bucky didn't see her like that anyways. Best friends with Bucky was loads better than being an ex and not having Bucky at all. Stevie had made up her mind and would not be swayed.

Bucky didn't seem to notice her preoccupation, pursing his lips, leaning back, and giving her face another once-over. "Yeah, the eye and lip will be okay, but you should probably have someone look at how ginormous your nose is-oh, wait, that's its normal size. Never mind, you're stuck with it."

"Stuck with a jerk like you, you mean," Stevie grumbled, sticking out her tongue. Her lip stung again, but she'd had worse injuries. "And it was totally worth it. You know I hate bullies." Looking down, she rearranged her winning card hand and laid it flat on the table with a smirk.

Losing the card game with equanimity, Bucky merely sighed and dealt them both another hand. "How about next time we go to the park, I'll let you be Sentinel Captain Queen Rogers of the Slide."

"Let? Ha! I will win that title fair and square." Dropping her cards, Stevie lunged at Bucky and tacked him to the floor. Since he wasn't expecting it, she managed to get him in a headlock.

"You punk!" he wheezed in outrage.

"Say Uncle!" Stevie crowed.

"Never!" Wiggling like a worm, Bucky got loose and turned the tables, grabbing Stevie around the neck and yanking her down under his arm. "Who's the King now?" he panted, grinding his knuckles on the top of her head and messing up her hair. "James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, that's who!"

"In your dreams!" Stevie cried, wrenching and wiggling until she got away with a triumphant grin and wheezing lungs.

A few years later-after Stevie got fired from job after demeaning job for either getting too sick or fighting with a customer, and the art jobs she wanted wouldn't even let her interview because she was a girl and not cute enough to boot; after her vision got blurry and her heart murmur got worse, and exercising too hard could cause either an asthma attack and possible suffocation or her already high blood pressure to skyrocket and then abruptly drop, leading to vomiting and unconsciousness; after her ma's hours got cut at the hospital and money became even tighter so they couldn't afford her asthma shots or even the cigarettes anymore and just breathing while sitting still became a constant battle; after the doctor told her she'd probably not live to thirty, that her irregular periods were a sign she was unlikely to ever get pregnant, and that if she did get pregnant, both she and the babe would die in the attempt; after she found out Bucky was almost killing himself not sleeping so he could take shady midnight jobs from gangsters after twelve hour days at the docks to get the extra money needed to buy Stevie the packs of asthma cigarettes and fresh fruit that started "mysteriously" showing up in her room (as if it could be anyone but him)-that's when Stevie first became Steve.

Stephanie "Stevie" Grania Rogers had too many things stacked against her to win at life. She was drowning. Maybe a "Steve" could do better at keeping his head above the water, do better at hitting that home run. After all, if you're losing the fight before even stepping up to bat, change the rules to give yourself better odds. She put away her childish dreams of female Sentinel Captains, of ever having her reflection match her inner self, or of one day marrying and having a family with a man (more specifically with Bucky, which was a stupid dream anyways, because all the girls he charmed but never stayed with just proved that Bucky was a horrible boyfriend and would probably be an awful husband, so she should just keep him as a best friend, because he was perfectly wonderful at that).

Stevie cut her hair and put on Bucky's outgrown clothes. Stealing his second-best tie and a glob of Brylcreem to slick down her hair, Steve threw back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and looked in the mirror, finding a rail-thin, stubborn-faced young man staring back at her. Well then. When she got a job drawing advertisement posters at the first agency "Steve" applied for, one "Stevie" had been turned away from twice, she knew she'd made the right decision to become a he.

Ma cried about it, but once Steve laid out her arguments, she didn't try to change Steve's mind. She just got quiet and sad and gave Steve a better haircut. Bucky was weird about it at first, but in the end he came around too. Unfortunately, that meant he ramped up his teasing to show support. When the Parish Priest got transferred out and forgot to inform his replacement about Stevie, the last big impediment was gone. Pretty soon everyone seemed to forget Steve had ever been a girl in the first place.

When Steve's Ma died of TB and things got really dark, Bucky found a cheap room for two fellas to share and took care of everything. He curtained off Stevie's bed and a private area for her to bathe in next to the stove. To be honest, Bucky cared a lot more for Steve's modesty and reputation than she did.

The apartment was only a single room with a fire escape and a bathroom in the hall they shared with two other families. They could only afford it by paying for rent with almost all of Bucky's dockyard wages. Food and everything else came from Steve's art commissions.

That meant that when illness kept Steve from working, food got scarce. When Bucky began getting suspiciously full after only a few bites, leaving Steve the lion's share, and lost weight he couldn't afford as a dock laborer, Steve threw her pride out the window and went begging for extra paid work from her coworkers. One of them put her in contact with the seedier side of the art industry, which is how she came to start drawing pinup girls. As a bonus, it paid better than store ads and quickly restocked the pantry. Steve avoided nudes out of embarrassment and fear of what her Ma would think up in heaven, keeping to tasteful but titillating sketches a fella could hang up in a work locker.

Bucky's face turned purple when he first found out about the pinups, but after a few days of blushing every time he saw her sketching, he got over it. Pretty soon Steve missed the blushing. Instead, he started badgering her to see the self-portraits she was selling and teasing about getting a large mirror for the wall by her bed to get the anatomy right.

Bucky was such an idiot.

As if anyone would want to see, much less pay money for, a picture of Stevie's small breasts and stick legs. Annoyed and offended, Steve stubbornly refused to let him see any of her pinup sketches. It made her unhappy to think of him getting excited over some fantasy girl she'd created, especially when those girls always looked the exact opposite of Steve herself.

Plus, as time went on, she especially didn't want Bucky to find out that her most popular sketches were of a sexy, buxom brunette with Bucky's plump lips, dimpled chin, and blue eyes. Jamie the pin up girl was a best seller and had a whole series. Steve's editor was half in love with Jamie and kept angling for an introduction, certain she was a real girl. Steve was half in love with her creation herself, which was easier than being all in love with the real Bucky, so she didn't fight it too hard.

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Latent Truths - Chapter 1 - Indygodusk - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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Stevie Rogers came of age during the great depression as a poor, Irish immigrant's kid with bad health and would not be shamed for it. Fighting became a way of life in Brooklyn. Being female on top of it all just meant she had to fight smart and dirty.

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Former Top Chef contestant Steve Rogers opens a restaurant with his best friend, Sam Wilson.

And everything is great, except for Steve's giant crush on their new bartender.

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Kiss the Cook - Chapter 1 - mambo - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Steve Rogers had purple lilac flowers all the way up his left arm and extending down onto his chest. Despite the fact that Bucky had died when he was still young, the two had known each other for a long time so the soulmate markings still had a long time to grow. Many older couples had flowers all over their bodies, stems and leaves extending down their torsos and legs. But this was as far as Steve's markings would go. He supposed he was lucky, so many people never met their soulmates, and remained with only a black seed on their wrist for their entire life. Or worse, many met their soulmates only for a few weeks, at the end of one of their lives. A brief glimpse at happiness, at fulfillment before it was snatched away. Steve was grateful at least for the time he got to spend with Bucky before he fell. They may not have had long, but the time they spent together was good.

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Steve Rogers had purple lilac flowers all the way up his left arm and extending down onto his chest. Despite the fact that Bucky had died when he was still young, the two had known each other for a long time so the soulmate markings still had a long time to grow.

Many older couples had flowers all over their bodies, stems and leaves extending down their torsos and legs. But this was as far as Steve's markings would go.

He supposed he was lucky, so many people never met their soulmates, and remained with only a black seed on their wrist for their entire life. Or worse, many met their soulmates only for a few weeks, at the end of one of their lives. A brief glimpse at happiness, at fulfillment before it was snatched away.

Steve was grateful at least for the time he got to spend with Bucky before he fell. They may not have had long, but the time they spent together was good.

At the end of the plant trailing down onto his chest was a singular dead flower. That one had appeared in the day Bucky died, and it had been the last flower that grew. All the others were still alive and vibrant, the Bucky he remembered. Only this one signified the end.

Natasha Romanoff did not have a soulmate. Her wrist was bare, no seed for any flowers to grow from. She claimed she was happy like this. She was perfectly fulfilled by platonic relationships, and had no desire for anyone in a romantic sense.

Steve occasionally caught her looking a moment too long at some of the other avengers flowers. But she assured him, she was merely curious about them given the lack of her own.

Steve wished that he could be as happy as she was without his own soulmate, but he was not like she was. She had never wanted one, whereas he had to endure knowing that he should've had the rest of his life with Bucky, and it was ripped away from him.

Tony Stark's arms were covered in yellow gladiolus flowers. Steve had to look that one up. Most people had a basic grasp of flowers and their meanings, for what type of flower you had was said to represent your soulmate.

Tony's soulmate was Rhodey, and the first time Steve met Rhodey he knew straight away that he was the reason Tony had the yellow flowers trailing down his arm. The two were utterly in love with each other and Steve couldn't imagine a more perfect pair.

Something slightly unusual Steve had noticed was that many of the flowers on Tony's arm were damaged, none of them dead, but not all of them in the best of shape. Steve supposed that was what happened when both halves of the couple spent their lives getting injured in some way or another.

He didn't want to make assumptions, but given Tony's playboy reputation, it was a safe guess to make to think that not all the damaged flowers had come from physical hurt.

There was one flower on Rhodey's shoulder that stood out to Steve in particular, it was in the worst shape out of all of them. It looked like it was almost dead, several petals missing and the rest severely shriveled like it had been left in the sun without water for weeks on end.

The flowers around it also looked in rather bad shape, but this one was the only one that looked as close to death. Steve brought it up to Rhodey one day, who told him it was not his place to tell and that if he wanted to know he should ask Tony.

So he asked Tony, and Tony ducked his head, and muttered 'Afghanistan,' and left it at that. Steve put it on his mental list of things to remember about Tony. One, don't touch him without asking him first. Even a handshake. Two, do not, under any circumstances soak him in water. The avengers learned that the hard way. And now three, don't ask him about Afghanistan or any of the damaged flowers. And Steve never brought the flowers up again.

Clint was the only avenger with more than one soulmate. Both of the flowers had started on his left wrist, as was normal but not the only possibility, but given that he had two plants growing and they took up twice as much space they had already extended down his torso and over to his right arm.

He had the delicate, white edelweiss flowers that belonged to Phil Coulson as well as the blue hyacinths of Laura Barton. He had met Laura long before Phil, and so her hyacinths took up far more space than the small edelweiss flowers that filled the gaps between them.

Steve wondered what it would be like to have more than one soulmate, it seemed like it would be hard to balance the relationship, especially with Clint's given that he had married Laura as he had thought the second seed merely a fluke that would not grow into anything, but they managed to make it work.

Laura and Phil didn't have each others soulmarks, and weren't together, but they were good friends and as far as Steve knew, neither seemed to harbour immense jealousy for the other. He guessed that they had a way of doing things that worked for them, and they were happy together, so what did it matter if their situation wasn't exactly the traditional one.

Bruce had a couple of flowers up his wrist, though not as many as most of the others, the golden yellow coreopsis flowers blooming large though they were small in number.

The flowers were for Thor, and the Asgardian still spent most of his time off the earth, so they did not have much of a chance to grow.

Thor didn't have flowers of his own, but given the way Bruce's grew only when he was around there was no doubt the two were soulmates. Steve wondered what that must be like for them. Bruce seemed perfectly content with being the only one in the relationship with the flowers, and Thor seemed fascinated with the ones that grew on his lovers arm.

Soulmarks did not exist on Asgard and were one of the topics that Thor was constantly asking questions about. He seemed fascinated about the culture surrounding them, and those who did not have them or had more than one.

It was after New York, and their lives were slowly getting back to normal. Steve had taken to running in the mornings, it helped him take his mind off things and though he probably didn't need to keep fit he didn't want to test this theory by not being ready when his next mission came up.

It was during one of these morning runs when he met Sam Wilson, but it wasn't until later in the day when Natasha noticed the new growth on his arm. It was right at his wrist, where the seed that sprouted Bucky's flowers was, and it was coming out of what he had previously assumed to be a freckle. He couldn't believe it, the universe seemed to be giving him a second chance. Of course whoever it was couldn't replace Bucky, but maybe they could have something different. It was a daffodil, a very, very tiny daffodil. And Steve knew that that symbolised new beginnings. It seemed so fitting.

If you took the time to look up flower meanings they were almost always perfect to the relationship and the person they stood for. He wondered who the person could be that had caused this new growth on his wrist, his mind jumped immediately to Sam, the man he had met running.

But of course it could be anyone, even someone he walked passed in the street, he would know for certain if he saw Sam again, and as far as he could remember the other man didn't have any flowers already. He ran in a t shirt with short sleeves which showed his bare arms so provided he wasn't part of the minority of those without soulmates, there was a chance he could be Steve's. He didn't know why he was so fixated on it being Sam, but after knowing him for only a few moments he couldn't help but feel that they would be a good fit.

When he saw Sam again it was under very different circumstances, and he noticed that he had several bluebells on his arm, their light blueish purple colour standing out against his deep brown skin, the same flowers as had been on Bucky's arm.

Steve told him that they were soulmates, and the smile that formed on Sam's face could've lit up the world. It was taught in schools that his soulmate had been James Buchanan Barnes, so Sam seemed pretty shocked understandably, but he showed Sam his arm with the two intertwining sets of flowers and they agreed that they would go out for coffee when this entire mess was over.

Natasha was pleased he had found Sam, but was growing impatient with them, especially when they had more pressing business to attend to. So they left the topic for now, they would have time to talk about everything later. First, they had to deal with the winter soldier.

After their fight with the soldier, who Steve now knew was Bucky, Steve realised another one of the lilacs had grown down onto his chest. It was in such bad shape he had almost mistaken it for the dead one at first, but no, this one was new. It looked awful, he must be barely alive with all that Hydra was doing to him, but it was good to have reassurance that it was actually Bucky and not just his mind playing tricks on him. Soulmarks didn't lie. He went to find Sam and found him examining his wrist intently.

'Is this his?' he asked Steve, gesturing to a tiny lilac that was growing from his wrist amongst the few bluebells he had from Steve. 'Bucky's, I mean?'

'Looks like it,' Steve said, gesturing to the new lilac on his chest.

It was a different situation than Clint's- the only other person he knew personally that had more than one soulmate- he had two soulmates but his soulmates were just friends. The set up for this seemed triangular, well it would be if they ever managed to get Bucky back from Hydra. They would find a way to make it work, the three of them, but first they needed to save Bucky.

Several years later, Bucky was living in Wakanda, a lot had happened since, but he was recovering slowly from the aftermath of being the winter soldier. Most of the damage would never the undone. He couldn't give back the lives he took while under the control of Hydra, and no matter how often it was reiterated that none of it had been his fault, he couldn't help feeling horrendously guilty. Steve and Sam, along with Natasha were still taking down the remnants of hydra they still managed to take time to visit Wakanda.

Bucky's left arm had no flowers on it. He had Steve's bluebells extending down on to his neck, but none of Sam's for he didn't have a wrist for them to grow from.Steve kept optimistically suggesting that they would grow down his chest eventually like Steve's did, he would just have to give it time. Sam wasn't sure if this was the case as there was no mark on his wrist for them to grow from, for Steve's had already grown past his arm when it was amputated. But Sam found himself not minding, he had Bucky's flowers and as long as they both loved each other, that was all he needed.

So here they sat, the three of them in a Wakandan field, far away from any other people alone in the world with only each other for company. Steve was painting flowers on to Bucky's metal arm, bluebells and daffodils in blues, purples, yellows and oranges more vibrant than life. They were heavily stylised, but Bucky preferred them that way. He could tell they were done by Steve looking at the art style alone and if he couldn't have his actual soulmark flowers on his arm then at least they were painted by his soulmate.

He asked Sam to do one, and though he protested saying he was rubbish at art and would mess it up, he eventually managed to get him to agree to a single daffodil. It wasn't as neat as Steve's but Bucky didn't care, it was from his soulmate so that was all that mattered. The three of them sat like that, cuddled together, being careful not to nudge the drying paint on Bucky's arm, for a long time. And for a short while, the three of them were truly happy.

And then everything changed. The worst happened and Steve was left alone in the world without either one of his soulmates. The flowers on his arm remained each with one at the end disintegrating off into millions of tiny pieces. Like those they represented had done. It pained him to look at them now, they served as a reminder of what had happened to the two people he cared about most in the world.

As the remaining avengers tried to get the world back on track, he took to wearing long sleeve shirts and not looking too long in the mirror. He had lost Bucky for the second time, and had lost Sam as well. There had to be a way to reverse this. But he didn't know how, and be had no idea what to do without the people he had trusted most by his side.

He guessed he would have to do what he had always done. He pushed the pain down as far as he could ignore it, he couldn't let this stop him from doing what needed to be done. He got back up, he was never one to give up, he had to keep going no matter the circumstances, he had to keep fighting. Because even if it was improbable that he could do anything, it would be impossible if he didn't try.

So Steve Rogers ignored the pain he felt in his left arm, and got on with saving the world. If only for another day like those ones in Wakanda.

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Inked Petals - MidnightMew - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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Steve Rogers had purple lilac flowers all the way up his left arm and extending down onto his chest. Despite the fact that Bucky had died when he was still young, the two had known each other for a long time so the soulmate markings still had a long time to grow.

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I had a feeling that I belonged, I had a feeling I could be someone - dottie_wan_kenobi

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I had a feeling that I belonged, I had a feeling I could be someone - dottie_wan_kenobi

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He’s seven years old when "he man he man i have the power" shows up on his right arm.

OR,
Steve and Bucky are soulmates who communicate through writing song lyrics and book quotes on themselves.

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I had a feeling that I belonged, I had a feeling I could be someone - dottie_wan_kenobi - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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“Steve, you don't know a damn thing about that guy. The fact that you're even considering keeping him in your house is crazy.”

“I don't care.” Steve glanced over at the stranger, his face softening when he saw him sinking back into the couch cushions and gripping his backpack so tightly. “Sam, the guy looks like no one's been nice to him for years. How am I supposed to be okay with just sending him off somewhere?”

Sam sighed heavily and looked heavenward. “I swear to God, if I come by tomorrow and find you dead in your bed, I'm gonna find a way to bring you back to life just to kill you again.”

OR – in which former army captain, current farmer Steve Rogers finds a bruised and battered and dirty stranger who remembers nothing and doesn't speak in his barn. He takes him in, despite his friends' advice not to, and helps him recover. It's not easy. Especially not when, along the way, feelings get involved.

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Coming Home - charlesdk - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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“You try’na say my dog turns into a man on the new moon? That’s the most logical conclusion you have to why my foods going missing?”
“Hey! If a dog got opposable thumbs, you better believe the fridge is the first place they're going.”

“And the claw marks on the front door? And the missing clothes?”

“Oh my god you're so bias. Just because you want so bad for it to be some ugly stupid ghost your not even stopping to believe-”

“Roger is not a were-man.”

“Were-men don’t know they are were-men,” Tony points out unhelpfully.

Five days before Halloween at the Wilson’s household, Roger the (sort of) Golden Retriever is called back on duty.

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Chapter Text

District of Colombia's Most Haunted House

Why is my five-year-old house suddenly haunted?

This is a great question - a question one Sam Wilson, 11 Marvel Terrace, is currently asking himself.

Mr Wilson stares at his screen door, the one which opens onto his large but neglected backyard.

This is the second time tonight he's noticed the door. It's open by just a crack. Just a notch.

Spooked, but determined to not show it, Sam crosses his living room and clicks the door back shut. Then locks it. Then says out loud to himself he's definitely locked it this time.

Half-ish an hour-ish later, Sam gets up from the couch to grab a block of chocolate. The room is dark besides the TV screen. It's softly playing a rapid Korean comedy that often breaks into impromptu dance numbers.

Peeling the fridge open like a magical flower, the ethereal light illuminates a... slightly open back door.

Sam braces his body against the comforting bulk of the fridge door and tries to think of all the very reasonable reasons this is happening.

"Roger?" he calls out. Tinkling fills the air as his dog stirs from deeper inside the house, padding down the hallway towards Sam.

One by one Sam very quickly flicks all the lights on. He pulls a torch out of the miscellaneous junk draw.

Roger is now walking around the counter bemusedly, eyeing the torch like it could be a piece of food in disguise.

"You keep your eyes peeled buddy," Sam tells him. "Or keep your ears peels, and I'll keep my eyes peeled. Let's play to our strengths."

Sam pads over to the back door, takes a deep breathe, then switches the patio lights on. He half expects for some shadowy figure to be cast in the old-apple-flesh glow.

There is nothing. Just the leaf filled table and chairs, the dog bowls, and Sam's rainy day running shoes.

Stepping onto the patio like he's entering enemy territory, Sam flashes his torch out into the blackness of his yard. Roger goes over to his bowls to inspect them, casting a forlorn look at the empty food bowl, then lopes off into the grass.

Sam tracks the tinkering of his tags into the darkness of the yard.

The dog returns a few minutes later looking confused but happy to stretch his legs.

"Of course," Sam rolls his eyes. As if Roger would be a help. The retriever would probably befriend a hostile.

Probably would approach a ghost for a hug. Dumb dog. Why didn't he get a scary dog? You know, something protective and serious? Instead he's got a long-haired golden retriever which sheds like he's aiming for a Guinness World Record. Sam sometimes feels like a white lady whose three bratty kids are off playing extra-curricular lacrosse.

The patio light has attracted a mosh-pit of assorted moths, and the first casualties are starting to brush against Sam's face.

The well-built man makes a tactical retreat into the house after his dog. He closes and locks the door again... suspiciously.

With the click of the lock fixing into place, Sam Wilson swears a solemn vow.

If the door mysteriously opened one more time, he was getting his beautiful black ass out of this God Damned horror-movie opening scene bullshit.

The door does not open again.

What happens instead, is that he can't find his block of chocolate in the fridge (did he already eat it?), the internet drops out three times (unusual), and when he goes to bed, he can't shake the feeling something's been re-arranged in his closet.

He let's Roger sleep on the bed tonight, rather than outside. Curled around a pillow and staring out the window, Sam curses once again.

Shit, whatever. If someone comes in Roger will try his level best to smother them in hugs, giving Sam the time he needs to roll off the bed, shove aside the shoe box obscuring the safe, and retrieve the hand gun.

Not today Jesus, not today.

To be sure, Sam writes down a last message in his phone's notes app.

Back door re-opening when not looking today. Three times, 6pm when I came home from work, 8pm, and 9pm. No noise or sign of anyone. My estate and fortunes are to be equally split amongst my nieces and Roger.

Sam 'the god-damned Falcon' Wilson

Without a witness to watch him sign the note, it won't be authentic enough to stand up legally, but his sister will get a kick out of it.

With that, Sam proceeds to stare at the ceiling for three hours before drifting off to the sound of Roger licking his paws.

This is why the dog sleeps outside.

The alarm goes off when the sky outside is grainy with pre-dawn. Sam sits up and stretches, happy to be alive.

He breathes deep, smells what must be multiple dog farts, and decides to not do that again.

Sam changes into his running clothes, snatches his phone off the floor, and stumbles his way into the kitchen for a filling and nutritious breakfast. Rogers follows tight on his heels, knowing exactly what running clothes look like and what they mean.

The air is just chilly enough to snap him awake when Sam goes outside to scoop dry food into Roger's bowl. The dog scoffs it down like he's been living on ratios for years.

Roger stays out in the yard until it's time to run. From the kitchen Sam watches him trot off to sniff around the perimeter of the fence.

Fifteen minutes later they are sitting in the front yard, Sam doing his best to stretch his legs out, Roger doing his best to lick Sam's face until his skin comes off.

"Stop," Sam elbows the large dog away. Ten second later: "No." he turns his shoulder into the dog to protect his precious face. "Stop," an actual shove. Sam whines like a younger sibling whose finally had enough of wrestling, "gross, stop!"

Roger huffs and side-eyes him, abandoning his pursuit in hurrying Sam's stretches along. For a minute Sam feel a rush of victory.

The sound of running feet rhythmically hitting the pavement of the road interrupts Sam's glorious power high. Roger tugs on his leash, which is currently looped around one of Sam's ankles.

Yeah, this sounds about right. Roger just switched interest from Sam to Rhodney. The man who lives two doors down is always such a push over when it comes to Roger.

"Good morning," Rhodney happily greets the dog, jogging across the grass and crouching down to commit both hands to scratching Roger.

The dog immediately rolls onto his back, legs going up in the air like a prostitute. Sam darkly mutters under his breath as he finishes up his stretches.

"Don't adopt the stray dog hiding under your car they said, he'll be too feral they said."

The two men and the dog set off down the street soon after, Rhodney leading with his headphones in, Sam behind, wrangling Roger like the sledge dog Roger spiritually is.

It's like the dog thinks the only acceptable way to do five miles is at a flat sprint.

Sam used to take Roger on runs with a collar, but the dog willingly choked himself in some weird kinky desire to bodily haul Sam along. Harnesses were just enabling the sledge dog fantasy, and also put Sam's shoulders at real risk of being dislocated.

Now Roger wears a haltie. A bright U.S.A flag printed one too, over his nose and behind his ears, because Sam feels like the bastard deserves it.

And it was the only reflective one left in the shelter's small store.

Considering how dark their runs can get during winter, Sam wasn't going to not get a reflective head harness.

When they hit the park Sam unclips Roger from his leash while Rhodney takes a drink. They then set off down the more unused jogging tracks.

Roger gallops in front, stopping to sniff at smells, sprinting off like a racehorse, always making sure his owner is keeping his lazy ass up with the pace.

Rhodney is puffing and panting and complaining about the latest stupid thing at work when they come out of the trees, much slower than when they started. There was a ridiculous amount of hills.

Roger lays down on the grass as the men stand around with their hands on their hips gasping in air.

They make their way back home through the park proper, with Roger back on the leash.

Sam and Rhodney have now slowed to a walk, easier to talk and drink water that way, when Sam sees it.

It's the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. His hand goes weak around the water bottle. A groan slips past his lips. Every cell of his body burns. In envy.

Running towards him is a man, and at his side runs a large spaniel looking dog. It is keeping pace with him. Exact pace. Not pulling at the leash, not stopping to sniff at Every Blade Of Grass. Its eyes are level and its stride even. It stays exactly at its owner's hip. The leash clipped to the man's waist has a consistent amount of slack.

Sam goes weak at the knees.

"Oh my god teach me your ways," Sam stops to simply admire the holy vision as it draws closer and closer up the wide concrete path.

Rhodney looks up in concern.

"Oh, I know him from work," his eyes dart between the two dog owners.

"Hopefully he's not the one you just spent twenty minutes complaining about," Sam's not sure if his mental state could handle that. All his life he's been told dogs can tell if you're a good person or not. In the end, it seems they only listen to assholes.

"Nah, he's good," Rhodney shrugs and raises his hand in greeting as the guy and his frankly mythical dog get drawn close.

The man scowls as he slows down and tugs his wireless headphones out. Extremely loud music fills the air briefly before he puts them in a pocket.

Sam just watches the dog. His jaw drops as it slows down as its owner does, drawing to a stop as he does, not once pulling on the leash. What dose it feel like, to own a floating cloud of perfection?

"Stevens, hey man. Didn't know you lived close by," Rhodney greets diplomatically, accepting a professional fist bump.

Sam's arms strain with the effort to keep Roger behind his legs and away from the new dog, which is currently regarding the half hidden bulk of Sam's golden retriever like one might a regard a cat showing up in the kitchen sink at midnight. When you don't own a cat.

"Rhodes," Stevens greets back, looking marginally more pleasant, not scowling anymore. "More of a gym person, but got this one," he jabs a thumb at the dog which is sitting quietly and obediently beside him, "so you know, I run now too."

Rhodney starts talking about some mutual pain in the ass which Sam can't keep up with. As they talk, Steven's eyes keep slipping down to the whining mess that has managed to just peek his head around Sam.

"Hey, your dog good with other dogs?" Stevens asks bluntly, pointing to the pleading dog in question. Sam shrugs.

"Over enthusiastically friendly if anything, I've never had a problem with him, but he used to be a stray so I try to be careful," Stevens just nods and hums before crouching down to watch his own dog.

"Good enough. This guy here is in the foster system. I'm trying to socialise him as much as possible you know. The more confident they are the more chance they get to re-home."

There is a dull scream in Sam's mind, rapidly getting louder. Not an asshole. Oh my god not an asshole. A good guy. A good good guy who fosters dogs oh my god.

"You alright experimenting with me and seeing how he reacts to another dog?" Sam clears his throat and nods his head several times like an idiot.

"Yeah, for sure, for sure," it would probably do Roger good to get bitten. Sam unwinds his hands from behind his back, and with it surges Roger. The retriever crawls like a turtle towards the new dog, dragging Sam along.

The other dog stands abruptly, takes two steps back, and then proceeds to do a great impression of a statue as Roger sniffs at their jaw.

"Hey, easy there Solider," Stevens reassures his dog by putting a hand on Roger's chest and softly dragging him a few steps back. His dog visibly relaxes, and Rogers also suddenly goes quiet and well-behaved.

I hate you. Sam tries to mentally project his message to the devil turned angel sitting happily before what-ever-his-first-name-is 'dog whisper' Stevens.

They stay like that for a bit, the dogs looking at one another from a distance, just enough for them to still sniff at each other. Stevens only takes his hand off Roger's chest when his foster dog finally relaxes and stretches his head forward in interest.

Roger promptly ruins it by getting immediately up in the other dog's grill, but Stevens doesn't make a move to intervene this time.

Roger sniffs and circles, as puffed up as he is bowing his back to look small.

Stevens's dog does not reciprocate. He tolerates, if anything, eyeing Roger like he's some sort of wild animal.

It continues for a little bit until Roger gets bored of the stuffed-toy imitation show and turns his attention to Stevens.

"Okay, I can work with that. He isn't aggressive but he's scared," Stevens scratches at Roger absentminded while watching his own dog's body language.

"Well, hey, if you live close by it's no hassle to drop Roger by for a day and let them get used to each other," Sam offers, remembering how worried he was back when he first took Roger in, convinced he was going to scar this dog even more than the street could.

"Nah. Thanks but nah. I don't want to compromise his safe space. Tell ya what, if you see me in the park again, never hesitate to come over. He might just need time to get used to meeting dogs out of the blue. It'll help if it's the same dog each time."

Such a good guy, worried about safe spaces and stuff.

"Oh yeah, for sure. I always take a morning run through here. Rhodney joins us ever second day." Stevens raises an eyebrow at Rhodney, who just raises his hands.

"Hey, I'm technically not active duty anymore. I don't need to be here at all."

They share goodbyes and resume running in opposite directions soon after. Rhodney starts talking again only when he's sure Stevens is out of earshot. Or eyeshot.

"Fresh out of Black Ops," he conspiratorially whispers in Sam's direction. Sam pulls a face that clear says 'oh shit'. "His squad called him Killmonger, man."

This time Sam dose say 'oh shit'.

"Nice guy though," Rhodney says briskly and happily, picking up the pace as they leave the park and hit the suburban streets. Sam nods along to his steps.

"Yeah, great guy," he grins, thinking about all the fucking therapy Black Ops guys need when they're finally pulled from the field. He wonders if the fostering dogs thing was something the therapist recommended.

It's when they are entering the home-stretch of the run, and Sam starts thinking about the shower waiting for him at home, that he remembers.

"Hey Rhodes," he calls to get the other man's attention. Rhodney grunts to show he's listening. They are running single file again to fit the side-walk. "I think my house is haunted."

"I've got to see this," is all Rhodney says on the subject before he gets laughed at for about five minutes straight.

"I'll come over tonight for dinner. We can watch that ghost hunting show on Netflix and you can compare notes," Rhodney's house is rapidly approaching and he starts to slow and peel off, entering his drive way like it's the gates of heaven.

"Oh yeah, sounds great. We'll order food from the Turkish place."

Rhodney pauses while getting his key out of his zipped pocket.

"Local Turkish place, with the soups?"

"Of course," Sam scoffs, only barely managing to stay put as Roger tries to haul him further down the street towards their own home.

"I love that place,"

"I know. You've mentioned it consistently every month since I've know you."

Rhodney unlocks his door and nods in agreement.

"That's because they do these monthly surprise specials and... whatever I'll tell you about it later." Rhodney disappears into his house with a wave goodbye that was probably aimed at the dog and not him.

Sam feels a little giddy. Did he just make a friend? Not a neighbourly jogging friend but a hang-out friend?

The only time Rhodney has been to Sam's was the day after Christmas. The day Sam found a dog hiding under his car - still warm from the drive back from his mom's - and was promptly freaking out because Sam doesn't know what to do with dogs but he knew Rhodney had like, four when he was a kid.

When he gets to his own home, Sam is greeted by the sight of a cat. It's curled on top of the tall wooden fence between his and Clint's place. Sam has never seen it before. They aren't a cat street.

It's black with eyes that glow pretty much straight up red. It glares at him and Roger as they pass and go into the backyard. Roger only spares it three seconds of his day with a single bark.

It hisses back.

His house is so haunted.

Sam makes it home from work fifteen minutes past 6.p.m.

Roger has spent the day outside in the yard, and is spread out on the patio under a deck chair when Sam goes out to check on him.

He lifts his head to regard Sam, but doesn't make a move to get up. Sam has to hold the door open and call his name multiple times before the lazy shit walks his way inside.

By the time Sam has packed all his work stuff away in the laughable office he keeps in the spare room, Roger is asleep at the foot of the armchair he prefers. The one draped in towels to protect it from the dog hair and dirt. The one chair Roger is allowed on.

Rhodney must have seen his car in the drive way, because he comes through the door after only a single knock, menu of the Turkish place carried in one hand like they're about to cram for an exam. On Turkish food.

Roger lifts his head as the other man enters the room, wags his tail three times, and then curls back up.

Sam grabs two beers from the fridge and starts reading the menu, trying to see what Rhodney sees in this place, draining out the other man's chatter on blah blah blah Congress man blah blah standing around scratching my ass blan blah I left Afghanistan for this?

"Three years of clown college for this?" Sam mocks, quoting a movie he's long forgotten.

"Clown college would have prepared me more for guarding politicians all day - more than the Army ever did."

"Stark's not a politician," Sam points out, slightly worried the conversation is getting too dark for a fun night that's meant to be about his haunted house.

"No, just a rich shit constantly meeting members in exclusive restaurants trying to get certain laws passed. I swear if I hadn't know him so long I would think the guy was a cliché super villain." Sam pretends to consider this.

"If he's the villain then you're the super hero."

Rhodney pinches the bridge of his nose and signs into the fruit bowl Sam keeps on the counter to put his keys and roaming rubber bands in.

"Anyway so what's this haunted theory you've got? I'd like to sort it out before it drives house prices on the street down."

Sam point to the door in question.

"That door opened itself at least three time last night. Two of those times I know for sure it was locked. Fully locked."

Rhodney goes over and inspects the latch and frame, looking for some obviously broken mechanism which would prove this all stupid.

"And," Sam continues, "my internet dropped out three times." Rhodney latches the door and tries yanking it open. The lock does not give.

"Did the drop outs correspond with the door opening?"

Sam felt genuinely touched Rhodney was suspending disbelief for him.

The three times had been after the Korean comedy show, but before he got curious and brought up the live stream of KBS1 to watch the news. He tells Rhodney as much, and gets a suss look.

"You enjoyed your deployment over there way too much." Sam shrugs it off.

"It was fun, people were too scared to bumped me on the trains. It was the height of luxury," Sam suddenly remembers an important detail. "There was a black cat sitting on the fence when I came home from the run this morning." Rhodney's brows shoot up.

"Wow, a cat?" The sarcasm almost drips out his mouth. Sam nervously watches Roger.

"And Roger is acting weird." Rhodney looks completely serious as he turns to the dog.

"How weird?"

Sam goes to the door and steps outside. He shacks the food bag filled with kibble, something Roger would usually run through a glass door to get at.

Roger doesn't get up. Sam calls him, and only then dose he stir, walking over at an even pace and sitting at Sam's feet like a robot.

"I bet if I took him for a walk right now, he wouldn't pull on the leash." Sam's heart sinks at that realisation. His dog has been replaced by a robot. Or maybe a clone? What sort of tech do ghosts have these days?

"He's sick," Rhodney announces with 100% belief in his diagnoses. "Sick tummy, or tired from chasing the new cat, or sore paws. Our dog got slow and stopped jumping up on stuff - you know why? She got arthritis. It hurt her to move around. Maybe it was just a bit too cold this morning and he's feeling tender. The vets never did give you an age, did they?"

Sam shakes his head and pours the kibble into the bowl, which sits there uneaten.

"Seven, eight, they guessed. But he acts so young," Roger finally starts eating in well mannered mouthfuls. Sam slips in a pig ear from the treat box. Roger usually goes nuts for those. He usually grabs it as fast as he can and takes off into the yard to hide it or bury it or frolic around in the flowers, whatever he gets up to with his pig ears.

Roger eats it happily over his bowl.

"They say being neutered creates an indefinite childhood for pets," Sam laughs at Rhodney's pearl of wisdom.

"Have you not noticed, that my dog still got his balls man?" They both turn to stare at Rogers junk as if to check, but its well hidden under all the long hair. God it's like living with a polar bear sometimes the hair. "They are under there. Somewhere."

"No I didn't know that," for some reason this is the evidence that stumps Rhodney. This is what he struggles to believe.

"Why you keep him intact?" Rhodney frowns.

"Felt a bit cruel to do that so late in life, to a dog like him, you know," Sam rubs at his face and sighs.

Rhodney looks at him like he's an idiot and goes back inside.

"Your projecting too much."

Maybe. Sam follows Rhodney back inside. He closes the door. Locks it. He watches as Roger stops eating once Sam leaves and settles down back under the patio chair to sleep.

There is still food in the bowl.

"He ain't sick. That straight up ain't my dog."

On the outside he is joking. Being funny for Rhodney. On the inside something cold and hard has settled in his gut.

"If he's still acting weird in the morning take him to the vet, could be serious," Rhodney advises from where he's acquainting himself to the many remotes on Sam's coffee table.

That ain't my dog.

-

The Day Before

Sam, his human friend, has left for work. This means Roger is alone in the backyard. He's sleeping in a sunbeam on the lawn, hound form still relaxed and happy after the exertion of the morning run.

Roger sleeps a lot these days, now that he has the time. He went four years on forty hours sleep before coming down here and taking revival leave on the human realm.

When he said 'I'm not resting until Hydra is burned to the ground' he meant it. Proved it. It took years to burn everything out of existence... to accept he really was dead and gone.

So his revival leave is well-earned. Running across the fey realm dismantling Hydra wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Now it was time for some actual walks in the park, thank you very much.

It has been just over one gloriously peaceful year into his revival leave when Natasha shows up.

Considering he still has nine years left of his leave to enjoy, Roger isn't exactly thrilled to see her. He's got a good thing going here. He gets runs in the mornings, left alone most of the day, and more treats than strictly healthy for a normal dog.

"Stiv," Natasha grunts his proper name, poking his shoulder with one steel-capped slipper. Roger rolls over and groans in despair when he sees her, in her spirit form, the sunlight streaming through her body and fracturing into a rainbow.

Bloody faeries.

Natasha is going to screw it all up. She can't be subtle for the life of her. Hasn't bothered updating her human realm knowledge in centuries. She still thinks they live in huts and worship her.

Actually, this might be fun.

"What the," he rolls over and gets to four paws, "hell are you," he shakes his wild golden coat free of grass, "doing here?"

"The way-point you repaired? It was destroyed last night. The infinity stone inside it is missing," she says in a bored mono-tone.

Yes of course, outright disaster. How could he forget? Anything less and Natasha wouldn't get out of her giant camomile bed.

"And?" He asks, just to see if he can get away with rolling over and saying 'that sounds like a you problem'.

Natasha doesn't bite. She never goes.

"And... you are the creature who requested and installed the way-point in the first place, making you the Prime Suspect. You are the most powerful creature who resides in this neighbourhood, again making you the Prime Suspect. And because I'm your Holy Guardian I am bound by the chains of Justice to represent you in the Fey Court of Evil Doings - which will eat you alive if you don't get off your ass and help me figure out who did steal the infinity stone."

Eat him alive his lazy ass. There were only three judges who worked the Fey Court of Evil Doings, all elven, all old, and all claiming to be the only fey to have known Jesus Christ personally but in the good old days of Palestine.

They took about just as long to come to a decision on a court case. Maybe that's how they punished you. Eternal waiting.

"Alright, fine, my esteemed Holy Guardian, do the honours," he stands up and tilts his head back, ears flopping against his neck. Technically it's Holy Master, but Natasha was always an unconventional Fey Lord when it came to her servants.

Her ghostly hand closes around his neck. His body sizzles and hurts with the rush of her power flowing back into him. Suddenly he doesn't feel like just a dog anymore.

Roger feels his other forms sliding back into existence, coming back into his reach. The human form, small but unassuming, the warrior form, limitless strength and charm, and the beast form, large and savage. They float like ghosts around him. Roger picks at the edges of his human form and steps into it like a shirt he hasn't tried on since last winter.

It has been just over a year.

The human form materialises where the hound form once was, wearing the same clothes and wounds he had when he last used this body.

On his hands are gloves warm enough to suddenly feel hot. His arms are covered in thick red cloth. Silver coins of light armour weave in and out of the wool.

Oh that's right. War. Alps. Cold.

Roger wants to get out of it. Wants to escape from the sting of wounds he remembers getting a year ago, yet are here again on his body as fresh as ever.

This is why he took revival leave. So he didn't have to deal with all this shit. Didn't have to sit down on bed-rest and heal each form in turn. At least his human form just has cuts, bruises, and blisters on his feet from marching.

The warrior form probably needs urgent medical attention should he use it, hypothermia, oxygen deprivation, Roger vaguely remembers he had been drowning when he switched into his beast form to burst through the ice. Water in the lungs, probably.

The beast form has several broken bones.

"I'm gonna change," Roger announces to what appears to be thin air - at least to a normal human. His mind goes to the boxes of old clothes Sam keeps in his wardrobe. They might be a bit big, but they'll be modern and normal enough.

"Wait," Natasha grabs at his arm, yanking the sleeve up to inspect the skin. Sure enough there is an angry knife wound. "You didn't let your forms heal at all before taking leave? You know that weakens you, Stiv." Roger scowls and yanks his hand away, peeling off the gloves as he goes to the back-door.

He goes to open it and remembers modern human locks.

"Natasha, welcome to my house, please come in, yada yada yadda, open it please," she proceeds to make silently floating through a door look judgmental.

The door's moving mechanisms jolt from having an invisible figure of power phase through, causing the lock to pop open. Roger angrily pulls it aside and steps through.

Natasha wearily regards the fridge and toaster while he barges off into Sam's room. He throws a few piles of clothes aside to get at the box he knows is filled with old stuff. Roger pries the folded cardboard lid away and starts dressing in the first things he grabs.

Grey cotton pants. Slacks, his updated human knowledge adds helpfully. Dark green shirt with hideous print, and a black sweater over that. He keeps the undergarment, socks, and boots his human form was wearing in the Alps on.

He practically swims in Sam's clothes, but whatever. On his way into the bathroom Roger grabs a belt he knows Sam has completely forgotten he owns.

Roger steps before the mirror and - jumps a bit in fright actually. After so long with just Sam and Rhodney, the fairness of his human skin and hair looks almost ghostly.

The updated human knowledge at the back of his brain tells him the clothes are more than passable, so he swiftly leaves.

When he comes back into the main area Natasha has her head stuck inside the fridge, breathing in the cold air and trying to snap apart a half-finished block of chocolate.

"Don't touch anything," Roger orders in panic, just as she bites into the chocolate. He sighs. "Why would you do that? You're in your spirit form."

Natasha grunts in acknowledgment of a good point and promptly takes her second favourite form. Roger darts across the kitchen and snatches the chocolate away.

"Definitely don't eat it as a cat, come on Natasah," Roger has to say that out loud, ability to mentally hold a conversation gone now that Natasha is no longer a spirit.

She hisses at him, then says, voice high-pitched and runny with her feline vocal cords, "what is it?"

"Chocolate." Roger looks down at the half-block and notices Natasha's spirit left faint fang marks. Argh, whatever, Sam has like, five of these things in the cupboard. "It's best eaten as a human, so chop-chop Nat the Cat lets go and track now some weirdos."

Natasha despises being in human form, but the promise of inspecting the new food had her transforming anyway. Her human shape is short but sturdy, with red hair braided up and pale skin.

A rough worn cream dress cloaks her body, and brown sandals decorate her feet. They were probably handcraft by someone 900 years ago. A museum out there would kill for them.

His updated human knowledge tells him she looks weird but not outrageous. Good enough.

"Compared to you my power is limitless. I could kill you in a heartbeat," Natasha crosses her human arms and tries her best to look down her nose at someone who is taller than her (slightly).

Roger pauses, one hand on the back door as he holds it open.

"Could you?" He smirks.

Natasha gives him an unreadable expression before smirking back.

"It's good to see you again," it's probably the most emotional she's gotten in half a century. "What stupid name do you go by now? You like to change them so much."

"I'm called Roger, but that's just as the hound. I'm thinking of using Steve again for this form, you know, back to basics."

Natasha scoffs and follows him out into the yard, flicking her hand and creating a spectral dummy of Steve's hound form.

"I shall teleport us," she goes to reach for him but Steve pulls back.

"No, we're going to catch a bus. I've been dying to do it since I found out about them. They don't let lone dogs on board." Stupid human society.

They don't let people without money on board either, Steve finds out. Natasha has the smuggest look on her face as they end up teleporting from behind the bus stop.

Right, cause the one who thought the bus was a 'giant soulless snake golem transporting the corpses of its victims' had room to be smug.

They alight directly before the way-point and Steve immediately sees the problem.

A scorch mark in the shape of an arch has been burnt into the brick. When Steve touches his hand to the wall, it dose not shimmer with magic and activate. It is gone. Burnt away in a brief but intense fire.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

They emerge from behind the roadside McDonald's, trying to track the smell of burnt magic. The trial takes them behind a gym, through a park no one would dare bring their kids to, and under the highway in one of those murder-y pedestrian tunnels.

"Now what?"

Steve leans up against the blast concrete and tries to tug on all his human knowledge. What would the detective in Sam's cop show do now?

"I've got an idea."

The neighbourhood Steve is spending his revival leave in isn't exactly rich in fellow fey. As a general rule, the more humans the less fey. But more mortal creatures - vampires, witches, clairvoyants - things that remember being human and desire the embrace of society, are here.

Mortal creatures that know how to steal security camera footage better than a Fey Lord and her Hell-Hound. Steve's not even sure where he and Natasha would have begun.

"I've got a name of a shop close by, you reckon you can teleport us there? Bulk Books." Natasha takes a moment to feel through the magic after the name.

"Of course. They've got a portal conductor, I feel it. Should be no problem." She takes a hold of his arm again, right over the knife wound.

"Well, we're about to find out."

They flash into a chalk circle hidden under a rug. Steve has been to Bulk Books many times - almost weekly since he came down from the higher realms - but he doesn't recognise the shelves around him or the heavy brick walls.

There is heavy, hurried footsteps as someone comes down steps and hustles through bins of mail parcels to them.

"Yep, ah, hello - welcome to Bulk Books how may I help you?" Bruce appears, weaving around a stack of magical manuscripts.

Steve peels Natasha's hand off his shirt and goes towards him.

"Bruce, hey. Say if I wanted to steal some security camera footage, who would be the best person to go to for help?" Banner adjust his glasses and twitches his eyebrows up.

"I... ah," he looks around the high and closely packed shelves, "I run a book shop?"

Steve is taken aback. Yeah, Bruce runs a bookshop... as a front for an inter-realm postal service, one of only two in Washington.

The other one was run out of a tree on the grounds of the White House by an imp named Truimp. It was very exclusive. No one under a thousand years old was allowed.

One of the reasons he chose Sam was because he lived so close to Bulk Books. Steve runs the short distance to the post office/store/cafe every Monday to read the Shabbath Weekly, driven by some dull hope Hydra would rear its ugly head again.

Steve blinks a few more times, staring down at Bruce as he looks up at him, and realises he's an idiot.

"Oh! It's me, Roger the dog, who comes in for Monday lunch?" Bruce visibly relaxes.

"Roger? It's good to see you again. I'm sorry I'm just, a bit on edge, you know, since the whole way-point destruction last night. Lost a few shipments."

Steve is surprised. He had only installed the point four months ago. He didn't realise locals like Banner were already using it regularly.

"You were using it?"

Bruce shovels around a few piles of paper printed with a language which honestly needs to take a second look at their alphabet.

"The old one was useless in that child care centre. Higher ups wouldn't come down and install it in a better location. No one powerful enough used the neighbourhood to warrant the resource, you know? Besides there is a history of way-point tampering in Washington and they are trying to keep the Ways to a minimum."

Interesting. Steve did not know about the history. Natasha gives him a look which says 'stop being a child' when he turns around to pointedly glare at her.

How could it be him when he's only been here a year? Case closed.

"Yeah," Steve agrees simply. He holds a hand out for Natasha and drags her closer to the constantly bed rumbled looking werewolf.

"Doctor Banner, this is Ната́ша Рома́новы," the name slips out easily. He's probably said it more times than his own. Well, any of his multiple names combined. "She's the Fey Lord assigned to detect who tampered with the way-point."

Bruce gives a short adopted wave and clutches awkwardly at the ledger he's holding.

"A pleasure, you highness," he stumbles out, as if someone just told him he was in the presence of a God. Maybe for these mortal creatures making their magical lives in human society, it almost is.

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance and patronage your shop, merchant." Natasha greets back hauntingly. She's milking this situation, Steve realises with both horror and amusement.

"Yes," Bruce agrees for lack of nothing better to do. "So ah, what was the question again?"

"I need to steal some security camera footage. Do you know anyone who could help?" Steve folds his arms and rests a fist against his lips, watching Bruce seriously.

"I do, I do," Bruce confirms. "The Ant-Guy, this is his sort of thing. Stealing and tech." He turns his back on them and wades up to a desk buried under folders and binders. Bruce paws at one in particular, then abandons it for another, ripping through its plastic pages.

Steve takes the time to look around. They are obviously under the shop, in the incriminating part of the store. Steve's never been down here before. Usually he visits via the large back doors, entering what normal people assume is just a cramped staff room, and it is, but there is another door inside the staff room which should open into a closet.

It dose not.

The store is actually a normal town house. As normal as it can be, smothered between a condemned building and self-storage yard. It backs onto a neglected lot probably meant to be a petrol station, but whoever bought it forgot they owned it.

Bruce has filled the vacant space with wild flowers and veraciously growing trees. He's got tables and chairs out there too, with cute umbrellas and potted cactus. The humans who visit for the books think it's an undiscovered gem.

Bruce pulls a small card out from the binder and passes it to Steve. There is a name on it (S. Lang), a string of numbers (map coordinates?) a crudely drawn ant, and actual map coordinates. Steve flips the card over and inspects the other side.

The Ant-Man, it reads, can fit anywhere and get anything.

"That's a very broad brief of services."

Bruce laughs it off and starts copying the information over onto a blank card.

"Good enough guy. Don't tell him I sent you."

The teleportation coordinates deposit them in a short hallway. There are two ratty armchairs pushed to the side, and across from them a thin table with a button on top.

A laminated sign is glu-tacked to the wall.

Waiting area for Ant-Man

Press button for attention

Then be patient and wait.

Steve presses the button and folds himself into the cleaner looking chair, content to sort through the pile of books on hand. Natasha paces.

After five minutes she starts yanking doors. The doors open, but they reveal steel walls directly behind their frames. Steve snorts at her outraged expression.

Steve shuffles through the books. They are all about insects.

Steve picks a thin looking one called The Hungry Caterpillar and settles back into the chair.

It is... an interesting poetry novella.

Natasha grows bored and itchy in her human form, so switches back to a cat. She instantly curls up and takes a nap.

Three books later the looping ambient music is disturbed by a car engine pulling up and cutting off.

There is a door slam, and footsteps, then a very loud noise. A rolling garage door is being pulled up.

The door down the end of the short hallway opens onto sunlight and a man.

He is in a Baskin Robbins uniform.

"You called?" He smiles at Steve, who has a scientific study on bees open across his lap. The sickening smell of too much sugar clings to the man's clothes.

"I need some security camera footage stolen," Steve tells him matter-of-factly, closing the study up and getting to his feet. The man, Lang probably, swings a ring of keys around a fingers and nods.

"Run of the mill. I can do it. What we talking? Which camera caught your bad side?" He chuckles and gestures for them to come out of the hallway.

Stepping outside, Steve's suspicions are confirmed. They are in the self-storage yard beside Bulk Books. They had been waiting inside a nicely furnished storage shed.

Natasha prowls around his heels looking none too impressed.

"That your cat?" The sugar man asks.

"Technically no," Steve holds his hand out. "I'm Steve. I'm trying to find someone." The man accepts the hand shake.

"Scott Lang. I suppose I'm here to help?" He turns back and points to his half wrecked car. "Step into my office sir, and cat."

Steve explains he's following up on the neighbourhood's way-point's destruction and wants to assess camera footage from the McDonalds, the gym, and anything in the area of the park and highway.

Scott takes it pretty well. Interestingly, he doesn't take them to the McDonalds, the gym, or any of those places. He takes them to what Steve can only assume is his garage. It's filled with tiny lights and plastics covering circuit broads.

And dirty dishes.

"Okay, draw up a seat, let's get this done." Scott shakes awake his computer and starts tapping away and opening programs. Or closing programs?

Steve watches as he clicks about, types in a username and password, then sets about in the search bar narrowing down the location Steve provided.

"I've hacked in so many times they just gave me my own account," Scott explains, scrolling through a list of hosts. Customers? Clients?

McDonaldsFranchise-3501BranchAve

Scott clicks on the name, opening up a bunch of timestamped videos.

"So do you know what time we're looking for here?"

Natasha sits up from the unused keyboard she was sprawled across.

"One A.M. local time, last night." Scott nods to the cat and starts scrolling through the time stamps. He copies both the midnight, one, and two o'clock footage into a secondary location.

They do the same for the gym, and then the one government cameras that overlooks the park. Scott even has access to the speed camera which records the highway.

Scott also includes footage off three other cameras in the vicinity. Once done, he collapses the program and pulls a small item from his computer. He gives it to Steve.

An SD card, Steve recognises once he sees its shape in his hand. These things... hold information... he thinks.

"Now you tell me, how much do you think that information is worth?" Steve actually laughs at that, which makes Scott's shoulders relax.

"I wouldn't know where to start," he truthfully admits. Natasha growls over his shoulder. "What do you want for it?"

"American dollars, preferably." Steve gives him an apologetic look Scott's probably been on the receiving end of a million times by now.

"Yeah alright you useless magic bums. This is why I still need the dessert job." Scott gets up and pulls out a magic absorber account. "I gotta be my own sugar daddy. This economy is in ruins!"

Scott's magic absorber appears like a lava-lamp, which is different. Most look like hour-glasses.

Steve waves him over to Natasha.

"She's paying."

Natasha and Scott have a brief fight over how much magic the job was worth, then she puts a paw on the glass and it extracts the agreed portion.

"Alright, thanks for the business I suppose," Scott says. Steve sits stupidly holding onto the SD card.

"How do I watch the footage on this?" He asks. Scott freezes and closes his eyes, turning his face to the ceiling.

"Oh my god Off-Worlders," he groans to no one in particular.

Steve continues to sit, not knowing what to do with his hands.

Scott pitches over to a more normal looking computer on the other side of the garage. Shoving aside many wrappers and noodle cartons, he powers it up and wipes the screen clean with his sleeve.

"Okay, you can use this as long as you like, but it'll cost ya a pinch of magic an hour."

"Thankyou."

Scott helps them through the process of inserting the SD card, opening the files up, and through the commands to control the video footage. 5x speed is very convenient.

There are the usually workers accessing the dumpsters and having a smoke. A pair of guys - one throwing up and the other trying to help him - and nothing else.

Nothing but one man.

Natasha stiffens the moment she sees him, prowling lithe and confident into frame.

His right hand flashes silver with metal. The skin around his face is darkened.

"It's him," Natasha whispers, drawing even closer to the screen. "He's a myth."

Something about the way she hisses it tells Steve's she is livid it was a McDonald's security camera which finally caught the myth out.

They slow down the footage and watch as the myth leans against the brick wall of a McDonald's in Washington D.C.

He crouches down beside a dumpster for about fifteen minutes, gets pestered by a racoon that's was inside the dumpster, and then tries to stomp on a rat which runs out from under the bins.

The myth then leaves.

"What the hell is the Winter Stray doing here?" Natasha puzzles.

Why is it doing, slinking around behind buildings beside a highway in the United States of America?

Steve rolls the footage back and watches the Stray stalk away towards the road a second time.

The name is familiar. He's seen it in records liberated from the labs.

Hydra's assassin.

Looks like Steve was right. He didn't get everything.

The mouse squeaks under his hand, pitiful and cracking.

The rest of the day is tiring after the revelation. None of the other cameras caught anything.

Coming home is an exercise in guilt. Steve waits, still in human form, in his backyard. The bushes are starting to irritate his human skin.

It feels so wrong to be here as a human, with Sam so close. It feels like his skin doesn't fit.

Natasha goes into the house first as an invisible spirit, getting eyes on Sam. Steve's human friend is reading off his phone while he stands by the stove, waiting for meat to brown in a pan.

The Roger-dummy is stretch out on the floor before the muted TV. Natasha softly commands the dummy to get up and make a fuss in another room.

Dummy-Roger looks almost painfully mechanical as it follows the instructions. It walks into the bathroom and methodically starts pushing bottles off the bathtub rim. It works a charm.

As soon as Sam leaves the living room, it's all stations go. Natasha floats through the back door, popping it open again, and Steve scurries through, careful not to slam it shut. Careful not to make a single noise.

His heart races as he silently disappears down the hall and into Sam's wardrobe.

Natasha stands guard while Steve strips the clothes off and returns them into the box. He retrieves his bodies original clothes from the bottom of the box and throws them on, likely inside out.

The armour woven into it is loud and clunky to get on. Steve barely resists the urge to rip it apart with his bare hands.

Sam's clothes get neatly folded and closed back into the box. Into the depths of the wardrobe it goes again, curtsey of Steve's foot.

The last thing Steve does with his human hands is tilt the heavy box of clothes and slip the precious SD card underneath.

Steve then becomes Roger, sighing into the more familiar skin and rolling his shoulders. His weight distributes evenly over his four paws, grounding him in a way his human form doesn't anymore.

Sam is back in the lounge room and is talking to Dummy-Roger, not letting him out of his sight. It takes ages for Sam to turn his attention back to his dinner.

Dummy-Roger walks into the bedroom, blank eyed and impassive. Natasha dispels the golem immediately, aware of how much it unnerves Steve to see imitations of himself.

They hang around a bit more in the wardrobe talking about their plans. Today has been big. Big even before they found evidence of the Winter Stray. Natasha says she has to run this up the chain of command and wait for instruction.

"Just stay and wait it out," she says before tossing her floating body around. "Maintain your cover with the human Sam. Be careful not to give anything away. The Stray could already be watching."

Natasha travels down the hall and out the door once more.

She has to go beyond the property line to teleport now. Steve activated his dormant security wards the second they got back.

Dogs don't sweat, so instead Roger's body starts panting anxiously.

Steve just wants to find him. Preferably now, before he disappears and becomes a myth once more.

Fuck the way-point, fuck the infinity stone. The Stray is obviously linked - he showed up on the footage just minutes after the estimated destruction time.

What is Hydra doing on the human realm? That's the real mystery. Steve's gut rolls at all the possibilities. Were they hiding out down here all along while Steve burned the higher-realms apart looking for them? God, he feels so stupid.

Honest emotional exhaustion settles into Steve's body. He misses his twenty-hours-of-sleep-per-day lifestyle.

Sam's voice breaks Steve out of a nap he didn't realise he was slipping into.

"Roger?" It's coming from the kitchen and sounds edged with worry.

When Steve enters the kitchen, Sam the human friend is hunting around in a draw. It's the one he keeps batteries and receipts in. The void draw, Steve likes to call it.

Sam never gets back what he puts into it.

A miracle occurs before both their eyes, as Sam successfully retrieves a stick Steve's never seen before.

"You keep your eyes peeled buddy," Sam tells him. "Or keep your ears peels, and I'll keep my eyes peeled. Let's play to our strengths."

For what? Did Sam notice something? Did Sam hear something?

Is the Winter Stray here?

Steve hugs close to Sam's legs, immediately on the defensive. Sam goes over to the back door and Steve follows, trying to keep himself between Sam and the door.

The light flicks on outside. Steve jumps. Sam moved too slowly and too softly for Steve to notice he was going for the light switch.

Sam pulls the door open. As soon as the gap is big enough Steve forces his way through, determined to encounter the wrath of the assassin first.

Do it, do it, come on, I dare you. Steve is calling in his mind, suddenly no longer tired. Now he's angry. Scared for Sam and angry someone would dare threaten him.

It's bad manners. Everyone knows not to compromise people's covers among the humans, not to attack them. In times before that rule existed out of respect, but Steve has seen a lot since coming down here and honestly... the human's might finally be catching up to the higher-realms.

The Elders would laugh themselves dead if someone tried to tell them that.

There is nothing outside. No smells out of place, no sounds. There is only two heartbeats - Sam's and his own. Moth wings beat against the air, crickets call in the grass, a child screams for cheese four houses down.

But what if the Stray was here, and let himself be seen in the corner of Sam's eye to let Steve know he knew?

Steve sniffs at his food and water suspiciously. There isn't anything obviously poisoned about them. The bastard Roger-Dummy ate his dinner, though.

Sam is shining light from the stick out into the yard, illuminating patches of the darkness. Nothing stirs to avoid the light.

Satisfied Sam's not in immediate danger, Steve leaves to check the protective wards.

The rune of the ward traces the entire property line. The rune is strong and untriggered. It retains the smell of salt and cloves. If something went wrong it would stink of sulphur.

There would also have been a painful round of electricity unleashed at whichever unwelcome visitor crossed the line with intention to harm.

If the Winter Stray didn't intent to harm, only scare, then the wards would have permitted him past. It is plausible, but Steve should be able to smell something.

Steve returns to Sam, who is still standing under the patio light, a giant visible target.

"Of course," Sam says as Steve jumps up onto the tiles. Steve pauses and tilts his head. Was Sam talking to him, or just out loud?

Sam doesn't say anything more, so Steve shrugs it off. Humans say weird thing when they think nobody else is listening.

When they go back inside Sam's heart is beating normal.

Steve dose not nap like usual. Instead he sits upright on his armchair, watching Sam's blind spots as the man watches his TV shows. When Sam goes to the toilet, Steve does a sweep of the house. All corners. All beds. All cupboards and tables.

He almost believes Sam was worried about nothing. Something normal and stupid. A rat on the patio table or fireworks in the distance.

That theory dies when Sam ushers him into the main bedroom and locks the door. He lets Steve sleep on top of the sheets the whole night.

Steve dose not sleep a wink.

He lays there and worries, licks his paws since he can't bite his nails, thinking up horror after horror.

What did Sam see?

With the morning comes normalcy. Complete normalcy. Steve could almost forget there was ever anything wrong.

Sam dose everything at the right time, in perfect routine.

Steve tries his best to beg for more food in his bowl, but Sam has gotten better at resisting. Dammit.

Sam goes back inside to finish his breakfast and Steve using the time to see if the rune barrier has been disabled during the night.

It was frustrating being trapped in the bedroom with Sam, but at least he knew Sam was safe. Still, it was agitating not to be able to go outside and patrol.

Steve tries his best to act normal on the run, which isn't hard. He loves running, and all the anxiety from yesterday and last night power him on like a steam train.

Steve whines and barks at Sam, trying to convey that the man needs to move.

The walk is going as normally as the rest of the morning, right up until the moment a new presence is introduced.

A man with a dog stops to talk with Rhodney and Sam. This is unusual. Steve immediately tries to protect Sam from this new factor. What is he after?

Sam is being an asshole.

As the next best thing, Steve takes deep breaths and listens to the words.

The smell hits him second. Curry leftovers turned into breakfast, still on the man's fingers, hit Steve first.

The second smell is off. Straight away, Steve tenses.

Just like how real dogs never fully relax around Steve, this new dog is the same. He smells wild and dominate, no matter how peaceful and meek he is being.

He smells mature and honed. Dense.

Another Hell-Hound? Here? Steve tries to get close but Sam is still clenching his leash short.

It feels down right undignified now, to be leashed, when Steve knows another Hell-Hound is watching. They get enough shit in the higher-realms for being 'Fey Lord Lap Dogs', no matter how many times Steve points out they are noble creatures of immense strength and loyalty, capable of abandoning a contract with a master whenever they please.

Steve sometimes wonders what the other Fey would stay if they knew most Hell-Hounds liked to spend their revival leave playing pets for humans. It would be bad. There would be mortal enemies declared before witnesses.

What's most painful about this situation is that Steve can't say anything to the other Hell-Hound. Not with Sam and Rhodney and the owner here. Sure he could say something in their language, but it would still sound like very un-dog-like words.

The way the other Hell-Hound is regarding Steve tells him they know too.

They aren't very good at pretending to be a dog. They must be young. This must be their first time trying out revival leave as a family's puppy.

Steve desperately wants to ask them their name. He probably knows them. Steve probably knows every working age Hell-Hound, and they all definitely know Steve.

Sam lets go of the leash and Steve moves, putting his best paw forward and acting the dog role.

Steve doesn't want them to recognise him. He stops trying to make a scene. It should be fine. His beast and warrior forms are the recognisable ones - no one knows his hound or human forms.

His hound form hasn't been plastered across war propaganda, hasn't been the face of a Wild hunt, hasn't been in the centre of battles now recorded in history.

There is something else.

When they stand and turn, Steve is momentarily taken aback by it.

They look like Bucky.

Not exactly, but enough. They are larger, and their coat is far shaggier and darker. Their ears are shorter - normal folded ears whereas Bucky's hung down to his jaw - and their tail is docked.

But Steve only knew Bucky as a juvenile. And it's been so long. He could be imagining it.

It still hits him in the gut, taking all the wind out of him.

Over thirty years trying to find a missing friend will do that to a person.

Steve doesn't try to communicate after that - not in words, not in the rudimentary morse code used by Hell-Hounds in the Wild Hunt - not anything.

To be honest, he doesn't want anything to do with them.

They part ways, and that is that.

It's on the homeward stretch when Sam's says it.

"I think my house is haunted."

Steve almost stops mid-run. Almost. What sort of fool would stop running? His hound form could do it on auto-pilot for days on end.

He knows it can.

Haunted, hey? Human superstition was, frankly, ridiculous. A part of his updated human knowledge tingles, ringing out with a useful fact.

Festival of children? Festival of Candy?

Steve's human knowledge wildly grasps around, trying to put it together in a way that makes sense.

In four days the humans of North America will be celebrating their festival of the dead, All'Halloween.

-

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Beware the Were-Men - Chapter 1 - F_S - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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District of Colombia's Most Haunted House Why is my five-year-old house suddenly haunted? This is a great question - a question one Sam Wilson, 11 Marvel Terrace, is currently asking himself. Mr Wilson stares at his screen door, the one which opens onto his large but neglected backyard.

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But in the end, what matters is this: Stella Rogers walked out of that camp in Azzano a chorus girl and walked back into it a war hero.

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back in line for love again - defcontwo - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Through all the chaos and coincidence of your life, a symbol will reappear: a recurring shape, or idea, or image that turns up again and again, just for you. Only you can figure out what it is; sometimes that's easy, and sometimes it's hard.

This symbol is called your Clue. And once you know what it is, it will help you know your soulmate--because your soulmate's Clue will be the same as yours.

Steve Rogers figures out his Clue pretty early on.

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Steve figures out his Clue when he's twelve-but, really, he should have figured it out sooner.

His mother said that, before he was born, she was sure she was going to have a girl. She'd already picked out the name-Stella-so when Steve turned out to be a boy, she ended up choosing a name that sounded similar. St-eve.

That was back when they lived on Polaris Street. But they move on soon enough to an apartment off the little alley, Dipper Lane, which is where Steve grows up.

He goes to St. Leo's for elementary school.

During the spring and summer and early autumn, when it's warm outside in the evening, he likes to sit out on the fire escape and look at the sky. It's relaxing, even though it puts his mother into a state of loving frustration when there's a lot of pollen or soot outside that's likely to get him sneezing.

But he doesn't put it together until it's the end of seventh grade. He's leafing through his composition notebooks from the year, and he notices that among all his doodles there's one that's present on almost every page: a star. Little stars glimmering in the spaces between his absent-minded sketches of a dog or the flag-but then he realizes that that has stars too. Even the dog has a star-shaped marking on its back.

Years now, he's been drawing stars everywhere. He never noticed it.

It's the strangest realization to have on an idle day in June, just when summer vacation's about to start and he's tidying his bedroom. Once he's realized it, stars are everywhere: emblazoned on his winter hat; hidden on the wrappers of the Tootsie Pops his mother buys him on special occasions; peppered over every page he's ever put pencil to, apparently.

He sits back on his heels and breathes in. It's his Clue. A good, simple, easy-to-see clue. A star.

A week later, he gets knocked over by the kid in his apartment building whose widowed father always spends too long saying hello to Steve's mother when she's carrying her groceries in through the hall. Sometimes, he asks her if she's busy on Saturday, or tells her she's lovely in the hat she's wearing. Always, Steve's mother just smiles tightly and says she's sorry she's so busy, but she has to go.

Then Steve's mother locks and bolts the door behind them.

Steve has had words with this kid more than once, telling him to tell his dad to leave Steve's mother alone. It's not at the point that they're enemies, but the kid's big like his father, and says he'll do what he wants and his dad'll do what he wants, too. Usually it ends up with Steve getting knocked down, just like this time.

Except this time, when the kid's gone and Steve's sprawled on the ground assessing the damage-his head's spinning a little, but his cheek doesn't feel like he's bruised too bad-that he hears a voice.

"You okay? You must be seeing stars."

He sits up gingerly and sees another kid about his age, but bigger and broader, looking down at him with open concern. The kid has a copy of Amazing Stories tucked under one arm.

Later that afternoon, Bucky gives Steve the copy of Amazing Stories to borrow. On the cover of it, there's an alien looking out a window at a galaxy.

*

Bucky grows up with big dreams of becoming a scientist, just like in Amazing Stories. When War of the Worlds broadcasts, Bucky can't be peeled away from the radio. He's going to go to college, he tells Steve. That's what he'll do: maybe he'll work a few years first, but then he'll save up and go to college and he'll work somewhere and they'll find a way to put a man on the moon.

Neither of them can buy a telescope, and the light from Brooklyn's sleepless windows makes it hard to really see what's up there, but Bucky knows all the stars' names by heart anyway-even the ones that ought to be there, but aren't quite visible from the city. Steve never tells Bucky that he knew them, too, before Bucky taught them to him when they were thirteen. He just liked to hear Bucky talk when he explained, hands gesturing over the night sky as though he owned it, praising Steve when Steve remembered the names right.

Bucky doesn't know that Steve's Clue is a star, but then it's not like you can talk about Clues with your friends anyway. They're something just for you, a private message. So Steve forcibly stops himself from doodling stars in his books, or turns them into geometric shapes when he looks down and realizes he's done it anyway.

When Steve looks over at Bucky's notes in school, he sees planets and suns and moons and stars, along with-sometimes-funny-shaped rocket ships. Bucky's not the best artist.

Bucky never says anything about his own Clue either, so Steve can't be sure. Maybe Bucky hasn't figured out his Clue yet. Maybe it's a star and Bucky doesn't know. More likely, it's not a star at all.

It's possible for these things to go one way; there are enough tragic novels and pictures about that. And Steve's never seen any sign of Bucky-of Bucky being someone whose match wouldn't be a girl. Girls love Bucky, and he loves them.

If it does go just one way, though-it's all right. At least Steve's not one of those people who're lost, who can't decipher their Clue within the chaos of the universe. He sees it, clear as can be even if his vision isn't so good, and that feels right because he knows Bucky is the person who matches him. Even if he doesn't match Bucky, he still has all the summer days Bucky spends with him out in the sunshine, all the books that are just SteveandBucky's because they've swapped them so often, all the schoolday afternoons when he sits at Bucky's kitchen table so they can do their homework, elbow to elbow. He still has Bucky's friendship; even if their Clues don't match, and even if Bucky's Clue is going to tell him one day that a girl he's met is for him, he'd rather that than never meeting Bucky at all. He turns it over in his mind a lot, and he finds that he'd never choose not meeting Bucky at all.

When he was little, he'd worried he wouldn't have a Clue at all. He was so sick all the time; sometimes it felt like everything about him was wrong, not how it was supposed to be. But if he has Bucky-if he has the Clue, still showing up strong every day of his life, telling him there's a pattern that led Bucky to him and kept him there-then maybe that means he's not so wrong after all.

At home, in private, he draws Bucky, and then at the edge of the page he lets himself draw the stars that he won't put on paper anywhere Bucky could see. They fit Bucky, he thinks. A star.

*

Bucky wants to go to the Exposition to look at Howard Stark's flying car and the planetarium exhibit (only fifty cents, Steve, come on!).

Steve leaves before they can get to the planetarium. Maybe it's planets that are Bucky's Clue, after all. Maybe it's stars that are Connie's Clue as well as Bucky's.

He ends up saying goodbye to Bucky underneath the flag anyway.

*

When they show Steve the finished Captain America costume, Steve feels like he shouldn't be surprised.

*

That white star over his heart is still there, just revealed by his leather jacket, when he brings Bucky back from Azzano. As he walks with Bucky by his side-Bucky still worn, still tattered and hollow-eyed, but alive and walking and calm-he thinks, Is it so obvious?

He can't help but keep turning to glance at Bucky, to make sure he's still there: a warm presence by his side, a rhythm of steady footsteps. He'd forgotten the comfort of having Bucky there, where Steve's body knows he's supposed to be.

*

It's Bucky who suggests that Howard put a pattern on the shield as well-a bullseye pattern to draw fire, which is the point of the shield-but Howard who slaps a star on the center instead of an ordinary dot. "Got to stick with the theme," Howard says with a smirk as he hands the shield over.

Bucky puts his hand over his eyes and laughs. "Look at you," he says to Steve.

Steve turns the shield over in his hands, so light for all its size, and the star is bright, bright and clear.

*

"Did you know Hydra's a constellation?" Bucky says one late night when they're camping on the side of a mountain, wind whistling outside their tent. "'Cause Hercules is up there too, I guess it fits."

"I guess," Steve says. He's never thought Hercules was much of a hero, despite all his strength and divine birth.

Steve can hear Bucky settling down to sleep, then, with his usual sounds, and it's so much of a comfort that even the thought of the next day's mission can't reach through it. Bucky is near him, and at rest, and that's how it's supposed to be.

Outside the tent, there are little purple flowers, almost like daisies, with orange hearts.

*

In the bar, among all the destroyed bottles, there's one bottle of wine left. On the label-

Steve throws it against the wall, and then can't look at what he's done.

In London, in the blackout, if he looks up at night, the sky is perfectly clear: the kind of sky they dreamed about back in Brooklyn.

*

In the future-

In the future, Steve learns, some people are more open about their Clues. Clint Barton is happy to tell anyone that his is an arrow, but then he's an odd guy. Most other people Steve's met, including Natasha, are silent about the idea.

There are some books that speculate about what Steve's Clue was. Some say the star, but others say that's too obvious. Others say the letter A (really? A letter as a Clue?) or even the wings that were the Howling Commando and SSR symbol. Some say a shield.

Steve never brings it up, and nobody asks.

But he lets them re-paint the shield, and when they show him the new uniform he sees that although he asked for it to be plain, the star is still there, where it's always been.

*

On a rooftop and then a street in DC, there's a man with a red star on his arm.

It sets Steve's head spinning. The man's an enemy; it doesn't have to mean anything. It shouldn't. But then he looks at the man's eyes and his hair and the way he stands and thinks-

Thinks he has to get the man's mask off, so he does. As it clatters to the ground, the man-Bucky-turns. Bucky turns.

And Steve can't believe it, but at the same time he knew it as soon as he saw his Clue there in red. It couldn't have been anyone else.

*

As they sit at a table in Fury's bunker and eat a reheated meal, Steve breaks the silence to ask if Sam or Natasha knows what the red star on Bucky's arm means. He knows that, by asking, he's telling them what his Clue is. That doesn't seem to matter any more.

It's a Russian symbol, Natasha says. She looks pale, and she's only eating with one arm, but she's still sitting upright. She remembers a Bolshevik story called Red Star. A science fiction novel.

Steve just nods, and Sam and Natasha kindly say nothing else.

*

Steve and Sam don't find Bucky. Steve looks, because he can't do otherwise, but after they've crossed a globe's worth of night skies with no result Steve sees how tired Sam looks and knows that he's being selfish. Sam's been the best friend in the world to him; now it's time for Steve to be a friend to Sam, like he should be.

Steve calls off the search.

He can't go back to Brooklyn, not now, but when he tries to go back to DC-he can't stop seeing what happened in the streets there.

He lives in Stark's tower in Manhattan for a while, until Tony builds a robot that goes crazy, like something out of Amazing Stories, but then after the fighting there is done Steve has to go. He drives around for a while. Visits all the places he never got to see, even on his war bonds tours. He texts Sam pictures of things that he sees. When he sees diners called The Lone Star Café or Andromeda's, he goes in and sits, gets a cup of coffee, and waits. And then, when nobody finds him there, he leaves.

When summer spins around again, Tony Stark invites Steve to come to a ball game with him. Stark's in Miami-maybe he can't go back to Manhattan now either-and maybe it's an apology for the Ultron disaster, even though Steve's hardly the one who Tony needs to apologize to.

Because he has no reason to say no, Steve goes, and finds Stark, Pepper Potts and Bruce Banner in a VIP box in Marlins Park. Very luxurious, trays of food there, and Steve texts pictures of it to Sam and wishes he was back in Sam's living room eating potato chips in front of the TV. His head aches; he can't help but think of listening to the games on the radio back in Brooklyn, and then, after that, the fake game on the radio in 2011.

The game starts. Banner doesn't even follow baseball; turns out that Pepper is the fan here, so she ends up explaining it to him while Stark's occupied with his phone. While they're all distracted, Steve sneaks out of the VIP box and goes out to the parking lot to sit on the hood of his car.

The sky's still bright blue, no clouds in sight, and just a light breeze to gentle the warmth of the air among the rows and rows of glossy cars. He can still hear the sounds from the stadium. It's probably ungrateful of Steve to leave, but he couldn't bear staying, either.

He can't give up wanting to find Bucky. Maybe the red star means that Bucky's his and maybe it was just meant to tell him to look for the face behind the mask. Maybe Bucky's Clue was a star and maybe it wasn't; he knew Bucky his whole life and he still can't say for sure. But everywhere he goes, there are still stars. On the side of a train in Minneapolis, and drawn on his pancakes with syrup in Cleveland, for Pete's sake.

A sound of footsteps, like someone wanting to be heard, makes him look around.

It's Bucky. It's not just the Winter Soldier's unknowing gaze, it's Bucky's face he's seeing because it's Bucky's way of looking at him through the bright sunlight. It's Bucky's uncertainty, it's Bucky's intelligence and knowledge in those blue eyes.

Steve's on his feet before he even knows it. "Bucky," he says.

"Hi," Bucky says, quiet, then closes his mouth again, jaw tight. He's wearing a baseball cap and a denim jacket and it looks like maybe his hair is shorter; his hands are shoved in his pockets, like they used to be when he wanted to say something to Steve and knew it would make Steve mad.

Then Bucky takes a folded-up bit of newspaper out of his pocket and holds it out.

Steve unfolds it: the headline reads, "Marlins host MLB All-Star Game Tuesday."

"I thought you would be here," Bucky says, his voice a little rough.

The little bit of paper feels so small in Steve's hand, but his hand might be shaking. "Guess there was a reason my Clue kept showing up," Steve says. It never gave up; he's been a fool. "I should've listened. I'm sorry-"

"I thought it was just mine," Bucky says, sounding lost. "I think. The star? I didn't know if it was . . ."

"I didn't think it was yours," Steve says. He should have-if only he had-

Bucky says, "The first time I met you, you had dirt on your cheek. But the way it was smudged, it looked like a star. I tried to see if you-"

Steve's heart breaks. "I'm sorry," he says, reaching out, and Bucky steps forward and then they're in one another's arms and he's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was so stupid." Bucky's hair is brushing against the side of his face, and his heart is pounding but he hasn't felt this comfort since that night on the mountain, when Bucky was there. Bucky is here, now, and Steve can close his eyes at last under the summer sun and listen to the sound of Bucky breathing.

"You're my match," Bucky says softly, into his ear. "You're my match."

"We are," Steve says, holding Bucky like he might never let him go.

*

Later, in a room with a window overlooking Brooklyn, Steve pushes up Bucky's t-shirt sleeve and then gently kisses the red star, and Bucky breathes a deep breath like he's been underwater for decades.

Later, Bucky plants seeds in window-boxes under those windows, and soon the window-boxes fill with those little purple flowers, almost like daisies, that they used to see everywhere in the mountains in Europe during the war.

Later, they go up onto the roof of their building and look up at the night sky that never left them, even if the city light sometimes made it hard to see clearly, and Steve marvels at the kindness and cruelty of the pattern, the Clue, that has pulled them together again after so long. And he promises to himself that he'll never look away from it again-because as long as it's there, so is Bucky. And Bucky is there, warm by his side, talking about light pollution and Sputnik and some movie about black holes that he wants Steve to go to with him, and Steve will, of course. He always will.

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Guiding Star - fmo - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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Steve figures out his Clue when he's twelve-but, really, he should have figured it out sooner. His mother said that, before he was born, she was sure she was going to have a girl. She'd already picked out the name-Stella-so when Steve turned out to be a boy, she ended up choosing a name that sounded similar.

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When the Brooklyn Boys Begin - fullarmorandahotfudgesundae

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When the Brooklyn Boys Begin - fullarmorandahotfudgesundae

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Steve just wanted to die in peace. An Omega without children, who couldn't have children, living for long after their Alpha was torn from them? Not happening, not even with modern medicine. So, having accepted his fate, why was he suddenly haunted by a hallucination of his dead Alpha? A really firm, tactile, weepy hallucination of his dead Alpha?
Maybe he should just roll with it?
(Bucky, for his part, just wants to know what the hell is going on and how he and his punk Omega managed to be alive in the twenty-first century. Oh, and also how to stop that little issue of the bond sickness killing his Stevie.)

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When the Brooklyn Boys Begin - Chapter 1 - fullarmorandahotfudgesundae - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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There were many things God made that the world took and twisted out of recognition. There were things that the Lord wept over that the world only spat upon. There were many children the Lord made that the world threw into the cold. God made Alphas strong, thus the world denied them comfort. God made Betas calm, thus the world denied them emotions. God made Omegas nurturing, thus the world denied them strength. So when Abraham Erskine created a serum to create the perfect soldier and it could only be used on an Omega, the world needed Project Rebirth to create an Alpha out of Steve Rogers, and the world got what it wanted. For a while.

But it was bound to come out eventually. There are some secrets that are just too heavy to leave festering in the dark, yet not even Steve Rogers could have expected that the return of the long-dead Bucky Barnes to be the thing to push the world’s best kept secret into the light.

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edges blurred - moonythejedi394 - Captain America - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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After Steve and Sharon divorce Bucky becomes the kids' nanny.

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The Nanny - Bizarre_Heathen - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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my long lost dream - jedormis (dottie_wan_kenobi

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my long lost dream - jedormis (dottie_wan_kenobi

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Steve goes into heat when he's fifteen, and Bucky is sixteen. They mate, and he gets pregnant, but Bucky's father forces them to give the baby up.

Years later, now married, they're reached out to by a show aiming to connect families split apart by adoption.

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October 15, 1994

The little boy is tiny in Steve's arms, but Bucky thinks they make the prettiest pair he's ever seen. The look of adoration on Steve's face says he feels the same.

It's a shame they won't get to keep him.

They name him Joseph Alexander Barnes, even though when he gets adopted, his name will more than likely be changed.

Joey has Bucky's hair, and Steve's eyes. He'd been warned not to get attached, but he'll never forget this little boy's face, how his nose is all Bucky's. He drags his fingers over his pup's hair, touches his little hands and feet. Bucky would sit for hours with his body between Steve's legs, talking to Joey and feeling him respond to his voice.

It's more than a damn shame, and it makes Bucky's blood boil that his father is doing this.

Steve feeds him once, and Bucky only gets to hold him for a few minutes before a nurse - not Sarah - tells them he's got to get going. (Bucky can't tell if it's a good thing they didn't get to see him for long - no time to imprint, his father told him. But it's not enough time for him to get to just exist with his future mate and their pup.)

Steve cries and tries to keep him. Hell, if it was up to Bucky, they would. But it's not their choice, so little Joey gets taken away from them for good.

Bucky takes Steve to his and his Ma's home a few days later, and they have such a bad fight that he gets kicked out. He has to walk home, and face his dad, who's pissed, and his mom, who won't stop crying, and his sister, who's trying to make it another day.

It's a shit way to end a shit week.

Late September, 2009

Joseph, growing up, knows he's adopted. He has a different scent from everyone else in the house, and his dark hair and blue eyes contrast with their light hair and hazel eyes. He asks his parents relentlessly about where he really came from. He even asks his older sister and brother, but they won't budge.

Eventually, his parents sit him down, and tell him, point blank, "your parents were teenagers when they had you." He gapes for a moment, surprised. He's always thought of them as young adults, younger than his adoptive parents. His dad continues, "they were a 17 year old alpha and a 16 year old omega. They named you Joseph Alexander Barnes, but obviously, your name is now Joseph Thomas Maxwell. We kept your first name because we thought you would like to have some connection to them."

His mother tells him, "they were just too young to take care of you, Joe." She shares a long look with his dad, and continues, gently, "we don't believe they wanted to give you up, Joe."

He shoots to his feet at that. He'd gotten more information from this one talk alone than he'd ever hoped for, but that wasn't something his mind had ever crossed over. It takes him seconds to go from the living room to his bedroom, another second to lock the door and fall onto his bed, face first.

He doesn't come out for hours, and when he does, they're waiting for him in the kitchen. His mom hands him a blanket that had been knitted, and his dad hands him a picture. It shows a baby in the arms of a skinny blonde guy, with a dark haired guy sitting half on the bed, half off. On the back, it says, picture taken by grandma Sarah, October 15, 1994. Steve is the one holding Joseph Alexander, while Bucky looks on at his future mate and child.

He admits, he cries. He has one picture of his parents, one picture of himself on his birth date. He can see where he got his hair, and his eyes, now. He can see where his smile comes from. It's a little overwhelming.

His dad, a little teary eyed himself, reveals, "we were waiting for your 18th birthday to give you this, but we thought you might need it now. Consider it an early birthday present."

He doesn't respond, just gives them thankful looks. He can see the youth in his parents, see how "Bucky" still has baby fat in his cheeks. It's the best present he's ever gotten.

He wants to go look at the picture until he remembers every centimeter of it, but he has one last question to ask.

"Did they keep in contact?" He tries to meet their eyes, but finds he can't.

His mother sighs apologetically. "They tried to, Joe. The people at the agency said your grandfather, George, changed the records so they couldn't. He seems to be the reason you were given up and not kept in contact."

He doesn't respond again, feeling his chin quiver. He has his omega father's chin, he can see it now. "Well, thanks. I'm gonna - " and he darts back to his room, leaving the sound of his voice breaking in the kitchen.

Late September, 2009

"Elizabeth, come on! We gotta go, or we're both going to be late!"

"I'm coming, Dad! Give me a minute!"

"You don't have a minute. If you're not in the car in t-minus 30 seconds, I'm leaving you here!"

"Fine!" Elizabeth stomps down the steps, blonde hair done up for nerd day in two, mismatched pigtails. Bucky raises an eyebrow at the glasses, Steve's old pair, which have tape on the bridge. She passes him with her tongue sticking out, grabs her bag and an apple, and calls as she leaves the doorway, "now you're making us late, dad."

Steve grins, coming downstairs and giving Bucky a goodbye kiss. "She's got you there, Buck."

"Ha ha," he deadpans, following their eldest daughter to his car. "Make sure you tell me if you feel any worse, okay, Stevie?" He requests, thinking back on Steve's newest bout of illness.

Steve nods, gives him another kiss, and pushes him out the door. "Have a good day at work!" Bucky waving his hand the way he does every morning is the last Steve sees of him before he and Elizabeth leave.

He goes to the kitchen and nibbles on a cracker while checking his email, thinking his stomach couldn't possibly get upset over Ritz. Luckily, he's right.

Steve, half an hour later, follows the routine Bucky and Elizabeth had set up, calling for Sarah and Robert to come downstairs for their breakfast and so Steve could style their hair.

Robert comes down first, dark hair and grey eyes showing sleep. His head thunks on the counter next to his bowl of cereal immediately. He isn't even dressed.

Sarah, however, only needs her dark hair braided, and she's presentable. She eats while Steve does her hair. She helpfully pokes Robert awake, and doesn't even say anything about the baleful glare she gets in return.

"Eat, Robby. You aren't dressed yet, so you'll have to rush."

"I don't wanna go to school today," he whines, pulling the blanket he brought down tighter around him. Steve has a very vivid memory of Bucky doing the same thing when he got the flu at age 11.

Steve puts the hair tie at the bottom of Sarah's braid, and moves over to check Robert's temperature.

Sure enough, he's burning up.

"Okay, buddy, no school for you today. Sarah, will you be okay taking the bus? Your brother is sick."

"Yeah Papa," she says, sweetly shooting her brother a worried look.

"Okay, well, get your bag. It'll be here soon."

She runs upstairs, singing a song from Tarzan, her favorite movie.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Robby?" He turns to his son, simultaneously trying to make sure Sarah doesn't trip and Robby doesn't need help with anything. When he sees his son, though, he's crying, fat tears falling down his face.

"I want Daddy," he wails. Steve rushes over and pulls him up off his chair, pulling him into a hug. He sniffles into Steve's neck and gets snot all over Bucky's mating bite.

Steve slowly twists, trying to soothe him by dancing and humming a lullaby. Obviously, Bucky had always been much better at calming their children this way than Steve, but Robert still quieted down while Steve held him.

With one available hand, he texts Tony and asks if Bucky could have a short break to call him. Tony doesn't respond, but the phone still rings.

"What's going on? Are you getting sicker, Stevie?" Bucky sounds like he always does when he goes to work: rough around the edges and exhausted. Sometimes, like today, he has to work on cars, while other days, he has to work on contracts. Both are boring as hell, according to Bucky, even when the car is a real fixer-upper. Often, he boasts that he's so good with cars, he could take over Tony's job.

"No, it's not me. Robby wanted to talk to his Daddy," he says, putting as much emphasis on daddy as he could. None of their children called him Daddy unless they were sick or mostly asleep. "I'm gonna put it on speakerphone, okay?"

Neither boy responds, so Steve moves to the chair in the living room and sets the phone on the arm rest. He presses the button, and when Robby sees that, he says plaintively, "Daddy?"

Now that Steve's paying attention, his can hear how his son's nose is stuffy, and see how his eyes are watery.

"Oh, buddy. Are you sick?" Bucky's voice takes on the tone of worried parent that Steve fallen in love with when they found out Joseph was a late bloomer in the womb. Bucky had always been so attentive through each pregnancy, more so than was common among alphas.

Robby nods and quietly responds, "mm-hmm."

"So I bet no school for you today?" He doesn't wait for Robby to answer before continuing, "Papa is feeling sick, too. He isn't going to work today, so maybe you guys could have some fun without me and your sisters there."

Sarah takes that moment to come downstairs. Robby briefly perks up at the thought of no school and all day with Papa, and tells Bucky about all the stuff they could do.

Sarah goes straight to Steve, though, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Are you talking to Dad?"

"Yep," Steve says, butting into Robby and Bucky's conversation. "Sarah's going to school now, guys, say bye."

Robby, who usually is very big on hugs from his sister, waves glumly and blows her a kiss. She cheekily pretends to grab it and send him one back.

Bucky croons, "love you, sweetheart."

She grins, "you can't see it, but I'm blowing you a kiss. Love you, Dad! Love you Papa! Love you Robby!"

And then she goes out the door to the chorus of Steve and Robby's love you 's. Luckily, the bus is right out front, so he doesn't have to walk her to the next stop, or make sure she gets on the bus fine.

He let Robby and Bucky talk for another few minutes before he told the boys Robby had to go lay down. While he walked upstairs, he kept Bucky on the line. He has Robby back in bed quickly.

He nearly jumps down the stairs, trying to catch Bucky before he has to go. He turns off speakerphone, and asks, "do you think I should take him to the doctor? Today, they're taking walk-ins...."

Bucky sighs, audibly rubbing his fingers over his eyebrows. "Yeah, take him. Won't hurt anything, and maybe you could get checked on, too."

"I'm not that sick, Buck."

"I know that, but the last time you got sick exclusively in the morning, you were pregnant. We need to know for sure if this is that or not, okay? Plus," he simpers, "it'll make me feel better to know what's going on."

"I'm fairly sure I'm not pregnant, Bucky. During the last heat, you weren't in rut, and we used a condom."

"Well, you know what they say about extremely compatible bond-mates who've been together forever...."

"Bucky."

"Okay, okay. Just, go to the doctor, explain what's going on with you and Robby, and see if it's connected."

"I'm pretty sure it's just food poisoning for me, and a cold of some kind for Robby."

"Okay, well, if you're right, you get to say I told you so."

"And if you're right?"

"I get cuddles whenever I want."

Steve sighs. "Alright, Buck. Go back to work. Love you."

"Love you, too, Stevie. I'll see you tonight, and keep me posted about Robby. Tony won't care if I text if he's sick."

"Okay, will do. Bye."

"Bye bye."

Robby, the doctor tells him, has a sinus infection. He gives him medicine and a doctor's note for school. Steve, grudgingly, tells him about his own symptoms, asking if they're related.

His Ma used to get sinus headaches, but it's been years since she had one, so he's forgotten all about them.

The doctor tells him there's no connection, and he's probably pregnant. They do some blood work, and he's told he'll be informed soon on what it is.

Steve thanks him, and takes Robby back home.

A week later, Robby's back in perfect health, but Steve is feeling worse. He's been getting sicker in the morning, and getting sick at random times of the day based on smells. Bucky insists he's expecting, says he can smell a difference in Steve's scent. Steve tells him it's probably the puke.

But the blood work comes, and tells them both what Bucky already knew and what Steve was denying; he's pregnant. He not sure how it's even possible, since his heat had been one where Bucky's rut didn't sync up with it, and they'd used condoms.

"Must've had a hole," Bucky tries to placate him. When Steve saw the paper, he ran straight to the bathroom, where Bucky followed him. His hands are shaking, still holding the paper. He's not upset that he's pregnant again, not really. He's always wanted to give Bucky a small army of children.

He's just upset because of his hormones. And because Joseph's birthday is coming up, and he doesn't know if he'll have the heart to be able to celebrate it.

Bucky rubs his back, soothing him as best as he can. His mind is on Joseph, too, but for different reasons.

Quietly, he reaches out to Steve, "I know this baby was unexpected, and I know that we're getting older. I also know that you seem to not want the baby, so if you want, we can... not keep it. We can give it up for adoption, or you could get an abortion...."

Bucky hates thinking about it, but his dad always taught him to think of it like this: the baby is his, and he does have claim to it, but there's one part of him in a body that belongs to someone else. One part can't fight a whole bunch of other parts, can't make any decisions unless the body wants it to. So, even though that's his baby, his pup, it's not, ultimately, his decision. It'll hurt him, of course, if Steve gets an abortion, and it'll hurt everyone, including the kids, if he puts the baby up for adoption. It's Steve choice, though, and he'll respect it.

Steve sniffles, lets out a quiet sob. He pushes his face into Bucky's neck, hiccuping, "I wanna keep it, Bucky. That's not why I'm crying."

Bucky feels like he could faint with relief. He keeps his hand on Steve's back, still making soothing motions. "Well, why are you crying then?"

"Joey's birthday is this month, and I don't know if I can celebrate it when I'm pregnant."

"Hey, we'll be okay. We've done it before, we'll do it again."

Steve gives a hitching laugh. "We're getting too old to have any more kids."

"I meant with this one, punk," he says, gently resting his hand on Steve's stomach.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." After a long moment, Bucky asks, "when do you want to tell the kids?"

"Let me clean myself up, and we can do it now. Get them all together, please."

Bucky responds, "sure," getting up and hearing his knees crack. He and Steve share a look, both thinking, we're getting old.

He leaves the bathroom to round up their kids, with a small smile sent Steve's way.

Elizabeth goes downstairs willingly, only because Bucky bribes her with cookie cake. Sarah hears the word news, and freaks out, while Robby goes downstairs easily. Bucky holds Sarah as he takes her downstairs, promising her it's nothing bad.

Sarah's the only one who got his Mom's anxiety, thank god. He already knows how to help her with it, considering he still dealt with it himself. Even though she's getting too big for it, he'll hold her sometimes, knowing it's the easiest way to calm her down. None of their kids - except Joseph, but he and Steve will probably never know who he took after - have presented yet, but he and Steve's scents still soothe them, even with their unmatured scent glands.

He sets her on the couch in her usual spot next to Elizabeth. He claps his hands together, sitting on the coffee table. "We're just waiting for Papa to come downstairs, then we'll tell you the news. And like I told Sarah, it's nothing to worry about. It's good news."

Steve comes down then, and takes in his kids' faces. Elizabeth mostly looks like she wants to know the news so she can go back to her room. Sarah, unsurprisingly, looks upset. Robby just looks from person to person, trying to figure it out on his own.

He takes a page out of Bucky's book, and sits next to him on the coffee table. Luckily, Tony reinforced it a long time ago, or it would have broken under them.

He thinks back to when Sam and Natasha told their oldest about how Sam was pregnant again. They'd had to wait until the first trimester was over, because they aren't extremely compatible. He and Bucky are, and they'd been told during Joseph's pregnancy that they would never miscarry. They'd told Elizabeth right after they found out, and both girls had been there when Steve went to the doctor and came home with a sonogram. He and Bucky are fortunate that they don't have to worry about that possibility.

"Well, kids, your dad and I - " He pauses and starts over, aiming this part at the younger two. "So you know how me and your dad are an alpha and an omega, and sometimes, you have to go stay with Grandma Sarah, because of my heat?" They nod, while Elizabeth gives them a wide eyed look. Bucky winks at her, and her mouth drops open. "Well, the last time I had a heat, your dad and I... made a baby."

Sarah shrieks, "you're gonna have a new baby?" All of her anxiety is gone, washed away by the same awe she showed when they told her about Robby.

Robby, for his part, looks unbelievably excited. Usually, he's the most laid back of their children, and doesn't emote nearly as much as the girls. "I'm gonna be a big brother?"

Before either can answer the two questions they'd been asked, Elizabeth pulls them into a hug. She squeals in their ears about how she's so excited, oh my god.

It's arguably one of the best days of their lives.

Early February, 2010

Elizabeth presents as an omega at the same time that Steve finds out they're having their first set of twins. He gets much sicker this time around, and his boss, Charles Xavier, tells him he's on maternal leave, paid, since he's such a good teacher.

Bucky, ultimately, is pulled in several directions. He has to help Steve with the morning sickness, somehow help Elizabeth through her heat - luckily, the rough part is only a few days and dealt with the usual supplies - and has to get the younger kids to school, all while going to work.

Steve tries his absolute best to help, making Elizabeth a nest, and showing her how to keep the walls up. He still cooks, and makes the kids and Bucky their lunches, but the smell will sometimes force him to the bathroom. Thank god Robby is eight, otherwise he'd freak out thinking Steve is dying. Sarah had thought so, but she'd been turning two, not nine.

Bucky comes home every night exhausted. He and Steve put the kids through their baths, and help Elizabeth come to terms with her designation. At night, they share a shower and he wraps himself around Steve and their babies. His own father wasn't much interested in him and his sister, not unless someone was watching him interact with them. Bucky hated that, so he's always tried to be different.

With Joseph, he'd done his best to help Steve get through school and pregnancy. With Elizabeth, he hadn't been there, he'd been in the Middle East, but he'd come home and let Steve get sleep. With Sarah, he'd talked to her in Steve's womb every day. With Robby, he'd gone out and catered to Steve's every craving. With his twins, he's just trying to make sure the house stays afloat.

Plus, he's always been the father that takes the most comfort in his pup's scents. He loves cuddling. Sarah and Robby have also taken to cuddling - and talking to the bump. He and Steve tell them that they don't have ears yet, and can't hear them, but hell, it doesn't stop Bucky, so why would it stop his kids?

Of course, when everyone is in bed, Steve and Bucky talk about Joey. The other kids know about him, know that's why they don't talk to their only grandpa, know that their parents miss him. They don't know about the long fantasies they have, where they got to keep Joey, got to raise him. It's hard enough to talk about him alone, at all, much less around their other kids, who got the chance he never did.

Mid April, 2010

Joseph goes into rut in the most inopportune time - when he's at the doctor's office, a year and a half too late. The worst thing is, the doctor had been about to declare him a beta, which would've forced the hand of the adoption agency into contacting his parents.

But no, he takes after Bucky - it's gotten easier to call him that without the quotes, like he doesn't exist, like he's made up - and he's an alpha. The rut is the bad kind he's heard horror stories of - all he wants to do is matebreedknot. He won't eat, he won't sleep.

In all actuality, it's a good thing he starts at the doctor's' office. They give him a heat-rut room, and have specially trained betas come in to force-feed him, and give him sedatives to make him sleep.

He gets asked if he knows if his alpha father's rut was this bad - they clearly know his adopted dad is a beta, and know his birth father was an alpha, but they can't realize he has no idea. He just growls, and they back out.

When he comes home, he's exhausted. He has a stack of homework to do, and enough text messages to blow up both his phone and his head. Some people make fun of him in the texts, while the rest of the football team congratulate him. His adopted aunts and uncles send him reassuring words, and the group chat for the group project at school is full of teasing and pissed off messages.

He turns his phone off.

Early May, 2016

Bucky answers the phone, completely expecting Sam and Natasha. Instead, it's some guy asking for a Steve Barnes.

"Sorry, he isn't home right now. Can I take a message?"

Instead of answering, the guy asks, "then who are you?"

Bucky scowls. "I'm Bucky Barnes, his husband and mate."

"Oh, well, I can ask you this question, too. In 1994, did you and your husband have a child named Joseph Alexander Barnes?"

Bucky freezes. "Why? If my dad put you up to this...."

"No, no, it's just, I'm part of a show that connects people who are looking for family members, and Joseph said his parents names were Bucky and Steve Barnes. Is that you, or do I have the wrong Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky sighs deeply. "Yeah, me and Steve had him when we were teenagers."

"So, to clarify, you are Joseph Alexander Barnes' father?"

"Yes."

"Now, the real question is, would you like to meet him?"

It's actually a lot more difficult than that. They had to find a time for filming, because he'd written them a letter and they wanted Steve and Bucky to read it while being filmed, plus Elizabeth and Sarah were only free at the same time that Robby wasn't.

So, it takes a while, but eventually, all of the kids are out of the house, and Steve and Bucky are left alone with the host and a camera crew.

The letter isn't long, but it's emotional. Bucky reads it aloud for the camera and Steve.

Dear Steve and Bucky,

I feel like I should call you dad and dad. Maybe you go by different names - all I've been given so far is a picture of you and your other kids. I feel like you can't both go by dad....

I'm rambling, sorry. I'll get right into it.

I have dark hair, and blue eyes. I presented as an alpha when I was almost sixteen, and I've been told I smell like "science" and paint, with chocolate and spices mixed in. Weird combination, I know.

I've always known I was adopted. When I was 15, I asked my adoptive parents about you. All they could say was that you were teenagers, barely any older than I was, and that they suspected that you were forced to give me up.

I've always wanted to believe that to be true. Sometimes it makes sense; I had one picture of you for the longest time, that showed the three of us when I was born. You both looked like you were excited to be parents, but I was still given up.

Hearing I have siblings was and is a crazy feeling. It makes me being given up seem weird, but then, you WERE just kids. My girlfriend is expecting right now, actually. I can't imagine what it would be like if we were still in highschool....

Anyway, I guess I'm wondering what happened, why I was given up. And I would like to know more about my siblings, too. My other question is: how much interaction do you both get with me before I was taken to the orphanage?

I hope we can all meet each other soon.

Joe (Joseph Thomas Maxwell, or as you knew me, Joseph Alexander Barnes)

Steve doesn't cry, but Bucky sure does tear up. He sent a picture with the letter, and that's what does them in.

They decide immediately to write him back.

Bucky's says this:

Dear Joe (can I call you Joey? That's what your nickname was from the moment we decided on your name),

Steve and I meet when we were kids. He was a late bloomer like you, didn't come into his omega designation until he was fifteen. I presented as an alpha the day after I turned thirteen, so when he went into heat, I was there. We had you when Steve had just turned sixteen and I'd been seventeen for a while (our birthdays are July 4, 1978 and March 10, 1977). We did want to keep you, but my father, your grandpa George, felt it would be unacceptable. Steve and I weren't mated when you were born, so he felt everything we'd done together was improper.

Basically, he didn't "count" you as Steve and I's kid, whereas he counts your brothers and sisters, because we had them when we were mated. You can imagine why he and I aren't on speaking terms anymore.

Steve'll tell you more about your siblings in his letter. We decided on me telling you about what time we had together.

We found out Steve was pregnant immediately. His heat went away within three days - there wasn't the follow up that should've been there. He was sent to the doctor, and voila, you came into our lives.

We were still in highschool, and we didn't share any classes, but if I saw him, I would crowd him up against the lockers, or sit by him at lunch. A lot of alphas don't like the scent of their pups on their beta or omega, but I love it. I loved it, then, too. You made me and Steve feel like a family, and that's a present I'll never be able to repay you for.

When we found out you were a boy, we went through a lot of names, but chose Joseph Alexander because Joseph was Steve's father's name, and Alexander was a nice name that was very popular. Tell your adoptive parents we're grateful they let you keep our name for you, please.

As for when you were born, Steve was small, not really made to have children. He's since hit a growth spurt, but sometimes he gets really sick, like he did right after you were born. He's partially deaf, and used to be color blind and near sighted, but he has glasses for that. I'm letting you know in case you were wondering where you got any traits like that (if you have any).

Still, Steve was very happy to see you. He held you, and wouldn't let me hold you until right before you were taken. We both held you, and I watched as Steve fed you; it was touching. I almost wish you could remember what your first hour was like.

Joe, I want you to know that we loved you and still love you very much. We've celebrated your birthday each year, and we still have some of the things from your hospital room. Your siblings know we had you, and are curious to meet you.

I would love to see you again.

Bucky (you can call me Dad or Bucky, I don't mind which one)

P.S. What's this about expecting a baby? I'm too young to be a grandpa!

He also includes a request for more pictures, and puts his phone number on the bottom of the page.

Steve's letter says this:

My little Joey,

I apologize if you don't like the nickname. Just let me know and I'll just call you Joe.

Bucky has addressed most of your questions in his letter, but not all. The reason we decided to send two was so that you could see both of our handwriting.

You asked about your siblings. I'd like to preface this by saying that we never forgot about you, and that you've always been in our minds. Our other children were not to replace you, or anything like that. You taught us that we were meant to be together, Joey. You taught us that we wanted to be parents, which sounds horrible, since George made us give you up, but.... You just taught us a lot of life lessons. I'm eternally grateful for you.

But, onto your siblings. (There will be more pictures this time around, ones with everyone labelled.)

We had Elizabeth in 1997, on August 27. Her whole name is Elizabeth Rebecca Barnes, named after your Aunt Rebecca, who died in 1995 of cancer. We found out about her because I was getting very sick, and it worried Bucky. The doctors just straight up told us we were expecting, and it was an emotional time. She's blonde and has blue-gray eyes like Bucky.

When Elizabeth was thirteen, she presented as an omega. She's now 18, and going to school to become a nurse, like your Grandma Sarah.

We had Sarah Rose, obviously named after my mother, on November 6, 1999. Sarah was planned. We decided to go off our suppressants and try for another baby. We found she was a girl, and I was honestly a little less emotional about it that time. I was kept up at night, wondering what you would think if we had another little boy. I thought, with Elizabeth, we were betraying you, but I realize now that was just hormones.

Anyway, Sarah is 16, with dark hair and blue-gray eyes. She's a beta, considering going into medicine, but she also seems hooked on teaching and becoming a world famous engineer, so we aren't sure what she'll do.

We had Robert James on September 2, 2001. He was also planned, and when we found out he was a boy, those feelings I told you about came back, but I've been able to accept you both as my sons, and that I'm not replacing you. He recently presented as an omega, as he's 14 years old. His hair is dark but he was blue eyes. From what we can tell, he seems interested in doing something in the arts field when he's older.

And finally, in 2009, we found out I was pregnant again. It didn't make sense at the time why I got pregnant, as we were both on contraceptives...which I'm realizing isn't something you needed to know, sorry.

We had twins on June 26, 2010. Their names are Grace Marie and Christopher Ethan, and they're five. Gracie wants to be a mermaid astronaut, while Chris wants to be a dog walker. They're both blonde, but Gracie has my blue eyes while Chris has Bucky's blue-gray ones.

They're all very excited to meet you, and Bucky and I can't wait to see you again.

We love you very much,

Steve Rogers, aka Papa

He also puts his phone number on the page, and then helps Bucky find good pictures of everyone to send to him.

That night, after the camera crews leave and their children come back home, Steve pastes himself to Bucky and tries not to cry again.

Letters are exchanged back and forth through the host of the television show, often filled with pictures. They allow Elizabeth, Sarah, Robby and the twins to also send a letter to Joey - he likes the nickname, he assures them.

They meet again for the first time in front of a camera, as he lives in nearby Philadelphia, and they introduce Joey to his siblings one by one, also on camera. Elizabeth and Sarah love him on sight, while Robby takes some getting used to. The twins adore him in seconds.

Joey's girlfriend, a beta by the name of Ellie Grant, is also introduced to them, but they're not being taped anymore. She listens to the stories they have with the same rapt attention that Joey has.

Steve and Bucky pull her aside to tell her that, while they don't have claim on Joey anymore, they approve. They also threaten to spoil their first grandbaby, which she rolls her eyes at and says, "I promise I'll act surprised when you buy him presents."

Bucky grins at her, playfully nudging her. "You better. Me and Stevie want him to be in shock and awe, huh, Steve?"

Steve grins back and nods.

Ellie slaps a hand over her heart, pretending to swear it in oath. Yeah, they definitely like her.

The episode of Long Lost Family isn't aired until just before Joey's birthday.

The whole family - his adoptive parents included - is there to watch it when it airs.

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my long lost dream - jedormis (dottie_wan_kenobi) - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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October 15, 1994 The little boy is tiny in Steve's arms, but Bucky thinks they make the prettiest pair he's ever seen. The look of adoration on Steve's face says he feels the same. It's a shame they won't get to keep him.

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Captain America and the Winter Soldier meet for the first time in 2015. Now Bucky, after years of torture at Hydra's and more as a prisoner of S.H.I.E.L.D., is being given the chance to gain his freedom. All he has to do, is complete a mission with a team he can't stand while following the orders of yet another pompous, controlling Alpha. Steve thinks he can get his team through their most difficult mission to date, so long as he can get the smell of the Winter Soldier's heat out of his nose.

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Heat Stroke - cleo4u2, xantissa - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Sequel to Heat Stroke: not a stand alone fic.

Steve and Bucky have bonded, fallen further in love, and are learning to live together in Avengers Tower. Everything is wonderful, until it isn’t any more. Once again they have to overcome all obstacles set before them to keep their family intact

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Heat Forged - cleo4u2, xantissa - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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In the beginning, God made the heavens and the earth. And then God made humans. Some he made Alpha, some Beta, some Omega. There were some that he made for each other. Some were born to gravitate to one another, their hands made to hold, their hearts to love. Sometimes it wasn’t always easy, some loved and lost, or lost before they could love. Some were nudged towards each other as infants and ripped away as soon as adults realized they were two halves of one whole. Some lives are so intertwined, that if one died, it would be too cruel to not let them both go.

Whatever God had made, it wasn’t what the world had taken it to be. In 2011, the frozen body of Captain America was found in the depths of the Arctic, hauled out and thawed. The world waited with baited breath for their favorite hero to smile in thanks for having been saved. The world waited. And waited. Captain America never thanked them. Steve Rogers, who would have rathered stayed dead, cursed them.

In 1945, just a few months after the death of Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers drove the Valkyrie into the ice without a second thought because it was the end of the line. Not because he was a brave Alpha, but because he was a grieving Omega.

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intertwined - moonythejedi394 - Captain America - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Everybody--including Steve himself--had been surprised when he'd turned out to be an alpha. The other boys had pegged him for an omega, and a bad one at that; one of the many jokes at his expense was that Barnes only liked him because Steve was even lower on the food chain than an omega with delusions of beta-status. Steve can still remember the feral grin Bucky’d given him after they’d heard that one for the first time, blood on his teeth from his split lip, and the way his voice had cracked when he’d said “I like you for a lot more’n that, Rogers.”

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parts per million - legete - Captain America (2011) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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When Bucky's memory starts returning, Steve is advised to keep his distance in order to protect Bucky from people who might think Steve's judgement is compromised if they knew how they used to be. Natasha picks up the slack in helping Bucky adjust, which Steve both appreciates and tortures himself over. Bucky is confused and worried, but doesn't know how to get through to Steve. Thankfully, one can always rely on Tony Stark to put his foot in his mouth in ways that eventually turn out for the best.

Or, the one where Steve hurts himself unnecessarily to protect Bucky from shadowy government types, gets super jealous of Natasha, Clint plays a deeply grumpy Cupid, and Bucky eventually puts an end to all this tomfoolery by bludgeoning all opposition with the brute force of his personality.

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It was for his own protection, they advised him. Just for a little while. Until this whole thing calmed down a little bit.

They didn't tell Bucky anything, because there wasn't anything to tell. He hadn't remembered what amounted to a detail of their lives from seventy years ago, and why should he? In amongst all the other things he'd been made to remember, all the other things he was made to forget and was fighting to get back, why should he remember those kinds of promises in a world that was entirely alien to the one they'd anticipated emerging into after the war?

Besides, he had Bucky back. Back in the world, back in his life and at his side. That was all Steve really needed anyway. That was the big piece, the most important part of who they were. Wasn't it?

"I'm not sure about this, Buck."

"You're going out to get shot at, I'm going with you. I may be crazy, but I still know how to do my damn job."

Hill was the one who had come to him with the news, the one who had broken the plan to him in her habitual crisp, business-like fashion. Gentle in the only way she knew how to be.

"You've got to keep a bit of distance, Cap. It's barely safe for him to be here as it is. If it looks like your reasons for bringing him in and trying to rehabilitate him are more compromised than a PG rating warrants, it could be a real problem. For him, but also for you."

He could read between her words. His say-so was already the thinnest thread of credibility in regards to Bucky's potential for breaking his programming. For decades, Steve and Bucky's relationship had been billed as familial; brothers by bond, if not by blood. Sure, there had been speculative chatter over the years that Steve and Bucky might have had a romantic relationship, but the party line was and always had been: "Steve Rogers loved his best friend Bucky Barnes like a brother, and was planning to marry Peggy Carter as soon as the war was over."

Shattering that impression was dangerous in the near term. Sentimentality and affection were fine, even understandable when Captain America had lost so many people in the service of his country. But love - unconditional and self-sacrificing - would see the Winter Soldier put down like a dog.

"They said Peggy was still around?"

"Yeah, Buck. She's in a home, doing okay. Her memory comes and goes, though. Do you want to visit next time I go?"

"No. Wasn't really ever her favorite person."

"She liked you fine, Bucky."

"In public, sure."

Natasha volunteered to be there when Steve couldn't. Volunteered to give Bucky the closeness he needed when eyebrows started to rise, when government observers started whispering behind hands.

The threat of discovery couldn't keep Steve far, but it was just far enough that when the memories of furtive kisses resurfaced, they were memories that came with long red hair and not short blond.

And while Natasha had Clint, in whatever capacity that worked, the evidence of the Winter Soldier having emotional attachments, having broken programming for them before, undeniably went a long way to reassuring the observers.

Undeniable too, was the way Steve curled into his bed at night, around a cold ball of ache, trying to force himself to fall asleep before the pointless tears fought their way up to the surface.

"My little Natashenka, all grown up."

"I was never your anything, Barnes."

"I wasn't Barnes then."

"No. No, you weren't."

It didn't help that Natasha understood the version of Bucky they'd gotten back better than Steve could ever hope to. Understood the silences, the controlled paranoia, the subtle shifts of mood and energy, the darkly bitter humor.

Steve recognized Bucky in all of it, and Bucky was as staunchly loyal and affectionate with Steve as he had ever been...most of the time.

But Bucky got frustrated with things that Steve couldn't anticipate, needed things that he couldn't seem to find in Steve, however willing Steve was to provide.

He could find them in Natasha.

"No, not like that Steve. You can't do that."

"But he - "

"Not anymore."

Steve's ball of ache started to haunt him in daylight hours, in doorways to rooms he couldn't bring himself to enter, at meals where he seemed to disappear, on the couch in Tony's workshop watching muted news footage of public appearances he wasn't allowed to attend.

Because he made Bucky unsafe. And he would do anything to protect Bucky.

"Where you been, punk? I haven't seen your ugly mug in way too long."

"Just a bit busy."

"Not getting into trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle, anyway."

"Have you had lunch yet? I was just about..."

"Had something earlier, sorry. Maybe next time?"

He hadn't thought that he would have to revisit this kind of protection again, though. The kind where he stood calmly to one side and let the whole world fall in love with how well soft curves suited Bucky's arms.

"From Russia With Love?" said the article in the Post, littered through with old documentation from the Red Room that had found its way onto the internet along with everything else on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s servers, as well as recent shots of Bucky and Natasha at public events and hearings, a few blurry shots from cell phone cameras of them about town.

Bucky vaulted over the back of the couch in the Tower's living area and settled by Steve, peering over his shoulder at the paper.

"Aw, Stevie. Don't read that stuff. It'll rot your brain," he said as he stole the paper away, balling it up and tossing it into the trashcan across the room.

They were trying to get him to move into the Tower. Everyone else lived there after it all, or at least crashed there semi-permanently.

He told them he wasn't interested, that he liked his apartment across the bridge (freshly swept for bugs, small and cozy and full of memories he could occasionally trick himself into thinking were real for a moment or two at a time).

He didn't tell them that he couldn't do it because he didn't trust himself to keep up the ruse.

He didn't tell them that he couldn't be there to see if all his hopes were really dead after all.

He didn't tell them that he couldn't watch eyes following bodies, couldn't face the idea that he might round a corner at night when the nightmares came and see something no one could take back.

He didn't tell them that he thought leaving behind his little sanctuary of loss might break his heart more finally than all the little micro-fractures that came from living with his ghosts.

He told them he liked his morning jogs, his neighborhood coffee shop, the grocer down the way, the little bit of privacy he'd carved out after living his whole life knee-to-elbow with other people.

He told them he liked the light in the afternoon, the lack of disembodied voices, the comfortable spare room he'd set up to do some sketching.

He didn't mention he'd redone the extra bedroom months before, all his art materials and free-weights and extra bookshelves moved into the living area to make way for a bed and a side table and dresser. Blue toothbrush and a box of baking soda on the sink in the spare bathroom, still in their wrap. Blue sheets crisply clean, hospital corners, collecting a fine layer of dust over the top as they sat unused behind the closed door.

He didn't tell them that he needed to still believe there was a reason to wait on a life that seemed more and more like it wasn't ever supposed to be. That he still needed to believe in what home used to mean.

KnockKnockKnock

"Stevie? You there?"

KnockKnockKnock

"Steve?"

There were still arms thrown carelessly over shoulders. Still shared moments and jokes and wry glances.

They still shared everything, still worked best side by side, still fretted and fussed and teased. Still finished some sentences, still translated some thoughts, still found a lot of same things ridiculous or funny or odd.

But sometimes, it was Bruce who told Steve what was going on inside Bucky.

Sometimes, it was Tony who snarked back and forth, who laughed while Steve waited expectantly for a punchline he understood.

Sometimes, it was Sam whose shoulder got knocked, who got to fuss over Bucky's bumps and bruises and bad moments.

Sometimes, it was Clint who finished a train of thought, who parsed through the jargon and references and translated it into English-for-the-old-guy.

Sometimes, it was Natasha who knew best, who stood close, who made it better.

Sometimes, Steve had never felt more alone in his life.

It was for the best, he told himself. It kept Bucky safe, made Bucky well, gave Bucky stability and friendship and a home to come back to.

So Steve would smile and wave and head home at the end of the night, pass the closed door on his way to bed, remind himself not to be selfish, and pretend that it was all enough.

"Hey, it's getting kind of late."

"You can crash here tonight. We'll have pancakes in the morning or something. It'll be fun, couch cushions on the floor 'n everything. Like when we were kids."

"Maybe next time."

He couldn't get out of the Stark Industries gala, not when it raised funds for children with terminal illnesses. Not when the kids would be there with their parents, spit-polished as guests of honor next to the Avengers. Not when Steve Rogers was the one they all wanted to meet, wanted to connect with.

"Imagine being in the middle of that," Tony muttered under his breath, watching Bucky twirl Natasha on the dance floor, caught up in steps that were as controlled as they were inherently sensual.

Bucky had never looked so alive since he'd come back, never so delighted with everything around him.

Steve didn't want to imagine. Not like that, anyway.

Across the floor, Natasha noticed Steve and Tony and grinned, tilting her head so Bucky knew to look as they turned. Bucky's smile when he caught sight of Steve lit up the room and the wink stopped the heart dead in Steve's chest. So did Natasha leaning up and whispering conspiratorially in Bucky's ear, pressed close and held there by Bucky's broad right hand, his left covered in a slick leather glove.

He ducked out early, after the kids but before the party was even close to winding down.

He looked at himself in the mirror over his bathroom sink and called himself a coward and a bastard and every other horrible name he could think of. He turned out the light before he could take any of it back.

"Why the fuck would you say that to him, Tony?"

"I thought it would be a bonding experience?"

"You better hope Barnes doesn't figure out it was your fault."

"Sleeping with both eyes open. Noted."

"You are such a miserable shit, Stark."

"I'm not the one still playing Fury's game and rubbing salt in Captain America's wounds."

"...game?"

"Shit, Barn-"

There was a picture on the front page of the Times the next morning of Natasha kissing Bucky on the cheek as they left the gala, arm in arm and intimate. A fall of hair obscured Bucky's expression, but Steve found he could imagine it easily. He'd seen it pointed at him often enough, once upon a time.

Steve left the coffee shop without buying a copy, without buying his habitual black with two sugars to sip while he read in the corner.

He went for another run and couldn't make himself stop until the sun was setting and he had to take a cab to get home.

"What."

"See now, that doesn't even sound like a question."

"Explain. Quickly. And I may leave you off the list of people I need to talk to about what constitutes 'what is best' when it comes to Steve Rogers."

"Absolutely."

Clint ambushed him the next morning, just outside his apartment complex.

"I just know you're not planning on going on another run after yesterday," he drawled.

Steve looked down the line of his body, at the tee and shorts, at the neat bows of the laces on his trainers.

"Because that would cross over from self-flagellation into suicidal, Cap. And I don't want to be the one he's angry at when he finds out."

"It's just a run," Steve said.

"Nah, Cap. It's running. And I, as the only person in this outfit who's actually been in a circus, speak from experience when I say the act's worn a bit thin."

"I don't know -"

"Nope. No. Not happening, Steve. You're coming with me down to your cute little coffee place now and we're talking about this like people with feelings and stuff until we can't stand it anymore, and then I'm going to go wash the emotions out of my hair while you sort your shit out."

Steve eyed the exit routes, calculated how he could lose Clint in the side streets.

Clint pulled a small crossbow from the pocket of his hoodie.

"Tranq darts, Cap. Supposed to be able to drop a charging moose. Haven't tried 'em on super soldiers yet, though your boy has already tested my patience enough in the last twenty-four hours to justify the experiment. Trigger finger's a bit twitchy is what I'm saying here. Haven't shot anything in a while. Sort of looking for an excuse. Any excuse. Any at all."

"I don't have my wallet," he tried.

"Stark's paying. Or somebody with deep pockets, anyway. Because I sure as hell am not paying for this experience."

Steve sighed and lead the way to the coffee shop.

"Do we understand one another?"

"You can't just threaten every - "

"See, that's where you're wrong. I have been threatening people on Steve's behalf since the dawn of recorded time, so far as you people are concerned. Steve is the one thing I will always be able to threaten people over. And since I obviously can't trust anyone else with the care and keeping of Captain America, I will be doing as much threatening as it takes to get the point across that when it comes to me and Steve? You people don't get to get in the middle of it. Ever. So I'm asking you again: do we understand one another?"

"Yes, Mister Barnes."

" Sergeant."

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes."

"Look," Clint started, once their coffees were set down on the table between them. "They're not sleeping with each other. I know this because I know Nat, as she is, better than anyone else. Maybe even better than she does, who knows? The point is, they're affectionate, and a lifetime ago they had a thing in a really shitty place at a really shitty time when they were the only people who even remotely cared if the other one got killed."

Clint took a sip, let that settle in.

"That's not love, Steve. I mean, yeah, it is. It's a kind of love, but it ain't the kind either of them want, now they're out. Nat and I? We're complicated, but we've got what we want and we like the way it fits. You and Himself? You're simple."

"We're really not," Steve said. "He doesn't remember and if I wanted to go back, it'd be putting him in harm's way."

"And that's where you're dead wrong, Cap. A year ago? Yeah, maybe having you two making cow eyes at each other would have made a lot of people nervous about his mental state and whether you were compromised, but now? Well."

Clint put a newspaper on the table. Steve hadn't even checked when they'd passed the stand.

"Romance of the Century," proclaimed the front of the Times. Underneath was a still from somewhere on the Western Front, one he'd only seen when he'd come out of the ice. Some war journalist had snapped it, and in the early 70s it had been released by the photographer's estate to the public domain.

There were Steve and Bucky, sitting side by side and pressed tight together to fit on the remains of a brick wall, back to the camera. Steve's helmet sat at his side, and Bucky's rifle was slung across his back. And there they were, heads turned in profile and grinning at each other like fools, noses just inches apart. Young and alive and giddy.

In love. So, so in love. Simple, like Clint had said.

Steve felt his throat close up and the corners of his eyes pricked sharply with the threat of tears.

"All right, Barton. You're in my seat," said a familiar voice from behind them.

Clint stood up and clapped Steve's shoulder as he left with his travel cup of coffee.

"Take care of him, Barnes."

"Always," Bucky said, sitting down in the vacated chair, blue eyes only for Steve.

"Hey, you dumb punk."

"Bucky..."

"See, this is why I can't leave you alone for five minutes. Did it back when, and you ended up being a US Army lab rat. Did it this time, and you let somebody convince you that I could ever forget you willingly. That I'd ever want to."

"It's been a long time...and it wasn't safe."

"It was never safe. And you were never scared of that before."

"You seemed happier this way."

"If you think I'm ever happy to be away from you, then it might be they figured wrong about which one of us is crazy."

"Jerk."

"I love you, Steve Rogers. I knew that the minute I woke up for real. I knew that before I knew anything else. Now, are you done hogging all the stupid in the universe?"

"Somebody had to, with you not around."

"I'm around now. Say it, Steve."

"Buck - "

"Say it. Now."

"I love you."

"See? That wasn't so hard. Now, when are you gonna take me home so I can act surprised about that bedroom I'm never gonna use? Wouldn't mind getting a preview of the one I will use, either."

end

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They're Blue For You - Kian - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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It was for his own protection, they advised him. Just for a little while. Until this whole thing calmed down a little bit. They didn't tell Bucky anything, because there wasn't anything to tell. He hadn't remembered what amounted to a detail of their lives from seventy years ago, and why should he?

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5 times Steve Rogers lost himself to Captain America and 1 time Steve Rogers showed everyone who he truly was.

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Heirloom - Chapter 1 - HunterPeverell - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Bucky Barnes broke Twitter with one photo

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Chapter Text

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

I'm new to this whole 'Twitter' thing what should I post????

Coolest Avenger @flying_falcon In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Whatever you want. That's the point...

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @flying_falcon

Thanks for the tip *rolls eyes*

Am I really her? @blackwidow_baby In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Who taught you about Twitter? And why??

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @blackwidow_baby

Tony said it was vital to have in the 21st century. Which is dumb. Just yell on the street corner like we did.

The OG Bird Avenger @arrowboi In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Was that a joke? #Concerned

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @arrowboi

Yes, it was a joke. We didn't yell on street corners. We ran around Brooklyn until we found who we wanted

The OG Bird Avenger @arrowboi

Man, Cap and Buck had a weird childhood.

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 in reply to @arrowboi

Yeah, I know. #stevesisstaringatme #heisconfused #getontwitterSteve

Am I really her? @blackwidow_baby In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Steve on Twitter? I need to see that. #getontwitterSteve

Coolest Avenger @flying_falcon

#getontwitterSteve

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam

#getsteveontwitter is trending. Can someone tell Steve?

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 in reply to @youknowwho-Iam

Already done. He's reading all this and frowning, now he's saying that he's not frowning. #getontwitterSteve He said he doesn't want to. I'll break him.

_________________

B @Bburtqa

Are we just ignoring the fact that Steve and Bucky are sitting beside each other??? #stucky #getontwitterSteve

Elisa @Elisa24

OMG THE AVENGERS ON TWITTER IS CRACKING ME UP!! #getontwitterSteve

Rach @rachinwonderland

I love this #getontwitterSteve can you imagine the subtweeting!

Ryan hates Twitter @Ryanitists

Okay I never come on but #getontwitterSteve drew my attention

The Avengers @AvengersFanAccount03

#getontwitterSteve Please, we need some Cap content!!

Maddie || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan

Can Steve pleasssse come on! We need to see them interact #getontwitterSteve

I'll break him @stuckyfanOG

I AM SCREAMING OMG #getontwitterSteve

_________________

Avengers Assemble

Tony Stark Created the Group

Tony Stark added Steve Rogers, James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, and Wanda Maximoff

Tony Stark changed his name to Iron Man

Iron Man - can we acknowledge that Steve needs Twitter?

Steve Rogers - no.

James Barnes changed his name to Bucky

Bucky - yes.

Steve Rogers- no.

Bucky - listen to the people. They want you to so bad!

Sam Wilson changed his name to Falcon

Falcon - dude. Get with the times

Natasha Romanoff - #getontwitterSteve has been trending for a day. Give up already!

Steve Rogers - I don't need it. I read everything you say on Bucky's phone.

Clint Barton - ew

Clint Barton changed his name to Hawkeye

Hawkeye - get with the times

Steve Rogers - did you just create this chat to annoy me into getting twitter @Iron Man???

Iron Man - no comment

Pepper Potts - I think it's a good idea. Out of everyone in this chat, Steve's the least likely to do something bad online.

Bucky - I wouldn't say that. Also, side note, we need a new TV.

Iron Man - what!!

Pepper Potts - why?

Bucky - it was Steve

Steve Rogers - no comment.

Bruce Banner - please tell

Bucky - Steve is banned from watching the news that's all I'm saying

Falcon - omg

Bucky - it was bad

Natasha Romanoff - I need to story

Steve Rogers - I got annoyed at politicians using my name for their bull shit so I may or may not have punched the TV

Falcon - wow

Natasha Romanoff - wow

Iron Man - wow

Hawkeye - wow

Iron Man - also, Cap swore

Bucky changed Steve Rogers name to Captain Ass-Merica

Iron Man - Ass-Merica?? I hate it

Falcon - I love it

Iron Man - The symbol of our nation

Falcon - I mean, we can all agree that Steve is Captain Ass-Merica can't we?

Pepper Potts - you're all children

Iron Man - but you love us

Pepper Potts - *eye roll emoji*

Hawkeye - amazing. I love you Pepper

Natasha Romanoff - are we going to ignore the fact that Steve may have just killed Bucky?

Iron Man - I guess

Hawkeye - let the people know

Falcon - too bad

Bruce Banner - I just heard Steve yelling and the both of them running around upstairs.

Bucky - your concern for me is overwhelming

Captain Ass-Merica - I only tried to kill him.

Bucky - but you couldn't

Captain Ass-Merica - I could

Bucky - we've been through this before

Captain Ass-Merica - don't remind me

Captain Ass-Merica changed Bucky's name Captain America's Bitch

Captain America's Bitch - no fair. You didn't even come up with that on your own!

Iron Man - ???

Falcon - explain

Captain America's Bitch - some lady yelled it at me when we went to the mall. It was an ... experience

Hawkeye - you two live such interesting lives

_________________

The OG Bird Avenger @arrowboi

In case you were wondering. In the group chat Bucky's name is Captain America's Bitch and Steve's in Captain Ass-Merica.

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam

The group chat is a strange place.

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 in reply to @arrowboi

Man. That was private #rude

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Also. I am not Captain America's bitch. he is mine.

_________________

Captain Ass-Merica || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan

They have a GROUP CHAT

Will @williamDASH

This day just keeps on getting better #getontwitterSteve

I'll break him @stuckyfanOG

Captain America's Bitch and Captain Ass-Merica??? I stan

_________________

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Steve would like me to tell you that is his happy people want to hear from him but he doesn't know if he wants to get Twitter yet

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

No. A lie. He didn't tell me that, I just know that's what he's thinking so I said it

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

He said I was right. Ha.

_________________

Avengers Assemble

Captain America's Bitch - I need some help

Falcon - I'm scared that it's going to be something weird

Captain America's Bitch - like what??

Falcon - IDK, getting rid of a body?

Captain America's Bitch - I am offended. I am perfectly capable of getting rid of a body on my own.

Captain Ass-Merica - no killing anyone.

Captain America's Bitch - I didn't! Sam brought it up

Falcon - you're a child

Captain America's Bitch - anyway. I need help deciding what Steve's name should be on Twitter.

Falcon - the @ or the display name?

Captain America's Bitch - I already have the @

Captain Ass-Merica - What???

Falcon - 'annoying old man'

Captain Ass-Merica - wait

Iron Man - oh, um, just the American flag

Captain Ass-Merica - I don't have twitter. We're aware of this, right?

Captain America's Bitch - I made you an account when I made me one. We have matching @'s :) @sgtbarnes1917 and @cptrogers1918. Do you like them? I thought it'd be cute, is it dumb?

Private Message Between James Barnes and Sam Wilson

Sam - are you trying to persuade Steve by being cute??

Bucky - Steve doesn't like saying no if he thinks it'll make me happy

Sam - that sounds

Bucky - dirty? Yeah. It should.

Sam - dude.

Bucky - it'll work.

Avengers Assemble

Captain Ass-Merica - it's cute. I still don't want Twitter. Now it's just principal.

Captain America's Bitch - Steve!! Please. It's fun

Falcon - it is. People can ask questions and you can talk to people about

Falcon - Idk what you talk about but that

Iron Man - you can call out politicians you don't like.

Captain America's Bitch - ^^^

Captain America's Bitch - come on Stevie. We can match. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes battling Twitter

Captain Ass-Merica - You're so stupid

Captain Ass-Merica - I'll think about it

Private Message Between James Barnes and Sam Wilson

Bucky - ;)

Sam - yeah yeah

_________________

Am I really her? @blackwidow_baby

Bucky's way of getting Steve on Twitter is by saying 'Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes battling Twitter' in the Avengers Group Chat #getontwitterSteve

I'll break him @stuckyfanOG In reply to @blackwidow_baby

Did it work???? #getontwitterSteve

Am I really her? @blackwidow_baby In reply to @stuckyfanOG

We think.

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam In reply to @blackwidow_baby

I think my suggestion of calling out politicians will tip him over

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Yeah, if Steve does get Twitter be prepared for a lot of fighting... sorry @PepPotts

Pepper @PepPotts In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Sometimes I wish I lived far away from you lot

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam In reply to @PepPotts

Sorry Peps, love you!! #shesmybetterhalf #byalot

Pepper @PepPotts In reply to @youknowwho-Iam

Love you too. #iamthebetterhalf ;)

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam

Wait! How does @sgtbarnes1917 already have ten million followers? It took me a year to get that many!

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @youknowwho-Iam

The people love me.

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam In reply to @sgtbarnes1917

Ugh

_________________

Chad Brown @ChadBoiB

#getontwitterSteve just so he can tear apart the dumbass liberals

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @ChadBoiB

HAHAHA no

_________________

Senator Micheal Massey @MichealMassey

#getontwitterSteve I'd love to see what he thought about certain policies and we all know that all his interviews and scripted and #fakenews.

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @MichealMassey

I'm sure you'd love to hear his opinions on some stuff - doubt you'd like his opinions though.

_________________

Brian Dale @senBrianDale

Steve Rogers supports an all American marriage. One man and one woman. The idea that he supports anything else is #fakenews

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @senBrianDale

I've known Stevie for a long time and I can assure that he believes everyone has the right to get married to whoever they want. Has done since the 20's.

_________________

Captain Ass-Merica || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan

Liberal!Cap?? The only man I trust

Pumpkin Spice Boi @friskymisky

I have chosen the right man to stan #Capsaliberal

TayTay @TayyTayy

A liberal Cap? It's more likely than you think

Spicy @emily456

Honestly it makes me so happy to hear that Captain Rogers supports same-sex marriage. Especially during the 20's.

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @emily456

Yeah, he got beat up a lot because of it. Don't ever say Steven Rogers won't fight for your rights.

Adam @adamandsteve

So does this mean that @sgtbarnes1917 is a liberal as well?

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @adamandsteve

Hell yes!

_________________

Avengers Assemble

Captain America's Bitch - Steve they think you're a conservative.

Captain Ass-Merica - What??

Falcon - ??

Captain America's Bitch - Chad Brown said you would 'tear apart the dumbass liberals' and he isn't alone in that train of thought. Guess they think cause we're old were conservatives?? Anyway, thought I'd let you know so you could deal with it how you see fit. And if that's getting on twitter and telling them off yourself, I wouldn't complain. Also, there are senators and stuff talking about how you'd support them and their policies. And Brain Dale said you're homophobic and support 'all American' marriage.

Private Message Between James Barnes and Sam Wilson

Bucky - ;)

Sam - is it true?

Bucky - yeah

Sam - that sucks

Bucky - yup. But it should make him want to get on sooooo

Sam - you can deal with the homophobes if it means getting Steve on Twitter?

Bucky - been dealing with homophobes longer than Twitter's been around

_________________

Coolest Avenger @flying_falcon

The idea that Cap is against same-sex marriage is laughable.

_________________

Avengers Assemble

Captain Ass-Merica - maybe I will get it

Private Message Between James Barnes and Sam Wilson

Bucky - told ya

Sam - you know him creepily well

Bucky - ha probably

_________________

Iron Man Rox ;) @youknowwho-Iam

I think Bucky just convinced Steve to join #getontwitterSteve

_________________

Avengers Assemble

Pepper Potts - Please don't make too much damage. The PR team have already sent me a dozen emails complaining about today. Just, remember that everything you say online can and will come back to bite you. And that people will screenshot everything so they will be able to bring it back even if you delete it. Don't say something you wouldn't say on camera - and Tony, don't say anything. Ever.

Iron Man - rude

Hawkeye - Pepper laying out the truth

Captain America's Bitch - As the kids say; I stan.

Iron Man - You've been on Twitter for a day and you already know what stanning is. How?

Captain America's Bitch - I PM'd a fan and asked for her help. She's very nice.

Natasha Romanoff - that's what I did when I first got it as well

Hawkeye - same

Iron Man - is it some kind of spy thing then?

Captain America's Bitch - I was never a spy.

Natasha Romanoff changed her name to GreatestSpy

GreatestSpy - I wanted to know what people were saying about me after New York and I didn't understand.

Bruce Banner - I prefer to stay away from Stan twitter. Freaks me out

Iron Man - I've seen some things

Hawkeye - the fan art?

Iron Man - it's impressive. I bought a T-shirt of me and Banner once.

Captain America's Bitch - fan art?? Hang on.

Bruce Banner - I may have a travel mug with the logo on it and all our 'symbols' around the bottom. It's cute.

GreatestSpy - I have a jumper with me and Clint

Hawkeye - One time I saw some art of me and Tony

Iron Man - say anything else and I'm deleting you from the group

Hawkeye - you don't want to hear about the yoga-like position we were doing?

Iron Man has removed Hawkeye from the chat

GreatestSpy - he's complaining on our private chat.

GreatestSpy - begging to be let back in

GreatestSpy - says he's sorry

Iron Man - Fine

Iron Man - only if he doesn't talk about our fan art anymore.

GreatestSpy - told him the rules

Iron Man has added Hawkeye to the chat

Hawkeye - I was in the downward dog and you were on top

Iron Man has removed Hawkeye from the chat

GreatestSpy - is it rude to block your boyfriend on the private chat?

Iron Man - Yes

Pepper Potts - No

Falcon - ha. It's happened to you two before.

Iron Man - No

Pepper Potts - Yes

Falcon - Amazing

Captain America's Bitch - I'm back. Fan art's interesting. There's a lot of me and Steve. People ship us which is cool.

Bruce Banner - You're literally together

Captain America's Bitch - they don't know that do they?

Captain Ass-Merica - what's shipping?

Iron Man - old man. Go to sleep old man, it's already nine pm!

Captain Ass-Merica - I'm going to bed but we won't be sleeping

Iron Man has removed Captain Ass-Merica from the chat

Captain America's Bitch - HA! Fair.

Captain America's Bitch has added Captain Ass-Merica to the chat

_________________

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Good night everyone. Bedtime for old people ;) - Don't worry, I'm going to try and convince Steve to get on Twitter #getontwitterSteve

_________________

Captain Ass-Merica || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan

Please Do!!!! We need #stucky content #getontwitterSteve

I am Will @will-i-am

#getontwitterSteve is still trending with over a million tweets.

I'll break him @stuckyfanOG

UM BUCKY SAID HE'S GOING TO BED BUT HE CAN STILL TALK TO STEVE I AM SCREAMING

Captain Ass-Merica || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan In reply to @stuckyfanOG

Either they're in the same room or they message each other in bed and I am dead

I'll break him @stuckyfanOG In reply to @Steve_Bucky_Stan

These guys I swear to god!!

Captain Ass-Merica || IA due to School @Steve_Bucky_Stan In reply to @stuckyfanOG

Girl, I am dead because of them #stuckyisreal

_________________

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Good morning everyone

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

What to tweet??

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

#getontwitterSteve

Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917

Anyway, here's something to start our mornings off right! Steve Rogers in his natural habitat

_________________

Breaking News CNN @CNN_Offical

Twitter back up after two hours. Reports are saying the picture that James Barnes posted as the cause of the crash.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
@sgtbarnes1917 and @cptrogers1918 - Chapter 1 - BayleyWinchester - Marvel [Archive of Our Own]

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Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 I'm new to this whole 'Twitter' thing what should I post???? Coolest Avenger @flying_falcon In reply to @sgtbarnes1917 Whatever you want. That's the point... Bucky Barnes @sgtbarnes1917 In reply to @flying_falcon Thanks for the tip *rolls eyes* Am I really her? @blackwidow_baby In reply to @sgtbarnes1917 Who taught you about Twitter?

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Why Tony Stark is injurious to the heart health of ninety year olds - Neutralchaos and makeyamad

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Why Tony Stark is injurious to the heart health of ninety year olds - Neutralchaos and makeyamad

# data[].attributes.body
What if Bucky broke through his programming on December 16, 1991? What if Tony got to grow up with one of his childhood heroes who challenges him on a visceral level, constantly pushing him to change his own destiny and makes his heart beat like a hummingbird? What if Steve woke up to a world too bright and a best friend whose past cast red tinged shadows that threatened to swallow him whole, yet managed to smile for Steve? What would Steve make of Tony, his best friend’s guiding light , who looked at Steve with equal parts admiration and resentment?
And who the hell invited Thanos to the party anyway?

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Chapter Text

Chapter 1

NOW:

His left arm was on fire. He lifted his faceplate to look at it. The gauntlet had survived the hit. One for Tony, Zero for the gigantic purple space grape, his mind supplied, hysterical.

Though bending it caused sparks of electicity to race up and down his arm. Which was atleast, not on fire, like he feared.
Peter landed next to him. He wobbled slightly. Tony thought Peter looked like himself. When he tried on Pepper's heels that once.

"Are you alright, Mr. Stark ? That was ugly," the boy queried. Like it would stop Tony from asking about Peter's health after his own turn with Thanos.
Tony started giggling. Peter held Tony's shoulder and gave a shake. Tony gasped in pain. Which was followed by deranged laughter and the breathy whisper of "ugly". The last thing Tony saw before his eyes rolled up was Peter's worried face.

"Ew. Howard's creepy friend is here"Tony stage whispered to Rhodey as they walked out of the dean's office. "Ew. Howard's ugly kid is here."The man in question growled back. Rhodey snickered. Tony looked at Rhodey with mock betrayal.

Bucky smirked at the two kids who had been reasoning (Rhodes) and arguing (Tony) with the dean for the past hour. He would argue with Howard about sending him to stand in as Tony's guardian. But he enjoyed poking fun at the kid. And Tony seemed to tolerate him. After all, Bucky had Jarvis's seal of approval.

Tony had grown to consider him a tentative ally. Ever since Bucky refused to leave Tony alone in the dark days after Jarvis's death. That was around the time he had discovered the second sharpest weapon in the kid's arsenal: his tongue. Bucky hoped he never came within its range again.

They grumbled about food as the three of them walked towards his car. "That your mama?"Tony squinted at the taxi that came to a stop behind Bucky's car. Rhodes cocked his head to look at the figure getting out. "Oh hell, It is my mama!"He whispered. "You are in so much trouble young man,"Bucky wagged his finger at Rhodey with a deranged smirk. Tony faked a cough,"Spoken like a true grandpa".

Rhodes turned around, put both of his hands on Tony's shoulders. He looked into Tony's eyes and said, "I'm going to pacify my mama. I need to explain to her that you beat up that disrespectful a-hole who called me names much better than she could. It's going to take all night. I don't want to come back to you trying to stick a pencil through the Winter soldier's eye socket. Are we clear? ". Tony snapped a mock salute "Crystal sir". Rhodey cuffed him under his chin and smiled "good". "No promises"Tony hollered after Rhodes.

Tony reminded Bucky of a certain blue eyed blond. Whenever he heard the high lilting voice instead of the familiar Brooklyn drawl,it hurt. It was unfair to the young boy; but Bucky had earned the right to be unfair . He had lost his best friend who could have been more and his free will for the past fifty years. The former was a shared grief; Howard was still searching for closure; as was SHIELD. The later was his own burden to bear.

He agreed with Tony on this one; Howard must be completely off the rocker to let Bucky in his home. Like he wasn't the man who tried to kill Howard and his wife. In those first years, no matter what he did, Tony never stopped squinting at Bucky. As if Bucky would have a melt down and go on a killing spree over a piece of pie.

It had made his day, scaring the heebie jeebies' out of the fourteen year old. Tony did have one of the most endearing frowns Bucky had ever seen. Their impromptu bonding had been over loss of Jarvis, who was one of the very few who treated Bucky as a person . After that, Tony had stopped grabbing his screw driver like he was ready to stab him,whenever Bucky approached.

"Ugh, fine", Tony covered his face with his hands. A brown eye peeked through the space between his fingers. Tony cocked an eyebrow,"What's on menu today, Bucky bear? Burgers after murder? Or do you prefer the murder come first?". Bucky raised an eyebrow back, "Sweetheart the murder isn't on the table until the third date ". Tony flushed and then groaned,"Eugh,A grandpa is hitting on me. Someone kill me right now". Bucky guffawed as he dragged Tony by his hoodie towards the car squawking.

***

"What was it like?"Tony asked from the hood of the car as he looked up at the stars. Bucky opened his eyes from where he was leaning his head against the side of the car. "You talking to me?"Bucky asked to be sure.

Tony was prone to talking to himself and Bucky had been snubbed one too many times to not proceed with caution. Tony huffed,"No idiot. I was talking to Cap's ghost. What do you think?". At Bucky's glare, Tony mumbled an apology.
Steve was one his sore spots; one that Tony had taken immense pleasure in poking at.

Bucky used to take offense till he realised Tony was doing it to get a rise out of Howard and not him. Tony turned to lay on his stomach to look at Bucky. "You enlisted when you were the same age as I am now. What was it like in the military?", Tony clarified.

They had driven out to a cliff overlooking the city with their food orders after they left the college. While Tony sniped at him when they had company, he was usually silent when they were alone. It was like watching a switch flip.

There was the Stark heir who danced and pranced and was all that jazz. Then there was Tony the kid. Who was either too quiet or asking weird and random questions like "Would you come and visit my dorm? My son is a bit lonely"out of nowhere. (Bucky almost had an aneurysm. Jarvis, bless his soul, had took pity and explained to him. Tony referred to Dum-E, the first robot he built as his child.)

"Steve was the one who enlisted when he was eighteen. I was nineteen when I did"Bucky tried to figure out why this question popped up. He narrowed his eyes at the brunet, "Why are you asking?". Tony bit his lip, looking at Bucky like he was assessing Bucky's reaction.

He mumbled ,"My platypus is going." It took Bucky a moment to figure out the full implication . So, Tony wanted to join the army. He managed to contain himself from screaming 'Absolutely not!' to the kid's face. Like Tony loved to remind him, Bucky was not his dad.

But this kid was the kind of person who called his robot his son. Say what you want, but Antonio Edward Stark was very much his mama's boy. He was a soft hearted dreamer, who always believed there was a third way, a better way, to resolve every problem.

The army was no place for such bleeding hearts. And Bucky wanted this kid to keep his innocence as long as he can. "Well?"Tony prompted when the silence stretched. Bucky massaged his neck, thinking. "I thought following was not your style"Bucky offered.

He looked at the smooth cheeked boy, who resembled the face that used to grin back at him in his mirror a long long time ago. Tony chuckled "Well, if there was one person I would follow to the ends of the earth, it would be my honey bear". Bucky had his doubts, Tony and Rhodey were so alike him and Steve that he couldn't but wonder... "Do you love him?"Bucky asked before wincing internally. Way to be blunt,Barnes, he thought.

Tony looked at him like he was stupid,"Like my own brother". Bucky fixed him with a stare and Tony scoffed. "Look I have experimented my fair share with guys and gals. But I can't even look at Rhodey like that. It's feels weird ." Tony's answer filled Bucky with amusement.

"Pity. I had planned on walking you down the aisle when you both got married officially," Bucky quipped. "Yeah?Too bad. But why would I be the one to walk down the aisle?",Tony shot back. Bucky looked back incredulously,"You are younger and shorter than him."

Tony huffed,"So? I totally wear the pants in the relationship!". Bucky rolled his eyes. Tony thought for a moment," Besides Rhodey would look better than me in the white gown." Bucky asked in mock serious tone ,"Are you sure? I can really see you in a A line wedding gown." Tony glared back.

"Do you think I can do it?"Tony asked. "Fight the good fight for my country? Like the others overseas who lay down their lives for us?". Bucky inhaled sharply; the deja vu was so strong, he would have laughed. If he didn't know that Tony would take offense. And join the army, just to spite him.

"I don't believe you can't do it if it comes down to that. But I believe you are capable of more than that",Bucky knew he was stalling. But how do you tell somebody with a Napoleon complex to lay low without offending them enough to go ahead and do it?

Tony's face twisted up in anger. "If this is another lecture about how I am wasting my opportunites.." Bucky interrupted before Tony settled in for a full rant, "It isn't. I was reminding you of what you used to tell me to get out of exercising. The brawn comes by the pound, the brains occur once in a million. And I thought you were the lucky one in the million. Huh?".

Bucky raised his eye brows,"You really are itching for a fight aren't you?". Tony looked abashed, "it's just... I may have got the same lecture from Rhodey too? Hey! Did you just call me smart, Mr. Brawn-gets-things-done-while-the-brains-snooze?,"he asked brightening .

Bucky huffed, "it is obvious that Rhodes is the smart one of you two". Tony smiled softly, "That's true". He lived for these moments; when Tony looked like this, eyes crinkling with joy and that sweet smile. If only the circumstances were different... He cleared his throat and smiled back, "Then you should probably listen to him. I swear you are worse than Steve at this", he waved his hand for effect .

Tony, though openly critical of Steve and his antics (' He could have gotten a parachute! Or gave out his coordinates instead of dramatically biding goodbye!') He was a Cap fan boy through and through. And secretly loved being told he was just like him. Bucky could smell the daddy issues a mile away.

Tony tilted his head and propped his chin on his palm "You miss him". A simple statement, loaded with so many questions . Bucky looked up at him and then sighed. There was no point in digging up his past when history was threatening to repeat itself.

"What do you really want to do Tony? I don't want the answer of Howard's son. Or Maria's boy. Or Rhodey's friend. What does Tony the mechanic want?",he asked. Tony answered without hesitation, "To save the world". Bucky smiled,"then go do it". Tony snorted and looked away.

"Or give up, spend a few years living it up, get married to a high society gal and settle down to look after your dad's company like a good little boy"Bucky tacked on. Irritation flickering across Tony's face. "That right there is my problem. Why don't I get to write my own story? It's either bow down to Howard or go broke. Sometimes I wish I were born to somebody else"Tony huffed. Then I would have never gotten to know you, Bucky answered silently within his mind.

Bucky shook his head. "Wake up kid; nobody gets their wishes in the real world", he said gruffly as he stretched his arms above his head. Tony slid down the windshield to squint at him.

Knowing how nosy Tony could be, Bucky started talking before the conversation veered towards him. "You either swim with the current and live the good life or swim against it and risk drowning, kid. Whining about it won't change anything. Army values obedience, doing what your C.O. tells you, no matter what. It ain't for folks like you, more curious than a kitty that smelled fish. Sure, you can rough it out, but at what cost?"He looked Tony in the eye. "Do what you know best; build us stuff and keep our people safe through your creations".

Tony looked at him for a long moment, "Or I can do that". He jumped off the car and nodded to himself. Tony opened the door for Bucky,"Let's go then." Bucky felt like he had been punched in his gut. The kid had accepted his words. Instead of fighting him tooth and nail like he did with his parents.

For all his mistrust and growling, Tony still idolized him; listened to him and came to him for opinions and solutions. After Jarvis was gone Tony had latched on to Bucky like a drowning man grasping at reeds. He only hoped he proved worthy of the kid's adoration.

Tony fell asleep in the car on the way to the dorm leaving Bucky to carry him. Rhodey opened the door with a frown that was wiped off when he saw Tony. "I was just about to launch a search party for this brat. Where did you two disappear to?"He asked directing a sharp look at Bucky. Bucky would be shaking in his boots, if he hadn't been at the receiving end of such looks from his senior officers as long as he could remember. Rhodes would make a fine officer, he mused .

Bucky raised his chin,"You know you are talking to a trained assassin with 99% success rate, right?". Rhodes burst out laughing, "Man if someone sent an assassin named 'Bucky' after me I'd die of laughter before you pull out the guns". Bucky smiled and shrugged. "So you are joining the forces?"he asked casually.

Rhodes pursed his lips before he exhaled;"He told you he is joining too, didn't he?"he asked tiredly. "I've tried my best to convince him otherwise. But he is pretty determined that you need his protection ", Bucky said as Rhodes took Tony from his arms and tucked him in. Rhodes made a choking noise, "If anyone needed protection, it would be this dummy. He can't go three days without setting the lab on fire". They shared a smile, each thinking about his own reckless idiot of a friend that required saving from time to time.

Then Rhodes sobered up,"listen, I know you got a thing for Tony". Bucky opened his mouth to protest and Rhodes held up his hand,"I don't care why and I won't stop him if he decided to be with you, if it makes him happy. That boy is crushing so hard on you; I'm frankly surprised you didn't pick it up earlier. Or maybe you were waiting for him to become legal; if that's the case, good for you .But if you hurt him, I'll kill you slowly and painfully, Winter soldier or not. Understand ?". Bucky looked at Rhodes with new eyes. he nodded and made his way back to his hotel.

Bucky would wake up next morning in his hotel room to a gift package and a note in Tony's loopy handwriting. It would contain a body armor which was tough and sleek but could take a bullet without a scratch on it. (For those missions you come back with metal souvenirs in your body). It came with a classic grooming kit( for the love of everything holy, please shave and get your hair cut while you are at it). And a pair of titanium blade knives . (lose these and I'll kill you.) Becca's address with a photo of her with her family was also included. (Rhodey tells me sisters tend to get pretty violent with their brothers when they do something stupid like not talk to them for forty years . All the best!).

Tony would be gone after dropping Rhodey at the airport. He would walk away from his dad's fortune to find his own (I've decided to risk drowning Bucky bear. How hard can it be? If dad can do it, so can I. Wish me luck!) And Bucky would be left smiling, wondering what good he had done to deserve this angel.

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Why Tony Stark is injurious to the heart health of ninety year olds - Chapter 1 - makeyamad, Neutralchaos - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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Chapter 1 NOW: His left arm was on fire. He lifted his faceplate to look at it. The gauntlet had survived the hit. One for Tony, Zero for the gigantic purple space grape, his mind supplied, hysterical. Though bending it caused sparks of electicity to race up and down his arm.

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"What's a Stucky?" Steve asked, shrugging off his coat. He would have just Googled it, but he was pretty sure Tony had messed with the autocorrect on his phone, because every time he tried to text Sam about defensive tactics, it changed the word "ducking" to something Steve definitely did not mean to type.

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What's a Stucky - girlinstory - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Just the Three of Us; Steve, Bucky, and Tony have been in a relationship for several months now. For the first time, Bucky and Tony's heats sync up. It's going to be hard for even Captain America to keep up with two needy omegas.
Nine Months; Steve should have known better. The two omegas went into heat together, of course they would get pregnant together.
Family is a Little World Created by Love; Steve may have an unconventional family, but it's completely perfect.
Friends and Allies; Steve didn't expect this to happen when he agreed to let Loki babysit the children.
Hallowed Happiness; When Bucky is injured in battle, Steve stays home with him while Tony and Loki take the kids trick or treating.

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Together - Crematosis - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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When Toni was seven, her soulmarks manifested: a red star edged in silver under her right collar bone, and a white star edged in blue under her left collar bone. Mama told her never to show them to anyone, because the Starks have enemies, and those enemies could use the soulmarks against her. She didn't see how. They were only stupid stars that didn't do anything but feel cold.

By the time she's fifteen, she learns more about the marks, and the men they signify. Red Star wanders in and out of her life without seeming to remember her from one encounter to the next, and she's pretty sure White Star was lost decades ago. Soulmates, she decides, are useless flights of fantasy, because hers certainly aren't the supportive life partners all the stories say they're supposed to be.

But she's a grown-ass woman now, and it doesn't really matter if she wants them or not. It really doesn't matter if she's a loose cannon, and one is with SHIELD and the other with HYDRA.

They're hers and she's theirs.

And she really doesn't like it when people take her stuff.

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The Stars Through Her Soul - ficlicious - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Inspired by a tumblr prompt from months ago that asked me for "AU with Captain Bucky and Winter Steve?" and OT3 feels.

This… this was the original Captain America. From Project Rebirth. The one Howard had always spoken of highly, compared Tony to, wanted to find.
Tony found himself glad Howard never had.
The Soldier shifted the gun, so that it pointed right at the eye of the suit.
Tony considered his options. This wasn’t the first time they’d found the Soldier. Tony had been thinking for a while now that the Soldier was keeping tabs on them. On Bucky.
“Aren’t you tired of this?” Tony asked.

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Sunshine and Grey Skies - InsaneJuliann - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Demons. Dreams. Desires. - RayShippouUchiha

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Demons. Dreams. Desires. - RayShippouUchiha

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“What kind of price?” Howard’s frightened but he’s not stupid. He’s a better businessman than to agree to something without hearing the finer details first. Especially not from … them.

“Your child.”

Howard's heart skips a beat.

“I-I don’t have any children.” Howard forces the words out. It’s the truth too. He doesn’t have any kids, doesn’t even have a wife or any desire to find one.

“You will,” they say, voices certain and almost amused. “We know your beginning, your middle, your eventual end. You will have a child and in exchange for our aid that child will belong to us.”

The implications of what they’re saying makes Howard even more lightheaded than before.

“Deal.” Howard says with no hesitation.

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Demons. Dreams. Desires. - RayShippouUchiha - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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At 25, Tony Stark watched as the government found a lost icon, and reintroduced him to the world. At 25, Tony refused to join the Avengers Initiative, only stepping forward to help when the world became endangered. He'd used the suit he'd created to fly a missile into the sky.

At 27, Tony watched as the group of heroes turned against the government. He watched as they teamed up with a man formerly known as James Barnes, and destroyed the system. Steve Rogers had come to the conclusion that if the world he’d woken up in was in chaos, then they would force it to run as they wanted. It took one year before the group had systematically taken over the world.

Tony didn't grow up into a playboy. He didn't grow up in the spotlight like everyone had expected. He grew up fast, and mostly alone. So when the former heroes took over the government, he and a small group of friends went into hiding.

“Stark, I’ve been looking for you,” the man’s grin was anything but kind. Feral. Steve tilted his head as he stared at the face plate that had slid over Tony’s face. “Do you know, you’re just as pretty as your dad was, and even smarter.”

At the age of 28, Tony Stark became the most wanted man on the planet.

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Growing Up Iron - ChaseGrl - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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All the Words You Never Said - Taste_is_Sweet

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All the Words You Never Said - Taste_is_Sweet

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When Danny Williams visits New Jersey after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the last thing he expects is to find a feral Sentinel curled up in the back seat of his car.

Wait, scratch that. The actual last thing Danny expects is for the feral Sentinel to be Bucky Barnes.

But Danny's a Guide, and Bucky is in deep distress, so of course Danny brings him home. The plan is for Danny to get Bucky back into his head, then back to his Guide, Captain America. Bucky will be safe, he and Steve Rogers can reaffirm their bond, Danny can go back to Hawaii and Danny's Steve can go back to throwing himself off things. Everyone will be where and with whom they belong, and they'll all live happily ever after. Easy.

There's just one problem: Danny Williams' life has never been easy.

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All the Words You Never Said - Chapter 1 - Taste_is_Sweet - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Tony can see Steve's soulmark under his left collarbone; it's a circle, with lines going out from it, twisting and turning. It looks like a sun with a dark, yet vibrant, blue color. Tony looks over at Bucky, staring briefly at his right upperarm, where he knows the exact same sun will be hiding under the longsleeved shirt he is wearing.

Tony takes his coffe and goes to his workshop, saying something about a new device to his helmet to the rest of the team in the room.

He ignores the burn right between his shoulderblades, where a blue sun is hiding.

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Chapter Text

Tony stares at Steve and Bucky. They're like a puzzle. They just fit together. It is almost as if they both are gravity, pulling them towards eachother. They just have this balance around them, shining brightly, practically screaming perfect.

A balance that will get broken if Tony says anything.

So he just watches instead. He watches Steve laugh, while Bucky smirks next to him, leaning against the counter. He looks at the faint touch between their shoulder and the two hands that holds them together. Tony can see Steve's soulmark under his left collarbone; it's a circle, with lines going out from it, twisting and turning. It looks like a sun with a dark, yet vibrant, blue color. Tony looks over at Bucky, staring briefly at his right upperarm, where he knows the exact same sun will be hiding under the longsleeved shirt he is wearing. Tony turns his head up to their faces, as Steve rest his head on Bucky's right shoulder, while he whispers something softly to him.

Tony takes his coffe and goes to his workshop, saying something about a new device to his helmet to the rest of the team in the room.

He ignores the burn right between his shoulderblades, where a blue sun is hiding.

(-)

Tony watches Thor boom about Jane to anyone who listens. He beams, saying there is no one else he would want to be with, while also saying great things about Jane. Tony can see Clint rolling his eyes when Thor isn't watching and Natasha hitting him slightly on his head. Tony can see Clint's soulmark on his left wrist, a dark red, twisted line going around the wrist like a bracelet, with pointy thornes coming out from it. Tony knows Natasha has one on her ankle. He also knows Coulson has one around his right wrist.

Thor continues to boom about Jane and their soulmark, an oval, yellow thing, with what looks eerily like lighting coming out from it. Bruce listens next to him, a small smile tugging on his lips. His soulmark is on his chest; it's a straight line, but it is the brightest green Tony has ever seen and from it there is a hurricane of lines, twisting and crossing eachother. Tony knows Betty Ross has one on her palm. He also knows the two of them will meet in the weekend and that Bruce is secretly excited and nervous. Tony can't blame him. He did abandon her after all for a couple of years. Oh well. Tony can get why he did it.

Tony turns his head towards Steve and Bucky. Steve also listens to Thor's voice, but he foucuses more on the drawing he currently draws in his sketchbook. His head is in Bucky's lap, while Bucky plays with his hair. Tony can't see what Steve draws, but he can see Bucky smiling everytime he looks at it. Steve's eyes are shining and Bucky seems more happy than he has ever been since Tony met him.

Tony walks out of the room without saying anything.

Nobody notices. Either that, or they just doesn't care.

Tony thinks he knows which one of the two alternatives is right.

(-)

Tony builds. He builds until his hands are bloody and aching, until his eyes are blodshot and his legs feels heavy. He builds, he upgrades and invents. He does anything he can thinks of. He ignores Jarvis attempts to talk to him about how long he has been awake without sleep, since he last ate and the last time he left the workshop. He ignores it when Jarvis says Bruce wants to come down to see him and he ignores when Steve also tries.

He ignores them and builds.

(-)

His hands are sore and his arms are tired, but his mind is focused on the devices in his hands.

Tony is fine.

Food and sleep is overrated anyway.

He collapses 8 hours later.

(-)

Yinsen is the only one Tony ever has told about his soulmark.

You're the man who has everything, yet nothing.

Tony knows Yinsen knew those words were true to the core. Because Tony is an egoistic bastard with dead soulmates and he would be alone even after he escaped that hellhole.

Tony also knows Yinsen believed he could be different, do something good for the world. That he would do something great.

Tony knows one of two statements is right.

He also know one of them is wrong.

(-)

Tony wakes up in his bed. He stares at the ceiling for five minutes, before he sits up. He is still in his clothes he had in the workshop, but his hands are bandaged and aching. He looks away from them. He notices that on the right side of his bed there is a tray with sandwitches and a waterbottle. He can't feel the taste of the food when he is eating. He can't feel the hot water when he showers.

Jarvis says he's been asleep for 9 hours when he asks.

Tony doesn't ask though who brought him up to his room.

(-)

Howard hated Tony the moment he laid his eyes on him. Tony was never good enough; never perfect. While he might be a genius, he wasn't Captain America. It didn't help Howard and Maria Stark wasn't soulmates. It didn't help it was a unhappy marriage and that Tony never was wanted, but was needed to continue the family line. It didn't help Howard thought Tony only was good to lash out his anger at.

The soulmark hurt when he got it, which he thinks is lucky, because otherwise, he wouldn't know it was even there before somebody else saw it. Tony got his soulmark at 15, two years earlier than the average time to get one. He doesn't tell anyone. Tony had been learned by Howard at a young age that he was nothing worth and that the only thing that mattered was his name. He had been learned no one would love him. So how could he ever be good enough for two of the greatest heroes of all time? He only knows it is them because Aunt Peggy showed him a picture of Steve's soulmark one time and said Bucky also had one.

It just didn't add up that Tony would have them as soulmates, no matter how hard he thought about it.

So he shut up about it. After all, they were already dead. It didn't matter.

Sometimes, Tony is sure the universe loves to prove him wrong in the worst possible ways.

(-)

Tony can still feel the water burning in his lungs and voices yelling in his ears in laungages he doesn't understand.

He can still remember the thoughts of hoping somebody would come and save him.

He can still remember Yinsen calm voice talking to him when he needed distraction from the hell they were in.

He can still remember the rage burning in him when Yinsen died.

He can still feel the burning sensation of warm sand and the sun over him.

Tony can't any longer remember Rhodey coming for him.

(-)

Howard and Maria Stark died two years after he got his soulmark and he can't bring himself to cry.

How can he cry for somebody he knows he will never miss?

(-)

No one talks about the period of time Tony spent in the workshop. The team glances at the bandage around his hand sometimes during the first day, but pretends it isn't there after that.

Tony doesn't say anything about it.

He can feel a bitter taste in from his coffee when Bucky and Steve looks at eachother like there is nothing else in the world.

He ignores it and continues drinking.

That he drinks alchohol afterwards to get the taste from his mouth gone is completley out of the point.

(-)

Tony's dreams are plagued by Howard yelling at him, Bucky and Steve glaring at him and a pain in his soulmark.

He tries to sleep as little as he can.

(-)

One time, Clint asks if it's true Tony doesn't have a soulmark. The rest of the team looks up to stare at him.

Tony just smirks and says that's the big question. To his relief, Clint huffs and says he could just say no if he doesn't have one. It wasn't greatly uncommon to not have one.

His heart still beats twice as fast when he thinks back at the converstation.

(-)

Tony can sometimes see Natasha staring at him.

He won't be surprised if she knows or atlest suspects he has a soulmate. But she doesn't say anything.

He wants to thank her for that.

(-)

He got Bruce his own lab.

Bruce is there a lot. Sometimes Tony joins him.

They don't talk much.

It's nice.

(-)

Tony thinks of Obie when he gets drunk. He thinks of the trust he had for him, the respectfull mask and confidence Obie always had. He thinks of Obie's black soulmark on his neck. He thinks of that one time Obie told him during one of his drunken ramblings that "she wasn't worth it".

Maybe he betrayed her too.

(-)

The team asks sometimes if he wants to be with them on movie night or want to get takeout or just plain out hang out with them.

He says no everytime.

They stop asking.

He ignores the disappointed feeling in his chest.

(-)

Sometime Tony just stops. He stops with whatever he's doing and stares out into the thin air, his mind empty and his eyes unfocused.

It's nice to feel okay for a change.

(-)

Jarvis was the first person Tony trusted.

He still wishes he had told Jarvis about his soulmark before he died.

He thinks he deserved to know.

(-)

Tony can't bring himself to say anything to Pepper and Rhodey, even if he would trust them with anything.

He wants to. He really wants to.

But he doesn't want to bother them. Nobody, except maybe for Natasha and Yinsen, who is dead, even knows he has one soulmate and definitely doesn't know he has two. Why should he say anything, when they doesn't have a clue?

He's handling the situation fine, he thinks for himself

Never has the word "fine" been so bitter on his tongue.

(-)

When Tony and Pepper broke up, Tony didn't know how to react. He knew it had only been temporary; they weren't soulmates and Pepper had a soulmark herself; a red circle, with spikes. It fit her and her temper.

But that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to get hurt. So he got drunk and woke up with a headache. Nothing unusual.

But this time, he woke up alone and cold.

Since then, he's used to feeling cold.

He was already familiar with feeling alone.

(-)

One time, Tony got to see Yinsen's mark.

It was a dark green color, formed as a circle and another circle around it. Yinsen had it on on his right knee.

Tony wishes he could have saved Yinsen and his family.

He wishes Yinsen could have gotten his happy ending.

Tony wishes he had died in that cave.

(-)

Tony's visits to Bruce's lab gradually stops.

Bruce asks why and Tony says he has a lot to do in his own workshop.

Bruce doesn't ask anything more about it.

Tony knows he shouldn't be so disappointed.

(-)

When Tony meets Steve Rogers, he doesn't say anything. He thinks for himself, that when the right time is, he will. But there is never a right time. Because Steve hates him, ranting about Howard and how Tony is not a hero.

Tony doesn't say anything about the mark, but can't help but trace the lines under Steve's collarbone with his eyes. He wants to belong to somebody, but he knows it won't work as long as Steve mourns over Bucky. He wishes there is a way to help Steve with the grief, but he doesn't know how. But he tries. It's small things, like new pencils or small stuff that has once belonged to Peggy or old pictures. Steve seems a little more happier for every week, so Tony thinks it works. The missions goes well enough and the Avengers are succesfull as a team. Steve warms up to him. Tony hasn't said anything about the small stuff he does for Steve, but he thinks Steve knows it is him.

Tony is happy he can atleast do something right for once.

(-)

Tony doesn't know if he should laugh or cry when they discover the Winter Soldier.

He decides to cry when they manages to find Bucky buried within the Winter Soldier.

But he is quiet when Bucky is well enough to move into the tower.

Because Steve and Bucky are together and Tony can see the affection radiating from them.

There's simply no place for Tony.

Never has been and never will be.

Howards was right, Tony thinks when Bucky's been in the tower for some time. Tony can't help but falling for him too, for his dry humour and the rares smiles he can sometimes get.

Tony is alone.

Alone and broken and useless and worthless and stupid and foolish and...

Tony hides in his room.

(-)

His dreams are becoming worse.

They're full by silence now.

Tony never liked silence.

(-)

Tony walks in on Steve and Bucky kissing early in the early morning and stares, before he walks out of the kitchen so they won't notice him.

He tells himself he imagines the tears falling down from his eyes.

(-)

JARVIS tries to help him in his own way. Telling him when he last ate or slept. JARVIS tells him where all the other Avengers are and always sounds so comforting when he speaks to Tony.

Tony can't help but smile when JARVIS talks to him.

It feels nice to have someone caring about him, human or not.

(-)

Yinsen starts coming back to Tony's dreams.

Tony wonders how long he can be awake without going insane.

(-)

It's been five months since Bucky moved into the tower.

Tony has managed to create an arm to him like the one he had before, the only difference being that the new arm is covered by a material so it looks and feels more like skin. Bucky also tells him it feels more real and less like a metal piece stuck to his shoulder.

Bucky and Steve can't stop thanking him for atleast a week.

Tony doesn't know how he will manage to lie about his soulmark for his entire life.

(-)

Natasha stares at him. He stares back. She shakes her head and walks away.

Tony feels empty watching her go.

(-)

Jarvis was the father Tony wished Howard could have been when he was younger.

Tony knows now he doesn't deserve that kind of a father.

(-)

Tony gets drunk one night and sets fire to the workshop.

DUM-E actually uses his fire extinguisher right for once.

Tony wishes the robot hadn't.

(-)

He fought with Rhodey. He can't remember what they fought about, but it ended when Rhodey punched Tony.

Tony can't remember last time he got that drunk after a fight.

(-)

Tony thinks of Steve and Bucky and their stupid, perfect smiles.

He throws his coffee cup across the room. It shatters in thousands of pieces.

Tony tells himself he is okay.

Tony has always been very good at lying.

(-)

Tony doesn't care much about anything anymore.

What's the meaning when nobody really will ever care for him?

(-)

Steve and Bucky laughs together.

Tony hides in his workshop for two days.

No one tries to come down.

(-)

He dreams about broken soulmarks, Yinsen and darkness.

He is always alone in darkness.

(-)

He yells at Pepper on a particulary bad night.

He still haven't said sorry.

(-)

He haven't seen Pepper for some time now.

It's feels easier to get drunk.

(-)

He feels to tired to keep up apperances around Steve and Bucky anymore.

It's easier to just avoid or walk out of the room when they're there.

No one notices.

(-)

Tony walks in when the team has a movie night. There are popcorn, bad movies and laughter. No one bothered to tell Tony.

No one notices he is even there.

No one notices him leave.

(-)

He doesn't care about his soulmark anymore.

He tells himself that.

It hurts much more seeing the team being a team without him.

(-)

Rhodey and Pepper calls sometimes. The calls are short and stiff and Tony still doesn't say sorry.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth after they calls.

Tony's shocked he hasn't died of alcohol posioning yet.

(-)

Thor goes to Asgard.

No one tells Tony.

He finds out by JARVIS.

He tries not to think the fact that Thor left without saying goodbye.

He shouldn't be surprised, after all.

(-)

It's been a long time since Tony talked to Pepper and Rhodey.

Because if he won't answer when they call, surely they would check on him, even though they've fought. Right?

He still haven't seen or heard from them since they last called one month ago.

(-)

It's been a while since Tony talked to the others outside of missions.

He thinks nobody just bother to do so.

After all, he is an arrogant lonewolf.

Right?

Right.

Sometimes he has to remind himself of the obvious things.

(-)

He dreams of laughter and smiles while screaming for help.

No one helps him.

It's getting harder to see the difference between his dreams and his everyday life.

(-)

Another month passes by.

Tony pretends he can't see the new made scars on his arms.

He says to JARVIS not to tell anyone about it.

(-)

It hurt like a bitch when Rhodey took the War Machine suit. Tony knew it was wrong. But he also knew he just couldn't loose Rhodey. So he forgave him. Besides, it's his own fault, just like everything else. It all worked out in the end.

Or, it did. Because Rhodey hasn't contacted Tony in any way for a long time now. Just like Pepper. They're probably busy and can't deal with Tony right now, especially now when he hasn't tried to contact them himself. So why bother if they're busy?

It's Tony's fault anyway.

(-)

JARVIS stops speaking to Tony.

Tony ignores the pain it causes.

He was, is foolish to think even an AI he created would stay with him.

He's alone.

Like dear old dad always said he would be.

(-)

Tony decides he likes the color red on his skin a little more than before.

After all, it is his color.

(-)

Tony doesn't talk much at all anymore.

He listens at Cap in missions, but he never answers. He only speaks if he has to.

No one asks why.

(-)

One time, Tony drops one of his pens on the ground. He stares at it for a long time, before he burst out laughing. It's a crazy laugh, burning in him and he sobs too, shifting between laughing and sobbing.

It ends with Tony crying helpless on the ground, hoping somebody would come. Anybody.

No one does of course.

Tony can't help but cry harder.

(-)

Tony starts to send out the suit without him on smaller missions.

No one notices.

Tony, meanwhile, discovers he loves the color red dripping from his arms.

(-)

He dreams of dying, quick and only a little bit hurtful while people smiles to him.

It's one of the nicer dreams he has had in a long time.

(-)

Pepper calls Tony and he actually picks up, only to stop the call one second later, after hearing her voice.

Rhodey calls too. Tony doesn't pick that call up.

They're better without him.

(-)

He dreams of drowning and screaming, pain soaring through his body as he sees the rest of the Avengers staring motionless back at him.

The pain remains when he wakes up.

(-)

...

...

...

(-)

...

...

...

(-)

...

...

...

(-)

Tony gives up.

He orders JARVIS to lock down his room and then he stares at the ceiling.

He tells JARVIS to lie and tell the team he just isn't feeling well, if they might against all odds wonder where he is.

Nobody goes to check on him.

Like always.

...

(-)

He thinks a lot during the time in his room.

He hopes once in a while someone will come.

He waits.

...

...

...

Nobody comes.

(-)

Tony knows he will never be outside this room anymore.

He will die in there.

And nobody will know until it's too late.

He isn't sad about the fact. He isn't happy about it either.

He feels numb, but satisfied.

They will be better off without him anyway.

...

...

...

Unnecessary.

...

...

...

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Blue sun - Chapter 1 - LeeTheSlytherin - Iron Man (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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Tony stares at Steve and Bucky. They're like a puzzle. They just fit together. It is almost as if they both are gravity, pulling them towards eachother. They just have this balance around them, shining brightly, practically screaming perfect. A balance that will get broken if Tony says anything.

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Before leaving for his next business trip, Tony gives Steve strange plush toys of Captain America and Iron Man to keep him company.

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"Tony...what the hell is that thing?"

Steve stared in confusion at the bed. In a shocking turn of events, Tony surprised him and actually made the bed. He had shooed Steve out of the bedroom while he did it. At the time, Steve thought it was strange, but he did not dwell too much on it. But now he understood why Tony did it. So he could set it in place, the /thing/. And the /thing/ just kept on staring at him. It was right in the center of the bed, captivating onto Steve's attention and not letting it go. Steve had no idea how uncomfortable a plush toy could make him.

It was easily one of the strangest things that he had seen in awhile. And this was Steve Rogers - the man out of time who fought aliens and other freaks on the daily. The fact that a plush toy was strange to him really said something. It was a plush toy shaped like a round little blob. It had tiny little feet that stuck out on the sides, a line for a mouth, and big circular light blue eyes. It looked expressionless and soulless, hence why Steve was somewhat creeped out by the strange blob plush. Maybe blob wasn't the right way of describing it. It actually looked sort like a small slug, or an incredibly fat hamster. On top of that incredibly strange description, it technically was supposed to be Tony. The small slug-like creature had red and gold detailing pattern that mimicked the Iron Man suit. Steve would say this much, the craftsmanship on it was pretty impressive since Iron Man's suit was not exactly something that was easy to recreate as a plus slug creature.

Steve briefly locked eyes with the plush. He stared into the stitched on blue orbs before he immediately looked away from it, a feeling of discomfort overtaking him. It was just so...soulless looking. Tony reappeared in the room from the closet, throwing a few pairs of shoes in the suitcase that was on his bed.

"Cute, isn't he? I got it when I was on that conference in Tokyo last week. I thought it would be a good present to give you before I went away again," Tony said with a small smile. "They're really popular in Japan, Disney makes them and they have a whole bunch of characters - even us."

"This is what is popular in Japan right now?" Steve said as he lifted the small plush - the tsum tsum, off of the bed to examine it. As he turned it over on its side, he noticed that it had an arc reactor on the lower side. Okay. Maybe this thing was a little cuter than he was giving it credit for. Still lost points for the soulless eyes though.

"Uh-huh. I went to the Disney Store and they literally had thousands of them! In all different sizes too. I wanted to get you the really big Iron Man one, but then I would have had to lug him all around Tokyo," Tony said as he folded some more of his shirts in the suitcase.

"Wow, lugging around a plush. If only you were a superhero and were used to using your muscle power," Steve retorted back with a small smirk.

"Hey, not saying I'm weak, but my super muscle power comes from the armor. And I sure as hell wasn't going to be lugging that around Tokyo. It would slow down all of my prime souvenir shopping time!" Tony exclaimed with a chuckle.

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want that." Steve moved the Iron Man plush in his hands a few times to examine it. "So, you said they had a bunch of different Disney characters besides you, right? Did they have the rest of the tea-"

Before Steve could finish that thought, another one of the tsum tsums was shoved in his face. This one...this one was a bit more painful to look at. It was clad in a blue mask with a large 'A' across it, had tiny little red feet on the side of its chubby body, and a big shield across its back. Evidently, they made Captain America tsum tsums too. Steve wondered briefly if he had any right to sue Disney for this, but he had no idea how the legal system worked so that thought was quickly dismissed. However, Steve's interest in visiting a Disney Store ever again was slowly declining (And he loved Snow White, too!), the more that he stared into the soulless eyes of the chubby slug creatures.

"Oh my god, they didn't..." Steve said as he took the Captain America one from Tony. "Look at him, look at how short and chubby those arms are. How is he even supposed to get the shield off his back? This is not the guy you want defending your city, I'm sorry," Steve tossed the plush back to Tony.

"Getting a little bit literal there, aren't you?" Tony shook his head before he put the Captain America one back in his suitcase. "Besides, I don't think these guys would even need to take out shields or repulsor blasters. They would just stun the bad guys with their cuteness."

"I'm still not seeing the cute factor here - they just look like weird and fat slugs to me," Steve murmured as he still had the Iron Man one sitting on his lap. "Why did you think now was the good time to give it to me anyway?"

"Well. Because as you know, I'm going to Shanghai to discuss licensing out some of my new clean energy factory models with one of the major corporations there. And as much as I would love to be home in time for pizza tonight with you, that's not gonna happen. I'll be away for at least two days," Tony began. "So, I thought that little Iron Man could keep you company while I'm away! That way you'll have a Tony with you for cuddling, kissing, and all of that cute stuff. Just don't have /too/ much fun with him, big guy. I don't know if certain stains can come out of his fabric."

Steve tossed the Iron Man tsum-tsum at Tony's head. "You're disgusting, ew," He said, rolling his eyes. "And...I'm not sure if this is going to remind me of you in the best way, Tony. Because last I checked, you're not a slug with stubs for legs." Steve glanced into the other's suitcase for a moment and just noticed the Captain America one was in there. "Are you really taking that with you on a super important business trip, Tony?"

"Duh. I need to get my Cap fix. Because, unlike you. I actually think they are very cute. And I think of you when I see him," Tony said as he picked up the Iron Man one and handed it back to Steve. "I expect you to send me cute selfies with it. And when I Facetime you before bed, I wanna see you cuddling with it."

"You know if the rest of the team finds out what we are doing with these things they'll never let us live it down, right?" Steve asked the other.

"Well, then they are going to be really disappointed with what I got them all for Christmas," Tony said as he smiled. "Could only find a Hawkeye one in the little size though, guess he's not quite as cute as the rest of us." "That's going to piss him off so much," Steve said with a shake of his head. "Well, we all can't be quite as cute as you and me," Tony decided proudly as he leaned over to peck the other on the lips softly. After he did that, he picked up the Captain America tsum tsum from his back and kissed that on his nonexistent mouth.

"I'm not kissing the Iron Man one," Steve warned the other preemptively.

"Please? You don't have to kiss it now, but that would be cutest picture ever if you did that. And it would totally be my lock screen forever," Tony insisted as he zipped up his suitcase, seemingly done with his packing.

"Fine, maybe. And I said /maybe/, as in...well, maybe," Steve mumbled stubbornly. Tony quickly quelled the pout that soon formed on the other's lips with a sweet kiss. This one was longer and lingered a bit. Steve was pretty swept up in the kiss that he didn't even notice when Tony reached into his lap to grab the Iron Man plush toy from him. In the blink of an eye, Tony removed his lips from Steve's and replaced them with the 'face' of the tsum-tsum. Steve didn't realize what happened at first until he opened his eyes and saw those soulless blue stitchings. He pulled back and glared up at Tony, who was laughing hysterically.

"Isn't it time for you to go to China?"

"Where is it?"

"Really? That's the first thing that you are going to ask me? It's three in the morning here, you're lucky I picked up at all."

Tony and Steve were facetiming, just like Tony had said. However, Tony also requested that the tsum-tsum plush be included. Steve saw Tony lying in the bed of his hotel room, seemingly for a midday nap. Also in the frame was the Captain America tsum-tsum plush, staring at Steve again with the same lifeless eyes.

"Steve! Where is little Iron Man?" Tony complained with a stubborn pout.

"Ugh. Hang on." Steve set his phone down and crossed the bedroom to the closet. He opened the closet door and pulled out the aforementioned plush toy. He walked back to the bed and shoved the the toy at the camera. "Ta-da. There it is."

"You had him in the closet, didn't you?" Tony asked, not seeming impressed.

"I told you, Tones. I can't deal with those eyes. I was trying to sleep and he just kept /staring/ at me," Steve complained, to which Tony only chuckled. He watched Tony though, as he got comfortable in the bed and pressed his face into the soft plush toy. Okay. Maybe they were kind of cute. So far there were only two things he found cute about them - the little arc reactor on the Iron Man one, and the fact that Tony looked really cute when he was cuddling into the Captain America one. Steve made himself comfortable in the bed and rested the side of his face against the small Iron Man plush toy, using it as a pillow. He angled the camera so Tony could see both him and the plush.

"There we go! Was that so hard?" Tony asked the other with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, these things are terrifying and I hate them," Steve said as he simultaneously nuzzled his face into the soft plush.

"Really? Yeah, it sure seems like you absolutely hate them," Tony said as he mirrored Steve's action by also further nuzzling into the soft plush of his own tsum-tsum.

"'Mmm only cuddling it because you want me to...and because I miss you, and well...yeah, maybe it does remind me of you a little," Steve began. "Not that you're a slug with stub legs or anything, but it's cute and also kind of weird. Like you."

"Well, I'm glad you don't think I'm a fat slug with stub legs, thanks," Tony said simply. "You look really cute cuddling into the little Iron Man. So cute it's tempting to just go on the jet home right now so I can cuddle with the both of you."

"We can do that in a few days when you come back." Steve yawned, his eyes practically begging to stay closed. "Don't worry, you've got the little Cap guy to keep you safe. Just don't expect him to be able to use that shield."

Tony chuckled, before he also yawned. "You wanna call it a night for you and a day for me, baby?"

"No." Steve admitted honestly, because he really wanted to keep talking to Tony and being able to see him. But his yawns were betraying him. "But we probably should.,You've got plenty to do later in the day I'm sure and I...just have a lot of cuddle plans with little Iron Man, I suppose."

Steve watched as a lazy smile formed on Tony's lips. "Well, I don't want to keep you from those big plans, babe. Call me or text me at a time that's convenient for you? Don't worry about the time zones, you know my sleep schedule is a total lost cause."

"Believe me, I know that all too well. I'll give you a call, don't worry," Steve promised his boyfriend.

"And the selfies with little Iron Man!" Tony added quickly.

Steve rolled his eyes. "And the selfies with little Iron Man, yes." He begrudgingly agreed. It was worth it though, to see how much Tony's smile grew at the promise of something so simple as that.

Steve watched as Tony sat up and adjusted his tsum-tsum plush so they were face to face. He watched as Tony pressed his lips to the non-existent mouth of the plush toy before he looked back at the camera. "Goodnight Steve, I love you."

Steve lifted the tsum-tsum plush from serving as his pillow so it was also facing him. He did the same action as Tony, kissing the plush toy on the line across his face that he assumed to be the mouth (in all fairness, the Iron Man suit didn't exactly have a mouth), before he looked back at the camera. "Have a nice nap, Tony. I love you."

Steve saw Tony's smile and a small wave before the call ended. He reached over to put his cell phone aside on the nightstand. Steve briefly wrestled with the blankets and sheets once again so he had them all over him properly. He tried to get comfortable and tried to resume his sleep. After a moment though, his eyes opened and he appeared to be looking for something. He searched through the sheets for a moment, before looking on the floor and seeing it there. The Iron Man tsum-tsum had fallen off the bed as he adjusted the bedding. Steve didn't think twice before he grabbed the plush toy and brought it to his chest tightly.

Sure, it wasn't Tony. And yes, it was still pretty damn weird looking. But...it was a nice reminder of Tony. Not just of the (very slight) physical resemblance to Iron Man, of the cute little things Tony did like this for the relationship. And the comfort of knowing that when Tony was all the way across the world, looking at things as silly as this in tourist gift shops, he was thinking about him. And thinking about how he could put a smile on his face. Tony always put a smile on his face. He was so lucky to have him.

Steve pressed one last kiss to the forehead region of the tsum-tsum plush toy. Maybe these things were kind of cute after all. But if nothing else, the person who bought it for him was especially cute and perfect. Steve was so in love, and it was so perfect.

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Plush Slugs - SmileAndASong - Marvel [Archive of Our Own]

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"Tony...what the hell is that thing?" Steve stared in confusion at the bed. In a shocking turn of events, Tony surprised him and actually made the bed. He had shooed Steve out of the bedroom while he did it. At the time, Steve thought it was strange, but he did not dwell too much on it.

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A billionaire finds home in the presence of a single father and his adorable little son.
Together they help fill the empty holes in each other's lives.

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Chapter Text

It's not like Tony didn't want to go, he was an orphan kid once too. Not as young as the kids at the house but still an orphan kid.

It's not like he didn't want to go, it's just that his bed was insanely comfortable at the moment and just the very thought of moving felt like going against the forces of nature. One mustn't challenge nature. No, sir. Not at all.

And he would've easily continued to stay stationary between the silk sheets had it not been for the human embodiment of one of mother nature's offspring knocking at his bedroom door, demanding an answer. He groaned, scrunching his face. Pepper would break down the entire wall if it meant she would get Tony off the bed and ready for the day, no questions asked.

"Tony, I swear to god, you better be getting ready!" She knocked the door some more. Tony decided that him and his bed just weren't meant to be. Or maybe it was just the timing of life, yeah, something like that.

He rolled out of bed, landing with a thump on the floor, sheets still tangled around his sleepy figure. "I'm up, Pep. Don't worry."

Guess the day must begin now.

Pepper was an amazing PA. The best. Tony was willing to bet his entire company on the fact. He's pretty sure she was his mother in the previous life, getting him up for school and pestering him about homework and dishes. He didn't know where he would be if not for her. Remembering his indescribably messy twenties, no one stuck around the way she did. And he was really, really thankful. He wasn't the best at showing his feelings, but he was glad Pepper could see right through him, and knew exactly how he felt, should his words help her understand or not. She always knew. Above all, she was a terrific friend.

"If you're not down within fifteen minutes, I'm coming in there and dragging you by the ear to the orphan house without a care of whatever you have on. I bet it would look great on the front page of everything that exists."

Correction: she was a terrible friend.

Tony wasn't stupid enough to think of the threat empty so he got up and headed straight for the bathroom. A quick shower would help him feel better and more awake.
And it did. Once out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he went into his closet. Sure enough, a nice suit awaited him, pressed and hanging. He was big enough to admit that pinstripes looked good on him.

He met Pepper in the kitchen. He wasn't really keen on greeting her since she was apparently at war against him and his irregular sleeping schedule, so he just made a beeline towards the coffee maker, pleased to see a new batch already made and ready for him. Caffeine was the love of his life, he could confidently claim.

"So you have to be at the orphan house by 11:30. I've made sure the delivery for all the donations will reach there on time. You have to bond with the children, Tony. Remember that." Pepper spoke, not once looking up from her tablet.

"Can't I just shake a few hands, get a few pictures, kiss a few babies and be out of there within half an hour?" He asked, mostly just to piss Pepper. He gulped down his cup of coffee. God, that's good stuff.

"No, you can't. You're gonna bond. Talk to them. Ask them stuff. Interact. So the kids know who their Summer Santa is."

"Summer Santa makes me sound old. Doesn't it make me sound old?"

"You are thirty seven. You don't really classify as a youngster."

"I am hurt. I'm truly hurt, Pepper. First, you disrupt my beauty sleep and now you attack me with such words. I am hurt."

"We'll get you a bandage on the way out. Would you want SpongeBob or My Little Pony?"

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, mumbling something about SpongeBob and My Little Pony not belonging in the same category but kept it to himself. Pepper didn't quite catch the reason behind Tony's statement but didn't push it. "Happy has a sandwich for you in the car. You can eat on the way there. We're already late. Now come on."

Tony kept mumbling but followed the orders given to him anyway.

He's done this many times over and over again. He's got this.

*

He did not got this.

It started out great. Normal for any occasion like this. He stepped out his car, stomach finally filled with his sandwich. Glasses covered his eyes because he never leaves his tower without them. He was met with people in charge. Like always, he beamed when he saw the kids.

Okay, so a misjudgment could easily be made about him. He loved the kids. Absolutely loved them. They were adorable and so, so lovely. Definitely didn't deserve to be in some orphanage. But Tony was determined to do what he could.

He had a massive truck full of toys, clothes, and shoes be delivered to them. Every child got their things according to their own size and their own liking, Tony made sure of it. No one was to have something that didn't fit them, like some hand-me-down. These were brand new things. Tony never mentioned the price of any of it, always shrugged it off whenever questions about his charity donations came up. This all wasn't for him, it was for the kids.

There were pictures taken, of course. He didn't have to fake a million-dollar-smile for them either. He smiled brightly for the camera with the kids, them smiling big enough to blind a person. And that's what Tony loved. These kids might not have a lot to smile about, but if a subtraction from his bank account was going to help be a cause of it then so be it. Not that he was counting every dollar he had. It would take years. And he's got other things to do.

The orphanage had a daycare center a few buildings away that Tony helped funding, under the wraps. The daycare was cheap, for parents who couldn't afford much, had double jobs to pay the bills, single parents not having anywhere to leave their child for a few hours of the day while they busted blood and sweat together to make ends meet.

While Tony had never been in the position, and no matter how heartless he was depicted by the media, he understood how hard it must be the parents. He had the means, so why not help out. Pepper had mentioned about visiting that place after the orphanage while in the car on their way there. Tony figured why not. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

What he didn't expect was to get a whiplash when he was exiting the daycare.

He suddenly stopped his stride towards his car and couldn't blink. Pepper unknowingly kept walking. Upon reaching the car, she noticed Tony's absence beside her. She turned around to see the man, standing like a damn statue in the middle of the sidewalk.

Tony didn't really know how to explain it but the man had never seen something so beautiful. Someone so beautiful.

While Pepper approached Tony, she tried following his line of gaze to see what had caught his attention that he seemed to have ignored all her calls for him. There she saw a blond man. Oh boy.

Tony saw the man, very tall, blond and completely entrancing. That smile, oh god, the smile was vibrant. Tony was sure he had never seen seen anything like it before.

The tall, blond, and handsome had a toddler in his arms who was saying something that obviously was the best thing the guy had ever heard if his concentration and reactions were anything to go by.

"Tony, what's wrong?" Pepper asked upon reaching him.

The guy was approaching the daycare, probably to drop off the kid, Tony thought. A genius, he was.

"Uh, I think i left my uh... watch in the men's room." He surreptitiously covered the watch he was oh-so evidently wearing. "I'll be a moment." He held a finger up to Pepper and almost turned to walk the other way when Pepper grabbed his arm.

"Tony, no. You're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do."

"What do you think I was gonna do?" Tony asked scandalized.

"I think you're going over to make a move on that poor guy over there." She said, pointing at the guy.

"Why, Pepper, I would never." He brought his hand to his chest, in an exaggerated manner. "When have I ever done anything of the sort to make you expect such from me?"

Pepper's amused expression made Tony almost drop the act. But who was he kidding? Pepper knew him front, back, left and right. There was no hiding.

"I was just gonna go say 'hi'." He innocently said.

"Why him specifically then? Why not any one else?" Now Pepper was just having fun looking at Tony's face as he tried to calculate a response.

"C'mon, Pep. Look at him!" He whined.

"No. Into the car with you."

Pepper grabbed his arm again, this time to actually drag him back.

"But, Pep, my watch!"

"You mean this one?" Pepper pulled Tony's sleeve back enough to show the watch still around his wrist.

"...I brought another one?" Tony said, more like testing his statement to be enough to be believed or not.

"No, Tony." He was pulled towards the car. He turned around to get one last look at the guy only to find the guy had an amused look on his pretty little face, directed towards him. Upon getting caught, he turned and walked into the building.

Tony couldn't do anything but groan as he sat inside his car. "You just had to act like my mum in front of him, huh? He heard you, I'm pretty sure."

"Leave the poor guy alone. He doesn't need you interfering in his life. Drive, Happy."

"Sure thing, boss." Happy said as he started up the ignition.

"She's not your boss, I am." Tony interjected, betrayed. "You're stealing my kids now?" Tony accused Pepper.

Pepper rolled her eyes and switched on her tablet. "You need to keep a low profile in front of the daycare if you don't want people to know about your contribution. I hope they warn us about the back entrance being locked down next time. It's absurd."

"Whatever." Tony grumbled, crossing his arms. He slumped back on his seat, looking out of the window, not wanting to look at Pepper to make a point. He also was sort of mourning the loss of the blond beauty he had just missed. At least he knew where to find him if he ever wanted to meet him. Which he did.

He pulled his phone, and typed out for JARVIS to find about all the people that had their children in the daycare. A few seconds later, he got the whole lists of names.
No, he was not stalking, this was research.

He smiled at first which then turned into a frown and gave JARVIS more instructions. The list had loads of names and he didn't have time for all of them.

This time JARVIS was told to give him names of only blond parents. The list, this time, was still long but shorter than the previous one, so that was a plus. The cutie was to be here somewhere.

Some voice inside him told him was he was doing was wrong but that was a voice he rarely listened to.

He scrolled a bit, not knowing anything but the hair color was a bit of a hindrance.

Soon enough he was back at the tower and still had not found the guy.

"I'll be in the lab. So don't disturb me." Tony said, leaving the car and already making his way to the elevator.

"Lab, JARVIS." He said, entering the elevator. The doors closed.

"Welcome back, sir. How were the kids?" Came a British accent. JARVIS was his AI. The closest thing Tony had to a family. Closer than what even Pepper was to him.

"Oh, the kids were fine. The kids were fine, J. Did you happen to get the new list prepared?"

"I canceled off all the names you said to and have the new one ready, sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS. You're the best."

"If I may ask, sir, what's this about?"

"I just need to find someone."

"And you do know the hair color is not the only thing required while on a manhunt?"

"This isn't a manhunt. This is... this is something else. Not a manhunt." The doors opened and he stepped into his lab. "Manhunt makes it sound so vicious. Jesus. Lockdown, J."

"Of course, sir."

Tony took off his suit and changed into the T-shirt and trouser he had in the lab. "Have someone collect the suit later, JARVIS."

"Of course, sir." He repeated.

"Now show me what you got."

A hologram slide came in front of him and he started working. He didn't know why but he needed to find more about that man. He was too intrusive, with the best of heart, mind you, to just sit back and wonder. Not one of his best qualities but he couldn't help it.

"Okay, so he had a little boy. Brown hair. Does that help?"

"Certainly does a bit, sir."

He saw the file change before him and a new list appeared.

"Okay so which one are you, pretty boy?"

"I have aligned the photographs from their ID's with their files, sir."

"Thanks a bunch, J. You're a life saver."

Surely, ten minutes later, Tony's eye widened. "That's him!"

"He seems to have a very clean background, sir. Nothing that has ever crossed your path. What is it that you require from him, if I may ask?" JARVIS spoke.

"I don't know." Tony mumbled. Now that he knew the man's name, Steven Grant Rogers, he didn't know what to do with the information. The name wasn't the only bit of information he now had on the guy, there was a whole file on him, and suddenly Tony felt guilt pinching his heart.

"What do I do?"

"I would suggest closing the file if you're done, sir, but I would be happy to place an order for a shrine to be made as well."

"Zip the sass, buddy. I get it."

Tony sighed deeply, rubbing his face. He should've just listened to the voice. Stupid.

Knowing the name made it a bit weirder. Steven. Steve. The guy looked like a Steven. He looked like a Steve. He wasn't sure which one he went by.

Anyway, this needed to be buried.

"Close the file, JARVIS." The files vanished.

"God, help me. I need a drink. Or five."

He made his way to the counter where he had a bottle. Of what, he didn't remember nor did he care.

*

"Jesus Christ, Pepper. This is the worst idea you've had in, like, ever."

"You need the exercise, Tony." He heard her voice through the phone.

"I have a gym installed in the tower, y'know?"

"Look, Tony, Mr. Samberg wanted it like this. And you need to make up for what you did at his party two months ago. Just do it. It would take only an hour."

"If it takes a minute more than an hour, you're fired."

"Good luck finding a new babysitter." Pepper cheerfully said. Tony hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket.

Mr. Samberg could suck his ass, for all he cared. But somehow Pepper had gotten him to be here, at a park, of all places, waiting for the guy to bring his dog, of all things, so they could discuss the deal they had wanted to get done 'out in the fresh air'. Blergh. Would it have been easier at the office? Maybe so. But was it happening that way? No, it was not.

Tony hated this.

'Could use the exercise'. Tony shook his head and went to a bench to sit down waiting for the jackass he had to pretend to like for the next hour. And just as he thought so, the man in question approached him. And, of course, a Rottweiler was on a leash with him.

*

Finally, the long and painful hour came to an end and Mr. Samberg and his dog, who had taken a liking to Tony's shoe and had made it his mission to bite the thing off his feet, were gone.

Tony kept sitting, breathing in relief. Now their deal was solid again, as was their business relation. Things whits men demand to emend business relationships, ugh. Tony would never do this outdoors again, no matter who says what. Outdoors were loud, and had people. And bugs. And weird smells.

He kept sitting on the bench watching people, families enjoying themselves, kids running around. Must be nice, he thought. He never had such a memory to adore.

He was pretty sure he needed something to eat so he went to the pretzel guy he saw. He dug out his wallet as he gave an order for one.

"Would you like one?" A guy came beside him and a kid's voice followed his.

"Yes, please."

Tony took out the money from his wallet, was more than what one pretzel would cost, but he didn't care. He gave the money and took his snack. He heard the guy order one and he turned around to looked at him, pretzel in mouth, putting his wallet back. Which was definitely, definitely a bad idea.

Maybe the world was conspiring. Must be it.

It was the blond guy, Steven, a fact that he should definitely not know, who looked down at the toddler. "Are you gonna finish it all?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a big boy." He claimed.

Tony would guess the kid was no older than three. Four, tops.

"I suppose you're gonna have to prove that to me." Steven smiled at the child who had a determined look on his face that was mixed with the excitement of getting a treat. He paid for the pretzel when the kid spoke. This time he directed his question to Tony, of all beings on planet earth. Tony realized he was still staring.

"Why are you wearing a suit in a park?" The kid tilted his head to the side in confusion.

Tony's eyebrows raised and his gazed flashed up the Steven, whose eyes widen as he glanced at Tony then back at the child. This time in a scolding manner. Tony chewed hastily.

"Peter! We don't say things like that to people. Apologize." He turned to Tony, with an apologetic look of his own. "I'm sorry about him-" His expressions turned into recognition. "Uh, sorry." He nudged Peter.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Daddy said you don't wear suits for fun time. Park is fun time." Wow, the Peter kid was adorable. Tony could actually see the contrite look in his wide, brown eyes.

Get into action, Tony! Say something.

He swallowed.

"Uh, it's alright, kid. Your dad is right. I was just unlucky enough to have to wear this here." He made a point not to look at Steven, who from close enough was even hotter, if that was possible to begin with. Evidently, it was, as hard as it was to believe so.

"Why?" Peter asked innocently.

"Peter!" Steven berated.

"It's okay," He assured Steven before he looked down at Peter, "I had to meet up with a business partner of sorts here for some unknown reason."

"What's a business partner?" Yup, Tony was reminded that kids are known to be very curious little things.

Surprisingly, Steven asked at the same time. "Here?" He quickly looked embarrassed to have asked that. But if Tony was to be questioned about it, the blush running all over Steven's pale face was immensely adorable.

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, I had to make up for something I did for a guy and of all the places one could possibly think of, this is what happened." He then answered Peter, who, bless him, was still looking confused having not received his answer. "A business partner is someone you do business with. Kinda like who you work with."

The curiosity slowly faded away from Peter's face and he nodded. Tony smiled, pleased with himself.

Steven then shifted on his feet and Tony was reminded that his presence only two feet away.

They will walk away soon. Do something, Tony.

"I'm Tony, by the way." He brought his hand up for a shake, putting on a charming smile that he had perfected over the years.

"I'm Steve." The other answered, shaking Tony's hand. A firm shake, Tony liked that. So Steve it is.

"And I can only assume this is Peter?" Tony looked at the kid, who nodded enthusiastically. Real cute.

"Hi!" He waved his chubby little hand at Tony who waved back with an enormous smile.

"Cute kid."

"Thanks." Steve looked at Peter with so much tender love in his eyes. Tony could've sworn he was a goner right there and then.

"So... you come here often?" And yeah, Tony was gonna kick himself in the nuts for that one. Because, really?

Steve chuckled, in delight, much to Tony's appeal, and nodded. "Isn't that one a little too old?" He raised a brow.

"Depends. It made you laugh, didn't it?" Tony was now just testing his luck. He was flirting with a guy with a son. For all he knew, a wife or husband would be right behind him ready to smack him from the back.

"I suppose." Steve nodded. "And yeah, I do. Park's close to the apartment." Steve shrugged. "Do you often have business meetings here?" Now the guy had a hint of smirk on his face.

"Fortunately, no. Otherwise we would've met before. I don't think I could forget meeting you."

The pink was back on Steve's face, and, dear god, what a look it was.

"Well, aren't you a charmer?"

"I like your tie." Came a voice from below. Yes, Peter was there too.

Tony looked at his tie and saw that he had worn the orange one with little blue spots. "Why, thank you, good sir."

Peter giggled at the title. "I have jammies just like that one, don't I, daddy?"

"Yes, that's right, honey." Steve agreed.

"Well, you have an awesome taste in clothing. The best, I must say."

"I picked it out myself!" Oh, Peter just loved encouragement.

"Like I said. Marvelous, little guy."

Steve had a little soft smile on his face. "They're his favorite." He added.

Tony smiled at Steve.

"I...uh, I think we should be heading back." Steve said picking Peter off the ground and into his arms. Tony saw the muscles there flex. Those were some massive arms. Tony had to resist the temptation of running his fingers across the skin. It looked so soft.

"Don't suppose I'll see you around, then?" If Steve had a tiny ounce of brain, and wasn't a cheating pig, which Tony desperately was praying for, he should've picked up Tony's approach by now.

Steve adjusted Peter, making sure the pretzel didn't fall. "I don't know. If you're here next Saturday around the same time, maybe."

Steve smiled at Tony and all Tony could do was stare at him. He was pretty sure his eyes were showing exactly what he was feeling, and hoped to whatever celestial being listening in on them to make sure Steve didn't find him a creep.

Tony gulped and shook his head to bring himself on earth, enough to reply. "Uh- yes. Yeah, yes. Yes. Okay." He was painfully aware of how fast he was nodding.

Steve bit down on his lower lip, an act Tony wouldn't mind doing himself. In fact, he would be quite eager. He blinked before smiling warmly. "Alright then. See you then, Tony. If you're not busy."

"I'm not." Whoever claimed that Tony was suave was probably pulling their hair out because Tony shook his head so heartily that Steve had to suppress a grin.

"Okay. Say 'bye', Petey."

"Bye." Peter waved his hand, just like before and Tony did so too.

"Bye, Peter."

Steve turned around and walked away with Peter. He could hear Peter asking another question and Steve answering him but he couldn't quite make out the wordings.

Next week, he thought. Saturday. Same time.

He pulled out his phone as he made for a different exit than where Steve was headed. He typed in for JARVIS to remind him next Saturday about this and to keep his schedule clear.

He had a chance.

*

"You did WHAT?"

Maybe telling Pepper wasn't one of his greatest ideas.

"Pep, it's not that bad-"

"Not that bad? You stalked him? You pulled out his personal information. That's violation of privacy, Tony." Yeah, Pepper was disappointed.

"I didn't really look into much other than his name, I swear. And it wouldn't have happened if you'd have just let me talk to him at the daycare."

"No. No, no, no, no. Do not put this all on me. This is completely your fault. And you let him, JARVIS?"

"I do apologize, Ms Potts, but I could not have stopped sir. I am programmed to obey his commands."

"Well maybe you need reprogramming."

"C'mon, Peps. Don't drag him into it. First Happy, and now J? Quit bringing the kids into our fights."

"Tony, tell me yourself what you think this was. Was it right? Did he deserve this?" Pepper looked at Tony, exhausted.

"No, he didn't." Tony agreed. "But I was really curious. I closed it as soon as I opened it. I swear! Just ask JARVIS."

"It is true, Ms Potts. But a discussion about a shrine was also held."

"Traitor! That was all you!" Tony denounced.

Pepper sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead.

"Look, Pepper, I know what I did was wrong and I shut it down as soon as I opened and I feel guilty about it. I really do. Believe me."

Pepper looked at Tony and shook her head. "Just because you have the means-"

"-Doesn't mean I can snoop around. I know, Pep. I get it. Trust me."

Pepper looked at Tony, deciding whether to believe him or not.

"Just don't do it again." She turned around and left for the elevator.

It could've gone worse. Tony could certainly imagine.

"Will you help me dress up for next Saturday?" Tony yelled after Pepper.

"I'll think about it." Pepper answered before the elevator door shut behind her.

*

Saturday came sooner than Tony anticipated. He would be wrong if he said he wasn't dreading it. He was ecstatic, but his nerves were fighting to get the best of him every second of the days that brought him closer to the weekend.

He was so close to staying put in his lab, maybe create a new element, just to have an excuse to not go. It wasn't helping that Pepper kept pestering him about it. She claimed it as giving his word and thus it would be odious of him to turn back now. Curse her. Like Tony wasn't kicking himself for showing interest in the first place and now planning on not going.

He remembered Steve's smile, where else would he find something as mesmerizing. He's pretty sure Steve himself does not fully knew the power he possessed. He had Tony completely transfixed, all by doing a small and innocent act.

There was another thing eating at Tony. Steve seemed like a good guy. Too good, even. Raising a child, so whatever happened to Steve would not only affect the man in question but also Peter. And Tony was nothing but trouble, if his past is anything to go by. And people normally look at your past to determine the kind of person you are now. Tony feared that he might reflect his past image and that would somehow hurt Steve. He would never want that to happen.

And another thing. To the public, Tony Stark was a billionaire. He was a playboy. He was heartless. He was worthless. People would imagine him to be just like his previous self. To hell with whatever Tony had done to better himself, those acts didn't matter, they didn't hold much weight. And one of Tony's countless flaws (ask him and he'll tell you they're countless) was his massive insecurity. It was colossal.

There was no doubt that Steve hadn't recognized him. Tony was willing to bet that Steve knew who he was, and if that was true, probabilities of which reached the sky, he was well aware of his public image. No matter how hard his PR team tried, the damage done by him during his younger days had left a permanent and bitter profile.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking of all the what if's. What if Steve had later thought about it and was choosing not to come? What if Steve was faking the smiles and sweetness just to humor Tony but was secretly laughing behind his back? What if Steve realized that Tony wasn't worth the effort? What if Steve didn't want to put Peter under such an influence? Tony wouldn't object to the last. He would rather encourage it.

Tony did not know what to do. They didn't have each others number so Tony could call the whole thing off. He could get the number, like he did the name, but he had sworn off that tactic.

One of the worst things he did was to ask Pepper for help, if he was honest. At first Pepper had seemed to be repulsed by his method of approach, albeit he would agree that it was rather foul play. But along the week, Pepper had taken over getting him to dress up for Saturday, just as Tony's initial request. He cursed the moment he made it.

Pepper would never let him back off. And he now no longer could quietly do so without having someone cross their arms at him and shake their head disappointed.

Time was approaching and soon enough the redhead was going to march into his lab and pull him out to get him ready. He wished he would've invented an invisible ray, he could really put that into great use right now.

As he had expected, after a few minutes he heard the door slide open and heard heels approaching.

"Tony, I thought you would've at least showered by now."

Tony grumbled.

"Get up, Tony."

"What if I said there was something really important I was ignoring just to go to this park?"

"Then I would've known about it, seeing as I am your assistant." Tony frowned at that. "Now, the clock is ticking and you need to shower and change and get your hair in order. It looks like a tragedy."

"Doesn't my face look like a tragedy. Oh, Peps, please don't make me go." Tony begged. Pepper seemed pretty unfazed.

"No excuses, Tony. You wanted to go so bad that you invaded his privacy. Maybe this will be sort of like a punishment. You know you'd deserve it if it was one."

"C'mon, Pepper, You're not that cruel."

"I am worse." She said, getting them both into the elevator. "Penthouse, JARVIS."

The elevator started moving and soon enough the doors opened. Pepper pulled Tony to his room and pushed him into the bathroom. "Get clean, now. I'm taking your clothes to wear out."

"See! Even you're not prepared for today. It's a sign."

"I have picked out what you'll wear. It's pressed and hanging and waiting for you. I just need to get it out of your closet. I am always prepared. It's why you hired me."

"I'm regretting that now." Tony murmured, closing the door behind him. He turned on the shower, getting the water to be just the right temperature. He scrubbed his hair with a little more determination than normal, he couldn't shake Pepper's earlier comment about it and in no way was he meeting up with a man like Steve with anything about him looking anything less than classy.

Once he was clean, he looked at his reflection. He didn't require a shave, he thought. He checked his breath and brushed his teeth just to be on the safe side. Thinking he was good to go, he exited the bathroom.

There on his closet door handle hung his outfit for the date. Pissed as he was about Pepper not taking his side, he could still appreciate the woman's sense of clothing. She picked out a casual blue T-shirt with dark gray jeans. She did not forget his signature jacket. He paired it all up with his blue sunglasses, another one of his signature looks. He pulled on his shoes and looked himself in the mirror, while styling his hair. His hair is not a tragedy, Pepper. And never will Steve think so.

He collected his phone and wallet and exited the room, ignoring Pepper in the living room and headed straight for the elevator.

"You know, a 'thank you' wouldn't pull something." Pepper called behind him.

"I know," Tony entered the elevator and turned around, looking at Pepper. "Just don't want to." He smiled at her. "Do your thing, J."

The door closed and Tony started tapping his fingers, trying to calm himself down. "Tell Happy to bring the car around too, would ya, buddy."

"Already done, sir." JARVIS said. "Ms Potts requested for Mr Hogan to be on time."

"Of course she did."

Okay, Tony thought to himself, you've got this. It'll be a breeze. He knew how to charm. He knew how to flirt. He knew he had amazing people skills. He's got this.

The car ride to the park was really quiet. Tony didn't wish for the radio or music to be playing. He was tapping his fingers on his knees, making a point by not biting his bottom lip. He hadn't been this nervous about anything in so long that this was now a new feeling for him.

Upon reaching the park, he thought of something that he hadn't thought of in the entirety of last week. Him and Steve had not decided where in this huge fucking park to meet. That was the genius in him.

He groaned.

"Everything okay, boss?" He heard Happy ask.

"Yeah. Yeah, Happy, just fine. Um, park near for a while in case I wanna retreat almost immediately, okay, pal?"

"You got it." Happy gave him a thumbs up.

Tony shook himself and got into action. He decided to take a stroll and if he didn't find Steve and Peter, he'll just go back. At least then he'll be able to say that he did go, he just wasn't able to find them and had no means of contact without his conscience beating him down. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He got out the car and straightened his jacket. A mantra of 'I can do this, I can do this, I can do this' was playing inside his head.

He entered the park and looked around. Nothing caught his attention. He kept walking, keeping his pace steady and his eyes wandering everywhere his line of vision could reach.

He walked for a while when a voice caught his attention. And what a beautiful voice it was.

"Tony?"

He turned his face and sure enough there was Steve, looking as angelic as ever.

"You came." Steve sounded so surprised and yet so relieved that Tony was already kicking himself in the back for even thinking of cancelling.

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but... I thought- I thought... y'know... it's good to see you." Steve as a stuttering mess and a tint of blush spreading over his cheeks was a sight for sore eyes.

"It's great to see you too, Steve." Tony smiled warmly and Steve mirrored it.

"Uh, Peter and I are right over here," He pointed behind him. "We were playing catch. Um..."

It seemed like Tony was not the only one who's nerves were getting to him. "He got anymore questions about business? I got plenty of answers." Tony joked. Which seemed to have worked because Steve let out a chuckle, turning around, probably to keep an eye on his kid. The tension on his shoulder had let go a bit.

"Uh, yeah. He probably would, if we remind him of it. But he's curious about anything and everything so..."

"Not a problem. Between the two of us, I'm pretty sure he'll be satisfied enough."

Steve smiled shyly and, god, Tony was going to lose it. In a goddamn park.

They walked to where Peter was sat on the ground, a few steps away from where they were themselves, much to Tony's relief. He expected Steve to be a responsible dad, and he wasn't keen on turning their date into a child search for the poor little kid. There was something about neglectful parents that ticked him off in all the places, it just hit way too close to home.

"Peter, you remember Tony?" Steve asked, making Peter look up from the ball he held in his small hands. "Say 'hi', baby."

"Hi!" Peter waved a hand at him, which made him drop the ball and roll away from him. "No!" He got up and ran the few steps to get to the ball, picking it up with the help of both the hands, turning to face his dad with a large toothy smile. "I got it."

"Yes, I saw." Steve smiled encouragingly.

"Adorable kid."

Steve turned to Tony with a smile that was half bashful and half proud. "Thank you."

Tony watched as the child toddled his way to him and raised the blue ball up at Tony. "Matching."

Tony looked over himself and then to the ball and noticed both the ball and his shirt were the same shade of blue. How about that?

"Yes, it is matching. Good eye, Peter." Tony encouraged. To which Peter gave a cute little giggle and looked at his dad.

Steve smiled widely and bent down to squat in front of Peter. "They do match! Oh, you're such a clever boy, aren't you?" He ruffled his son's brown hair.

Peter laughed loudly at the compliments he was receiving and threw the ball away, as far away as he could, which was only a few feet away from where they were standing. He then proceeded by running after it and grabbing the ball before running back to his dad, giggling excitedly.

Peter was just too adorable. Tony wanted to buy the kid as much ice cream and candies he would wish for. He wouldn't back down from buying him the toys he wanted either. And to think Tony didn't want to come here in the first place and now he was completely smitten over Steve's kid.

"So how are you?" Steve's voice broke his chain of thoughts.

"I'm great. How are you? Not gonna walk away today, are you?"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, we're not leaving just yet. Got here a bit later than usual in case you..."

"In case I came?" Tony was so hopeful.

"Yeah." Steve breathed out, nodding.

"Well, I'm here now." Tony gestured to his own body, head to toe, making Steve chuckle and nod.

"Yeah, you are. I'm glad."

"Me too." This was pleasant. Tony was proud he wasn't making a fool of himself. He didn't need that. In order to charm sweet Steve here, he would have to bring his A-game to the table.

"Throw?" Peter had come to them and requested Tony.

"Of course." Tony tried covering up his shock at being asked. If he wasn't ever able to do so with his own father, he wasn't going to let the kid down.

Tony tossed the ball at the same distance as Peter did, who squealed and ran after it.

"So I was thinking," Tony spoke up, both watching Peter grab the ball. "That after the park, maybe we could go somewhere. Like get ice cream or something. If it doesn't mess up your schedule or anything. I know little kids and their schedules and how important it is to stick to it. I wouldn't want to mess with that. I was just hoping that maybe you'd wanna go. It doesn't even have to be ice cream, it could be anything-"

"Tony." Steve interrupted, making Tony stop mid sentence, mouth open like fish. "Sure. Ice cream sounds great. We love ice cream."

Tony closed his mouth and nodded. "Great. Great. Ice cream it is. Thank god, you love ice cream. Who doesn't love ice cream? Not loving ice cream should be a deal breaker everywhere. Worldwide. Don't you think? I mean it's ice cream-"

"Yes, Tony, It's ice cream," Steve was chuckling. "You know they're wrong about you."

Tony blinked a coupled of times. "Who are?"

"People."

"People. Right. People. Well, yeah, I mean people are mostly wrong. They're - wait, what are they wrong about?"

"You being suave." Steve said, then regret washed over his face as his eye widened. "I mean, you are. Definitely. But you ramble a lot. Not that that's a bad thing, it's actually kinda cute. I mean, it's not a bad thing-"

"Now who's rambling?" Ton smirked, granting him with a blushing Steve who shut his mouth. "You think I'm cute?" The blush grew darker. "I mean I would've gone for handsome but cute works too if that's what you think."

"I mean, I wouldn't say no to you being handsome either, just so you know." Steve muttered, just as Peter came to him raised his arms up to be held.

"Daddy, I'm hungry. Can we buy something today?"

Steve patted his pocket where his wallet was instinctively when Tony spoke up. "Well, Peter, we were just deciding if you'd be up for some ice cream."

Peter's face lit up like the sky on fourth of July. "Really?"

"Mhmm. You want some?"

"Yes, please. I love ice cream. Daddy loves ice cream too. A lot. Daddy says sweet things are the best."

Tony looks at Steve and the latter just shrugged.

"I'll keep that in mind." Tony said, softly smiling. Steve looked away before he blushed again and looked at Peter, running his fingers through the child's hair.

"Can we get ice cream now? Please?" Eager little kid. Tony didn't mind. In fact, it reminded him of himself when he was young.

"Of course, we can. I've got a car waiting just outside to take us there. You ready?"

Peter enthusiastically nodded while Steve pocketed the ball Peter held in his jacket. As they walked, Tony pulled out his phone and sent a text to Happy to bring the car to where he was dropped off. And sure enough, the car was waiting exactly there.

Tony opened the door for Steve. "Sorry, I don't have a child seat."

"No, it's okay." Steve assured, climbing into car, thanking him, and placing Peter right beside him with a firm grip on him.

"To my favorite ice cream place, Hap."

Happy gave a nod of acknowledgment and the car started moving.

"Daddy, can I have two scoops?" Peter said holding out three fingers.

"We'll see." Steve said, lowering down the third finger.

"You can have as many scoops you want, as long as you father allows it." Tony said.

"A hundred?" Peter looked at him wide eyes filled with awe.

"I did say if your father allowed."

Peter looked at his dad, who just shook his head at Tony. "No one's getting a hundred scoops. You can't eat that much, you'll get sick. Do you wanna get sick?"
Peter shook his head, remorseful. "No."

"Then no hundred scoops."

Tony chuckled. "Y'know what? Two scoops sound just perfect. Wouldn't you say, Steve?"

"I suppose." Steve said, trying to not show his displeasure at the thought of the cost he was expecting. "We'll see."

Soon enough they reached the place. Tony got out first and Peter eagerly followed him. They had developed some weird friendship as they wouldn't shut up throughout the whole ride. Steve joined in from time to time but he let them do all the talking. Tony didn't know why but he did try to make him smile repeatedly.

When Steve got out, he gave the place around him a glance. His face turned sour, though he managed to conceal it. Too bad for him that Tony had already picked up on his displeasure. Tony wasn't sure why.

"Ready for ice cream, buddy?" Tony asked Peter.

"Yes!" He replied and immediately looked at his father. "Right, daddy?"

"Um..." Steve looked torn and his hand went to touch his front pocket and it suddenly hit Tony. Steve was a single parent, he gathered, from the lack of the mentioning of Peter's other parent from either of the two. He probably wasn't well off considering him having to send Peter to that daycare. Steve was probably worried about the bill for the treats that hadn't even arrived yet through out the ride. Maybe that's why he was so silent. Tony had to make it right.

"Of course, he is! You can't say no to free food, can you, Steve?"

Steve looked at him, mouth finding words to say. "Tony, this is-"

"Not a problem. And I didn't bring you here to worry. So why don't you relax and think of what flavor you're gonna get." Tony had a warm smile on his face. "Have you decided that yet, Peter?"

The kid shook his head no and Tony grabbed his hand. "Well no need to worry. You get to pick whatever looks good, alright?"

Peter nodded and Steve took a deep breath. "Are you sure, Tony? I mean, this place is- hell, this entire area is-"

"I'm a hundred percent certain, Steve. And it's no problem for me. I'm sure you probably figured that out already." He mumbled the last bit Peter wouldn't understand.

Steve looked alarmed. "Is that why you think I accepted your offer? Or is that why you're even here with us. We're not a charity case, Tony."

"What? No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. Steve. I would never think like that of you. C'mon- okay, I get it that it might seem that way but it's not. You have my word. I am interested in getting to know you above everything else."

Steve seemed to be calculating his next move when Peter tugged his arm. "Are we not getting ice cream, daddy?" His voice was so shy and scared of rejection, it was painful to hear. Tony wanted to give the kid every bit of everything he needed and wanted.

Steve, after a few seconds, sighed deeply. "Of course we are, honey."

Both Tony and Peter had the same expression of glee on their face as Tony led them in. Tony waved at the girl on the counter who greeted them. "Hey, Cindy. How're you doing?"

"Great as always, Mr Stark. What can I get you today?"

Tony looked at Steve and pointed at Peter, asking if he can pick him up. He did so once getting a nod of approval from Steve.

"Alright, Peter, What looks good?"

Peter went all cartoon-style wide eye over all the flavors displayed before him. The different colors were all getting a few second of a glance from the kid before he moved his eyes to the next one.

"Daddy, which one?" Peter kicked his feet.

Tony looked at Steve who bit his lip and then gave in. "Whatever you want, honey. Maybe Tony can help you choose."

Peter turned to look at Tony and the innocent and confused look on his face had Tony rambling about each flavor while pointing at them.

Soon enough Peter had decided that he wanted a scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough because he loved cookie dough and a scoop of cotton candy because that was blue, his favorite color. Steve tried to hold back his sound of disapproval at the amount of sugar the kid was going to intake just so Peter could enjoy one night.

Tony looked at Steve who just shrugged. "I think I'm good."

Tony's face fell. "C'mon, Steve. I bring you out on a date and you're not even gonna eat?"

"What's a date?" Peter asked.

Steve looked at lost of words. "Tony- I didn't know it was gonna be here..."

Tony understood just fine and he coaxed Steve into it. "C'mon. I gave you my word. It's no a problem for me. Tell him, Peter."

"Yeah, daddy. You love ice cream."

Steve glared at Peter all the while Tony just smirked. "Or are you just trying to hurt my feelings here?"

"Fine. I'll have one scoop, though."

"You'll have two. You can pick the flavor."

"Vanilla."

"Boring. Peter, do you know your daddy's favorite flavor?"

"He loves chocolate chip."

"Okay, one scoop of that. And the next one, Steve?"

"Can't believe you both are ganging up on me."

"You left us no choice, darling. Now what's it gonna be?"

Tony did, in fact, stared at the blush that spread across Steve's face at the the nickname and he just loved it. He decided that the nicknames are going to stay.

"Uh...cookie dough."

He still sounded unsure but Tony didn't give time to back out and ordered his own. Cindy scooped their ice creams into cones, as per Peter's hopeful wishes.

They sat down at a table by the window, Peter beside Steve and Tony right across from him. Peter started licking the treat all over, getting on his mouth than in it. Steve didn't seem to care much about the mess. "It's no use." He said, but he did cover Peter's shirt with a napkin by tucking it in his collar.

"I'm really sorry about putting you in that position over there." Tony said.

Steve shook his head. "No. I was being difficult. It's just... this place is kinda..."

"I'm sorry about that, Steve. I wanted to treat you. And I know how you feel, believe me, I hate pity. But this isn't that. I really wanted to do this for you."

"Why, though. I mean, of all the people you could have-"

"I want you." Steve became quiet. "If you'll let me have you. I know you saw me at the daycare the other day-"

"Kinda hard to miss a guy being dragged across the sidewalk." Steve grinned a little.

Tony huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, well. I saw you too. Kinda hard to miss a guy with beauty like that."

And there was that blush again. Steve tried to hide it by licking his ice cream but Tony saw. That beautiful, beautiful blush. Tony wanted to kiss that face so bad. It was taking all of his self control to not jump across the table and kiss the other guy senseless and breathless right there and then.

"And I thought I had missed you until I saw you in the park again. Believe me, I thanked all the gods and stars that existed when you agreed to meet me again."

"But why? I mean, you're Tony Stark, y'know?"

"It might've been brought to my attention a time or two."

"It's just... I'm nothing special." Steve's voice was shy and hesitant. He also kept it low so Peter won't hear. "I'm a single father who doesn't have much to offer."

"I don't need much other than a good person. Which, I have concluded, you are. And you have yet to prove me otherwise. But I'm pretty sure you won't. If Peter is anything to go by, you're practically a saint."

Steve shrugged, looking down. "I try."

"Well if my words mean anything, you're doing an amazing job with him. I hope you know that."

Steve looked at Tony, eyes full of warmth and affection. "Thanks, Tony. I mean it. And I'm still sorry about being a jerk before. Could I get another chance?"

Tony reached across to hold Steve's hand. "You never lost this one, darling."

All of a sudden, Peter sneezed loudly, making Tony look away from Steve's pink face. Steve, too, looked at Peter who stared at his father and then started laughing loudly. "I made a big sneeze!"

Steve laughed along with him, thanking god the kid didn't drop his ice cream, and Tony knew he was really, deeply screwed. This adorable father-son duo was going to be the death of him. And somehow, he didn't think he would mind this kind of death. In fact, he would welcome it with open arms.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Best Thing - Chapter 1 - winterstony - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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It's not like Tony didn't want to go, he was an orphan kid once too. Not as young as the kids at the house but still an orphan kid. It's not like he didn't want to go, it's just that his bed was insanely comfortable at the moment and just the very thought of moving felt like going against the forces of nature.

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All dragons have hoards.

Tony was not ashamed of his heritage, but he’d learnt early on that older generations didn’t care to do business with dragons. Thus, Tony hoarded in his heart but never in a way that could be deemed more than eccentric, a way that could be deemed dragon.

Most people, if they knew, would assume he hoarded technology.

A couple might assume instruments, and Pepper would claim he hoarded paperwork because he never gave it back.

Most people would be wrong.

Tony hoards souls.

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Soul Hoarder - TheCityLightShow - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Tony finds out about Steve’s cheap swim trunks.

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Pool Day - Neverever - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

# data[].attributes.headline
Ordinary Workplace Hazards, Or SHIELD and OSHA Aren't On Speaking Terms - scifigirl47

# data[].attributes.subject
Ordinary Workplace Hazards, Or SHIELD and OSHA Aren't On Speaking Terms - scifigirl47

# data[].attributes.body
Tony Stark has once again engineered something that might well lead to the downfall of Western Civilization. No one's really surprised. This time, however, it might just be the lesser of two evils.

Clint and Phil hate playing pickup, but damn, Clint loves the Roombas, and damn, Phil loves Clint, though he's not really sure why sometimes. It's time to play Hide-And-Seek with hostile robotic AIs in the SHIELD home office.

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Ordinary Workplace Hazards, Or SHIELD and OSHA Aren't On Speaking Terms - scifigrl47 - The Avengers (2012) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Oh sure, reunion results in happiness, kittens, and rainbows, because that's definitely how life goes when you've just spent 70 years as a tool of villainy. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

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# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Long Road Begins at Home - Chapter 1 - owlet - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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No One Loves You As Much As Your Dog - sexy_sinful_writer

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No One Loves You As Much As Your Dog - sexy_sinful_writer

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Steve loves his dog Tony.

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No One Loves You As Much As Your Dog - sexy_sinful_writer - Marvel [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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A collection of short and smutty Steve/Tony fics, originally posted anonymously for the cap-ironman kink meme.

Chapter 1: (Early 616) Tony owns a series of Nomad-themed porn movies
Chapter 2: (616) Steve has an extra sensitive prostate
Chapter 3: (Ults) Tony talking Steve off over the phone
Chapter 4: (616) Hydra Cap masturbates to thoughts of Tony (dubcon)

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Kink Meme fics - cptxrogers - Marvel 616 [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Double Blind Experiments - captainmistyknight (ayna2222), gilestel, MassiveSpaceWren

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Double Blind Experiments - captainmistyknight (ayna2222), gilestel, MassiveSpaceWren

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“Iron Man has been classified as a Category Alpha level threat. He must be neutralized at all costs. What do you say, Cap, are you in?”

Steve’s primary mission after seventy years of frozen isolation is to work alongside SHIELD’s Avengers to take down Iron Man, an infamous villain who’s been engaging in unchecked and unprompted property damage for the past three years. SHIELD and Stark Industries have lost countless dollars in technology. But as Steve gets closer to his team, and to Tony Stark, the reclusive billionaire whose tech Iron Man allegedly stole, things start to get more complicated. Can he figure out who to trust before innocent people get hurt?

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It seemed to Steve that he had woken up to a future far colder than the ice that had trapped him for seventy years. Seventy years!

He gave himself what he hoped was an unnoticeable pinch on the arm-he still wasn't sure this whole time travel thing? Predicament? Whatever, wasn't just a bad dream-but judging from the odd look the SHIELD physician gave him-he could never remember her name- he hadn't been very subtle at all. His muscles continued to ache, from disuse, of all things, though from what he could tell nothing the medical team had tried had been able to touch the pain.

The woman mumbled to herself as she poked and prodded at the machines surrounding his bed, and injected some strange substance into what they called his "eye-vee".

At least the medical advances while he was...asleep...were something to behold. And imagining the meanings and uses of the tubes and wires gave him something to do during the long hours he'd been left entirely alone over the course of the week he'd been awake.

"Trying methadone might work, maybe, but how would it interact with all the other meds he's on?" The physician's constant low mumble was clearly not meant for his ears, but thanks to his enhanced hearing it registered clear as a bell.

Steve clung desperately to the words he overheard, though he knew the meanings of approximately half. This was all the human interaction he had had for seventy years. It was mildly irritating to have had no one address him directly, but of course Bucky might come to visit soon, the way he always did, with a pot of chicken soup-a Sarah Rogers recipe-snuck in under a bulky jacket and a joke or two to brighten up the dreary place.

Then he remembered that he hadn't been in a hospital since Dr. Erskine's had conducted his pre-experiment baseline tests, and that Bucky and everyone else he had ever known and loved had been dead for seventy years.

All of a sudden, the cramped, isolated, room they were using as a makeshift quarantine felt entirely too large and entirely too loud.

"Excuse me miss?" he called out. The woman stopped mid-sentence to glare at her patient, as though his very presence were a waste of her time. She was probably worried he'd ask another stupid question about the new medical equipment. "Is there any chance you can turn down the beeping? It's giving me a bit of a headache."

The physician scoffed. "These measurements are critical to helping us figure out how to best treat you, Captain. I know it's been made clear to you many times, but clearly it has not sunk in that you were cryogenically frozen on the brink of death for seventy years. The only way to turn down the 'beeping' is to turn these machines off entirely, which would rob us of data which we can use to get you back on your feet ASAP. Do you understand?" Steve nodded.

She turned to walk out of the room and continued mumbling, "Maybe more of the OxyContin? But we're already past thrice the normal dosage and nothing is working. They should have just left him to sleep; it would've given us more time than a day to figure this whole mess out..." Her voice finally trailed off as she made it down the long, winding hallway that led back to the rest of the compound, likely off to report to her superiors about something or another.

Alone again. Of course.

He scanned the room one last, half-hearted time for any possible escape routes, but he'd learned the hard way that he couldn't leave without risking significant harm to himself if he didn't have a good grasp of whatever these doo-hickeys attached to his body did

He sighed, lay back, and debated whether boredom was worth the gamble he took every time he closed his eyes. This all would be easier if he could just go to sleep the way the irritating doctors wanted him to, but his rest had been fitful at best since he woke up.

The dreams changed every night: sometimes he screamed as his best friend slipped out of his grasp to his frigid death, other nights he lay awake, whimpering, as his mind conjured image after image of increasingly gruesome tortures, casting a different character-or should he say, a different Commando-as the lead in the gory play each time.

He decided it wasn't worth it.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The machines continued their monotone wailing, to the benefit of no one since Steve still had no idea exactly what the machines did, not for lack of asking of course.

Still, in the silence of the empty quarantine room Steve was free to indulge in another of his hastily improvised games-finding a song with the exact bpm as his current heart rate, which is what he assumed the steadiest beeping was. There was apparently not a marker or pad of paper to be had in this Godforsaken place-again, he'd asked-so this was the next best thing, he supposed.

The song he managed to come up with was a favorite of his mother's; she used to sing it to him each night before heading off to her shift at the hospital, even if the song itself was more suited to a bar than a child's bedroom. The lyrics were far more poignant in the current context:

And all the comrades that e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They'd wish me one more day to stay

But since it fell unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I gently rise and softly call

Goodnight and joy be to you all!

His voice wavered slightly as he sang, which was to be expected given the circumstances. Maybe when all of this, whatever this was, was over he could find another quartet to join, if those even existed in the future. Maybe he could ask-

" A -hem," an impatient voice interrupted from by the door. Lost in his thoughts as he was, Steve hadn't noticed them approaching. The man was entirely unfamiliar. Par for the course. "If you're not too busy serenading the walls, captain, I'd like a word with you."

Steve gave the man a quick once over: tall, rigid posture, one eye covered with a dark black patch, a smile that looked more like a grimace; it was clear that this man wasn't one to be disobeyed. Great, more angry people. Just what the doctor ordered. Still, he hastily pasted on his best "I'm Captain America, look at me being wholesome" smile.

"Pleased to meet you, sir; I'd be happy to have a word with you if you think anything I have to offer would be of any help to you." He tried not to sound too eager at actually being needed for something other than his enhanced body, for once. The man strode in and pulled up a chair close to Steve's bedside.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, there aren't a whole lot of people who can order me around in this place. Unfortunately, the doctors are some of the few people who can, when it comes to medical. I'm not cleared to pull all this shit out of you myself, so we're just going to have to wait here 'til one of these motherfucking embarrassments decides to do their job and get you ready to work by tonight." He leaned back in the chair, making it look for all the world like a throne.

"So you think I'll be able to get out of here soon?" asked Steve, already planning a potential escape.

"You'll be released into my custody, Captain, for further notice. Don't get any ideas; you won't like me when I'm angry." Steve wasn't one to startle easily, but he felt that even he would be mildly intimidated by this man in a state of anger. He resigned himself to further supervision, for now. "Allow me to introduce myself, since clearly no one else has bothered to do so. General Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD-"

"And what exactly does that mean, sir?" interrupted Steve.

Fury glared at him, completely unimpressed. "It means I'm the boss of you for the foreseeable future, and maybe longer. I'm told following time the normal way isn't your strong suit." It could have been a trick of the not-quite-bright enough fluorescent light, but it seemed to Steve that Fury's face softened slightly. "Medical tells me you've been having a difficult time adjusting, Cap. I assure you, had we had the hours and men to spare this entire situation would have been handled far more delicately. But the fact remains that what happened to you is very, very real. And it couldn't have happened at a better time."

"Sir?"

"The world needs you again, needs you to help take down a villain potentially more nefarious than HYDRA could ever hope to be."

Steve made no move to hide his doubt. "With all due respect, how can anything be more evil than a Nazi death cult bent on destroying the universe with alien tech?"

Fury's grin widened at the question, a little too wide for the face that held it. The effect was jarring, and teeth were clenched a little too hard for it to be genuine. He tossed Steve a couple files, the first bits of information willingly given to him since the crash. Steve nearly ripped the manila folder on the top in his eagerness. "Anthony Edward Stark-yes, he's Howard's son-,"

Steve blushed lightly and closed his mouth, question having been answered before he could even ask.

"-a supergenius who knows it, and a billionaire who's just as obnoxious about it as you'd expect." Fury continued. "As CEO of Stark Industries, for the longest time he ran his father's company exactly the way his old man did. Made lots of weapons, sold them to the government for big bucks. But approximately three years ago, he had a change of heart."

"What happened?"

"Stark was kidnapped during a routine weapons demonstration in Afghanistan by the Ten Rings, a terrorist organization. They wanted him to build them a bomb. Instead, he did this." Fury reached over Steve's shoulder to rifle through a few of the papers, stopping only when he managed to unearth a series of photographs, which appeared to have been taken from quite high up. "These are satellite images of the incident-we have eyes everywhere. As you can see, Stark created a weaponized suit of armor and took his attackers out. He was found wandering the desert a few days later and rescued. As soon as he got home, he shut down the weapons division of his company entirely, replacing it with a clean energy initiative. Obviously, not everyone liked this new plan, including his old business partner, who tried taking him out. It didn't work, and Tony came out a changed man."

"Changed for the better, I hope?" Steve was no stranger to how powerful a motivator guilt could be, and he hoped this Tony fellow would make good use of his influence from now on.

"For a while that's what we thought, aside from a few hiccups last year when he was dying-" Steve made a mental note to ask someone who wasn't Fury as soon as possible about that story "-but a few months ago, this happened." Fury pulled out the second file he'd handed cap and flipped it open. "This is Documented supervillain #64, publicly going by "Iron Man". He appeared on the scene about six months ago. Notice anything?" Steve picked up on the main point nearly instantly.

"The technology this man is using matches Stark's nearly identically."

"Exactly. We need to learn how he got his hands on Stark tech, or the schematics for Stark tech, pronto."

Steve nodded. "Of course. But sir, don't you think it's possible that Stark himself is piloting these suits?"

Fury shook his head. "We certainly considered it, but Stark was nothing but cooperative during the examination, and he's got motive enough to want to take Iron Man down as much as we do."

"What's that?"

"Iron Man made his debut by blasting the Stark Industry computer mainframe to bits. Stark lost countless files' worth of data. Since a lot of that was tech meant for us, this was obviously a huge setback for both SI and SHIELD."

"So what makes him any different from any other maniac?"

"Interestingly, not much. He's actually cleaner than most villains as far as death rate. He's never killed a civilian, though he's not been afraid to injure anyone nearly to the point of death. His property damage stats are low, barring the intentional attacks on SHIELD and SI facilities. The main problem is how effective he is at evading everything we throw at him. It's almost like he knows our every move before we do."

It takes Steve only a couple seconds to fully connect the dots. "That's why you kept me a secret for so long. I'm the ace up your sleeve."

"Bingo. Iron Man has been classified as a Category Alpha level threat. He must be neutralized at all costs . What do you say, are you in?"

Steve considered the information he'd been given, feeling strangely hesitant to discount Stark as a potential suspect, and confused by the surprisingly violent categorization for an otherwise basic villain. Still, the missions would likely be far more entertaining than sitting cooped up in a darker, more miserable hobbit hole.

"I'd be happy to help, sir."

"Excellent, you made the right decision. And we know you don't work alone, so we've prepped a team to replace your old one. A few of SHIELD's top agents, Hawkeye and Black Widow will be joining you on your mission, along with civilian scientists Bruce Banner and Tony Stark. I'll be leaving files for these agents and assets in the room you will be assigned in the main SHIELD compound. I expect you to read them before the team meeting tomorrow."

"That's fine; it certainly beats just sitting around this empty jail cell. Does this mean that I'll be released later today?"

"Yes. In fact-," Fury's reply was interrupted by the return of Steve's cranky physician. "Dr. Fiske is here to cut you free." Ah, so that's what her name was! Steve enthusiastically maneuvered his arms this way and that as the physician untangled the long wires that had been sticking out of him in all directions. He wiggled his fingers a bit, grateful for the return of his full range of motion. Fury gave the woman another grimace-grin. "Thank you doctor. Now Cap, if you'd follow me, I'll take you up to your room." He made a clean about-face, and moved smoothly out of the quarantine room.

Steve stumbled after Fury, surprised at how quickly his muscles got used to working again after decades of being quite literally frozen in place. He was easily able to match pace with Fury even as he picked up speed. Steve had been unconscious when they brought him to this room the first time; he woke up from his coma to the sight of the empty quarantine room and the sound of the incessant beep, beep, beep . The tunnel they were navigating seemed endlessly silent by comparison, and Steve revelled in the peace, no matter how short lived it might have been.

The hallway stretched on for what Steve estimated might be a mile or two, with changes in elevation and width every few feet. Steve found it necessary to crouch awkwardly during a good half of the trip. "How exactly did you know to prep a room like this for me?" he asked, as Fury ducked gracefully under yet another stone outcropping from a particularly low section of hall.

"We had no way of knowing where you were, or even who you were Cap, but it was important to take precautions for regulations, you know how it is." Steve flashed back to the striking image of a young USO girl with red hair and ripped stockings, and understood Fury's point completely.

"You wanted to make sure I wasn't a danger to any SHIELD agents," he inferred.

"That, or a danger to yourself. Wouldn't want our knight in red, white, and blue armor running out into traffic before he can help anyone." Steve refrained from mentioning to Fury that cars did in fact exist in the 30s, even if they didn't bother with his lower class neighborhood all too often. He chuckled politely instead.

"I can understand that, sir. So, you created this entire structure for me?"

"Don't think you're so special Cap, we've actually had this set up here for a long time. It's meant to hold something a lot bigger, greener, and angrier than you in case of emergency, but it worked as a place to keep you in a pinch." Big, green, angry. Why did that sound like something very specific? Fury smirked. "Don't worry, you'll run into our friend and problem soon enough. For now, let's just get you adjusted to smartphones and fluorescent lighting."

A set of stairs marked what Steve hoped was the end of the long trek to the main SHIELD headquarters, and he began taking them two at a time, half for convenience-he was sometimes still surprised by the sheer length of his enhanced limbs-, and half in his eagerness to get back to somewhere that might look a little like home, or at least, a home. The stairwell opened up into a bright, large, square space with a sculpture of a black eagle standing in the center. The choice of insignia was certainly interesting; it mirrored the symbol of the United States while shrouding it in darkness: no mission statement could have more accurately presented SHIELD's purpose.

The lobby-for that's what it was-was empty at the moment, though Steve suspected that at any given day when he wasn't being transported, the floor would be bustling with life. Fury led Steve to an elevator off to the right, pushing the button for the appropriate floor himself. The clear cube shot up into the sky. Times certainly had changed. Bucky would have absolutely loved this, thought Steve, it's like something out of a sci-fi flick! Then he remembered that Bucky, and everyone he had ever loved for that matter, had been dead for over seventy years. Still, the world seemed to be much bigger and shinier than it had been in the forties, which would hopefully provide ample distraction before the new team was called for their first meeting tomorrow.

Sure enough the room lived up to the hype and then some. The spot Steve had been assigned to was about as homey as he'd expected, but far larger. The bed was large enough to fit in comfortably, and magazines and newspapers littered the table in the mini-kitchen. Not a window to be seen, though, yet again. No fresh air yet, Rogers.

What appeared to be a glass square was propped against his pillow. Fury tapped on it, and the thing instantly began glowing a different color entirely. Steve jumped back in shock, which only increased as Fury began explaining how the tech worked. The thing was tiny , and yet still managed to contain countless SHIELD files on everyone from Iron Man to Peggy Carter, who as it turned out had founded the agency alongside Howard. Though he knew that things may have changed between the time Peggy had been involved and the present, he was certainly more inclined to trust an institution built on good morals, of which Peggy had plenty.

Steve snapped back to attention as Fury finished up his explanation. "-and that's how you set up a StarkPad. Remember, the files on here are more classified than anything you've ever been given access to, so keep the damn thing locked in your room when you're not looking at it. This space is yours to live in. Feel free to decorate however you want; I'm sure a grown ass adult can learn how to use Amazon." A loud beeping interrupted cut Fury's ramble short. "Well, that seems to be the end of that. Sit tight and do your homework, Cap. I've got a Coulson to find." With that, he swept out of the room and off to God-knows-where.

Steve did as he was told, for once, and pulled up the files like he'd been shown. They were truly endless, full of meticulous detail, and formatted elegantly. Frankly, if one of these files had been human Steve might have proposed marriage. He began skimming quickly through information about his new teammates and allies, feeling a bit guilty all the while at the thought of snooping through other people's personal information. Still, he'd been given permission from the Director, and it's not like he could ask questions about triggers during a crisis situation.

Natasha's file seemed like as good a place to start as any. Apparently, the woman was a master spy, with more aliases than there were years Cap had been frozen in the ice, though all of them seemed to have been redacted with thick, black marker. It was no surprise to Steve when her file ended up consisting of more censor than sentence.

What he did manage to find out was that she'd spent the past year or so shadowing Howard's son and writing up a risk analysis for SHIELD, which the tycoon had passed with flying colors, leading to his current consultant status on the Avengers Initiative. Stark himself had really changed his tune after what the media was calling the Iron Man Incident. Steve viewed a few of the virtual clippings that had been saved to Stark's file.

The damages had been extensive, and after losing so much work so soon after his business partner had betrayed him, Stark completely dropped out of the limelight. Where he had once been a gregarious man, who seemed to have taken on his father's mantle with as much fanfare as money could buy, Stark had become a recluse, a bird in a gilded cage, sequestering himself from the society he once practically controlled.

SHIELD wasn't too concerned with this change in behavior, but Steve found himself growing even more suspicious. A reclusive billionaire seemed to him like the perfect civilian identity for a supervillain like Iron Man. But then, why would Stark blow up his own work? Maybe Steve was missing something? He tabled the issue for the moment, and flicked over to Bruce's file.

He flicked away as soon as he'd opened it. The file started off with a picture of a massive, roaring green beast. That was a joke, right? But wait, hadn't Fury said something about "big, green, and angry" earlier today? This must be the right file. He flicked back, and began reading about Banner's misguided attempts at replicating Dr. Erskine's experiments. It seemed the very serum that had preserved his life for seventy years of cryogenic isolation had completely destroyed that of what was once a mild mannered, intelligent man.

That quarantine room must have been for Dr. Banner, he thought. Steve felt his mind wander as he flicked through Agent Barton's file half-heartedly. What would working with these new people tomorrow be like? What would happen if none of them gelled as a team? Would there be time to train together before the next mission? He glanced at the clock as a yawn pulled him out of his musings. He closed out of the files, and began turning down his new bed. A whole week of doing nothing had left him pretty exhausted. The rest could wait until morning.

Though Steve still wasn't used to being awake after seventy years of slumber, his body remembered how to get up at the crack of dawn. It was impossible to imagine what the sunrise might have looked like in this day and age, but SHIELD had been kind enough to provide him with what appeared to be a clock. Four hours to kill before the meeting, he thought, blinking more blearily than usual at the oddly glowing "5:00".

He sat up and reached for the sketchbook usually kept somewhere over to his left, sighing as he found nothing but empty space instead. Right, future. A week ago, he was starting on a sketch of Dernier. It seemed fitting to have him be the last of a Howling Commandos set he now knew he'd never finish. No chance of getting a jog in either, Fury had neglected to show him where the gym was in this massive maze-prison hybrid and if he tried his luck with an outdoor loop he'd probably make it back at five the next day. He could read the other files, or maybe some magazines?

A loud bang and a flash of pain in his leg pulled him out of his reverie. Shit. He'd been jostling his legs again. He thought he had the tics under control, but it figured the army meds had worn off while he was under. He always found it funny how the drug meant to keep him alert actually calmed his nerves. It would certainly make things harder to go without.

He forcibly stilled his body's fidgety movements and started to get ready for the meeting. He'd grab some magazines and files and read them in the conference room; the change of scenery (and hopefully, extra breathing room) would do him some good. Yeah, that was a plan, at least. He suited up and got to work.

Steve lengthened the walk up to the conference room as much as he could. It was meant to be short-he suspected that was so he could be ready to fight as soon as possible-but he took the opportunity the overnight shift provided to tour the facility in relative silence. He managed to find a training area, which was good, but it was filled with strange machines with not a weight to be seen. He'd need to ask someone to show him how the new equipment worked, though he doubted anyone would bother to take the time to really show him. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about that until after the meeting anyway.

He pushed open the conference room doors-they felt like heavy ones for someone without super strength-and had to take a moment to absorb all the new. This room was unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was surrounded by windows on all sides; even the wall he'd just come through was suddenly transparent. Was it possible to have a window that only worked one way? The light streaming in from the hallways and slowly lightening sky provided just enough for reading, but still shrouded much of the room in shadow. He felt simultaneously exposed and secluded, a troubling yet exhilarating feeling that woke something up deep in his bones. He missed being on alert.

Steve took a seat to the left of the room that promised an excellent view of the upcoming sunrise, and flipped open the manila folder on the top of his stack. Natasha Romanoff. He'd gotten about halfway down the list of aliases when a cough came from a darker corner of the room. Steve's head snapped up, body already half out of his seat.

"Relax, soldier, just wanted to introduce myself." A slim, young woman with vibrant red hair practically glided towards the table. "Figured it would be OK, since you're reading my file and all. I assume you're Captain Rogers." Steve relaxed a bit, and reached out a hand.

"Agent Romanoff, a pleasure. And please, call me Steve." Natasha shook his hand firmly while Steve panicked. Was that too forward? Not forward enough? New teammates were harder to get to know without Bucky by his side to ease the way.

"In that case, when we're not on the field Natasha is fine, Steve ," she retorted with a bit of a smirk. Sassy. Steve thought he might like this one.

"What brings you here so early in the morning?" he asked. Thank God for obvious conversation starters.

"Figured I'd see what order the rest of the team came in," she replied, taking a seat a couple chairs away. Steve smiled slightly.

"Sense of timeliness tells you a lot about a person, doesn't it." Natasha's smirk grew even wider.

"Sure, sure, but people are an open book to me regardless, as that file will tell you. I bet Clint twenty dollars that he'd be the last one in." Clint. That must have been the archer.

"Who's he got his money on?"

"Stark. He forgets I used to work for him, sometimes. Tony's always five minutes early; it's more intimidating than being fashionably late." Steve filed that info away, perking up at the mention of Howard's son.

"Was he a good boss?" Natasha tilted her hand from side to side.

"He was fine-a bit high strung cause of the whole 'renegade, armor-stealing villain destroying his company' thing but he was good for a laugh or two. Didn't make any inappropriate comments with me in the room once, which was a pleasant surprise given his habits before the kidnapping. Overall, he's your average genius billionaire philanthropist, if can call someone like that average. Interesting that you asked, though." Steve blushed slightly.

"How so?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Go read your mildly inaccurate dossiers. If you want, we can get lunch after the meeting and compare notes. I have a feeling you'll have a better read on your teammates than those slips of paper ever will."

"I thought you wrote these?" Steve asked, frowning slightly.

"Rule #1, Rogers. Never give anyone everything you know. Now go, read." With that, Natasha pulled out what Steve now recognized to be a phone, and started tapping away. He sighed, and flipped open the next file on the stack. A few minutes into reading about Clint's background, Natasha interrupted.

"You're nervous, aren't you."

"A little, I guess? What makes you say that?"

"You're awfully fidgety over there; it's making my anxiety anxious." Steve felt his body temperature go up seven degrees.

"That's not nerves; that's my normal." He paused for a moment, hesitant about sharing such a personal detail, but eventually figured it would get Natasha to loosen up around him a bit more. Losing some of her respect would be worth being able to get a better read on the Black Widow. "I...was sick a lot as a kid. After the scarlet fever, I started having trouble keeping still, concentrating. The doctors said it was brain damage. The army gave us all a pill to keep people awake that helped, but I must have metabolized it all." He paused. "It won't affect my ability to work on the team, I know it, but...it's there." Natasha frowned slightly, and Steve steeled himself for the upcoming rejection. You're used to it, it's fine, you can still be teammates even if she doesn't want to be friends anymore.

"Did no one give you a neuropsych?" she asked. Huh, that was new.

"A what?"

"A neuropsychiatric evaluation. A bit after your time, I suppose. It's a psychological test that determines your cognitive functioning abilities. It's usually standard issue for new agents; I would have thought they'd do it after keeping you hostage for a week."

"No, I think I would have remembered one of those."

"You definitely would have; it's a day long and full of weird block stacking and picture matching. No wonder they missed the ADHD then."

"The what?"

"ADHD. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It's usually diagnosed in kids nowadays. Matches what you just described."

"There's a word for it?"

"Psychology's come a long way since you were a broken little boy, Steve. I assume the doctors also used to give you cigarettes for the asthma?"

"Yes, what's wrong with that? They're supposed to help." Natasha wrinkled her nose.

"They definitely do not, Cap. Be glad the serum fixed you up before the lung cancer set in." Steve needed a second to process that.

"How much were we wrong about?"

"A whole lot, as it turns out, but I think you'll like most of what you read about medical advancements. The polio vaccine is pretty nice." Steve smiled.

"Good to hear; I'll try to find an encyclopedia or two on the line."

"Online?"

"That."

"That'll be a good place to start, yeah. I can ask about getting you Aderall-that'll be the closest thing to the amphetamines they used to give you guys in the army; what a bad decision that was. In the meantime, here." She tossed him a weird looking cube.

"What's this?"

"A fidget cube. Used to keep them on hand for one of my old bosses, and I saved this one as a souvenir. He made it himself, said it really works. Why don't you give it a shot? I like the clicker side best, personally." Steve pressed on the little noisemakers and fiddled around with some of the other features before settling on the swiveling joystick.

"I think I like this one best." Natasha nodded, like this confirmed a lot of information she'd been gathering as they chatted. Based off what little he knew about her, it probably did. He slipped the cube into his pocket. "Thanks, Natasha."

"No problem, Steve. Now finish that work so you get brownie points. Don't say it came from me, but Coulson's got a soft spot for you, and I bet he'd go easy on you if you show you can do the work. Clint's set a low bar for you, anyway." With that, she went back to tapping away on her phone.

"Thanks. Sorry for pulling you away from your work for so long." Natasha somehow made an innocent smile look devious.

"What work? I was playing Candy Crush. Now, go. Read." Steve laughed aloud at that. They spent the remaining half hour in companionable silence before the rest of the team started trickling in. Steve was exchanging pleasantries with Bruce, who as it turned out seemed to know quite a bit about SHIELD's lack of bedside manner, when a whirlwind burst into the room. Natasha was right, Mr. Stark was five minutes early, true to form. He was shorter than Steve had expected. He turned towards them and smiled, white and blinding.

Whoa. Pretty. Wait, what?

"Dr. Banner! It's an honor; your work on gamma radiation is unparalleled. I have so many questions; how did you decide to go for the nonlinear design for your test apparatus? What kind of coating did you use to block out ambience? What-" he paused here, taking in the mildly trampled expression on Bruce's face with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, it's just nice to meet someone who speaks English." Bruce visibly shook off the shock before reaching out to take Stark's hand.

"And you're Tony Stark, the pleasure is all mine. That new element you found has so many fascinating properties. Though I've got to say, you seem..." Stark picked up where he trailed off.

"Different from the papers and gossip mags? Less like a cocky playboy than expected?" He shrugged. "I made a couple of lifestyle changes after the kidnapping, and the thieving, and the nearly dying. Felt like the universe was giving me a sign or something. Plus Pepper bribed me with the chance to skip boring corporate meetings if I went to therapy instead, and wouldn't you know it, paying someone to let me ramble at them for hours on end is kinda really nice, especially when they can't tell you to shut up. So yeah, I'm flipping over a new leaf, takin' the new me out for a test drive. It's been nice not being on the cover of, well, everything for a bit. I can breathe without someone shoving a breathalyzer in my face hoping to report on a DUI before it happens." Steve had no idea how Tony managed to say all of that in one breath, but he noted absently that the glint in his eyes as he spoke was oddly distracting.

"I can see how wanting to hide for a while can be appealing" replied Bruce with a small smile.

"You bet. Maybe we can stick our heads in the same patch of sand sometime." Tony said. Bruce's face fell.

"I would-yes, but-the other guy?" he said, looking down at his feet. Tony poked him in the shoulder, hard, making Bruce hold himself back up.

"Did I mention that I was a big fan of your papers? Yeah? Well I'm a huge fan of how you turn into an enormous green rage monster. We've got plenty of room for the other guy, both in and out of the lab." Bruce had a little half-smile on his face at that.

"See you there, then."

"Yep! I'll call you if we don't end up getting special cellphones out of this top secret boyband." He turned towards the conference table, stopped, and did an abrupt about face.

"Oh! Didn't see you there, Captain Rogers. The name's Tony Stark-not sure what SHIELD told you about me, but don't believe a word. I'm a paragon of virtue and it's a privilege to know me." Steve might've been annoyed at the bravado had he not just witnessed the man put high-strung Bruce Banner completely at peace in a matter of minutes. There was kindness behind the snark; Steve just needed to pull it out.

"It's a pleasure, Tony. Forgive the informality, but Mr. Stark was-"

"-my father, yeah, yeah I gotcha, and frankly I've been cool with convention-dropping, though I've got to admit if you're looking for stories about what the guy was like after the war I'm sorry to say that I can't help you." Steve put on his best "I'm Captain America, babies and small kittens love me and so should you" smile.

"Actually, I was hoping I could grill you about your inventions sometime. I've missed about seventy Stark Expos." Tony smirked softened slightly. Good, cracks in the armor...

"Not nearly that many I'm afraid; we cancelled those for a while and just started up again. I take it you used to go?"

"Me and Bucky never missed a single one. I loved sci-fi, but Bucky? He was completely obsessed. Bored nearly a dozen of the dames he'd take with him half to tears, only to push them aside in favor of a shiny new engine anyway. But he always had time to explain to me how this doodad or the other worked and how it was different from the doohickeys we saw the year before. H-he's the one who should've been here instead of me." Steve trailed off, voice quaking slightly under the weight of his admission. "I wish I could've given him the chance to see this." The weight of Tony's hand on his shoulder shocked him out of his reverie.

"Come on now, Cap. Trust me when I say I know being the one left alive can be hard, but we all know you did your best on that mission." He smiled slightly at him, a small and gentle thing Steve was fairly certain wasn't brought out very often, Now, let's change the subject before things get even more sappy."

"Actually, while we're on the topic of the past, I do have a couple questions for you."

"Not sure how the futurist would be of much help, but I'll do my best, which is pretty damn good if I do say so myself."

"Your dossier said you knew Peggy?" Tony lit up at that.

"Oh, you want stories about Aunt Peggy? I definitely have stories about Aunt Peggy for you. She was...well, the only good thing about being a kid."

"Is she...?"

"She's fine; her memory's going a little bit but she's still every inch the crazy competent lady we know and love, Cap. Maybe when this is all over we could go see her sometime?" The tentative hope in Tony's eyes made the decision for him.

"I'd love that." The way Tony lit up at his acceptance erased any doubt from his mind: there was no way this kind soul was the vicious Iron Man. He stuck out a hand.

"It's good to meet you Tony."

"Yeah, funny enough, good to meet you too." Were handshakes usually meant to last this long? And that funny flipping thing his stomach was doing wasn't something he'd felt since the first time he saw- oh. Oh no. Fortunately, sound of the conference room doors banging open drove the thoughts clean out of his mind. Director Fury walked in, accompanied by a stern brunette woman and an unassuming gentleman Steve assumed was more bite than bark.

"This is Agent Maria Hill and Agent Phil Coulson." began Fury, pointing to the woman and the man in turn. Ah, the famous Coulson. "We're here to report that this little meet-and-greet isn't gonna last much longer. You've got a new mission." Steve frowned.

"But we haven't gotten a chance to train together? How are we supposed to fight when we've just met?" he asked. Fury smirked.

"A good Captain knows how to pick his teammates up and bring them back down again, wherever, whenever. This is either going to push you into gelling with the team, or breaking completely. It's up to you to make this work." It was a lot of pressure, but nothing Steve hadn't handled before. Still, the clear confirmation that he was here to be a tool stung.

"What about Clint?" Natasha piped up from somewhere near the back. Fury actually frowned a bit before continuing.

"Agent Barton has already been compromised; that's why we're here. The hostile-he's calling himself 'Loki'-is capable of total mind control. He used Hawkeye to take something from us, something important."

He tossed a few dossiers on the table, and Steve obligingly passed them out to his new teammates. When he flipped his open though, his heart just about stopped.

"The Tesseract is an alien artifact recovered in the Arctic Ocean several years ago; SHIELD has been exploring its potential in the clean energy sector since its retrieval. Loki has taken it, planning to use it for who knows what purpose. Your mission is one of retrieval: get in there, find the cube, use this -" he pointed to a strange looking box thing, "-recording device designed by Stark to collect data in action, and these -" he indicated some teeny tiny hearing aid looking things "-comms to check in with each other." Get that damn blue problem back here so Stark and Banner can figure out what Loki's using Dr. Selvig to figure out. If you find Barton and manage to get him back, that's fine, but he's not a priority. Any questions?"

Tony raised his hand. "Yeah, just one. If this was a clean energy project, why the fuck didn't you have me on it? I'm the renewable energy guy; this project was completely in my wheelhouse! I could have had my security on this from the start, and this whole theft thing wouldn't have happened. "

"Why do you think we have you and Banner on it now, Stark? Now grab your comms and go; we need you in Stark labs yesterday ." An near-imperceptible frown crossed Tony's face, but he nodded once and stood.

"All right, come on Brucie-bear. Let's get this shit over with so we can get to talking about actual science," he pronounced before stalking quickly out of the conference room. Bruce, still looking mildly shell-shocked, rose smoothly from his seat and followed. Fury rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked up at the two remaining agents in the room.

"And what are you waiting for? Go! The briefing info's already loaded into the quinjet." Natasha got up smoothly, dusting invisible debris off her suit as she went, grabbed a comm, and turned to Steve.

"Come on, I'll show you where we hid the hangar." Steve grabbed the last comm and the box-like device and figured it was in his best interest to just follow along for the ride. Besides, how hard could a grab-and-go be, anyway?

As it turns out, a grab-and-go can be very, very annoying when you add a brainwashed sharpshooter, an asshole of a literal Norse demigod whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck, and his brother who thunders both physically and metaphorically when he's angry (and who was fortunately on their side? It seemed? Steve wasn't quite sure to be honest). They're also in fucking Germany of all places, why does everything have to happen in Germany? Why couldn't it happen closer to home?

Tony and Bruce had been helpful over comms, at least, both in terms of providing strategy and keeping up morale. Steve hadn't laughed this much since, well, World War II. "They should have left this thing in the ocean," he said to Natasha, who nodded her head violently. They were currently just standing in the middle of a random field while the godly argument went down. Tony laughed through his comm.

"You said it! This whole thing has been nothing but a pain in my ass. I'm going to mute my comm now, so I can get some actual work done. Have fun with the Hardy boys!" Steve kinda missed his voice already.

"Brother! Cease this foolishness! Return home, return to your family !" boomed the brother, whose name Steve had forgotten five seconds after he heard it.

"You and the fool of an All-Father are no family of mine, Thor!" exclaimed Loki, in equal volume. So that's what his name was, Steve thought idly as he watched the drama unfold, rolling his eyes. He did not sign up to be a battlefield family counselor (the fact that he signed up for none of this at all was of little consequence, he supposed).

"All right, let's wrap up this little performance, yeah? Shakespeare in the park is fun and all, but it's way past time for a curtain call!" That heavily filtered voice could only be one person.

"Iron man! What are you doing here?" yelled Natasha. Her tone of voice hadn't changed much but Steve could somehow tell that she was close to losing it. Understandable, considering they'd lost sight of Clint halfway through the battle, and God knows what potentially very dangerous Loki had him doing.

"Same as all you shitheads; I'm here for the cube," quipped the most wanted man in the country, casually. He landed almost delicately in the middle of the fight, which was impressive considering the three hundred pound armor. "Wow, it's even cornier up close!" He posed in a manner Steve could best describe as "snooty". "Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?" Dear God, not another one. Steve didn't need this shit.

"Iron Man!" he called. "You have fifteen seconds to vacate the scene before we will remove you by force. This is not your fight, and you will not ruin this mission."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Captain Handsome," said Iron Man in his eerie robotic tone, walking over as Steve dropped into a defensive stance. "It's like you were summoned from my worst nightmares, special ordered Prime on Amazon. I mean, what are the odds that they find you of all people in the middle of nowhere! Totally the cherry on an awesome Sunday, lemme tell you." Steve gritted his teeth.

"Leave. Now. Or I won't hesitate to shoot you down."

"That's cute, sweetie, love the-" he waved his hands in the air "-moxie, really screams 'Apple Pie Flavored Righteous Asshole.'" Well then. Steve was nothing if not someone who made good on his promises. He took threw his shield; Iron Man dodged every rebound with grace.

"Whoa! You're a testy one; I like it! SHIELD's finally got itself an honest little minion. If you don't mind-" he paused for a nearly awkward length of time, before continuing on as if nothing had occured, "-I'm gonna take that as my cue to skedaddle. I've seen enough, and I'm needed elsewhere." With that, he flew off, quick as he had come.

Steve blinked the debris from the takeoff out of his eyes, just barely getting his bearings when Natasha swore. As he looked around, he restrained himself from doing the same. The two of them had been so enthralled with Iron Man that they'd completely missed the two demigods flying away.

And that's when he noticed that Tony's comm was registering nothing but static. "Do you hear Tony? Or Bruce?" he asked Natasha, who shook her head. Steve couldn't hold back the swears this time, much to Natasha's amusement. "We gotta get back to Stark labs, then. Do you know the way?"

"Of course I do; just get in the quinjet and I'll do the rest." Steve started running over to the jet, Natasha keeping pace with him easily.

"How are you holding up after all of that?" he asked her. Natasha smirked.

"I'm getting Clint back or dying while trying. It'll spare me all the Middle Earth monologuing." Steve laughed, long and hard. He definitely liked this one. "Don't worry about me," she continued, "worry about how you're going to get through a battle in one piece when you're too busy making googly eyes at Tony to punch things." Shit.

"I-is that going to be a problem?" he asked. He figured he wasn't going to be arrested, based off how casually Natasha was talking about the situation, but there was still the chance that they'd bench him permanently if Natasha told.

"What, thinking boys are cute? Nah, everyone who isn't a total asshole is cool with being queer nowadays. Thinking about Tony's sweet little ass when you're supposed to be having my six? Definitely a problem. Now shut up and let me drive this thing." Steve grinned. For all of SHIELD's flaws, he liked the future.

New York made the warzone they had just left seem like a playground tussle. There was a hole? In the sky? And what looked like honest-to-goodness, Flash Gordon style aliens had completely flooded the streets. This was bonkers .

"Where should I put her down, Cap?" asked Natasha from the cockpit. Steve took a more analytical look around.

"Try over there, between Stark Tower and the giant flying whale thing." He must have made a weird face at that, 'cause Nat laughed loudly.

"Yeah, that's definitely a sentence I never thought I'd hear either." She took the quinjet down smoothly, dismounting immediately. Steve grabbed his shield and hopped out, running over to where Nat was speaking animatedly with Bruce of all people.

"-but are you sure it's going to be safe? What if you take out the Tower instead? What was Fury thinking?", he heard her exclaim.

"He's thinking that this is our only option. So am I." replied Bruce, resignedly.

"What's going on?", asked Steve as he got closer.

"Fury wants to unleash the Hulk." Steve nodded.

"Widow, go find Hawkeye. If anyone can get him back to normal it's you." She immediately ran towards the Tower. "Dr. Banner, I understand that you were on call for research purposes, but if your work's done now would be a good time to get angry." Bruce heaved a sigh, took out his comm, and gave it to Steve.

"For safe-keeping," he explained. "And just for the record, I'm always angry." He had barely finished his sentence when he began growing to near monstrous proportions, and soon enough the Hulk let out a massive roar before jumping on a nearby alien whale-ship. In the background, Steve saw Nat hugging a man in a jarringly purple outfit. Good, Clint was back

The fight went by quickly after that.

Steve was actually kind of enjoying himself, which was a bit of a shock, he wasn't gonna lie. He and the Hulk made for a pretty good team, since they were both pretty good at smashing things (though on different scales, for sure), and now that Hawkeye was back to as close to normal as he could be, given the circumstances, they had a sniper who was shockingly useful considering the amount of time he spent cracking wise in the comms. It helped that Thor reappeared halfway through, proclaimed them "worthy guardians of Midgard," leaped a solid meter into the air, and slammed a pair of whale-ships into the ground. Steve just nodded kinda dazedly and tossed him Bruce's comm. So yeah, the fighting was good, the banter was great , right up until he got the call from Fury.

"Avengers, Iron Man is headed your way holding a nuclear weapon. We have no idea what his motive is, and we don't have time to figure it out. Your number one priority is to neutralize that threat."

Steve looked up at the giant gaping hole in the sky, and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Right, so, just to make things clear, we're gonna ignore the freaky magic man and his freaky magic army," said Clint, deadpan.

"You'd prefer to see the entire East Coast turned into a crater?"

"Oh no, definitely not, that would be much worse than having the entire coast vapor-AAH!" He took a moment to stab an arrow through an alien's eye-socket.

"We'll take care of it as best as we can, sir, though I've got to admit, Clint's right. We need to do something about that portal," Steve replied.

"We've got SHIELD's top scientists working on it." Steve frowned.

"And Tony?"

"Any signals from the Tower have been completely jammed. We have no idea if and when any of his intel will be useful." Fury sounds annoyed, so Steve just gives the affirmative and switches to the private Avengers link before swearing profusely.

"Whoa, Cap! Didn't know you had it in ya." quips Clint from whatever building he's on now. Steve blushes. Team leader. New crew. Gotta be professional. Right.

"We have bigger things to worry about now. It's imperative that we stop Iron Man before he can let that nuke loose on New York." Just as he relays that order, they hear the tell-tale sound of repulsor tech coming from somewhere above them. Speak of the devil. "Iron man on your three, Hawkeye! Can you hit him?"

"It's no good, Cap, the wind currents that portal's generating are just too strong. I have no idea where my arrow would land."

Steve stares at the portal, pensive. "We've got to shut it down."

"Well, I've got good news for you all, then." came Nat's voice over the comms. "Bruce and I managed to take down Loki, and Selvig's awake enough to help us out. Apparently the staff has a fail-safe. I'm ready to close the portal on your mark."

Steve was about to order the shut-down when he noticed Iron Man caught up in the gusts around the portal's mouth. "Hold it...hold it..." the red suit suddenly shot right into the hole in the sky. "NOW!"

The portal began to close, and Steve heard sighs of relief from his entire team. The worst was over. Now it was just a matter of cleaning up the rest of the mess. Thor landed next to him from where he'd been off fighting aliens. "Shall we claim our victory, Captain?"

Steve grinned. "Let's do this!" There were very few things more satisfying than slamming his shield into the ground and watching Thor use his hammer to launch it at the Leviathans at Mach 3. It would have been nice to know how Tony was doing, but that was a Steve figured SHIELD had a handle on that situation. It was time for the team to get a handle on this one.

In all the commotion, no one noticed a red speck clearing the closing mouth of the portal just before it closed.

The team was sitting around a conference room table back at SHIELD when Steve remembered.

"Wait! What about Tony? Is he all right? We didn't hear from him after comms went down"

"Don't worry Cap, I'm OK," called a voice from the hallway. Tony appeared in the doorway in what was probably the most ostentatious red and gold suit Steve had ever seen, but he looked no worse for wear as far as he could tell. "Just got knocked around a bit, then hid in my workshop. Thank past-me for having the wherewithal to put it in the basement." He winked, and the room temperature immediately went up ten degrees.

Steve frowned. "OK, but there should have been SHIELD agents with you like they said there would be? What happened to them?"

Tony shrugged. "Who knows? Knocked out cold in the mayhem, I guess."

Steve stared at Tony, who hadn't looked him in the eye once while speaking this whole time. Was he hiding something? No, what would he have to hide? Tony stared right back, a warm smile on his face.

"Right, so, did you need us for anything else or did you just want an audience for your little rom-com?" interrupted Clint from where he was lounging at the head of the table, feet resting on the mahogany as he checked over his bow for damage.

Tony laughed. "Just one thing, actually. I'm going to need to rebuild my tower, which makes this the perfect time to add extra rooms. Brucie already said he'd come and stay, if only for the awesome lab I'm making for him, but is anyone else in the market for a new living situation?"

Clint and Nat shot each other a quick glance, which somehow contained an entire conversation.

"You beat Fury to the punch, Stark; he was going to ask you to set up rooms for the Avengers at your place in a few days," remarked Natasha, eyebrow raised. "So I just have one question for you."

"And what question would that be?"

Natasha smirked. "Will there be a shooting range?"

"Sweetie, you can't even imagine the treats I have cooking up in my kitchen. How do you feel about moving targets that fight back?" Tony had visibly perked up at the confirmation that people were actually considering living with him, which made Steve wonder just how lonely he'd been before this whole Loki debacle.

"Well, I don't know about Nat, but I'm definitely in," quipped Clint. "Anything would beat this place. Can you make me new hearing aids too?" He tossed some chunks of charred plastic onto the table. "These are beyond dead."

"Sure thing, birdie." Clint glared at Tony, who was laughing too hard to notice.

"I'm in too," added Natasha. "I wouldn't mind destroying your robots."

"Alright! I know you guys have that meeting with Phil now, so you'd better get going before he comes here and tries murdering us with his eyeballs-except for Cap, of course." Steve flushed red at the reminder that Coulson was-how did Clint put it?-a total fanboy.

As the two agents got up to leave, Steve saw Clint moving his hands rapidly in Natasha's direction. He knew enough to recognize sign language, but couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He mentally added "learn ASL" to the short list of potential things he could do in the new century.

"'Kay, what about you two?" Tony turned to face Steve and Thor, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout this whole debrief.

"I will need to go back home to attend to my brother from time to time; I am not sure how, but it is clear that my family has somehow pushed him onto this hateful path. But it would be most pleasing to live and train with such worthy shield-brothers as yourselves while I am on Midgard."

"Sweet! Let me know the next time you're Earthside; we can chat about what kinds of godly things you need. Maybe over shawarma? I've never had it, but I saw a shop on my way over here, and it looks pretty good." Steve bristled at that. He hadn't been on many dates, but this seemed pretty date-y as far as he could tell.

"I am not sure that I trust Midgardian cooking yet, but the beverages here have been most exquisite. Perhaps you could show me where to find some of the "coffee" my beloved Jane showed me the last time I was here?" Tony's bright grin somehow widened at that.

"Thor, you're a man after my own heart. Stop by the tower and I'll make you the best damn coffee your taste buds have ever witnessed." OK, now that was definitely date-y. What was Tony doing?

"It is settled, then!" boomed Thor, hefting his hammer as he got up. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must head back to Asgard. There is much preparation to be done for Loki's...extended stay, and I must speak to your director about the Tessaract first. Farewell, friends!" With that, he shattered one of the conference room windows and flew off, leaving Steve and Tony alone in the room.

"Well, that's one way to make an exit!" Tony laughed as he surveyed the shattered shatterproof glass. "I really ought to make these guys better windows. Anyway, what say you, oh Captain my Captain? You wanna live with a bunch of crazy people in a skyscraper?"

Steve only had one answer to that. "When can I move in?"

As it turned out, the answer to that question was "Right now, right now, let's move, let's go!" Steve found himself nearly dragged halfway across the building to his cubicle room, which he had no idea Tony knew how to find.

"This is it, right?" Tony asked as they walked right up to the door. "I've never seen the rooms here." He held out his hand, into which Steve dutifully placed his keys, and opened the door. "Right, let's see what luxuries you'll be leaving behi-." He trailed off as he got a good glimpse of the room Steve hadn't seen since yesterday morning. "Well....it's, uh, big?"

Steve grinned. "A big, empty shoebox. Let me just grab my stuff and I'll be good to go." He made for the kitchen to start gathering up some of the magazines.

"Don't bother," said Tony from somewhere behind him, where he was fiddling with the StarkPad Steve had been given before. "I can find you all those magazines right on here." He brandished the pad.

"Careful with that, there's classified information on there!" Steve was pretty sure Tony had a high clearance level, but he didn't want to take any chances, especially not when he didn't know who was watching.

"Don't worry, my clearance is better than yours, Cap. I know everything in the files they gave you already. Now, get packing so we can get out of this place. It's giving me claustrophobia."

Steve packed his meager belongings and took the time to change before slinging his SHIELD duffle bag over one shoulder. "I'm ready to go."

Tony unceremoniously chucked the StarkPad onto the bed, straightened up his ridiculous suit, and headed towards the door.

"Aren't we going to take the tech too?" It looked so expensive, after all...

Tony chuckled. "No way, that stuff's at least six months old; I'll get you the entire, top of the line StarkTech series when we're back in the Tower." With that he made his way out, Steve hurrying to catch up both physically and mentally. Having extras was going to take some getting used to for sure.

They walked side by side down the long hallways, Tony's hand brushing against Steve's every so often. A sudden image of the two of them holding hands flashed through Steve's mind, and he quickly shoved his rebellious hand into his pocket to keep it in check, jostling a bit when he came into contact with something unexpectedly plasticy in his pockets. He pulled out the offending item and grinned a little when he saw what it was. Natasha was truly a blessing

Tony squinted down at the little gizmo. "Is that one of my fidget cubes?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Natasha gave me one earlier today, said I might find it useful."

"Is it working for you?"

"Yeah, I have another one in my suit that I was playing with during the meeting; it really did help. I'm not sure when Nat decided to hide this one in my room." He probably should have been a little more concerned that someone was able to sneak into his locked room without him noticing, but trusting Natasha was growing easier and easier by the minute.

"Well then, seems like we might have more in common than I thought, Steve-o. Which side's your favorite?"

"Joystick, though the worry stone's pretty nice too."

"A man with discerning tastes! I'm a fan of the switch, myself, but I can see the appeal of a good joystick now and again, especially when anxiety comes knocking on top of the usual mess."

Steve stopped, suddenly. "You're the boss!"

Tony blinked. "Uhh...sure?"

"No, no, you're Natasha's boss who made these things," clarified Steve, shocked that he hadn't made the connection sooner.

"Oh, yeah, that's me! She didn't say anything bad, did she? Like I said, don't believe anyone else; I'm a paragon of virtue," Tony pronounced with a wink.

"Don't worry Tony, it was all good things," laughed Steve. "Paragon of virtue may be pushing it, but most people seem to think you're a nice guy."

"Yeah?" Tony asked, almost shy. "Well, you're certainly not what I was expecting. In a good way! Yeah, definitely a good way..." He trailed off for a long moment before shaking himself out of the reverie. "Right! Let's go decorate your room! I'm thinking a classic, but modern theme." He continued rambling on about moldings.

Steve shook his head and went along for the ride, laughing and trading jabs about color patterns all the way home.

The choice to live with Tony was simultaneously the best and worst decision he had made. The man was surprisingly relaxed on his home territory, joking around with the team when he wasn't hard at work doing...something in the basement. It was amazing; he not only understood but also appreciated and was able to use Asgardian humor. He remembered their favorite pizza toppings. He couldn't beat Clint at air hockey but he was always willing to try again regardless. And he sat awake with Steve in the middle of the night, jabbering about his projects some days and just sitting quietly while Steve sat shaking at their kitchen table, mug of hot cocoa and blanket on hand. He was nothing if not incredibly, genuinely kind.

But then he'd do something like ask his invisible robot butler to do calculus, or give Steve an entire art studio when he found out about his time in art school ("I gave everyone else something!" He'd attempted to justify, but Steve still protested and never quite stopped reeling). It was "little" things like that, at first, that reminded Steve that he didn't belong here among shiny surfaces, and that he wouldn't be waking up the next morning to the sound of Bucky and Dum Dum's raucous laughter.

Still, it was better here than it would've been at SHIELD in his tiny cubicle room. Here he had a life outside their missions. He had Natasha to drag him forcibly out of his suit and out if his head by nearly beating him at hand to hand combat, then teaching him how to make a good borscht (the key is in the bone broth apparently). He had Clint trying to teach him archery-which he was "a solid B+" at, in Clint's words-and juggling, which he was somehow great at. No one questioned it.

Thor regaled him with stories in exchange for "portraits of his exploits," Bruce was great to do yoga with, and even Tony's friends Pepper and Rhodey were fun to chat with about art and the ways the armed forces had changed when they were visiting.

And Tony was...Tony. He could definitely read Steve's mind, somehow. When Steve was homesick they went "closet-diving" through bitter memories to unearth Howard's WWII collection, where Steve managed to find his old sketchbook and finish his portrait of Dernier. When he caught Steve singing the baritone part of an Irving Berlin arrangement he had been working on before the crash, he hooked him up with a quartet in the area. Heck, when he sat still for too long he took him to a children's hospital to play with babies. The man was truly magical, and Steve found his thoughts circling back to him almost without his permission. He didn't see him often-Tony had asked the team for privacy when he was in the 'shop, which they had granted-but each time he did he grew more and more obsessed.

Which is why, several weeks after what people were calling the Battle of New York, Steve was going stir crazy. They hadn't gone on a mission since Thor had left to do something on Asgard, and to make matters worse, Tony hadn't been seen since he told the team he'd be going on a business trip to his Malibu house about a week ago.

"Has anything new come up yet, JARVIS?"

"I'm there's been no change since my last update two minutes ago, captain," replied JARVIS, fairly snarkily. Maybe Steve should stop bothering him; he must have been worried about Tony.

"Alright, let me know if you find anything?"

"Of course, captain." His tone seemed softer then.

Steve made for the living room and flopped himself onto the big couch. He hadn't slept more than ten hours this past week, but his body wouldn't let him fade into unconsciousness until he knew everyone he cared about was safe. Didn't mean he couldn't try though.

Natasha found him curled up as best as he could on a corner of the couch, staring at the wall. She looked like she wanted to say something, but decided at the last minute to just sit down next to him. Clint came by a few minutes later and squeezed in on his other side. They sat like that for who knows how long when JARVIS broke the silence.

"Captain? I have picked up on a news report related to Sir and his welfare? Shall I display it on the living room TV for you?" Steve perked up considerably at the news.

"Yes, please." The television flickered into life, and the voice of a news anchor filtered into the room.

"...received word that Mr. Stark has survived a brutal Iron Man attack on his Malibu home earlier this week, and was found in a small compound hours north of the former location of his residence. Mr. Stark has been secured, and police are now looking for any survivors..." He'd been missing? How did they not know about this? Why did JARVIS not tell them the moment he vanished? Why hadn't his friends called?

"...Happy Hogan remains unconscious in the hospital, and it has been confirmed that no survivors have been left at the scene. Authorities report signs of repulsor burns characteristic of an Iron Man attack..." OK, that explained some things but raised several more questions in return.

Natasha frowned, just as confused as Steve. "How is he alive?"

"I don't know, Nat, but I don't like it," replied Clint. "I can't believe SHIELD has let this whole Iron Man situation go on as long as it has. This is like the third time he's come back from the dead already! The Avengers should be working on taking him out."

"Actually, that's one of the projects Fury has me working on," said Steve. "It's harder than you'd expect. He just appears and disappears, and makes sure to leave no traces of his presence other than repulsor burns."

Clint nodded, still looking put out, and turned back to the TV, changing the channel to something a little more lighthearted. "We'll bring it up at the next meeting then."

The three agents worked their way through a marathon of terrible sitcoms, trying to explain all the cultural references to Steve, when they heard a cough from behind the couch.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" asked Tony. They all turned to face him. Steve held back a gasp at the sight of his bruised face.

"Tony, have you gotten checked out yet? We should have Bruce look you over; he's down in his lab, but I'm sure we can pull him away from his projects long enough to get you taken care of."

"I'm fine, Steve, got cleared back in California. It's all superficial stuff, though the kidnappers weren't so lucky. I've got a heck of a story to tell you guys, though. Anyone up for a quick trip out to get a bite?"

Natasha and Clint had another conversation-in-a-glance before shaking their heads. "Nah, Tony, you two go have fun. Nat and I have things to be doing here now that don't gotta babysit a moping Cap," he announced with a smirk. Nat punched his shoulder, giving him a look that Clint faced head-on, before sighing and dragging him out of the room.

Tony stared after them, a small smile on his face. "Well, guess that means it's just us two then, since Thor's Thor-ing somewhere off world and Brucie's busy with his clinical trials. Got any requests?"

"Nowhere too fancy, please. The last time we went for small plates I had to order in pizza as soon as we got back." Steve barely held back the giddy grin that was threatening to surface; he was still the only person Tony had hung out with one-on-one with any regularity. That meant something.

"Ugh, you should have told me! We could have gotten some together, I was starving! Where'd you order from? Let's go there now."

Steve rattled off the name and off they went.

"...and then the broke it anyway! You should've seen the look on that cronie's face when I kicked his ass for breaking a Dora the Explorer watch," Tony laughed. "And then Iron Man of all people showed up to save the day. Thank goodness for that, or I would've been Extremised for sure!" He took another bite of pizza. "This is good, by the way," he said with his mouth full, "definitely remind me to order from here more often. No wait, JARVIS?" he asked, speaking directly to his wristwatch.

"Yes, sir?"

"Delete the other pizza contact and add this place's number instead. Default order: large margarita."

"Yes, sir."

Steve's frown deepened. "So JARVIS is attached to your watch, huh?"

Tony swallowed. "Yeah, I added a new channel while I was on the plane. Didn't want to be cut off from him again."

Steve felt his panic lessen a bit when he learned JARVIS hadn't been lying about losing Tony. "OK, are you sure you're alright? Cause you're laughing, but your face is telling another story."

Tony sighed, and put down the slice. "I'm fine, Steve, or well, as fine as you can be I guess. I'm just glad Iron Man got there in time."

"That's another thing! How can you be so happy about Iron Man coming to get you? He just tried to bomb New York; who knows how he survived!"

"Well, it's a good thing he did, or I'd be dead."

"You're alive, and that's great, but he also killed seventeen people Tony! Sure, many were terrorists, but they were still people! And a few were just Extremis patients!"

Tony winced. "You really think he's horrible enough to be responsible for that? That it's not possible he was framed?"

"Yes! You don't? He's been attacking your company for ages!"

"See, that's the thing, all of the data he's taken out? I've been analyzing it after the fact, and all of it is tied to Obie's dirty dealing from before we caught him. He's actually been helping people by hurting the company."

"He should be doing it legally, if he really wants to help. I get that you were out of it, Tony, but he still tried to nuke New York, and he still just killed seventeen people." exclaimed Steve, thankful for the hustle and bustle of the small pizza shop that muffled his noise.

Tony paused. "You've got me there, Cap," he said, and left it at that. They finished the meal in silence, and Steve couldn't help but feel that he had lost.

On the drive back, Tony finally reached out an olive branch. "What's the real problem, Cap?"

Steve sighed. "Why didn't you break your ID card, Tony?" Tony had designed the Avengers ID cards with a homing beacon that would activate once the card was snapped, indicating that a team member was in trouble.

Happy put up the partition.

"It all happened so quickly; there wouldn't have been a point," replied Tony slowly, as though he was trying to choose his words as carefully as he could. Steve bristled.

"That's bullshit and you know it; you were missing for a week and the quinjet could have gotten to your location in an hour. We could have picked you up from Tennessee. We could have gotten you out of the Killian situation. Hell, we could have helped Rhodey with the president thing if you didn't want us helping you! There's nothing worse than sitting on the sidelines, Tony, nothing . Especially when you know you can help."

Tony blinked, then looked down at his lap, face suddenly red. He mumbled something that even Steve's super-hearing couldn't quite parse out.

"What?" asked Steve.

"I said, I didn't want to be a burden. I'm one of the weakest members of the team anyway, and the situation was tense. I didn't want one of you guys getting hurt trying to protect me."

"Tony, that's the point of a team. Have you never worked on a team?"

"No one was really clamoring to work with the kid-genius-turned-asshole-billionaire, Steve. Hell, I wouldn't want to work with me. Why would someone as good as you want to?"

"Tony, no, you matter to us, you must know you do," replied Steve, before any more self deprecating thoughts could take hold. "You're the resident techie, the only person we can really trust with our gear. You're the only person I have ever let work on my shield in this century; I only trust Stark work," he joked, but if anything Tony's face fell even more.

"Sure," he scoffed, "I can make some fancy toys, but you guys are ones really out there saving people while I'm holed away in my shiny tower."

Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Tony, who was the one who disrupted the communication frequency those robots were using, who saved Bruce because of their quick thinking?"

"Me, but-"

"Who managed to dismantle seven bombs in four minutes, remotely no less?"

"Me, but Steve-"

"And who has saved my life time and again with their insightful commentary about the battlefield?"

Tony sighed. "Me."

"That's right. You. As much as I say I hate chatter on the comms, we all appreciate your jokes and analysis. You're useful, Tony, and we would have come to help in a heartbeat if you'd asked."

The car lapsed into silence again, one that felt far more comfortable than the last. After a while, Tony broke it again.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Steve reached across the car to clap a hand on Tony's shoulder, pushing aside the warm feelings bubbling up in his gut.

"Anytime, Tony. Anytime.

Steve started taking more missions from SHIELD after the latest Iron Man incident. The Avengers hadn't been called to battle since Thor left, Clint and Nat were happy to take the help, and he figured Tony had no right to an opinion given the stunt he'd just pulled. That's why waking up to the sound of a knock on his door at 4AM came as no surprise.

"Gwuh, what?"

"Get up, Steve, Batroc's holding hostages. Clint's out on a solo mission in Massachusetts of all places, so I need you."

Steve groaned. "Ugh, not the Leaper."

"I hope you've been practicing your flips," quipped Nat with a smirk, leaving the room gracefully just as Steve got tangled in his sheets trying to get out of bed.

The flight to meet up with S.T.R.I.K.E was long, but that was a good thing. It gave Steve time to prepare for the upcoming battle. A group of SHIELD operatives was being held hostage on a ship by Georges Batroc, and S.T.R.I.K.E, along with Steve and Nat as backup, had been assigned to do a quick grab-and-go. Apprehending the Leaper would be a bonus but not a priority. Easy, right?

Wrong. Everything went to shit the moment they landed. Natasha disappeared the moment after. They found out their intel had been wrong the hard way, because Batroc wasn't on the ship. The agents were being held by a masked man with an arm that appeared to be made entirely of metal. He didn't talk much-which to be honest was a relief, villain monologues were the worst-but he caught Steve's shield , which said everything that needed to be said.

"Rumlow," he gasped through the comms when he had a minute to breathe, "grab the agents! Widow and I will continue to distract the main hostile. I assume your team can handle any grunts along the way?"

"Who do you take us for, Cap, rookies? We got this, just go be the cannon fodder." Funny, Clint would've said the exact same thing, but Steve still got a shiver down his spine whenever the S.T.R.I.K.E captain spoke.

"Alright, let's do this, Widow." Silence. "Widow! Nat? Natasha?" Continued silence. Natasha was nowhere to be found. Great.

"Guess it's Steve Rogers against the world," he joked, striving not to feel the loss when no one was around to appreciate his terrible reference. "Time to get my shield back."

He ran back the way he had just come, hoping to intercept and get the drop on the attacker, only to get slammed by his own SHIELD as the man emerged from the shadows in which he'd been hiding.

"Good one; people don't usually guess that move," gritted out Steve.

"Shut up," replied the attacker, as he caught Steve's punch in his fist.

The fight began in earnest. Punch after punch, fake after fake, no soldier in the evenly matched pair managed to get the upper hand. Steve finally took a few steps back to regroup, taking a defensive stance as the other man circled around him.

"You're good, I'll give you that. But why do this? Why take those hostages if you weren't going to do anything with them? You've been on me this whole time."

"Bait," replied the man. His voice seemed oddly familiar.

"To take me out?"

The man shrugged, suddenly and shockingly human. "It's my mission."

Mission. So someone had hired him. "Widow!" Steve called over the comms as he dodged the next attack.

"Yes?" The call was staticky, but workable, thank God.

"Have you heard of any assassins with metal arms?" There was a long pause, filled only by Steve's grunts as the fight got more and more difficult.

"Steve, please tell me this is a hypothetical question and that you're not staring the Winter Soldier in the face."

"I'm not staring the Winter Soldier in the face."

"Good, now why-"

"I'm fighting him." Steve heard the sound of Russian swears on the other end of the line.

"Run, Steve! You're not going to be able to win this one," she called. There were frantic footsteps on the other end of the line.

"We're actually pretty evenly matched, he said, and flipped out of the way of what would have been a particularly painful kick to the sternum. Something twinged in his memory. "It's funny, he fights just like-." He was interrupted by the sound of blaring alarms and the flash of red emergency lights. The Winter Soldier disengaged, staring silently at Steve for a moment longer before dropping the shield and running off.

"The ship's going down, Cap! Something is really wrong; we gotta go," said Nat. Steve nodded.

"Meet you at the landing pad," he said. He scooped up his shield and sprinted to where the quinjet had dropped them off at the start of the mission, only to see it taking off without him. Nat pulled up behind him and let out another litany of Russian curses. Rumlow leaned out the side of the jet, laughing.

"Have fun dying, Cap! These hostages are HYDRA's now," he called down to them, before sliding back into the jet. Now it was Steve's turn to swear.

"Do you want to, or should I?" asked Nat.

Steve sighed, and snapped his Avengers ID card in half.

Fortunately, Tony and Bruce were able to fly over an Avengers quinjet before things got really bad. Tony was grinning when he picked them up.

"Heck yeah, science bros to the rescue!" he exclaimed, offering Nat a high five. She left him hanging for a moment before slapping it. Steve could have sworn he saw something glint between their two hands, but passed it off as a trick of the light.

"You got here just in time. I assume you tapped into the SHIELD comms?"

"Is the sky blue? I heard everything, including Rumlow's last little announcement. Which brings me to my next point; Rumlow's taken SHIELD."

"What?" cried Steve and Nat, in unison.

"Yeah, it's bad, he's got Pierce and Fury trapped in the conference room with a bunch of dignitaries. We're gonna pick up Clint on the way," called Bruce from where he was piloting.

"So what's the plan?" asked Nat.

"We get in. You, Clint, and me go up to the conference room to stop Rumlow. Tony and Bruce, you guys head down to the labs and see if you can get into the main computer system. We gotta know how deep the HYDRA infiltration has gotten."

"Aye, aye, Cap!" laughed Tony with a jaunty salute. "But yeah, sounds like a good plan overall. I gotta make sure those nazis don't get access to my tech."

With the plan solidified, the team settled in for the flight to DC, filling in Clint once he got on board. As familiar landmarks started appearing in the windows, the Avengers prepared for what they expected to be a difficult battle, if not a long one.

"OK, I'm gonna put 'er down a few miles from headquarters. Bruce and I are fine here by the jet; we can use any computer to hack SHIELD. You guys ok with running for a bit?" asked Tony.

"Can you put us by that grove over there?" said Nat in response, pointing to a small cluster of trees. Tony and Bruce landed there obligingly.

"This gives us plenty of cover," remarked Bruce, "but how is it going to help you?"

"Like this," said Nat, push lightly on a nearby tree trunk. Two motorcycles suddenly materialized, seemingly out of thin air.

"How?"

"Cloaking," responded Natasha simply. She hopped on one bike, Clint following close behind. "Cap, you know how to ride one of these things, right?"

Steve hopped on the other bike, and revved the engine. Oh, he'd missed this. "Last one to SHIELD gets cleanup duty." With that, he took off, fast as the motor could take him, Nat and Clint hot on his tail. The ride was a short one, but that didn't make it any less fun. Steve really had missed the feeling of wind whipping through his hair, the roar and hum of the bike as he tore up the streets. He was almost sad when they finally got to headquarters. Almost.

"Right, Clint and I will take care of the grunts. Cap, you run right for the conference room, fast as you can. We'll meet you there when it's clear." Steve nodded, jogging towards the front gate alongside his teammates. "Ready? Break!" The agents went their separate ways, each with a mission in mind.

The door to the conference room burst open, half the tied up dignitaries jolting in fear at the sound from where they sat, lined up against the back wall. Steve could see Piece and Fury both, bundled up along with the rest of the World Security Council. Rumlow leered at him from where he was standing near the back of the room.

"Ah, Captain! So glad you could make it. We wouldn't want to spoil the show for our esteemed guests."

"Let them go, Rumlow. Your fight's with me, not them."

Rumlow laughed. "Now why would I do that? You're right, the fight's with me, but why would I deprive them of the show of a lifetime? They're getting front row seats to watch America die." He turned to a shadowed corner of the room. " Soldat!" The Winter Soldier stepped forward, metal arm glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the windows. "Take him out."

The Soldier nodded once, then made his way over to Steve, movements purposeful and efficient. He had let him live on the boat earlier that day. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Steve jumped out of the way of a clean right hook, responding with a kick of his own. The two matched each other blow for blow, dancing around each other like they'd trained together. It was oddly electrifying, strangely familiar.

Steve finally got a good grip of the man's face, but he managed to pull clear out of his grasp, though he lost his mask in the process. The sight that faced Steve shocked him more than the escape.

"Bucky?"

The Soldier paused, tilting his head, before asking, "Who the hell is Bucky?"

The fight continued.

Steve was seeing the battle from a new light, analyzing and reanalyzing movements that suddenly had a good reason for seeming familiar. There was Bucky's usual feint left, there was his favorite kick. Heck, even the rifle in the corner of the room matched Bucky's preferences perfectly. Steve was more sure of this than he was his own name: this was his best friend. He had to try to reach him.

"Bucky, it's me, it's Steve. You don't need to do this; I'm your friend!"

"You're my mission," growled Bucky before he lunged again.

Steve danced out of the way, "No, I'm your partner. The man you fought alongside for years, the fella you spent your days with before we went off to war. The person you trusted with everything before it all went to shit."

"You're my mission, " said Bucky again, more forcefully this time.

"Sure, sure, I'm your mission, but there's more to it than that, you know there is!" he exclaimed, wincing at Bucky's pained cry. Bucky took advantage of the moment of weakness to sweep his legs out from under him, pinning him down as he fell.

"Go ahead, finish it," said Steve, exhausted physically and emotionally. "I get it if you have to. I'm with ya, pal, 'til the end of the line." Bucky paused for a long moment before grabbing Steve's shield. Steve closed his eyes. It seemed fitting that his story would end with the weapon that started it all.

The sound of a loud clang jolted him alert again, just in time to see Rumlow crumple to the ground. The shield bounced back into Bucky's hand, and he dropped it where he stood.

Bucky took one look at the man on the floor and bolted straight out the door, pushing past a mildly bloodied Natasha.

Steve motioned towards the hostages and downed enemy agents, scooped up his shield, and tore after Bucky, desperate to catch up before he vanished again. The twisting SHIELD hallways did him no favors in his search though, and the trail quickly grew cold as he reached a T-shaped fork in his path. He groaned in annoyance as Clint jogged up to him at an inappropriately casual pace.

"Well, that was exciting," remarked Clint, notching another arrow. "Luckily we've only got cleanup to deal with now. Don't worry Cap, the Soldier's next on our list." With that, he ran down the hallway on the left.

Steve stood for a moment, unable to process the sheer magnitude of what he'd found and lost in the span of ten minutes. He finally managed to get his feet working again, muttering slightly to himself as he made his way down the hallway on the right.

"Why do I feel like things are about to get a heck of a lot worse?"

Steve had never felt worse about being right. Things had gotten really, really, bad after the attack on SHIELD. Somehow, Iron Man got it into his head that he ought to attack more often. Week after week, he took out more and more of SHIELD's remote bases, shattering their defenses and leaving everyone at headquarters scrambling.

To make matters worse, halfway through the series of assaults on SHIELD, Bucky got mixed up in all the fun. He would appear out of nowhere, helping Iron Man slip his chains with a well placed shot right as the team was about to put him out of commission for good. He'd jump into hand-to-hand combat, working seamlessly with the villain to put any agent they were up against out of commission.

He always ignored Steve, no matter how many times he tried to just talk to him. It was as if, now that his mission was over, Steve wasn't important anymore. It really hurt, especially coming from Bucky, his Bucky. His best friend, at least before HYDRA, and before Iron Man. Now, Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever get his partner back from where the villains had locked him away in his own mind.

It was during a combo fight a few months after the recent series of attacks had started that Steve finally made a big mistake. He had been assigned to a solo recon mission at a small SHIELD base in Utah. No one had expected Iron Man to show up, and even fewer had expected Bucky's presence.

The fight was slow going. Iron Man and Bucky seemed to know exactly where he was going to throw a punch, exactly where they needed to be to block his shield. Their movements were fluid, practiced, elegant. Like they'd fought together for decades and known each other for longer. It was beautiful. It was horrible. It was both and neither in a confused tangle of half-remembered promises and the sound of happy laughter shared by the best of friends.

He let his guard down for a second, doing his best to process the feelings threatening to overwhelm him, and Bucky took that opportunity to lunge at his neck. He felt a pinch, and the world started to go dark.

The last thing he saw was the impassive face of a golden, metal mask.

When Steve came to, he was strapped to a chair. He groaned, taking in his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a high-tech mechanic's workshop, with pieces of Iron Man suits littering pretty much every available surface, including the floor. Two mechanical arm-shaped robots hovered near the back, by what appeared to be a fire extinguisher.

"Wh-what-" Steve tried to speak, but his mouth had decided not to cooperate with him, it seemed.

"Good to see you're awake, Cap." Steve turned his head as best he could at the sound of the filtered voice. Iron Man was sitting at a workbench near Steve's chair, surrounded on all sides by strange looking tools. Bucky sitting on a stool next to him, his arm outstretched. Iron Man appeared to be fiddling with its internal mechanism. "Welcome to my workshop! Nice, isn't it?"

"Wh-what are you doing to him?" asked Steve, struggling against the weakness in his limbs and fog clouding his mind.

"I'm helping, Cap. Is that so hard to believe? Is it really that impossible for you to consider that someone can do good from outside the system?"

Steve scoffed, "Sure, killing people and destroying property is doing good. You tell yourself that, Iron Man. And if I find out you've hurt Bucky? Once I get out of these chains I'll show you just how good I can be." Bucky sat silently in front of Iron Man as he worked, not even flinching at the mention of his name. That terrified Steve more than anything; even the Winter Soldier had tapped a finger against his thigh, or rocked back and forth slightly as he stood. The stillness was...jarring, to say the least.

Iron Man laughed, the vocal filters turning the sound into a cruel mockery of humanity. "Temper, temper, Captain! What makes you think your precious Bucky is anything but happy to be here? The Winter Soldier is gone, Captain. I've remade him into something greater. You saw how well we worked together."

That was the worst part. Iron Man and the Winter Soldier fit together well in battle, almost as well as Bucky and Steve had back during the war. They worked around each other seamlessly, fought back to back like they'd been doing it their entire lives. It was poetry to watch, and Steve had seethed at the sight of them when they confronted each other on the battlefield, though he never could quite pinpoint why. It was almost like they were made for each other. Wait...

Steve's blood ran cold as he came to a horrifying conclusion. He couldn't mean? "You brainwashed him again?"

Another laugh. "I convinced him. It was easy. I'll convince you to join me too by the time we're done here."

"Never!"

"Oh Captain, my Captain, I've always liked you, you know that? You're refreshingly honest compared to most of the 'heroes' hopping around nowadays, clamoring for attention as much as they're saving people. You're genuinely decent, you know that? There aren't a lot of people like you; they musta forgotten how to make them back in the 40s. The stuff we could do together would be unimaginable if I weren't a genius! So you see, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but one way or another I'm taking you to keep."

"I'd like to see you try," said Steve, in as bold a tone as he could muster.

"Okay then." Iron Man pushed a button behind him, and a holographic screen appeared in front of Steve. "Enjoy the film! The chemical you were injected with has the added bonus of leaving your muscles very, very relaxed, so don't think holding your eyes shut will be enough to get you out of watching. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He turned back to Bucky's arm as the first images began to play on the screen.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Captain Handsome." Steve knew that voice. He'd dreamed about that voice, spent days with the man it belonged to. "It's like you were summoned from my worst nightmares, special ordered Prime on Amazon!" continued Tony, sounding rather more bitter than Steve had heard him. But it couldn't be, right? One of his first, kindest friends couldn't possibly be the same monster who had once murdered seventeen people. Right?

The scene continued much as Steve remembered it, until a new voice interrupted the old conversation.

"Sir, I've gathered as much data on the Tesseract as possible, but you must leave for home immediately. Director Fury wishes to speak with you," reported JARVIS, sounding mildly frantic. Steve watched the take off from Tony's perspective, reeling from what he'd found out. Fury was in on it? Was he working with Iron Man to take down SHIELD? But why?

The scene changed to a conference room, Iron Man's viewfinder focused on Director Fury's face. "...you need to get rid of it," he was saying "it's insane what they want to do! That nuke cannot hit New York. I don't care what you have to do, just get rid of it before anyone gets hurt."

"And you can't tell the Avengers, because?"

"Same reason why I didn't call you. SHIELD communication systems are being monitored; you can't possibly say you haven't noticed." The screen moved like Tony was nodding. "Something rotten is going on here, but you best believe I haven't stayed alive for this long by showing my hand before I was sure I had the winning one. SHIELD can't know that I'm suspicious, so the Avengers can't know. You're the only chance we've got." Tony nodded again.

"Right, then we're on the same page here. SHIELD is fishy, but we can't let the Sunshine Band know yet. First priority is the nuke, once it appears, but we're talking about all this later, capiche?"

"You best believe it, Stark. We're getting to the bottom of this, pronto. But for now...good luck."

The scene changed again, this time showing what appeared to be a small bedroom. Fury was back, looking bruised, much the same way he had after the battle in SHIELD headquarters.

"So, Pierce is HYDRA," started Tony. "We can't say that came as any surprise. But finding out the infection is this deep was definitely a bit of a shock."

Steve was reeling. The head of SHIELD? HYDRA? Pieces of the puzzle started coming together. The isolating set up when he was first pulled out of the ice, the malicious glares he got from people working for the organization that was supposed to be on his side. The events on the ship...

On screen, Tony pulled out a silver USB. "Natasha passed this off to me on the way over to SHIELD; she's fully on board now, just so you know. Check it out." He plugs the drive into a port on his suit, and projects what appears to be a list of names a mile long. "Even their spies are being followed by other spies. Their web is big and and it's sticky."

"We've got a lot of trash to take out. Widow joining us is a start, but we're going to need a bigger team to even hope to fully deal with this shit. Got any other ideas for recruits?"

"Well, since Nat's on board Clint is sure to follow. Bruce will help for sure once he knows, but Steve really doesn't like Iron Man. I'm not sure he'll be willing to join up."

Fury looked pensive for a moment. "Does anyone know where his homicidal partner went after the fight?"

"Not sure, he just vanished."

"You can be damn sure Cap will be looking for him. If we find him first..."

Tony appeared to catch on. "If Bucky joins us, Steve is much more likely to follow. I'm game, but Fury, if we're going to be doing this, you should know that I'm not just going to leave him the way he was at headquarters. We're helping him, as much as we can, giving him the same choice we gave the others. He's not a tool."

"I know. As much as I hate to stoke that ego of yours, if there's anyone who can come close to fixing what happened to him, it's you. So, we have a plan?"

"Yeah, let's take SHIELD down."

More and more scenes flickered across the screen. Killian laughing as he set his own facility on fire, committing the arson that would lead to the death seventeen people. Data gathered from SHIELD bases proving HYDRA missions had taken place there. Countless files from countless days passed by in an unrelenting wave of information.

What seemed like years later, the holographic screen turned off. Steve kept staring at where it was, trying to process everything he'd just heard.

"It's a lot, huh?" Tony had taken his helmet off now, and Steve had a new target to stare at.

"What? Staying in that mask for too long is awful. The air filtration's fine and all, but the smell . He laughed, a little. "So, hopefully we haven't broken you Steve. Bucky's got that covered with this God-awful arm of his, don't you, Buck."

Steve heard a sound he hadn't heard in years. "Yeah, don't I know it, Tones," Bucky laughed. "Thanks for fixing this hunk of shit up again. So, what do you say, Steve? You in?" Steve wasn't sure he could take any more surprises today.

"Bucky? You're OK! But I saw you-you were-huh?"

Bucky sighed, "Yeah, Steve, I'm fine, all things considered. You're catching me at the tail end of a long process that will probably never be fully over, though. He did find me, half-sane and wandering, if you wanted to know. Asked me if I wanted help, and when I said yes, put me in some machine-called "barf", cause Tony's an idiot-"

"It's Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, you dork!" protested Tony, punching Bucky on the arm he'd just worked on as he did. Bucky laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, magic is what it is. I was in there for ages , but it helped get rid of the mess HYDRA had made in my brain, pulled the piece of my memories together a bit better, so when I went and talked to the therapist Tony found me I actually had things to say. Like I said, long process."

"But, you were frozen just now?"

"Oh." Bucky flushed a slight red. "You know how I was never great with shots?" Steve nodded. "Yeah, turns out that carries over into fiddling with the insides of metal arms. I asked Tony for help after the first time I thrashed through a check up, and he helped make me a paralytic that actually keeps me still, so I don't break my arm even more when he's trying to fix it. It's part of what we gave you when we brought you here, since it works with the serum and all. Cool, right?"

"And you did amazingly as usual, Bucky-bear, cause you're tough as nails. Steve, I can really see what you liked about this guy, he's fantastic!" interrupted Tony. The two shared a warm, secret smile, and a part of Steve died at the sight. It was almost worse than he felt after losing Peggy, cause at least then he didn't have to see her replace him, trust someone more than him. It hurt that Tony had felt like he couldn't come to him about this, even after the talk they'd had during the Extremis incident. Still, he was here now, so he was going to make the most of it.

"He sure is. God, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again Buck. I really missed you."

Bucky must have seen something in Steve's face, cause he reached over Tony and pushed a button, releasing the ties that kept Steve held back against the chair.

Steve jolted forward almost uncomfortably as Bucky pulled him up and into a firm hug. "I missed you too, punk, even when I couldn't remember you. 'Til the end of the line' is part of me." The two soldiers stood there for a long moment, before Bucky stepped back. "So what do you say? You wanna help me and Tony take down SHIELD?"

Steve smirked. "I'm Captain America. Ruining HYDRA's day is in the job description. That is, if you guys still want me?"

"Of course we want you, Steve!" called Tony from where he was fiddling with tiny mechanical parts on the workbench. "You said it yourself, you're Captain America! Besides, this way I can stop making up bullshit business trips and hang out with my friends more."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, no more using Iron Man as an excuse to avoid my lectures, buster! We're gonna have words later." They definitely needed to talk, about everything. Go over each attack in brutal detail, hear the story from all sides, understand, apologize, forgive. "But for now," He stepped over to the workbench, and gave Tony a hug before he could protest, releasing it just as quickly. "I missed you too, Tony. You ready to go punch some nazis?"

Tony's grin could've powered Avengers Tower. "Let's get this show on the road."

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Double Blind Experiments - MassiveSpaceWren, captainmistyknight (ayna222), gilestel - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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It seemed to Steve that he had woken up to a future far colder than the ice that had trapped him for seventy years. Seventy years! He gave himself what he hoped was an unnoticeable pinch on the arm-he still wasn't sure this whole time travel thing? Predicament?

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In a world where a name on your wrist defines who you're destined to be with, James Rhodes finds himself in a bit of a pickle, when he finds that his mark not only comes five years later than it is supposed to but it has only one name: his own.

He will befriend campus prodigy Tony Stark who shares a similar fate as his own — he, too, doesn't have a mark by the time he turns 18. But that comes to an end, several years later, when one Captain America is found and awakens from his 70 years sleep, now carrying a familiar last name on his wrist.

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Distant Stars - Chapter 1 - kjstark - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Day Twenty Three: Size Difference - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Day Twenty Three: Size Difference - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Tony doesn't really notice the difference between him and Steve until 'the log incident'.

Then he can't not notice it

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Day Twenty Three- Size Difference - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings) - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Day Ten: Bonds (Telepathic) - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Day Ten: Bonds (Telepathic) - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Steve just wants to get through his class. Tony just wants to get off.

They compromise (sorta).

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Day Ten: Bonds (Telepathic) - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings) - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Day Seven: Aphrodisiacs - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Day Seven: Aphrodisiacs - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings)

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Tony can't keep his mouth shut and Steve has to deal with the consequences.

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Day Seven: Aphrodisiacs - CrimsonBlueMoon (Navybluewings) - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.

Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?

(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.)

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Counterpart - sara_holmes - The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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World renowned chef Tony Stark is more than a little upset when some upstart named Steve Rogers from SHIELD magazine gives his restaurant a less than stellar review. So Tony hunts him down.

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Cook My Way Into Your Heart - Avengerz - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy - mybrotherharry

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Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy - mybrotherharry

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The first time Jarvis holds little Anthony in his arms, he is overwhelmed by emotion that is surprising in its intensity. When little Anthony's palm curves around his finger, Jarvis ducks his head to keep the others from seeing the wetness in his eyes.

"Hello Master Anthony," he whispers into the little ear, tugging the bundle of blankets closer to his heart.

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The first time Jarvis holds little Anthony in his arms, he is overwhelmed by emotion that is surprising in its intensity. The child is not his own. Jarvis' relationship with Mr. Stark is hardly anything more than that appropriate between an employer and his employee. He feels a great deal of warmth for Miss Maria, but despite the formality and coldness he has experienced working for the Starks, when little Anthony's palm curves around his finger, Jarvis ducks his head to keep the others from seeing the wetness in his eyes.

"Hello Master Anthony," he whispers into the little ear, tugging the bundle of blankets closer to his heart.

*

Jarvis is surprised to be given as much responsibility caring for the child as he is. He is a butler, not a nanny. He had assumed that Mr. Stark will hire the finest child care providers, to support Miss Maria, especially after what has been a very painful delivery.

But less than three days after the birth, Jarvis finds himself responsible for changing diapers, feeding, burping and bathing the young Stark. He is stretched thin, between managing the household, the other staff, handling Mr. Stark's schedule and commitments and waiting on Miss Maria. Two days later, Howard institutes half a dozen other hands to help around the house, a valet, a chef and a second nanny.

"I don't like seeing you panicked, Jarvis. It is very unnerving to see you less than perfect."

"Sir, really," Jarvis replies, his expression offended, "I see no reason to stand here and be insulted."

"Indeed, forgive me. I must be imagining things," Mr. Stark smiles at him and walks away, dropping a kiss to Anthony's baby curls.

*

Howard and Maria are very weird parents. When Anthony turns one, Howard begins a campaign to get his son to say his first words.

"Babies don't start talking till eighteen months, Howard," Maria repeats, in the tone of someone who has had this argument many times.

"My boy is a genius! He will be, how can he not be a genius?" Howard snaps back, before turning back to Anthony on the carpet. "Tony, say en-giiiiine. Engine. En-giiiiine."

The toddler turns huge eyes to Jarvis, back to his father and unconcernedly continues playing with his toy train.

While Jarvis smiles at the insistence on the word 'engine', he wishes the child had a choice to say Mama, Dada or the dozen other baby words that are usual first word contenders. Maybe Anthony would grow up to be a dancer, an artist or a chef. Maybe Anthony would never have to know the components of a combustion engine.

He shrugs, trying to remember that his young charge is not actually his son. His parents have the right to raise him the way they want.

He doesn't know it then, but at fifteen months, Tony's first words will be "Jaawwis, up!"

*

At three years old, Tony builds his first combustion engine and a space walking toy robot. Jarvis helps him paint the little robot red and gold. When the child puts his inventions on display for his father, Howard points out areas of improvement for the engine, dismisses the toy robot and calls a press conference. He is "grooming the boy to take over SI".

Later that night, Jarvis finds young Anthony taking apart his robot and throwing the parts at his bedroom wall. The butler wants to go in and hug the boy close, but he decides to set the example that his parents aren't capable of setting.

"Anthony," says Jarvis from the doorway. "We don't treat our belongings this way. We treat our belongings with respect. What did the robot do to you?"

"It's stuuupid," comes the barely audible mutter.

"It certainly isn't," Jarvis enters, and straightens the sheets tucked into the boy's mattress. "If it were, it would not give you as much happiness as it does. Everything that makes you happy is important. I want you to remember that, alright?"

"Dad doesn't like it."

"Your father is very happy with everything that you build. We all have our favorites, right? The engine is his favorite. When I make you chocolate cake and red velvet cake, you completely ignore the red velvet cake, don't you? Does that mean you won't eat the red velvet cake later?"

Tony shakes his head, his eyes huge.

"Your father likes the toy robot, too. But the engine is his favorite."

"What's your favowite, Jawwis?"

The boy's lisp is prominent again, probably because he is upset. Jarvis makes a mental note to get the child to do his speech exercises before presenting him before Mr. Stark. The sight of a lisping son will not improve the elder man's mood, another reminder of what he thinks is a less-than-perfect son.

"My favorite?" Jarvis sits on the bed and pulls the boy close, hugging him to his chest. "My favorite will always be you, my Anthony, with your piggy nose and dimple cheeks and spiky hair."

Tony giggles into Jarvis' neck, used to his routine. "I don't haff piggy nose dimple cheeks spike haiw!"

"Yes, you do, beautiful boy. You will always be my favorite, even when you completely forget all the manners I have taught you and throw your belongings at the wall. Pick up this room, tidy your study desk and get in bed. I will help you fix your robot tomorrow."

"Yes, Jawwis."

*

Anthony gets chickenpox when he is four.

Both Howard and Maria are in Spain, on holiday and entirely unreachable. Jarvis stays up with Tony every night, washing his sores, dampening his warm skin and reading to him from his myriad science textbooks.

Early into the morning, for six days, Jarvis sings him his lullaby.

Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

*

At age five, Anthony bring home a stray puppy. It is a pitiful thing, with dark fur, curly hair and deep brown eyes. It is weak and hungry, thin and limping. Jarvis has no idea where Tony even found the creature.

Jarvis' heart thuds in his chest. He knows Mr. Stark is about to lose his temper. Jarvis prays for a miracle, for just one time for Howard to make the right decision.

"Jarvis, get rid of that thing. Call a shelter or something. I don't care. Just get rid of it."

"Sir, can I suggest getting another-"

"He needs to grow up, Jarvis. Don't spoil the child. He has other things to learn. He does not need to be playing around with a wild animal."

"Sir - "

"Jarvis! I am done talking about this!"

In that moment, Jarvis hates Howard more than ever. As always, the bastard has left him to break the child's heart and deal with the consequences.

He finds Tony in the rose garden, explaining the laws of motion to the little puppy.

"Jawwis, come play with Maxwell!"

"Maxwell?"

"James Clark Maxwell. Physicist and inwentor."

"It is a fine name for a puppy, Master Anthony. Did Sarah give you a bath?"

"Yes, and she washed Maxie too! And she put a lot of soap on my hands."

"It's so that you don't catch an infection."

"Like bac-bac-backekteria?"

"Have you been reading your new biology books?"

"Hmm," the boy shrugs, his attention still focused on rubbing Maxwell's neck and nose.

"Anthony," Jarvis tries to begin, "Maxwell will have to go away."

Tony suddenly inches closer to the puppy, hugging it close protectively and Jarvis' heart breaks a little. The little boy's eyes turn huge and watery, and his expression is full of betrayal.

"What? No, Jawwis, why?"

"I am sorry, Anthony. Your father does not like animals. He cannot stay here."

"But, but, where will he go? It is so cold outside, Jawwis. He will need shoes and sweater and a jumper and a hat, and a nice house and bed - "

Jarvis smiles, and extends his arms out to the boy. The gesture is one of welcome, and almost always accepted. Tony would jump into his arms for a tight hug, but today, it doesn't work its magic. Anthony actually moves away from the butler, Maxwell still clutched tight. Jarvis winces, unreasonably hurt.

"I promise he will be okay. I have some friends who are coming to take him away. They will take care of him and feed him biscuits and milk - "

"Will he have toys?"

"Yes, he will have plenty of toys," replies Jarvis. Usually, he would add a reprimand about interrupting, but he decides to let it go today in favor of getting the boy to smile.

"Can I visit him?"

"We may not be able to - oh, fine, I will see what I can do. But you must be very good if we need to procure your father's permission. Do you understand?"

Tony nods, committed to being as good as possible if it means he can visit Maxwell.

Jarvis feels like he has dodged a bullet temporarily, but he knows the boy will throw a massive tantrum when the puppy is actually removed from his presence. He plans to have the staff from the shelter pick up the dog after Anthony is asleep. It is the coward's way out, but unfortunately, it is the kindest option available to him.

That night, Tony refuses to go to sleep for the longest time. Jarvis suspects that he is staying awake on purpose, aware that if he closes his eyes, his new best friend will be taken away. It hurts Jarvis too much to think about it, that his young charge trusts adults so little already. He remembers the plan he was about to execute and realizes that Anthony is perhaps right to not trust adults.

Around four am, the boy finally falls asleep over his building blocks and what appears to be a newly constructed model elevator. Jarvis carries him to his bed and stays by his bedside to watch him sleep. The boy is practically an angel, so well-behaved, quiet and affectionate. Jarvis tries not to think ill of his employer, but it is remarkably hard to do tonight. He can't help but admit to himself that the boy deserves a greater commitment from his father.

Jarvis is a very self-aware man and he cannot ignore his own growing attachment to the child. At some point, Tony had stopped being the child he was supposed to care for and become the son he never had. Jarvis can't bring himself to care too much about it.

Six months ago, Jarvis would not have even considered going behind his employer's back, but he is a sucker for a little boy's pout. So that night, instead of taking the puppy to the shelter as promised, he takes Maxwell to his own home and convinces his beautiful wife Anna to help raise him.

The next morning, no amount of chocolate or circuit boards are enough to soothe the sulking boy. Jarvis calls a time-out, gets Anthony to pick up his tools and then, as a late evening treat, takes him out for ice cream cones and a visit to see Anna and their new family member.

*

By age seven, young Tony has learned not to expect praise or attention from his father. He goes through what Jarvis calls the difficult teenage years, albeit five years too early. Maria and Howard have split, and the young woman has moved away to England, having given away all legal claims to her son.

During a really torrential time in the Stark household, Jarvis is the only voice of reason and stability. When Tony is overwhelmed by the dulcet tone of his father yelling at an engineer over the phone, Jarvis leans against his bedroom door completely unimpressed, demanding that Tony clean up his room NOW. When Tony is terrified of his father's binge drinking, Jarvis draws his focus to his integral calculus, quietly challenging the boy and offering rewards. Every time Tony misbehaves, it is Jarvis who disciplines the boy.

Very soon, Tony, who grew up shying away from disappointing his father would mature into the teenager who'd care about only Jarvis' opinion. He could stand to hear his father's constant disappointment in him, but one angry word from Jarvis would break down his stubbornness, humbling him.

When Tony's principal calls the Starks for a meeting after the little boy angrily hurts a classmate with the sharp edge of a ruler, Howard mutters about idiotic school headmasters not understanding genius, barks at his son and leaves for the comfort of his workshop. It is Jarvis who yells at Tony till he is blue in the face, gives him the silent treatment for the next day or two and drives him to the classmate's home for a sincere apology.

If Howard Stark built Anthony, the engineer, Edwin Jarvis built Tony, the man.

*

Tony is eight years old when he is kidnapped for the first time. Jarvis stands, knuckles clasped between his teeth, breath coming ragged through his nose, as Mr. Stark yells into the phone receiver about not paying anyone a goddamn penny.

The servants, in a display of uncharacteristic sensitivity, have called and brought Anna into the house. She holds Jarvis' hand to stop him from biting on it, and rubs his back as he berates himself for being late to the school; he was supposed to pick Anthony up at five and he had not turned into the driveway till six fifteen, what with Mr. Stark's late afternoon conference and the repairs going on to the back of the mansion.

Jarvis now stands, his heart thudding in his chest and the weight of his own guilt dragging him down. How is Mr. Stark standing? How do all the human beings on the planet handle parenting, handle this gut-wrenching worry and pain and anxiety? Jarvis cannot bring himself to think about never seeing Tony again, of having the little child sent in a body bag -

He stifles a sob and Anna wraps her arms around his middle, holding him close. In that moment, Jarvis feels capable of murder. If he gets his hands on the people who touched the boy, who as much as put a paper cut on his flesh, Jarvis was going to carve someone's heart out with a knife. Painfully.

Two stressful days later, Tony turns up the driveway in a battered car that he hotwired. Mr. Stark laughs loudly about underestimating his little boy. Anthony revels in the temporary attention, as his father tells everyone who would listen about the way his son built a makeshift bomb out of the scrap in the warehouse he was being held, blew up the room and ran to nearest means of escape. When questioned on his newfound driving ability, Tony shrugs and says, a car is a machine and he can work any machine.

Jarvis cannot bring himself to share Mr. Stark's elation. He has experienced terror, and if his hugs for Tony have gotten a few minutes longer, nobody need know about it.

*

Tony is ten the first time his father hits him.

Jarvis, who is in the kitchen at the time, comes running and throws himself between the boy and the leather belt before the second strike can hit the child.

For the first time in his life, Tony sees Jarvis in a serious rage. Jarvis doesn't even flinch when the belt hits him when he gets in the way. Howard is too drunk, not even able to stand up straight, and when Jarvis lunges at him, pushing him back down on the sofa, he drops like his strings have been cut.

"NO!" Jarvis barks. "You may be the master of this house, and you may be his father, but you will NOT touch him again. You will not come near him if even a sip of drink has passed your lips."

Howard grunts, eyes half-closed.

The other servants have found their way to the small den, and they take over from Jarvis, gently carrying Howard's slumped weight to his bedroom.

Tony's hands are shaking, and his right side is stinging from where the belt hit him. He's trying to take big gulps of air, breathing in through his nose like Jarvis taught him to.

"You're okay," Jarvis says now, sitting on his haunches and holding his arms outstretched. "Master Anthony, hey, hey, no - look at me, Tony - you're okay. Look at me. Come on."

Tony lunges at him, collapsing into his arms and letting the tears fall freely now that he's safe in Jarvis' embrace.

"Shhhh," Jarvis says comfortingly. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'll take care of you. Come on, we will get that wound looked at."

Tony clings to him for the rest of the week, and when Howard shame-facedly apologizes to him, he does it under Jarvis' stern glare.

*

Tony is twelve when he leaves for MIT.

Jarvis loads up the car with three college trunks, Tony's home computer and several boxes of books and drives him to Boston. Howard sends him money and leaves the responsibility of setting up an allowance account for Tony to Jarvis. The butler arranges everything, from screening Tony's dormitory roommate (an eighteen year old James Rhodes, responsible, sensible and down-to-earth; Jarvis had liked him instantly) to stocking the mini-fridge with the boy's favorite yoghurt.

At the end of the move-in, Jarvis sits next to Tony on the tiny curb off the pavement outside the dorm building. The bravado the boy had put on for his father's benefit at the house in New York has dissipated now, and his palms are clammy from nerves. For the first time in his life, Tony will be living away from home.

"It's alright to be nervous," Jarvis points out, his shoulder brushing against Tony's. "Everyone is, when moving away from home for the first time."

"I am not a baby," Tony says, all fake bravado. Jarvis sighs, and resists the urge to point out just how much of a child he is. He's heart-breakingly young.

"I know," Jarvis admits. "You're doing very well. Your parents are very proud of you."

"I don't care," he shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I am not fucking trying to make them proud of me."

"You know better than to speak like that, young man," he scolds. "You do your best, you hear me? Try not to work till late in the night. Eat proper meals, yeah? Be good, Anthony."

"For you, I will do my very best."

Jarvis hides his face in Tony's shoulder, trying blink away the moisture in his eyes, hugging him goodbye.

*

Tony is fifteen when he sobs on the phone to Jarvis over Henry, the smart boy in electrical engineering who broke his heart.

Jarvis listens to the story patiently, about blue eyes and cheek dimples, about his first time being intimate with someone, and about the said someone giving Tony the brush off.

"He won't even look at me anymore, Jarvis," Tony tells him. "He told Rhodey to tell me to stop calling him."

"What did James say to that?"

"Rhodey punched him, and got written up for it, and he's way too proud about it -"

"Tell young James I said well done," Jarvis smiles.

"Jarvis!"

"What? Master Anthony," he explains. "From what you're telling me, this Henry person is unsuitable for you. You can do much better. Rhodes is a good fellow with a fine head on his shoulders. You should forget about this Henry and tell me all about the robot you're building."

Jarvis knows those are the magic words, and as predicted, Tony gushes to him about DUM-E, the demented little robotic arm that has been programmed to give high-fives.

*

During the four years Tony is at MIT, he comes to Jarvis and Anna's humble home for Christmas. The Christmas before his graduation, he makes Jarvis his negotiator for an appropriate graduation present with Howard. Jarvis does not like this task.

"I want the robotics division," Tony explains, sitting on Anna's soft couch cushions and eating mince-meat pie with his hands. "He's going to want me to take over weapons and manufacturing when I turn sixteen. You've gotta stall him, Jarvis. Make him see reason."

"In this instance, you think reason is moving to California to oversee four engineers in a rundown lab?" Anna asks.

"Four engineers and Dummy," Tony shrugs. "Please Jarvis? I can make it so good. Robotics is the future. Robotics and computers. Dad does not see it yet, but I know the direction we must take the company."

"What makes you think he will listen to me on this?"

"Are you kidding me? He has not made one decision about me without talking to you since the time I was in fifth grade. He's frightened of you."

"He is not," Jarvis says, shaking his head at Tony getting crumbs all over the settee, eating pie with his hands. "For god's sake, Anthony, please eat at the table with proper utensils like a civilized person."

"I am sorry, Anna," he says charmingly, shooting a smile full of dimples at her, who swats him off. "I will clean up, I promise."

"Spare room for gravy and potatoes," she says indulgently while Jarvis shakes his head at the pair of them, at this complete breakdown in discipline.

"You're the best, Anna," he smiles, and in that moment, Jarvis shares a look with his wife, both of them thinking of the same thing. This is how Christmas is supposed to be.

*

Tony is sixteen when he gets a phone call about a car-crash.

He gets off a plane from Malibu to land in New York, and he rushes to the hospital, his heart in his throat. Jarvis is waiting for him in the hallway outside the room in which they're... keeping Howard Stark.

Jarvis is steeling himself to say the words, to somehow tell Anthony that he's lost his only parent when the young man launches himself into his arms.

"Oh thank God," he sobs into Jarvis' shoulder. "You usually drive him to all of his events and Obie wouldn't say on the phone if you were - oh thank God, thank God, thank God, Jarvis."

"Anthony," he says quietly, rubbing a hand down his back.

"Is he -?" Tony asks, looking at Jarvis properly. His face crumples when Jarvis simply nods, somber and serious.

"I am so sorry, master Anthony," he tells him, and Tony sags against Jarvis' side, his breath hitching, loud sobs making their way past his throat again.

Two days later, Tony puts on a black suit and stands over his father's grave, his expression stoic for the world's cameras. Jarvis stands at his right shoulder, nudging him upright with a hand at the bottom of his back, silently present for whatever and whenever Tony may need him.

When Anthony returns to the mansion that night, he walks in with the quiet grace of a grown man. Jarvis doesn't know when his charge grew up, but its sneaking up on him now. He feels light headed with the realization.

*

Tony is twenty five, and making waves in the business world. Everyone expected him to fail and put Stark Industries through a respectable downward spiral. After Howard's death, nobody was prepared to see the young man take the company by the reigns and unify it under a new vision.

He's being called a maverick.

He's also driving Jarvis slowly insane.

"Jarvis," he says. "I cannot find that quarterly report Obie wanted for the board of directors meeting."

Jarvis looks up from stirring the pasta sauce, and finds Anthony standing by the counter, looking harassed, tie askew and shirt unbuttoned under a crumpled blazer. He shakes his head at the man.

"I am not your secretary, Anthony," he tells him for the thousandth time that week. "Also, your blazer is unpressed. I cannot believe a boy I raised goes outside looking like that."

"Then why don't you find me one, Jarvis? A secretary, I mean. Not a blazer. Though it would be nice if you could find me a blazer, as well."

Jarvis retrieves the dry-cleaners bag he'd stashed close by just for this occasion. "Here's your suit. Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do for your secretary situation because you keep driving away every nice young lady who comes along to help you."

"I expect a certain degree of competence," he explains, shrugging out of his shirt and blazer. "If they can't take a little ribbing, and if they cannot do their jobs, I cannot be expected to entertain idiots."

"That's exactly why they cannot find you a secretary," Rhodey who's visiting, says from his seat at the counter, chopping tomatoes under Jarvis' directions.

"No," Tony explains. "That's why Stark HR cannot find me a secretary. Jarvis can find me one who's not stupid, can't you Jay?"

"Somehow, I am not inclined put someone through that level of harassment."

"Think of it this way," Rhodes tells him. "If you find another person for him to harass, you can finally retire."

"You traitor!" Tony exclaims, accusatory. "You complete treacherous bastard! Don't you dare put ideas in his head. Jarvis, you can't retire! You aren't allowed to retire."

Jarvis sighs. "I am getting old, master Anthony."

"No you aren't," he tells him. "You're a silver fox, like Anna says."

"Do not call me that again," Jarvis shakes his head. " Ever."

"Jarvis," Tony says. "If you go off to Lagerpond -"

"Liverpool."

"- with Anna, how am I supposed to cope? Who will take care of me? I will be destitute and homeless and starving without you, Jay. I will have to drink instant coffee. Instant! You can't stand for that, could you?"

"I would be weeping on the inside," Jarvis says, entirely deadpan. "But somehow, I will live."

"Rhodey, I blame you for this."

"Yeah, I am not too bothered."

The subject actually isn't broached again for a long time, until Jarvis runs into a very dynamic young woman at the supermarket. He is impressed as he watches young Virginia Potts scold her toddler nephew into putting back the candy bar he sneaked into her basket. What's more, she makes him think he wants to put the candy back. Jarvis figures she's perfect to handle Anthony Stark.

He finds out more about her when she offers to help him carry the bags back to his car in the parking lot. Jarvis usually has the store deliver the bags to the tower, but this time, he accepts. She tells him she's an MBA student at Columbia, and on the lookout for a summer internship opportunity.

"Virginia? What kind of a name is Virginia?" Tony says upon meeting her. "That's a stupid name. Jarvis, send her back to the NYU sorority you found her in. You're not retiring."

"You have egg on your tie, Mr. Stark," Virginia says, and Jarvis smiles behind her, face hidden in a newspaper. "You'd be lucky to get a NYU sorority girl to assist you with that tie and shirt. You have three meetings with the Board tomorrow, all of which I canceled or handled so that your schedule is clear to work on your AI application. Your clothes for the Japan trip have been sent to the dry cleaners, and I have installed an espresso machine in your workshop. Oh, and I sent Mrs. Jarvis a flower arrangement thanking her for the mince-meat pie."

Tony gapes at her, stunned. Jarvis hides a chuckle behind pretense of a cough.

"Sometimes, I let people call me 'Pepper'," she grins. "But only if they're very, very good."

Tony chokes on air, but she's already turned around, her red pony tail swinging behind her.

"Would that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That'd be all," he chokes out. "Thank you, Ms. Potts."

Over the retreating click-click-click of her heels on the polished floor, he looks up at Jarvis who shrugs.

"What?" he asks. "You asked me to find you a secretary. I found you a secretary. Do not try to sleep with her. She will hurt you."

"I am not stupid," Tony shakes his head. "Fine. But you still can't retire."

Jarvis only laughs, the bastard.

*

Tony is twenty six when Jarvis retires. Anna's health is too poor for Manhattan's air pollution, and in the end, that makes the decision for them.

Jarvis makes arrangements for his childhood home in Liverpool to be cleaned and stocked, and he refuses to pay any heed to Tony's offers of putting the both of them up in a mansion in Wales. He suspects that Tony paid off all of Anna's medical bills. The insurance company staff was very tight-lipped when he called to get information about his outstanding payments.

Tony, of course, is heart-broken and hiding it poorly. He's trying not to plead with Jarvis to stay, not when Anna's health is in question, but he clearly wants to. Jarvis, who knows him better than anyone else, spends the night before their flight cooped up in Anthony's workshop, listening to him rant about his artificial intelligence project.

"It's the kind of thing that can change the world, Jay," he tells him. "Imagine having technology that can predict your every whim, your every want and need before you voice it out. I am building the ultimate intelligence. Intelligence that can learn, that can grow, that can someday come close to being human."

"Sounds amazing, master Anthony. If anyone could do it, it'd be you."

Tony flushes, still a five year old at heart when Jarvis praises him.

"I can't wait to hear all about it when you finish it."

"Oh right," Tony shakes his head. "You won't be here to see it in person."

There is silence, and both of them just look at each other, contemplating living without the other a stone's throw away.

"I will visit," Jarvis says finally.

"I know," Tony nods. "It's just - I'll miss you."

Jarvis knows how hard that admission must have been for the younger man. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

"I will miss you too."

They stand looking at each other again, before Tony chuckles, shakes his head and comes forward with arms outstretched.

"We are being so stupid," he smiles into Jarvis's shoulder, pressing into the hug.

"You be good now," Jarvis tells him, holding him at arm's length. "Eat three meals a day. Tie your shoelaces before stepping outside. Do not trouble Ms. Potts. Call James once a week."

"I promise."

"Stay out of trouble. No getting kidnapped, alright?"

"Jeez, you're such a parent, Jarvis. Fine. I promise, I won't get kidnapped."

Anthony keeps that promise for nearly ten years. When he breaks that one though, Jarvis is on the other side of the world, watching the news on telly with his heart beating too loud, too fast in his chest.

*

Jarvis flies out to New York when James calls him with the news that Anthony's been found. He's standing on the tarmac with Ms. Potts, waiting for the plane when Tony Stark returns to his country after weeks in captivity.

When he sees Jarvis waiting, he climbs down the stairs and rushes toward them. Jarvis lets out a deep breath when he finally hugs the man.

"Young man, you promised!" he lets out a watery chuckle. "You promised me you wouldn't get kidnapped."

"Sorry Jay," Tony's voice is raspy, like his throat is bruised or infected. Jarvis suspects it's probably both. "It was a little beyond my control."

"How did you break out?" It's their standard question after each of his kidnappings. Tony enjoys this part, enjoys recounting whatever genius thing he did to break out.

This time, he simply says, "A very good man helped me."

That's when Jarvis knows the Tony who's come back is not the same one who went away.

*

Jarvis has a mental record of the three worst days of his life.

The first was Anthony's earliest kidnapping, when Jarvis had been late in getting to the school to pick him up on time. The second worst day of his life was when he heard news of Tony being lost in Afghanistan. The third was the day he found out about Anna's cancer.

He'd never imagined he'd be adding a fourth to that list, because he'd not anticipated this. He comes down to the workshop, carrying a tray of warm mac and cheese (a childhood favorite for Anthony, it has been a string of difficult days) for dinner when he stumbles upon the most horrific scene. Tony is white, paler than pale, with a big gaping hole at his chest, the arc reactor cavity empty, and Dummy hovering above him trying to reach the spare on the desk.

The tray of food crashes at his feet, and he rushes forward to grab the reactor and help Tony fit it inside.

"Tony!"

"Pep - Pepper - Jaawwis, Pepper is in danger! Call - Agent - Coulson, call Rhodey, I've got to go!"

Jarvis can hardly express a protest before Tony is gone, running toward the armor, his heart thudding in his chest.

For several minutes after Tony is gone, he sits there on the floor, broken remains of the tray on the workshop, pressing his hands to his heart, trying to forget, forget, forget the sight of his - child, son - almost dying in his arms.

He stays in New York till after the press conference, holding Tony through the nightmares and comforting Ms. Potts after her ordeal. While he's there, he befriends Agent Coulson, who he relates to closely. The SHIELD agent is a respectable man. The scale of Anthony's problems are becoming greater. Jarvis feels that the team of Rhodes, Potts and himself is no longer sufficient to watch over his favorite hero.

Over a full English breakfast (Coulson attended boarding school in Eton, and has picked up a few British tastes), he lends a patient ear to Coulson's troubles with his cellist (with an actual bow, apparently; an ex-assassin archer sniper sharpshooter) and offers advice. In return, he wheedles a promise out of Phil to keep Tony safe.

It's a win-win.

*

Tony is about to turn thirty-nine when he calls Jarvis in Liverpool.

"Hello," he says into the phone.

"Hey Jay," Tony croaks, and immediately, Jarvis knows something is wrong.

"Is everything alright, master Anthony?"

"Yes, I mean of course, why, it's all great. Everything's great. I called a senator an ass-clown, but then again, what else is new, right?"

"You called - what?"

"Really Jarvis, it's too bad you don't get C-SPAN there."

"We do actually," Jarvis shakes his head. "Listen, do you need me to come -"

"No!" Tony protests quickly, and crushing certainty settles in Jarvis' chest about how wrong things are. "I mean, that's not why I called you. Jeez, can't I just make a phone call to you when I feel like it? Maybe I want to catch up on all the gossip in Lenderville."

"Liverpool," correct Jarvis absentmindedly, pulling up the airline information on his desktop computer. Tony would be flabbergasted if he knew Jarvis was still using a desktop computer. At least it's a Stark computer. Jarvis would have gotten disowned if he'd dared to purchase an Apple one.

Or God forbid, a PC.

"Right," Tony says. "How's Anna?"

"Visiting her sister in Edinburgh," Jarvis answers. "She's doing much better. Don't think I don't know about the bills."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony laughs into the phone, but it is half hearted at best. Now Jarvis is really worried. "You are going senile in your old age."

"I know, I'm ancient," Jarvis agrees. "Soon I will be gone, and you'll live out the rest of your years just missing me."

"You don't know that!" Tony snaps, and it comes out sharp and bitter. Jarvis selects the earliest flight out of Heathrow in the morning. "I am sorry - sorry, I am stressed."

"What about?"

"Jay," he says. "Do you know if dad kept any secret notes on his elemental chemistry work?"

Jarvis takes a deep breath, confused at the turn their conversation had taken.

"I only know of the books he had in the Park Avenue mansion. I cleared out his laboratory. They are all in storage."

"Yeah, I have those," Tony sighs. "It was worth a shot."

"Stuck on a problem?" he asks, like Tony is eleven again and unable to sleep because of a stubborn quantum physics equation. "Want to talk it out?"

"Nah, I am okay," Tony says. "It will come to me."

After a minute's silence, Jarvis asks, "How is Virginia?"

"Hmm? Fine, he's fine," Tony says. "Not talking to me at the moment. Very, very mad because I made her CEO and yelled at a senator, but otherwise, she's awesome."

"And James? Did the two of you make it to dinner?"

"I had to cancel."

"Anthony."

"You're doing the disappointed face, aren't you? Don't do the disappointed face. I was busy, okay? I had things to do, and besides, Rhodey doesn't need - Rhodey is fine. He has many nice men in the Air Force who can take him out to dinner. I don't care."

"Of course, what was I thinking."

"It's uncanny," Tony laughs. "My Jarvis says that too. He says it exactly like you do."

"You did model him after me."

"He learned from observing you. I programmed him to base his parameters on you, but I never thought he would become a snappier version of you with a server farm."

"Well, I dress better."

"That you do, Jay, that you do."

*

Jarvis lands in Los Angeles and reaches the Malibu mansion just after Tony's disaster of a birthday party.

When he enters the living quarters, he is stunned by the degree of destruction.

"Where is he, JARVIS?" he asks, instinctually bending to pick up various paraphernalia around the room. Somehow, the lesson about destroying belongings never stuck, no matter how many times Tony got grounded as a child.

"Workshop, Edwin," his namesake tells him. "Sitting in the Maserati."

"Sitting in the Maserati? Just - sitting?"

"Indeed." It is amazing how worried his own disembodied AI voice can sound. Sometimes, Jarvis forgets how much of a genius Anthony really is.

"Has he eaten?"

"Nothing but whiskey and wine," JARVIS says sounding disappointed.

"Order from Forzinelli's please," he requests. "Something comforting. Use your best judgement."

"As you wish."

Jarvis makes his way through the destroyed house, and keys in his code to enter the workshop. As informed, Tony is sitting inside the red Maserati. A holoscreen is floating in front of him, and on it, a video is playing. Jarvis pauses in the doorway behind Tony and silently just takes in the scene.

The video playing is familiar, and it is one of Jarvis' fondest memories. Little year-old Tony on the screen is standing up, holding on to the edge of the sofa, his cherubic face in profile, smiling at Lady Maria standing past the back of the sofa.

"Come on Tony," she laughs on screen. "Walk for me, baby." Howard's chuckles are audible from behind the camera. It was from the good days, from before the time Howard started drinking and their divorce. It was from a happier, simpler time.

Suddenly, his entire face beaming, little Anthony turns to the side to Jarvis, removes his tiny fists off the sofa cushions, and without support, takes five lopsided steps into Jarvis' arms. Maria on screen bursts into applause, even as Jarvis hugs him close and gives him a kiss.

Nearly three decades later, a much elder Jarvis blinks away the wetness in his eyes, walking forward and placing a hand on the older Tony.

"Ja-arvis," Tony croaks out, voice broken on a sob, and immediately, Jarvis presses his head close to his chest, hands running comfortingly through the younger man's hair.

"What's wrong, Tony? My boy, what happened to you?"

"Rhodey took my armor."

"You let him take your armor," Jarvis points out. "You can fool the world, but you know you cannot fool me."

"Why did I walk towards you, Jarvis?"

"What?"

"My first steps," Tony shrugs at the screen. "You. My first words. You. My first robot was a British butler with a bowtie. You. My first AI is you. The first person I call when I am in trouble is you. The first person I want to tell things to, is you. Why?"

"What are you really asking, Tony?"

"I have never told you how much you mean to me."

Suddenly, Jarvis is terrified. His heart is too loud, his veins are too cold, because Tony's words sound too much like goodbye.

"Don't tell me now," Jarvis says urgently. "Do not say a word. You're not allowed to say goodbye. Master Anthony, tell me the truth. What has happened?"

"I am dying, Jarvis."

*

Jarvis is certain that Nick Fury is manipulating Anthony, and Jarvis does not look favorably upon people who manipulate Anthony. He cannot help but feel that Fury was hanging on to Howard's files, waiting for Tony at his most desperate before handing them out.

Fury wants Tony to be indebted to him. Jarvis does not like that, even if he is very grateful to Agent Coulson. After Phil leaves, Jarvis stays by Tony's side, helping him move equipment and pipes to build his accelerator. When they make the element, Tony jokes that he should name it Jarvium just to pay him back for all his love.

Somehow, it comes out more sincere than humorous.

Jarvis has never breathed a more sincere sigh of relief.

He stays with Tony until the Hammer Expo. That night, on a rooftop, he stands to the side and watches Rhodes yell at Tony till he's blue in the face.

"You were dying?!! What the hell, Tony?!"

"If you'd just let me explain -"

"You were dying!"

It feels anti-climactic when Rhodes just grabs Tony by the front of his shirt and kisses him, Tony's protests muffled before he slumps against the older man, the fight leaving him.

Jarvis loudly clears his throat after a few minutes and they spring apart.

"Right, sorry Edwin," Rhodes says, shame-faced and goofish. Tony's eyes are still widened in surprise, his mouth gaping like a fish.

"For goodness sakes," Jarvis sighs. "Nearly a decade in the making and the two of you pick tonight to get your act together. Fly me home, let me tend to your wounds and then, you can retire for the night. Am I understood?"

Rhodes nods his assent, saying "Yes Jarvis," just as Tony exclaims, "what do you mean 'a decade in the making'?"

Jarvis only laughs in response, and gets on a plane to London the next morning, content in seeing Anthony safe in James' arms.

*

Jarvis' world comes crashing down at the speed of gravity, his heart plummeting with the falling figure on the television screen.

He is waiting at a gate in Heathrow, all flights into New York delayed, air traffic at a standstill, Jarvis huddling as close as possible to the television mounted on a box, showing the events happening live over the Manhattan skies. Jarvis feels his heart in his throat, panicked tears making their way down his cheeks.

"He's not slowing down," a kindly woman next to him is shrieking into her hands. "Oh my God! He's falling! He's not slowing down!"

Jarvis sees his entire life flashing in front of his eyes. He sees himself clutching at four year old Anthony, fixing a scraped knee from a fall from a bicycle. Every time Tony fell, Jarvis has been there to catch him.

This time, he is watching on a television set thousands of miles away.

When the Hulk reaches forward and pulls Tony out of the fall, Jarvis collapses to the floor and sobs into his hands, thanking every God there is for giving him this, for blessing him with this, for saving Tony's life.

He's too old to outlive his Anthony.

*

Jarvis is not impressed by Steve Rogers.

He's aware that he's biased. He spent a good portion of Tony's early life protecting him from Howard's obsession with Captain America. He watched his employer drown himself to the bottom of a bottle, unable to cope with the failure of losing his greatest creation. Steve Rogers, or at least his ghost, is responsible for many of the mistakes of Tony's early twenties.

But none of that is Steve's fault.

However, calling his son a coward, a worthless man who doesn't know to make the sacrifice play? That is entirely Steve's fault.

So Jarvis feels no guilt whatsoever at treating the man with an icy demeanor when Rogers arrives at Stark Tower three weeks after the battle of New York.

"Can I help you Captain?"

"Erm," he says, very tall and awkward, as if he still hasn't gotten used to maneuvering this big body through small places. "I am here to see Mr. Stark."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Er, no - I don't," he says, his ears red. "I can come back later if he's busy."

"I can put you on his calendar," JARVIS, the AI says and Edwin takes a moment to feel betrayed. He thought he and the AI were together on this. "Mr. Stark has an opening five months from now."

Edwin smiles, basking in the solidarity. AI JARVIS is the finest buddy one could hope for.

Rogers sighs and slumps forward, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. He gives off the impression of a very young man wearing an old man's bones. After a moment's pondering, Jarvis realizes that it's true. Rogers is a very young man in an old man's bones.

"I am here to apologize," Rogers says, and Jarvis takes a moment to rethink his weighing of the young man. "I said some horrible things to him, and I misjudged him. I'd be very grateful if you pass on my message to him, that I requested an appointment."

"Of course," says JARVIS.

"Thanks. Have a good day, sir," Rogers greets Edwin and makes his way back to the elevator.

"Captain Rogers!" Jarvis calls out. "Please accompany me. I will guide you to the workshop. Mr. Stark can see you now."

Rogers turns around and grins at him, his gaze assessing.

"I thought he didn't have an opening till three months from now."

"JARVIS was probably mistaken."

"JARVIS the world's one and only artificial intelligence was mistaken?" Steve asks, his eyebrows rising with his grin. Edwin looks at him curiously.

"I have been reading up on modern technology," Rogers shrugs. "Tony and his work comes up a lot. In fact, he's all over modern technology."

"He's very proud of the fact."

"Howard was like that too," Rogers says, and Jarvis can't help flinching. He wonders if Rogers will hang around in Tony's life long enough to learn that comparing him to Howard Stark is not the way to friendship.

"I would not bring that up around him," Jarvis says, throwing the man a bone.

"Noted," Rogers nods. "I am sorry, sir, I don't mean to be rude, but you are?"

"Of course. I am Edwin Jarvis. I used to work for the late Mr. Stark."

"Jarvis," Steve says, mouthing the word. "Tony named his AI after you."

Edwin feels self-conscious, the way he does every time someone realizes the connection between him and the AI.

"Yes," Jarvis says, waiting for the careful flattery that follows the realization. People usually start sweet talking him when they realize how close he is to Anthony. However, Rogers looks like he's busy re-evaluating his impression of Tony.

"That's very sweet of him," Rogers says. "That he named his AI after someone close to him."

It is now Jarvis' turn to gape, because never in the last eight years has anyone reacted this way to finding out the AI is named after Tony's childhood caretaker.

He shows Rogers to the workshop, and watches Tony beam at seeing Rogers. Jarvis stands behind the glass wall for a long time, watching Tony smile with his eyes crinkling, his entire attention focused on Rogers in a way he's focused on few other things.

Jarvis smiles to himself when he goes to bed that night.

*

"I bought him a giant stuffed bunny," Anthony tells Jarvis on a Starkvid call, two days after rescuing the President of the United States from death.

" Why did you buy Rhodes a giant stuffed bunny?"

"He thinks bunnies are cute," Tony shrugged. "How was I supposed to know the size freaked him out?"

"Why did you leave it outside, though?"

"It couldn't fit in through the door."

"Anthony," Jarvis sighs, shaking his head.

"So anyway," Tony grimaces, shrugging like it was a very light matter. "We're broken up now. He said he cannot stand to watch me nearly die every time a villain comes after me."

"Let's not blame the villains on this one."

"He told you, huh?"

"The international press corps told me," Jarvis snaps. "You gave them your home address. What were you thinking?"

"I am sorry," Tony says. "I am sorry I made you worry."

"I will always worry," Jarvis sighs. "Tell me the truth. Do you want me there for the surgery?"

"Pepper is here. I am not entirely helpless without you. Besides, I am sure Rhodey will come and see me in the hospital. He just needs some time to cool off."

"Fine," Jarvis smiles. "I will get a morning flight."

"That's not even close to what I just said."

"I want to be there," Jarvis tells him. "You are not getting your chest cut open without me. Again."

"Fine," Tony nods, but he's smiling wide like he was expecting this outcome all along. He probably was. "At least Steve will get a chance to try your cooking while he's here. His mother was Irish, and he says nobody can make mince-meat pie like old Sarah Rogers used to."

"Steve, huh?"

"Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. All American apple pies and values? One for all and all for one? The star spangled man with a plan?"

"I know who he is, Anthony."

"Right," he says. "Steve stays here now. At the tower, I mean. All the avengers do. It's horrible having housemates. Clint drinks all my coffee."

"Why did you ask them to come stay with you if they are horrible?"

"Because of my big heart, Jarvis, keep up."

"Of course. I should have known immediately. You are doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

"Exactly."

"How is Steve, then?" Jarvis prods.

"He is, you know, Steve. He's Steve. He goes running every morning at four am. Every morning, Jarvis. You would like him. He's your kind of boy. Says please and thank you, holds the door open for old ladies, eats with fork on the left, knife on the right."

"I am sure."

"What is that expression on your face? Explain that expression."

"I am not having an expression."

"You're the worst, Jarvis."

"Certainly, master Anthony."

*

On Tony's forty second birthday, reporters are lined outside the tower, waiting for the annual press release and statement. Jarvis, who is in the city for the celebration (Tony had begged him to come and bake a cake, in many ways, Anthony didn't mature past the age of five) watches as the Stark PR liaison makes the statement about the charity Tony's supporting this year.

A reporter in the front row is yelling increasingly offensive things about Tony's virtue, character and integrity, speaking over the Stark PR staff. Jarvis is about to lose his temper and get the journalist thrown out by security when Steve reaches across the edge of the stage and punches the man.

Jarvis hadn't even known that Steve had come down to the press conference.

Afterwards, when Phil is chewing Steve out in the kitchen for making the headlines again, Jarvis meets the man's eye. There is an expression of solidarity in them, like he's telling Jarvis that they're in this together, that he gladly accepts the job of protect Tony Stark twenty four seven.

Jarvis simply smiles at him.

*

Anthony tells him six months later, shy and hesitant on the phone, that he's "maybe sort of dating" Steve Rogers.

Jarvis' total lack of surprise annoys him.

"This is unfair," he whines. "You knew about me and Rhodey too."

"You have many, many gifts of intelligence, my Anthony," Jarvis laughs on the phone. "None of them involve matters of the heart."

There's a minute of silence before Tony says, "I think this might be it, Jay."

"How are you feeling about that?"

"Scared shitless," he admits. "Wanna know a secret? Steve says he loves me."

"That's not a secret, Anthony," Jarvis laughs. "I don't know how any man wouldn't love you."

"You are biased."

"And very proud of it," Jarvis tells him. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Tony admits. "I am. What I am saying is, we still have vicious fights, and Steve is still a stubborn, stuck-up son of a bitch sometimes, and he can be really mean. But I think - I think I love him too."

"I am so thrilled, Anthony."

"Me too, Jay. You like him, don't you?"

"Of course," Jarvis agrees. "We're all in the same club, he and I. The Tony Stark protection squad."

"Don't need protecting."

"Address. On. National. Television."

"How many times are you going to pull that card?"

"As long as I need to."

*

When Captain Rogers subtly contacts him for Anthony's ring size, Jarvis is not surprised.

When Captain Rogers flies to England to show him the platinum with rubies band, Jarvis is not surprised.

But when Captain Rogers asks his permission to propose to Tony, he is stunned speechless.

"I am not -" he takes a deep breath and starts over. "I am - it's not - I couldn't possibly -"

"You are his father," Steve says, expression earnest. "He thinks of you as his father. His is the only opinion that counts on the subject, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

"Ten bucks and one of your mince-meat pies says he asks you to give him away."

Jarvis laughs.

"So?" Steve prompts, grinning.

"You know my answer, Captain Rogers," he points out. "You wouldn't have flown to England if you thought I would say no."

"What would I have done in that case?"

"You would have just asked him, and made him tell me the news," Jarvis shrugs. "You're sneaky. You're determined enough to know how to get what you want. And you want Tony."

"I really do, Jarvis."

"Make it nice," Jarvis says, "Oh, he will say yes even if you ask him over pizza in his pigsty of a workshop. But make it nice. He doesn't think he deserves good things. Prove him wrong."

"I promise."

"How are you going to ask?"

"I was actually going to hide the ring in between Dummy's claws before a maintenance check."

"He will love that."

"You think so?"

Jarvis surveys him appraisingly, and then nods in a 'you will do' fashion. Steve feels like he just passed test.

"You two going out before?"

"The auto show," Steve nods. "Classic cars from the 50s."

"Oh, he will be unbearable."

"I know," Steve laughs. "But he will be relaxed, which is the point."

"Well Captain Rogers," Jarvis says finally, extending an arm. "Welcome to the family."

"Thank you Jarvis," Steve says, shaking his hand. "Honestly, I was expecting the shovel talk."

"Oh," Jarvis laughs. "Wait till after the engagement. Potts will corner you and Rhodes will provide a demonstration."

"I look forward to it."

"You're a foolish brave man, Rogers. But that's the characteristic skill set required to keep up with Tony."

*

Jarvis has a mental record of the three best days of his life.

The first is the day Anna agreed to marry him. The second best day of his life is a memory from three decades ago, when he watched Anna hold baby Anthony for the first time, and his heart had tugged at his chest, waiting to burst and explode in giddiness. His third best day was when a year old Anthony had wrapped his hand around Jarvis' fingers and said his first words, 'Jawwis, up!'.

He feels so fortunate that he gets a fourth best day, and it is surely this one, this day when he gets to take Anthony's - his son's - arm and walk him down the aisle to marry Steve.

He cries. Tony doesn't get to tease him over it because he's weeping too, looking radiant and safe in Steve's arms.

At the reception, he finds James sitting at a stool, holding a drink in hand, looking wistfully at Anthony and Steve dancing.

"Regretting the one that got away?" he asks, smiling at the happy couple.

"Ooooh no," Rhodey laughs. "Grateful and beyond relieved that he now has another person to harass."

"You will miss it. You will feel neglected if he doesn't call you in the middle of the night to ask for some Ghiradelli."

"That.... is probably true. God help us all."

"Do you ever think - you and he?"

"I know you were rooting for us all along, Jarvis," Rhodes says. "But we would have driven each other crazy. Steve balances him out. He's happy. I am happy."

"Yes, I heard," Jarvis nods. "Good for you, James. If you hurt Ms. Potts, Tony will kill you."

"I know," James nods.

"Jarvis! Come dance with me!" Tony comes up behind them, bowtie undone and hanging off his collar, hair wild. Jarvis starts trying to fix the bowtie. The hair is hopeless without a brush and some product anyway.

"Oh come on Jarvis, it's alright if I am not prim and proper. It's a party!"

"I cannot dance, Anthony."

"We will do a slow song," Tony says, and when he sees Jarvis' hesitation, he brings out the puppy dog eyes and uses his most powerful weapon. "Father-son dance. It's a thing. Come on!"

Jarvis looks at Steve, who simply shrugs, "Hey, don't look at me! The pretty man wants a dance. You should give it to him."

"You're a sneaky one, Captain. I cannot believe the world thinks you are virtuous and pure."

"Oh, I can definitely attest to the fact that he's neither virtuous nor pure. Jesus, how much wine have I had?" Tony says. "Ignore me, Jay, come on, dance with me."

"A stand in for your AI, that's all I am," Jarvis chides, even as he allows being led by the hand.

"Yes, I only use you to model my amazing, ground-breaking creations after," Tony laughs. "Woe is you and all that."

As promised, a slow song begins and Tony spins Jarvis around, exactly like Jarvis used to spin him around at age five, dancing along to the radio.

Jarvis cannot hold back smiling wide. Tony beams at him, before looking away, suddenly shy.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes master Anthony?"

"Thank you for everything."

"Don't be silly," Jarvis holds the man close. "Sons shouldn't thank their fathers. Especially sons who make their fathers as proud as you do."

Tony would like to deny that he didn't cry like a baby at that, but Rogers gets it all on video for posterity.

*

~Epilogue~

He absolutely forbids them from naming their son Jarvis.

Besides, as he points out, Anthony's already named one AI son after him. He shouldn't do that to his flesh and blood sibling.

In the end, Steve's good reason prevails, and their adopted bundle of joy is named James Edwin Stark-Rogers. Both Colonel Rhodes and Sergeant Barnes weep upon meeting their little namesake, but Jarvis is too giddy for tears.

He is already making plans to spoil the young master as much as he can.

If he grows up to be a little terror, then Anthony will entirely deserve it. Karma is a sweet, sweet thing, Jarvis thinks, holding the blanket wrapped child closer to his chest, murmuring words he spoke a really long time ago.

Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

*

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Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy - mybrotherharry - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

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The first time Jarvis holds little Anthony in his arms, he is overwhelmed by emotion that is surprising in its intensity. The child is not his own. Jarvis' relationship with Mr. Stark is hardly anything more than that appropriate between an employer and his employee.

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Tony and Steve get together for a blind date, set up by Natasha.

Unknown to them, the entire conversation is overheard by Alice Epshteyn, a Coffee Shop review blogger with a huge following...

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Bean There, Done That - tisfan - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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Steve gets a Twitter, and promptly starts a feud with Trump and his supporters. What could possibly go wrong here?

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Anti-Establishment - antigrav_vector - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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The Soldier's mission was to deliver Howard and Maria Stark's child to his handlers. He did not know what they wanted with the small baby, or what complications he would encounter on the way, but he was going to complete his mission.

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And All The Children - somanyfeels - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works