Lend An Ear, an avengers fanfic

Lend An Ear

A Word: Avengerkink meme prompt. They wanted to see Bucky seeing someone fall apart and help them out because he knows where they're coming from.

The transition from SHIELD observation to Stark's tower is seamless and goes far more easily than anything else has in his entire life. Bucky doesn't trust it, doesn't like that nothing goes wrong not even in a small way. It leaves him feeling like there's something else out there, lurking, just waiting for him to drop his guard to spring out and attack.

All the reassurances from Steve that it's just in his mind don't really do much to help at all, because it is all in his mind. There's still too many things lurking in his mind that have the potential ability to rip away everything he is and turn him back into the unquestioning Soldier. Some potential trigger that can be flipped and he doesn't even know what it is or who might know it's there. Bucky walks on eggshells after moving in. Getting tenser as the days slide by without even a minor call out for the Avengers.

It's a relief, then, when he drops a mug in the kitchen one night and gets a knife pressed to his neck by Barton.

They're alone and Bucky can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the dry click as Barton swallows. His eyes are wide and startled looking as he looks at the knife against Bucky's throat. He's off guard, reacting on instinct, and that's a bad place to be for anyone of their training, "Aw, crap."

The knife disappears and Clint continues his interrupted path to the coffee pot, a stained mug still clutched in his other hand. Bucky nudges some of the shards on the floor with the tip of his boot, but leaves them. Stark has robots to clean it up and he hates taking work away from the disturbingly intelligent things. They get sad when they don't have things to do.

"Sorry," Barton mutters into his now full mug. He looks exhausted and the caffeine is probably the last thing the man needs, but Bucky's not going to say anything. He's the one up at 2 AM and lurking in the kitchen.

"Sure," Bucky shrugs it off, because it's to be expected. Loud, sudden noise and all that. He leans against a counter and watches Barton drain half his mug and refill it. He's still dressed in the clothes he was wearing earlier. His hair a wild nest that gets wilder when he runs one hand through it and stifles a yawn. "Dangers of the business."

"Uh, yeah," Barton says after a confused second. He's already drifting out of the kitchen though and Bucky lets it go. Watches as the man leaves.

Bucky's throat tingles, a thin line where the sharp edge of the knife had pressed almost hard enough to break the skin. Barton wasn't an active threat, but the reminder that he is dangerous settles something in Bucky. Eases some of that paranoia that's been dogging him. Just a bit.

A beep draws his eyes to the mess on the floor. Two circular robots have started gathering the shards up and now appear to be bickering over which one will get the last piece. Bucky watches them, fascinated, for the twenty minutes it takes one of them to win.

Nothing about Bucky's situation is easy or simple, but things settle after that night. He's still got that trigger in his brain, and SHIELD owns him more than he'd like. It just seems easier to deal with now. It's Barton's fault and Bucky finds himself paying the man more attention than he had before. As something more than his skills and a possible teammate. What he sees isn't a surprising as it would be if he hadn't seen the bark circles under his eyes earlier.

They're gone now, and Bucky doesn't think it's because Barton got a few hours of sleep.

There's a faint hint of scent when Bucky gets close, and the tell-tale edge of off color where the concealer ends. His eyes are bright but Bucky can see it's from exhaustion more than anything else. His reactions are a miniscule bit off. He reacts to an insult from Tony just slow enough for Bucky to tell the man is carefully considering the response he fires off like it's careless and unthoughtful. He concentrates on doing things too. Putting more thought into what his hands are doing in a way that Bucky knows isn't natural to him.

As the Winter Soldier, Bucky had been given a thorough briefing on the Avengers. On each person's past and habits with photos or video when available. There weren't many videos available of Barton, but the ones that were there showed a man who was completely and utterly at ease with his body. A man who had such precise control over it that he never had to look at what he was doing, never had to think about what he was doing. Not the way most people did at least. That ease is gone now, and Bucky's not sure if he remembers ever seeing it in person.

There's cracks going all through Barton. Tiny, hairline fractures that cover him in a spider web of problems that no one else around them seems to notice.

Breakfast is chaos. Bucky hunches over his plate and watches as six adults with different nutritional needs and tastes maneuver around each other in a kitchen that's only small when they're all in it. He watches Barton interact with the others, and how they react to him. He watches the way Barton's face gets almost imperceptibly tight when Thor makes an offhand comment about his brother. Every time.

In his briefing about the Loki incident there was one sentence devoted to the fact that Loki had coerced Barton and a few others to working for him. Carefully worded to avoid any mention that the coercion hadn't been blackmail of some sort, but in fact something that completely took away the man's free will. A calculated move to keep the thought of it being a possibility from entering the Winter Soldier's clear and logical mind.

Bucky doesn't know the full story, it'd never been important before, but he can read it clear as day now from the subtle omissions and the tiny reactions before him. He knows those cracks all too well to not be able to. It's familiar to him.

Bucky remember Natalia clearly, like he remembers all his time as the Soldier. A bright splash of color that was clinically examined and categorized. A slight little girl with eyes already darkened with violence and death. The perfect little soldier to train and follow orders. One who obeyed without question and silently picked herself off the ground when she failed to dodge. Falling back into position without protest until she could get it right.

The Winter Soldier was fond of the girl, the only one of his trainees who lived long enough to grow up. More so than he should have been capable of, and Bucky retains that fondness

"We all have our burdens," Natalia says in soft Russian. The only language she'll use when it's just the two of them. "Some simply feel them more than others."

Bucky watches as she rises up on her toes with a tiny jump. She doesn't wince or falter even as it looks like her new ballet shoes dig into her skin. She moves with the same deadly grace she brings to a fight, and Bucky remembers the mission that had first introduced her to ballet. Remembers the way she'd turned the stage into a bloodbath while still on her toes. A bit of playfulness that's still there in her now, buried deep under the mask of the Black Widow.

"Some burdens aren't meant to be born alone," Bucky says and watches her falter because that's not something the Winter Soldier would have ever said. Natalia, or Natasha —he supposes he should get used to her newer name— still doesn't know what to make of him as he is now. "I think this will crush him alone."

Natasha spins, slow and elegant, her arms and hands precisely placed. A pillar of beauty that doesn't match the hard steel in her eyes. "Clint has been through worse than this, and he deals with things in his own way. He will be fine."

Her voice brooks no argument from him, and Bucky leaves it. As the person who seems closest to Barton she has the best insight into him, but her views are heavily influenced by her upbringing. It's enough for Bucky to know that she sees a problem with Barton and has no plans to fix it.

Jarvis is eminently helpful in telling him how long Barton is awake, how many hours he spends alone in the specially made range Stark made for them all. He gets a clear picture of a man surviving on brief catnaps, infrequent meals, and enough caffeine that it's starting to effect his aim. The one thing the man holds out to others with obvious pride.

Stark is similar enough to Natasha that Bucky knows the man is a firm believer in a person taking care of their own issues on their own. Banner is a ghost for all that his eyes seem to take everything in. His own fear of the damage he can cause keeping him from reaching out to anyone of his own choice. Steve is still lost in a way that Bucky's avoided by retaining his memories as a weapon. Even Winter Soldier had been exposed to the changes in the world and its cultures to keep him on top of the game. Bucky doubts he knows enough about Barton to even see that there is a problem to be fixed.

He doesn't even bother considering Thor for many reasons.

Barton doesn't go to SHIELD all that often, and rarely gets called in for missions. An ugly fact that has more to do with the list of dead attributed to Loki's actions. A word choice that clearly spells out who did the actual killing. He's being isolated from the organization. For his own protection probably, but isolation is isolation and it's clearly not doing Barton any good.

Bucky watches. He prods and he pokes and he reads the files that shouldn't be accessible to him, but are carelessly left open for view through Tony's servers. He runs into Barton twice more late at night when even Stark has given into exhaustion, and seen the man when he thinks he's alone and not being watched. A stupid mistake that Bucky fully believes Barton would have made if he were in his right mind. He watches and no one does anything at all even when they can.

It's not a choice anymore for Bucky.

"Want to see who misses first?"

Barton hesitates in his pull before letting go, and the arrow flies straight and true into the target. He turns and gives Bucky an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"

Bucky walks further into the range and hikes a thumb at one of the lockers that he knows holds other practice bows. "Shooting, Barton. Let's see which one of us is the first to miss."

Barton laughs. A harsh bark that clearly surprises him. "Sure, why the hell not? I'm always up for taking low hanging fruit."

Bucky grins and goes for the weapons. Picking out the one he'd chosen the night before. He's a sniper and guns are his bread and butter, but he's no slouch with a bow either. Bucky has no illusions that he can do even half the trick shots Barton does, but he's confident enough in being able to hit a target long enough to make this bet worth it.

"After you," Barton gives him a mocking bow, hand flinging out to a target half way down the range with an arrow still in it. He's smirking, and the look in his eyes isn't as brittle as it usually is.

Good. He's surprised an honest reaction out of the man. Bucky takes aim, ignoring the sharp look he gets because he's perfectly mimicking Barton's stance, and hopes he can keep that up. He draws with his left arm out of habit and practicality. The arrow lands neatly next to Barton's, dead center.

"You're right handed," Barton says as the target moves to the side where a robotic arm expertly removes the arrows, and another target moves in. A little further and to the left. Clint lands an arrow in it as it's still moving into place.

"Yeah," It's true, but Bucky has learned to use both hands equally since falling. He draws, sights, and releases in one fluid movement before holding his artificial limb up. The light of the range glints off the newly polished finish of it. "Better pull with my left though. Obviously."

Barton makes a thoughtful noise and waits for the next target to still, all the way in the back, before shooting again. His head turning even before the arrow lands and his eyes fixing intently on Bucky.

Bucky makes a show of watching the arrow him before reaching for another arrow. He doesn't exaggerate his movement when he lands his own right next to Barton's —an inch more to the left than he wanted it to be— but he does make sure to do it all flawlessly. Just like he'd been taught, by an expert who'd had fits over all the things that he considered wrong with the stance.

"What the hell," Barton's voice is flat and face suspicious. It's a comical look that Bucky's going to laugh at later.

"You used to be freelance," Bucky responds and doesn't wait for Barton to take the next target first. He draws down on it in a perfect imitation of the other man's stance and nails it. Dead center despite the many professional archers in the world who would swear no one could hit anything with the way he was drawing back. "They," and Bucky doesn't have to explain who they are, he knows enough from the way he grimaces, "wanted a few kills put on your tab and not mine a while back."

Bucky sends a second arrow to land an inch to the right of his first, but doesn't send a third. It's more impressive to see the two arrows looking like they're deliberately placed when there isn't a third that's obviously a random shot. It's a trick he'd used to impress the man he was sent to convince he was the real deal.

"I think you were in SHIELD custody at the time," Bucky shrugs, "and they needed someone to impersonate Ronin since you weren't available to hire."

Bucky sees the way Barton's eyes shutter and flicker. His mind going through his past after latching onto the implications. Looking for any other connection he might have with the Red Room. Four that Bucky knows of, but they're not really all that important. Bucky taps his bow against his left hand, letting the click fill the range before impatiently asking, "You going to shoot or what?"

Barton's shot is not placed based on Bucky's, but the way the man reacts tells him he might have been aiming for that. He's tense and really not happy with what Bucky's telling him. Two targets replace the single ones they've been shooting, and Barton hits them both within seconds. Bucky follows suit. With more than a second between each arrow. His last one wavers a little more in the air than it should.

"You know, I should have asked before, but what exactly is it that I'm going to win?" Barton asks after a pause that's deliberately too long to be anything but him mentally forcing himself to switch gears.

"Yeah, you really should have asked," Bucky agrees cheerfully and deliberately botches his next shot so that the arrow barely misses the rings of the target. He doesn't wait to see if Barton makes the shot. Just turns and drops the bow on one of the cleaning tables on the way out. He throws a wave over his shoulder when Barton makes a noise of protest. "Meet me down in the lobby at five."

He ignores the shouted, "Oh, come on!" that follows him out.

Clint Barton is one of the best marksmen in the world. He's unparalleled when it comes to a bow and arrow, and is not slouch when holding a gun or rifle either. He's positively lethal at ranges that most people wouldn't even consider possible, and damn dangerous up close. He's a quiet, unassuming man who blends in far too well, and is regularly overlooked. He's got a bad past that's left him with no ties in the world, and a rock solid center that lets him push through a lot of bullshit. He's also an almost insanely curious person. The kind who can't help pushing buttons just to find out what they do.

Barton shows up ten minutes late and gives Bucky a look that can't decide if it's cranky or betrayed. He's dressed in a casual set of civilians that do a damn good job of covering the fact that he's armed and armored. "This better be good, Barnes."

Bucky grins and says nothing as he leads the man out into the city. The silence obviously eats at him, but Barton refuses to speak again as they take to the streets. They're not going far, but Bucky still leads them there through a wandering path. Partly out of reflex, and mostly out of the very real fear that Stark's curiosity might have been raised and he's looking to come snooping personally.

There's a reason Bucky had made that suckers bet in the first place, and it was all for avoiding Stark.

The diner has a brand new sign, but the place itself is old and worn enough to be comfortable. They take over a circular table in the corner meant for bigger parties, and get a nasty look from the waitress who comes to get their drink orders. Bucky doesn't give a damn though. The place is empty and this is the only table that allows them both a good line of sight.

"A grilled cheese sandwich. Really?" Barton's squinting at the menu with an overdone grimace of disappointment. "That's what I've won?"

"It wasn't a hard bet in the first place," Bucky flips between the three pages before settling on a simple hamburger platter with fries. "Besides, you could always get the meatloaf special."

"Hell no," Barton hands over his menu when the woman comes back and grudgingly writes down their meal choices before taking the order to the kitchen, and then leaning against the counter to text on her phone. "You know what places like this use to make their meatloaf?"

"As long as it's not rodent I don't really care," Bucky lies easily, because he's had rat before and it's not a bad meal. Especially not if you're hungry enough.

Barton smirks and a small noise escapes him that wants to be a laugh. He caught the lie and likely has been in the same place. He knows, he understands, and that's as good an opening as any.

"Been meaning to ask you," Bucky says as he pulls his glass in close, aiming for casual and succeeding in grabbing Barton's full interest quickly, "how do you deal with it?"

"It," Barton repeats after a few seconds of waiting for Bucky to continue. "I deal with a lot of shit that could be considered an 'it', Barnes. You're going to have to be more specific."

Bucky waits for their food to be smacked onto the table. Far sooner than it should have been done to be anything other than reheated fare. He doesn't start eating though, turning to look at Barton who's following his lead. "With the dreams," he watches Barton's eyes go flat and very still, "and the memories that aren't really yours."

Barton's jaw goes tight, and Bucky can see the defensive wall come up around him. The hot denials and anger just waiting to lash out. The way the cracks in the man grow wider and more brittle when confronted head on. He doesn't wait for Barton to say anything though, "The therapists don't know shit, right? They've never had to do something they didn't want to do, and been made to think they wanted it that way. How the hell can they know what they're talking about anyway?"

Bucky's still seeing a guy on SHIELD's dime. A man named Greg who doesn't understand at all, but is actually pretty damn good at putting it into perspective for Bucky to understand himself. At making him think about things differently enough that it keeps him from toppling over into the yawning chasm that had threatened to eat him alive when he first started breaking free of his programming.

"Sometimes, all people really need is someone to listen," the man had once said, and Bucky thinks that's pretty damn good advice as realization seems to wash over Barton.

"Mind control sucks," Barton says eventually. His words dull as he turns away, the anger deflating in the face of someone who understands because they've been there.

"Yup," Bucky lets the p in that pop and watches as Barton starts to mess around with his plate. He doesn't push or prod for more from the man, because Barton's not in a place to stand that. Not yet at least.

They don't really talk for the remainder of the meal that Bucky pays for. Comments about the stringiness of the obnoxiously yellow cheese and an agreement that Stark's a nosy son of a bitch don't really count as conversation because they're just facts being sated.

It's still a pretty productive lunch all things considered.

"It's not fair for you to ask advice," Barton says after Bucky barely stops himself from filling the unidentified shadow lurking on his couch with holes early one morning.

Bucky lets his door shut behind him and tosses his sweated through shirt onto the coffee table along with the gun he'd pulled. Steve doesn't like that Bucky has to have the weapon with him on their morning runs, but has stopped asking him to leave it and the glove he uses on his left hand behind.

"Why's that?" Bucky asks as he heads into the kitchen for a drink. The refrigerator feels damn good on his chest and he stands there for a bit just enjoying it.

"Because you don't need it," Barton answers from the couch, not moving even when Bucky comes back out. He's tired, and hasn't even bothered with the concealer like he usually does. "You're dealing just fine. A hell of a lot better than I am."

Greg would jump in then and ask if Clint wanted to talk about it. Ask why he thought he wasn't dealing with his issues. Bucky sits in the plush chair that's close to the couch, but isn't quite facing it and sucks down the red colored drink he picked up at a corner store last week and waits.

"I know I didn't do it," Barton says eventually with no emotion at all in his voice or his face. He's detached. Observing it from a distance that's too close to being what mind controlled feels like. It's another bad place to be in, but it's also good for getting it all out. For examining the tangled matter and ripping it right out into the open. "I know that, but it feels like I did. Like it was all my choice. I wanted to do it, I wanted to do everything he told me to do. I wasn't different at all, I was still me while doing it all. The only change was in my loyalties."

Winter Soldier never remembered his birth, never knew that he used to be James Barnes and fought for a different country. The one that was most often considered his enemy. It's a small mercy that has let Bucky deal a little with the guilt and bitterness. One that wasn't a mercy so much as a way to keep him more firmly under control, because the long run has shown that those memories are what freed him.

God or not, Bucky doubts Loki would have been able to keep up that unquestioning loyalty without getting rid of those memories.

"I was going to kill Nat," Barton continues. "I had a knife to her throat and I was going to slit it open."

"She didn't let you," Bucky speaks up, because that is rather obvious to him.

"I saved her once. When she was on my kill list, I had her in the crosshairs, and had my finger on the trigger," emotion is starting to sink into Barton's voice. Faint lines of distress creeping around his mouth and eyes. "I refused orders to save her. Risked my own damn neck to bring her in alive, and I was just going to kill her. No regrets."

"Do you dream about that?" Bucky asks, and takes the silence as assent. "When's the last time you two sparred?" A month before Loki according to Natasha, and Bucky doesn't wait for Barton to come up with an answer. Just gives him enough time to think about it. "Sounds like you should do that again. Get yourself a harsh lesson in how much better she is than you at kicking ass."

There's not reaction to the minor barb, and Bucky gets up to go take a shower. Barton's gone when he comes back out, but he doesn't mind it so much when Jarvis unexpectedly informs him that Natasha and Barton are in the gym later that night.

Barton does, for the most part, deal with it on his own. He drops in on Bucky from time to time though. Brief visits where the words dragged out of his throat sound like they have a blood price. There and gone again contact like Barton's a cat, circling and prodding at Bucky to see if he's safe. Sharing bits and pieces one by one as Bucky tries out a few different things he learned from Greg. Some of them work, and some of them don't.

Barton becomes Clint the day Bucky pins him to the floor with his metal arm when the man manages to creep halfway into his room before Bucky wakes up. Clint laughs for an hour straight and refuses to let up on how he almost got the drop on Bucky. Bucky responds by carefully replacing all his coffee grounds with the decaffeinated kind and doesn't tell him about it for a week straight.

It gives Bucky a case of the warm and fuzzies to know he's helping Clint. That the man isn't as cracked as he used to be, and that he isn't headed straight for a mental breakdown of epic proportions. That Bucky can push now at Clint's lines and get a push back instead of a widening crack.

"We have a gym," Steve remarks from the doorway to the kitchen. Amused even though he's not smiling as Clint tries to garrote Bucky with a tea towel. "It won't be on the press tour so you two can do what you want there and not end up plastered on the front page of the news."

"Coffee blasphemers don't get nice rooms to die in," Clint grunts as Bucky throws and elbow back and gets a good dig into his gut.

"Caffeine's bad for your aim," Bucky spins and blocks a punch with his arm. His left arm. Grinning when Clint yelps and skips back cradling the now bruised appendage. "Can't have our 'best marksman in the world' losing his title from shaky hands."

Clint's shout is outraged and his face murderous as he jumps for Bucky's throat again, but he's also laughing, "I'll show you shaky fucking-"

Hands grab both Bucky and Clint by the back of their shirts, and Bucky grunts as the collar cuts into his neck a bit. Clint makes a really hilarious squawk that Bucky's going to be bringing up for the rest of eternity.

"The gym," Steve says with a sigh as he hauls them both out of the kitchen and towards the elevator. Giving them the choice of following or losing their shirts and possible a good chunk of skin. "Before the reporters get here."

Clint squirms around enough to kick out behind Steve and manages to clip Bucky's thigh before they're shoved into the elevator. The door closes too slowly to hide the way Steve's mouth starts curling up into a grin.

"Asshole," Clint grumbles as he untwists his shirt from around his neck.

"Jackass," Bucky says with a grin as he hits the button for the range floor. "Wanna shoot?"

"You that hungry to eat your words? Hell, yes, I wanna shoot."

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and keeps an eye on Clint in the corner of the elevator. Watching for the one last hit that he knows is going to come for the outrage of taking Clint's coffee away from him.

"You and Clint are getting along well," Steve says one day while Bucky's cleaning his guns on his coffee table. Steve's set up on the couch. Comfortably lounging and frowning slightly at a sketchpad. Bucky's been zoning out a little to the scratch of pencil on paper.

"Yeah?" Bucky prods when Steve doesn't follow the observation up with a question or anything more.

Steve shrugs and glances over at him briefly. The very picture of casual disregard that is completely faked and looks even more ridiculous now than it ever did when he was skinny guy who breathed funny. "Nothing. Just," Steve shrugs again and carefully keeps his eyes on the pad.

Steve's transformation beefed him up. Made him shoot up several inches and packed him with pounds upon pounds of muscle. Between that and the way Bucky has to keep conscious of his left arm, it's awkward as hell getting him into a headlock like he used to do all the time but he manages it. "Nothing my ass! Fess up, Steve."

He puts up a show of fighting for all of three seconds before going limp with a chuckle. Gamely taking it when Bucky carefully ruffles his hair into the messy nest Steve never used to seem to notice a problem with.

"I don't know, Buck," Bucky lets Steve squirm out of the hold reluctantly. "Just, I haven't seen you like this in a while," and they're both ignoring how long that 'a while' was. "Not since Louis."

Louis. Bucky blinks at the unvoiced confirmation he'd vaguely suspected, but never really knew before. Louis had been a smart-mouthed man with the ability to laugh at the worst of things and the courage, or maybe it was stupidity, to go after the things he'd wanted. Bucky had been one of those things, and it'd been a grand time for a few months until Louis disappeared one day. Bucky had always thought he'd been discrete about it while it lasted, and Steve had never said anything before so he'd always thought he'd pulled it off.

"Huh," Bucky knocked Steve's hands away as they reach up to fix his hair. "That right?"

"I know it's not my place, Buck, but you just seem," Steve's eyes go distant as he searches for a word or phrase. Something that's new for him, and a habit picked up after a few comments were taken the wrong way in this new time period for him. "Happier. Like you haven't been, even before the war."

"I blame Stark," Bucky shifts back down the couch to get back to his weapon cleaning. Reaching down to scoop the sketch pad up off the floor. There's detailed drawings of the guns on the open page. Stark lines and bare shading giving the objects dimension. "You were never this nosy before, he's got to be rubbing off on you. I don't approve."

"Yes you do," Steve takes the pad back and flips through a few pages before reaching under him to fish the pencil out from the couch. He grins at Bucky, and there's something almost worried in his eyes, but he drops the subject for the rest of the day.

It hadn't been talked about in their time, not in any way that was good at least. People pretended ignorance or would talk themselves up big about beating up some of the fags in back alleys. Sticking with dames had been easier, but Bucky's eyes had always wandered as much to the guys as the gals. He'd rarely acted on it, Louis had been an exception for him, and life had been just fine as far as he was concerned. The Red Room used sex as a tool. It was just another weapon for them and their agents. Winter Soldier had never had any desires that he wasn't told to have, and his experiences were muted in Bucky's mind. Clinical and detached in a way that kept him ready to strike out at any second.

Clint is easy on the eyes, Bucky's noticed, and more than easy when he's acting like himself. Smarting off like most people breath, and throwing back double whatever gets tossed his way. He's an asshole with a strong sense of right and wrong that he doesn't always follow, and a sense of humor that's mean and strange all at once. He is a lot like Louis, in that he's got all the qualities that attracted Bucky in the first place.

It'd be easy to get caught up a bit more in Clint than Bucky already is. Very easy to fall for the man if he really let himself. Bucky entertains the thought for a while. Flirting with the idea of trying for something more, but never really comes to a good enough sounding decision.

"Why am I bait?" Bucky asks as he vaults a low brick wall and skids around a fancy looking gazebo. The wooden structure falls with a crash seconds later as the monster tears right through it in its single minded pursuit of him.

"Because you're the idiot who decided to hit it," Clint's amused and laughing at him over the comms. A little breathless and Bucky can hear the sound of rushing air that means he's on the move too. "It's not like it was actually doing anything until then. Just hovering and being perfectly unmenacing."

"It's got teeth as long as my arm," Bucky veer sharply to the right when screams start up. Shrill and panicked, showing him exactly how bad the evacuation of Central Park has been going as he tries to get away from the civilians. "Sure, it wasn't doing anything before, it was just looking for the best meal around."

"Congratulations," Stark roars in and Bucky has a split second to brace himself before he's being lifted into the air. He twists enough in the air to look back and sees the creature's wings flare out as it tries to gain altitude. Bucky manages a few pot shots that don't seem to faze it at all before he's too far up to get a good aim on it. "You're the juiciest meat on the market right now."

"Watch it," Bucky can hear the faint sound of Clint's bow through the line before the monster roars in pain. Loud and far too close for comfort. "Godzilla there's getting faster. I don't think he likes the fact you stole his dinner, Iron Man."

"You take him then," it's all the warning Bucky gets before Stark stops in mid-air and throws him. "I'll see if I can't give our lizard friend here something else to chew on."

He gets a flash of a roof before he has to tuck and roll. Taking the brunt of the impact on his back as the whine of repulsors firing fills the air behind him. A boot slams into his lower back and Bucky grunts in protest when Clint leans his weight down on him. Several arrows whistling through the air before Bucky can throw the man off and get back to his feet. Clint's smirk is unrepentant as he pulls a few more arrows out and sends them off.

"Can we push it back through the hole it came from yet?" Bucky asks as he changes the clip in his gun, for all the good the thing's done him. Stark's blasts seem to be frustrating it, and it's twisting in the air under them, but only Clint's arrows seem to actually be doing any damage at all.

"We're working on it," Natasha says, voice neutral even through the explosions that come through with her words. "Just keep it distracted."

"Heh," Clint slants his face towards Bucky, one eye still on the fight. "You up for more running, Baity?"

"That was horrible are you even tryi- Whoa!" Stark dodges quickly as a tail lashes through the air fast and deadly. It slams into the building and sends Bucky and Clint to their knees with the shockwave. Bucky's head rocks back as a chunk of stone clips him and he can feel a bit of blood roll down his face.

The repulsors pick back up fast and Stark manages to push the creature off, but Bucky can feel the building they're on shaking in a way that's not good.

"Aw, crap," Clint scrambles to his feet and gropes for one of the arrows he swears by. Technically the arrow is as perfect as it can get, considering it's designed to save Clint's ass when he inevitably falls and no one's around to catch him. It's made with SHIELD's best materials and has been redesigned by Stark and Banner. It's been run through so many tests and simulations that it's got an almost 99% chance of success.

Bucky doesn't trust it at all. "Oh fuck no!" The building groans and lurches under their feet. He can almost feel it crumbling under his feet. "Fuck me."

Bucky gets up and follows Clint as he runs for the closest side. Already filing off a seemingly wild shot before pausing on the edge. Line wrapped firmly around his right arm and head turning back to track him. Bucky doesn't pause. He tackles Clint around the lower back and pushes them both off as the roof gives, grabbing the line just above Clint's hand.

They're weightless for a matter of seconds before they hit the end of the line and it jerks taut with their combined weight. Bucky's close enough he can feel more than hear the way Clint curses as he takes the majority of it on his one arm despite Bucky's grip. Then they're swinging and a wall of glass is coming up almost too fast to react.

It shatters under their weight and Bucky just lets himself roll with it. Skidding across a carpeted floor and slamming up against a desk that rocks with the force of it dumping a heavy mug of pens and a pile of folders on top of him. He catches the leg of it on his ribs and even through the kevlar that hurts like hell. He wastes several seconds trying to relearn how to breath before a pissed off roar from outside reminds him of his priorities.

"Fuck me," Bucky crawls out from under the desk and ignores the wide-eyed look of terror on the office worker whose desk he's recently become acquainted with. "Hawkeye, you owe me dinner for this stunt."

"Sure," Clint's voice is tight with pain and he's crouched down on the floor nearer to the window. Right arm hanging oddly, dislocated. The line still wrapped mostly around it until he tugs it off and goes about trying to pop his own shoulder back. Bucky limps up to him and sets one hand on his good shoulder. Giving a little warning before grabbing his injured arm and twisting as quickly as he can. "Fuck! Grilled cheese sound alright?"

"Better than meatloaf," Bucky agrees as they turn back to the window and the now suspiciously silent air.

They don't go out that night. Mostly because they're all exhausted when two more creatures pop through the portal before they can contain it. Stark nearly gets his leg chewed off, and Hulk manages to save all of them at the last minute by doing what he does best. Picking things up and punching them until they're not a threat anymore. It's all any of them can do after that to get back to the Tower without passing out on the streets. Dinner is the last thing on Bucky's mind when he stretches his aching and bruised body out on his bed.

He regains consciousness late the next day going by the amount of sun coming in the window. He's still pretty bruised, but not in as much pain. He's also not alone going by the smell coming in under his door. Bread and butter and cheese. Bucky rolls off his mattress and grabs for a pair of sweats with a groan. "There better be coffee too."

There is, but he has to dodge a flying spatula to get to it. Clint's not anymore awake than Bucky feels for all that he appears to be competently making a stake of grilled cheese sandwiches without burning anything. He's in a pair of sweats and a tank top that doesn't hide the ugly bruising darkening around his right shoulder.

"Jesus, put some ice on that," Bucky doesn't actually have plates in his place. Too used to taking all his meals in the main kitchen. So they end up piling the food on a never used pan and eating them on the couch.

"Got Icy Hot on it," Clint says after a few seconds. Mouth full of a sludge of coffee and food. "Works just as good."

"It's going to fuck with your aim," the grilled cheese isn't half bad. It looks a hell of a lot better than what Clint usually gets when they go out to their diner.

"Fuck off! You weren't complaining about my aim yesterday," Clint throws another sandwich at him before Bucky can correct him on that fact. "Speaking of yesterday," Clint drawls out with a smirk that Bucky has learned to never trust. It's up there on the list of 'Things That Are Trouble' right under Stark being bored. "Was that a onetime request or you still up for it?"

Bucky doesn't even try to figure out what Clint's asking. He made a lot of requests and outright demands, and figuring out which one the other man's asking about isn't worth the effort right now. "Huh?"

Clint can be every bit as fluid and graceful as Natasha when he wants to be, and it's interesting in more than one way to see him melt across the space between them and insert himself in Bucky's space. One arm on the back of the couch and the other on his bare shoulder as he leans in close. "About fucking you."

Clint's smiling and there's an air about him that assures Bucky that they can laugh this off. That all he has to do is push the other man back and it'll just be another joke between them. Easy as that. There's a small bit though, in Clint's eyes, that is serious. That promises it's not really all that much of a joke if he doesn't want it to be.

Bucky's still on the fence on if any of this is a good idea, is actually pretty sure it might be a horrible one. But-

But.

He deliberately finishes off the bit of gooey crust he has left before answering. "I dunno, be an awfully cheap date if I gave it up for a bit of bread and cheese. What kinda guy do you take me to be, Barton?"

"A prude," Clint loses the joking air and settles right into Bucky's space. Making him very much aware of exactly where they're touching and where they're not. "This isn't our first date or out tenth, do I have to put a ring on you to get some action or what?"

"Or what," Bucky pushes and Clint goes with the move until he's sprawled out on his back. One leg braced down on the floor and making just enough room for Bucky to slide right in so they're nice and close. Clint has to have had more than the single cup of coffee because the bitter taste overwhelms everything else when they kiss. Hard and hungry enough to make Bucky think he might've missed seeing a few things that would've made his deciding moot.

[and we cut for the porn, check profile for link to unedited fic]

Clint wanders the Tower some night when he can't sleep, and Bucky finds him in the main kitchen early in the morning after those nights. Quieter than normal, but not radiating the same fragility he had before. Sometimes they talk about it, but most times they don't.

Sometimes, it's Clint coming into the kitchen to find Bucky still up.

It works. Somehow.