The welcoming party was even more extravagant than Bucky could've ever imaged. The minute he opened the cafe's wrought iron door, he was bombarded with a shower of confetti and the animated cheers of his bandmates. Steve, Tony, Clint, Nat, Thor, and Bruce greeted him with open arms and he relaxed into the familiar banter with an easy grin. After a round of high fives and fist-bumps, he was eventually ushered to a table bearing the monstrous chocolate cake made in his honor. It felt good to be back. The freak train accident that had literally derailed his singing career for six months was slowly becoming nothing more than a bad memory.
"So, how's the bionic arm?" Tony asked as he casually took a swipe out of the icing on Bucky's cake.
"A few metal rods and some pins. With any luck, I'll be able to hold a microphone in my left hand before the tour starts."
It was more or less a lie. The accident had rendered his left arm and hand virtually useless. He still had trouble holding something as simple as a paper plate, never mind an item with actual substance. But he wasn't about to voice his concerns out loud, not when he'd finally obtained medical clearance to rejoin the band. He supposed it should be expected; the docs had stuffed more than just a few metal rods and pins in that arm in the hopes of making it semi-functional again. While he was trying to think of a tactful way to change the subject, Bruce unknowingly did that for him.
"Yeah, about that tour…" Bruce was immediately silenced by a swift elbow to the ribs. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Bucky, and he suspiciously eyed the remaining members in turn.
"What's going on? Did they cancel the tour or something? Tony? Thor? Clint? Nat? Come on, Steve, don't ice me out."
Steve clapped a hand on Bucky's non-injured shoulder and gave it a firm shake.
"It's not just a tour, Buck. It's a press conference for—" Their captain never got the chance to finish. The double doors leading into the luxurious restaurant burst open and Nick Fury entered with his ever-billowing trench coat. He finished Steve's sentence with his usual flair.
"The mother-trucking new member!"
The band rarely accepted new members into their ranks. Well, except for the strange self-proclaimed doctor who'd flipped one of the tour vehicles in a high-speed car crash and damaged his guitar playing hands. Or that other guy—Scott?—who'd simply disappeared one day. Needless to say, both men hadn't made the cut.
Clint liked to call it the 'newbie curse.'
Bucky pinned Steve with one of his patented steely glares. The team leader sheepishly avoided his gaze. The warmth and acceptance he'd felt at the initial reception started to fade, until only the worst-case-scenario remained.
"So, not only are you replacing me, but I'd be willing to bet this cake isn't even chocolate. It's probably just a white cake fraud hiding under chocolate icing!"
And everyone knew how much he loved chocolate cake.
"No one's mother-trucking replacing you!" Fury stated pointedly. He crossed his arms and sighed. "The band was spread pretty thin while you were recovering, so we – and by 'we' I mean our HR rep Pepper Potts – decided to hire a new addition to the band. So I expect y'all to shut up and suit up."
"But—"
"Bucky, did that train also damage your mother-trucking ears or did I not tell you to shut up?"
"Yes, but—"
"AND SUIT UP! S.H.I.E.L.D., ASSEMBLE!"
As if on cue, the mobile makeup, hair, and costuming units rappelled from the ceiling and swooped in on the unsuspecting band members (in all fairness, they had been responsible for throwing the confetti). Personal makeup mirrors were set up in record time alongside a walk-in wardrobe of assorted clothes. The transition happened so quickly that Bucky barely had time to grab a piece of cake before he was shepherded into a cushioned chair.
He peered at his reflection with an uncharacteristic grimace. He hadn't been able to get his hair cut for months, what with the overnight hospital care and accompanying physical therapy, and after seeing his messy locks in his reflection, he was suddenly glad for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intervention. That's what he needed. A new haircut to take his mind off the lingering ache in his arm.
"Just a little off the back and some inches off the sides while you're at it…"
"Ignore this man. The hair stays. Now someone get a flat iron over here STAT!" Fury ordered, snapping his fingers for emphasis. Bucky protested in vain. "Listen here, Bucky. Ever since that freak train accident, the fans have been predicting your comeback. And they're expecting someone mopey, sad, and vulnerable with a bum arm and stylish smokey eyes, so that's exactly what they're gonna get!"
"But what about the others?" Bucky asked, gesturing to his fellow bandmates. "They all look the same!"
"Then you'll just have to mother-trucking deal with it! Fury out!" And with that, the cloaked man stormed over to the cake and cut a huge piece out of the middle before taking his leave. Bucky slumped in his chair. Tony, seeing his hunched form, stole the opportunity to slip away from his personal cosmetic staff.
"Hey. You didn't hear it from me, but word on the street is they plan on having Steve grow out a beard soon. And maybe go blonde with Nat."
"Really?" Bucky felt slightly better. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "What about Thor?"
The foreign prince emerged from the makeshift dressing room wearing one of his customized tour outfits. They watched him fiddle with the completely useless but stylish arm cuffs and admire the accompanying cloak. "This outfit. I like it! ANOTHER!"
"Yyyyeeeaaaahhh I don't think they'll be changing Thor anytime soon. He's practically worn the same outfit ten concerts in a row," Tony said with a shrug. Bucky was about to reply when he heard an up-tempo ringtone. He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and glanced at the caller ID.
"Sorry, Tony. Gotta take this—"
"NO YOU AIN'T!" Fury spat. He slapped the offending item from Bucky's hands. "NO PERSONAL CALLS BEFORE THE PRESS CONFERENCE!" Tony and Bucky gaped at the man's sudden appearance.
"Okay, dude, I thought you left, like, five seconds ago. And didn't you hack a huge piece out of my cake?" Bucky huffed. "How'd you even get back here so fast?"
"That's not the point, Mr. Barnes. What's important is the fact that the call could've been from some wacked out fan girl trying to get the scoop on whether or not you're returning to the band. So absolutely ZERO calls allowed! In fact, make that NEGATIVE ZERO because as of this moment, all y'all have lost your phone privileges. You can thank Bucky for that later."
"Well that idea's stupid so we're not gonna do it," Clint said. The other members whipped out their own cell phones for emphasis. Bucky took the opportunity to rescue his cell from the floor in spite of Fury's…well…fury.
"THAT'S IT! I'M GETTING ALL YOU YAHOOS JITTERBUG TRACK PHONES SO YOU CAN HAVE OBNOXIOUSLY LARGE SCREENS WITH BARELY ENOUGH DATA TO SEND A ONE WORD TEXT!" He peered over Bucky's shoulder as the man put the phone up to his ear. "AND WHO ARE YOU MOTHER-TRUCKING CALLING BACK?"
"Hydra Hospital. They want to go over my P.T."
"NOT ANYMORE!" Fury judo-chopped his phone to the floor for a second time. "Hydra's only trying to brainwash you and keep you isolated from the band!"
"Whoa—I have to continue my physical therapy!" Bucky objected. Sure, Hydra had drilled him with six months of excruciating rehabilitation with little to show for it, but he needed the treatment if he ever wanted to reclaim the use of his arm. To his surprise, his superior seemed to agree.
"Oh, you'll still go. But I hired you a new therapist. He's from some random-o place called Wakanda and likes cats. It's the best I could do last minute. He'll be traveling with us on the upcoming tour so after hours of singing and signing autographs, I'll have you spend hours crying tears of physical pain as you try and probably fail to regain any kind of movement in that arm again."
"Why can't Bruce just do it?" Steve interjected and motioned to the man in question who was busy flipping through their latest musical score. Bruce had easily settled into the role as their on-site doctor after performances. Fury shook his head in response.
"Nope. I made a shady, backdoor deal with Wakanda on this one, so it's settled. Fury OUT!" And with that, Fury left again with another large chunk of cake in hand.
The remaining hour was spent preparing for the press conference, effectively pushing Bucky's welcoming party to the wayside. Bucky was soon outfitted with an all-black ensemble to accompany his new rebellious look. Gazing at himself in the mirror, he looked the part, but his heart really wasn't in it. He felt like an imposter mucking around in an ill-fitting cosplay. Phil spent a few minutes with Bucky showing him how to pen his new signature. Edgier, spikier…Not like his usual, loopy handwriting at all. In the middle of his twentieth practice signature, someone give him a light-hearted punch to the shoulder.
"Things are a little different now than they used to be, huh, Buck?" Steve managed a small smile. "Much different than the Howling Commandos."
The name of their former band made Bucky forget about the unreadable moniker he had yet to master.
The Howling Commandos.
He'd started this long-shot singing career with Steve nearly five years ago, back when their tour dates consisted of performing opening acts for county fairs. It was only after Steve joined Crossfit and bulked up to impossible standards that they started booking more upscale gigs. Eventually, their patriotic vibes and engaging stage presence caught the attention of Director Fury—a musical legend in his own right, specializing in producing top-notch boy bands. Once Steve and Bucky signed on with S.H.I.E.L.D., their immediate fame soon skyrocketed, demanding the need for more members.
After an exhaustive worldwide talent search, Fury handpicked Tony and Bruce to round out the singing troupe alongside Bucky while Steve fell into the role of lead drummer. Clint and Nat, the professional dancing pair from Russia, were then added to the growing roster. A month later, Thor, the rising prince from the country of Asgard, won a guest spot as their electric guitarist and simply never left.
And with a newly minted band came a newly minted band name: The Seasonal Soldiers. Bucky and Steve were then stripped of their Howling Commandos memorabilia—cited by Fury as simply being "old relics of the past"—and assigned a fresh wardrobe to fit their latest personas on stage.
It began with Bucky. The Winter Soldier. Steady and cool under pressure, the nickname was an immediate fit, even if it did symbolize the end of the previous era. But being the Winter Soldier was never just a role. It was so much more than that. His band was his family. And on stage, it felt natural to become the easy-going sidekick to the real captain of the band: Steve.
Steve was originally the Autumn Soldier before Tony claimed the title. Crisp and focused, he led with the charisma and stage presence that Bucky naturally lacked. Steve's fanbase was easily the largest, and his drumming solos usually received more fanfare than the closing act. He was their captain. Even among Fury and the S.H.I.E.L.D. assistants, the band members went to him with any complaints or opinions, knowing that their wishes would never fall on deaf ears.
Tony, their current Autumn Soldier, was as brilliant as he was cocky, a trait that unnerved Steve to no end. But Bucky rather liked his boisterous stage presence and the pair often tag-teamed on a number of pranks in-between performances, much to their captain's dismay. The billionaire had his own off-the-cuff style. Sometimes he simply decided to "experiment" with their harmonization and drop two octaves lower on a whim, but it kept the momentum fun and exciting.
Bruce was their Summer Soldier. A genuinely kind guy with the biggest heart of gold…until he "Hulked out" on stage. The crowd, the lights, the pulsing music: they were all triggers that released Bruce's secret talent. He had an uncanny ability to lower his voice to a hypnotizing bass that perfectly blended with Bucky and Tony's vocals. Of course, if uncontrolled, the deep registers ran the risk of leaving Bruce mute for days. Steve fretted over this constantly, oftentimes arguing with Fury over the length of Bruce's songs. It was Bucky who usually covered for Bruce if he noticed his resolve slipping on stage, seeing as he could hit a lower vocal range than Tony.
Thor, Clint and Nat completed the family dynamic. The fans themselves had thought of carefully crafted titles for each of them in turn.
Since Steve was the Captain, it was only fitting that Thor—a celebrity prince and heart throb of Asgard—was declared the Lieutenant. Clint and Nat were so popular—often buried in a sea of complimentary roses after their stunning partner dances—that fans called them the Assassins. Rumor had it that no one even got close to their skillset because they "erased" their competition by nefarious means. It was a blatant lie but had its desired affect: They were the only boyband with an integrated flair of Russian dance, and it was this quirk that helped set them apart from the rest.
All that was missing was the Spring Soldier. With two failed attempts at filling the position, Bucky had almost lost hope of ever completing the Seasonal Soldier circle.
That is, until now.
"AAASSSSEEMMMBLLLEEE!" Fury shouted through a mouthful of cake. The band members tried to weave their way past him to the cake table, but he blocked their way with a swish of his trench coat. "You fools don't mother-trucking deserve it! Y'all got thirty seconds to book it to the heli-carrier or else I ban shawarma!" Tony clutched his chest at the thought.
"You're threatening us with shawarma? Are you trying to give me a heart condition?"
"Yeah, I agree, that's pretty low, boss," Nat concurred. Her and Clint shared a smirk. "But at least it's better than what happened in Budapest."
"So what did happen in Budapest?" Bruce asked.
"I don't mother-trucking care!" Fury answered instead. "Get your butts on our hella expensive, state-of-the-art, customized super plane! NOW!"
Bucky moved to join his fellow bandmates but his superior jerked him back by the scruff of his leather jacket. "Not so fast, Mr. Barnes!"
"Hey, if this is about the cake, you can have the rest, man. Just go for it." The Brooklyn native tried to squirm away from Fury's grip, but it was clear he wasn't finished with this impromptu speech.
"You'll be meeting with this Wakanda dude after the press conference, so I want you to learn everything you can about cats in the next two hours before we land. Cat memes, gifs, videos about them freaking out over cucumbers…whatever it takes!"
"I'm really more of a dog person—"
"Not anymore, you ain't!" Fury shoved a set of cat ear headphones into his good hand. "YOU'LL WEAR IT AND LIKE IT! FURY OUT!"
Bucky ascended the ramp leading into the waiting plane and dropped into the empty seat next to Steve. He plopped the headphones around his neck then fished out his phone.
"So, Steve…what do you think about a cat video marathon?"
"Do you even have to ask?!" Steve exclaimed. "Let's put it on the big screen. CAT MARATHON!" The heli-carrier erupted in cheers.
"Do you think the Spring Soldier will like cats? What about shawarma?" Tony voiced. He sipped on the complimentary champagne. "I mean, EVERYONE likes shawarma."
"Perhaps the new member will try some of my country's treasured Asgardian dishes."
"You can't go wrong with New York style pizza," Bucky added with a grin.
"Are we just going to bribe this new member with food?" Clint asked. "If it means Fury's paying, I'm in!"
Even with his strange hairstyle, semi-gothic attire, splash of smoky eyes, and ever-present burn of his useless, metallic arm, Bucky was glad to be back where he belonged. With the Seasonal Soldiers.