After falling directly back into the MCU trash pit in October, when I finally mustered up enough excitement to watch Civil War, I'm trying my hand at writing a fix-it for Age of Ultron. Things that will not be happening in this include, but are not limited to; Pietro Maximoff as a shock factor, OoC writing(I hope), and weird revelations coming out of left field. Also no Brucenat. If you've ever wanted to read about Bucky adopting a pair of orphans in the middle of a global crisis, this is the fic for you.
If you've been reading my Star Wars fic and are currently mad at me for starting this while not having finished that, I am sorry. I tried, but the superheroes won't let me go. I WILL finish 'I Know', I swear.
APRIL, 2014
Steve's been sleeping in Sam's spare room for just under a week when it happens.
Sam's gone, left after a short morning jog to meet one of his vets for coffee, and Steve's using the break from his friend's well-meant hovering to go by his old apartment and pick up his things, since he's pretty sure he won't be patching up the bullet holes in the wall, scrubbing out the bloodstains, and moving back in. It's not like he was ever attached to the brownstone to begin with. In fact, he reflects as he climbs the stairs to Sam's condo, he's not attached to much of anything. He's got a suitcase with his clothes in it, a couple of sketchbooks, a phone, and a laptop, barely even an armful of things important enough to keep from his home of two years.
There's probably something worrying in that, and it's why he waited for Sam to leave before he ran this particular errand.
It takes him a second to realize he's not alone in the condo, and another to put together that whoever it is, they know how to regulate their breathing so not even Steve's serum-enhanced ears can pick it out. By the time his brain figures out what that probably means, Bucky's already stepped into Steve's line of sight.
"I'm not-." His voice grinds to a halt and his eyes flick around the kitchen, assessing exits and sight lines, Steve thinks. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"I know." says Steve softly. "You saved my life." As he speaks, he lays his things down on Sam's table, keeping his hands as visible as he can. "You want a coffee?"
Bucky blinks at him, brows coming down in confusion, and Steve's heart twists in his chest at the vulnerability in his best friend's face. Abstractedly, he notes that Buck looks smaller in jeans and his grey jacket than he did in tac gear, although that might just be the absence of automatic weapons hanging off him.
"I'm gonna make coffee." says Steve, and he does, the easy, familiar motions like a balm on his mind. Without really thinking about it, he fixes one cup the way Bucky liked it in the '30s, with no cream but at least three sugars. He sets it down on the edge of the kitchen table and sits with his own. After staring at the cup for a moment, Bucky sits opposite him and wraps his hands, both metal and flesh, around the mug.
"You're Steve." says Bucky finally. Then, half a question and half a statement; "I knew you."
Steve nods. "We met in 1923." he offers. "At school, we were in the same class."
"I don't remember." mumbles Buck. "But I knew you, I know that." He takes a deep breath. "I read it, at the museum. But I know it too. My name's-" he cuts off, blue eyes cutting to the wood grain under his elbows.
"James Buchanan Barnes." Steve finishes. "Your Mamma named you after the president, thought you should have a real American name." Bucky looks back up at that, frowning.
"Doesn't sound right." Steve laughs, a short huff of air out of his nose.
"That's 'cause nobody ever actually called you James. Or Jimmy, either." He adds, because the thought jumps to his head and everything's sort of surreal at this point. At that, Bucky's frown gets deeper, an outright scowl, and when he speaks again, the words come right out of 1938 and punch Steve in the gut.
"Sounds like a name for a real piece of shit. Why."
Steve laughs again, but this time it's a little closer to hysterical than he'd like. His brain, it seems, is still catching up with the fact that this is actually happening. "There were two of 'em in our neighborhood, two Jimmys, and they were both real pieces of work. You used to say they were an offense to your good name." He takes a sip of his coffee and sternly tells himself to get it together.
"You-you called me Bucky. On the carrier." The corner of his mouth twitches. "That sounds right." Steve's answering grin is involuntary, and very wide. "Your friend will be back soon." Bucky says then, and Steve can feel the air shift. His grin fades. "I gotta go before then."
"Sam's good people, Buck, he wouldn't-"
"No, it's not that." Bucky interrupts, blue eyes full of conviction. "I can't stay here, Steve. I'd be putting you and him in danger. They're gonna be looking for me, and I can't trust myself around you." He sighs, and the fingers of his left hand drum against the mug, clinking against the ceramic. "My orders are still there, rattling around in my head." he says. "Being around you, it's hard to think sometimes. Point is, I'm dangerous, and I need to figure out how to be less dangerous to you before I can come back."
"You're here now." says Steve, knowing it's pointless. Bucky's always been stubborn, after all.
"Didn't want to just disappear on you."
"Okay," says Steve, "Okay. It's your choice. Just. Will you take my phone number at least? Let me know you're not dead every once in a while, maybe?" Bucky looks at him for a moment, like he's looking for something in Steve's eyes. Eventually, he nods. Steve writes the number down on a scrap of paper from his sketchbook. "The line's secure. If you need anything, I'll help, I swear." Bucky nods again, and reaches across the table to take the paper.
"I trust you. I don't remember why I trust you, but I do. I'll-I'll check in." He gets up, the movement smooth and graceful. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"
Steve stamps down on the memory of a 70-year-old goodbye. "You either."
By the time Sam gets back, both coffee cups are washed, dried, and put away.
"Shit." says Sam, when Steve's stopped talking and started pacing across the living room floor. "You think he'll call?"
Steve shrugs, pausing a moment. "I don't know. I hope so. At least this way I know if he really needs help, he can call me." Sam sits for a moment, thinking. After nearly a minute, he looks straight at Steve.
"You gonna tell Natasha?"
JUNE, 2014
Steve's thought about this for a long time, actually. Pretty much from the day of Nick's 'funeral' on. So by the time he actually finds a place in Vinegar Hill, he's spent hours thinking about it, between going to the VA with Sam and ducking the press. The problem, see, is they know he's in DC, and it's only a matter of time, in this century, before they, both the press hounds and Hydra, figure out he's staying with Sam. And Steve's not about to let his friend deal with all that, no matter how many times Sam says he's happy for it.
But even in the face of all that, it's still strange to be here, staring up at the refurbished old buildings. In the Heights, it might have been a brick façade, but Vinegar Hill is still recognizably Steve's Brooklyn, and the apartment building is brick to the core. He already knows, of course, that both of his old apartments are gone, as is the Barnes family place, long since taken over by the shops and cafés that litter the neighborhood today.
"You ready?" asks Sam, standing beside him because he's the sort of friend who will take on new age Nazis with you and then help you move. "'Cause I'm not entirely sure we're allowed to park the truck here, so we might not have a whole lotta time, you know?" Steve laughs at that and shakes himself.
"Yeah I know, all New York lives in fear of the meter." Steve hasn't brought much, but Sam helps him haul the frame and mattress he's bought upstairs, and they spend the rest of the day at Sam's new place in Harlem, unloading his furniture. Because Sam is apparently also the sort of friend who, when relocating because a 70-year-old Nazi death cult probably knows he's been harboring Captain America, decides they should move to the same city. Steve's not entirely sure what he did to deserve a friend like Sam, but he can't say it's not nice.
"I still feel bad."
Sam rolls his eyes. "I know you do, you're the world's nicest super soldier and all that." Steve glares at him, and Sam's brown eyes go all serious. "I mean it, man. You've never made me do any damn thing I didn't want to do." He grins suddenly. "Besides, Mom's so happy to have me back in the city, she'll probably send you a care package." Steve has to smile at that, so he flings a pair of balled up socks at Sam's head to cover it. He met Mrs. Wilson today when she'd come by with sandwiches at lunchtime, and he thinks Sam's joke is probably only a little bit of an exaggeration.
Once they've got Sam's boxes all inside, they order pizza and watch the Mets play on Steve's laptop. Sam, it turns out, is a basketball fan, but he's a good sport, and he barely laughs at Steve's intermittent yelling about the Dodgers at all. It is, Steve thinks only a little bitterly, by far the best day he's had since 1944. It's after 10 by the time he leaves, Sam promising to convert him to the Knicks come October. He makes his way to Midtown, because, through sheer refusal to shut up, Tony's convinced him to stay at the Tower for a few days, until he buys furniture. Even Steve can't find a way to feel like he's imposing, especially when he finds out Tony's done something as generous as it is absolutely nuts.
"You built us each a-"
"Floor, yeah." finishes Tony, since Steve's apparently not talking fast enough. "I had to rebuild after the whole alien thing anyway, and I figured, hey, I can afford it, right?"
Steve blinks. Thinks about mentioning that, all together, they've interacted with each other for about a week, and they'd gotten along terribly for most of it. In the end, he decides he won't. He's a bit of an asshole to this century's Stark, he knows, but he's pretty sure that observation would cross a line. He does decide, right then and there, that Howard Stark had, in all likelihood, had no business whatsoever having a kid.
"Anyway," says Stark as the elevator doors open, "this is yours, and it's pretty sweet, if I do say so myself. Pepper even stopped me from ordering the American flag wallpaper, you're welcome." Steve rolls his eyes, because it's what's Tony expects. It is nice, actually, lots of exposed brick in the walls and modern furniture in neutral tones. Also bigger than everywhere he's ever lived combined. "JARVIS doesn't watch or listen on the private floors unless you call him by name or the outer security is breached, and there's a kitchen and all here." Steve has enough time to walk through the two bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchenette and set his bag down before Tony's dropping a key into his hand and leading him back towards the elevator. As it shuts and starts to descend, he adds, "Also, still a little offended that you're not gonna live here, despite the very cheap rent offered."
"Tony, as generous as it is, and as much as I appreciate the offer, I can't imagine living in New York and not in Brooklyn. It's just home, you know?" At that, the mocking light leaves Tony's eyes.
"Yeah, I get it. Or, well, no, I don't, but I'm trying to be a team player, so I'll leave it alone. Still, you're welcome whenever. Barton and Natashalie promised to move in once they're back from the dark side of Europe, and Bruce already lives here, so you won't be stuck with just me, I swear."
Steve shakes his head and grins. "Aw, come on, Tony, I'm sure I can think of things worse than spending time around you. Maybe. Given enough time."
Tony claps a hand to his chest, because he's dramatic. "O Captain, my Captain, you wound me!" The elevator doors open on what looks like a common area as he finishes speaking, and he drops his hand in favor of wandering over to where a slim woman who has to be Pepper Potts is pulling takeout boxes out of a paper bag on one of the two massive couches. "Cap, Pepper, Pepper, our National Icon himself."
Pepper hops up from the couch and meets Steve as he comes in. "It's wonderful to meet you, Captain Rogers." she says with a wide smile. Steve is both surprised and comforted by the fact that she's wearing a Stark Industries t shirt, shorts, and no shoes. "I'd apologize for Tony, but you've already met him."
"Nice to meet you too, Ma'am. And please, call me Steve." he says, ducking his head. Tony, unconcerned at Pepper's jab, is looking through the takeout options.
"Sure, Steve," she says easily, "and please, I'm only 'Ma'am' to oily businessmen." Steve nods, follows her into the room itself, and waves at Bruce where he's curled up in a big cream armchair. The scientist waves back, smiling his warm, tired smile.
"Bruce, I found yours." says Tony abruptly, and thrusts a container in his direction, looking back at Steve. "Vegetarian, because he's secretly a rabbit." Bruce rolls his eyes as he leans over for the food.
"Tony, I have caught you eating my leftovers, don't pretend you don't like vegetarian food." Steve snorts, and drops into the other armchair, which is actually big enough for him to sit comfortably in. Absently, he wonders where Tony and Pepper found it, because he definitely wants one for his apartment.
"I'm sure you've already had dinner, Steve, but if you're hungry, I ordered plenty." Pepper gestures at the big paper bag. "I just got these two out of the labs half an hour ago." Bruce looks a little abashed, but Tony just shrugs, passes Pepper a container of her own, and digs out one for himself.
"No, I ate already, but I wouldn't say no to a glass of water." he says, more for something to do with his hands than anything else.
Pepper nods. "Sure! There are glasses behind the bar and a pitcher in the fridge. Make yourself at home." Steve pours his glass and returns to his original seat. The four of them sit and talk companionably as Bruce, Pepper, and Tony eat. Once they've all finished though, Tony asks the question Steve's been dreading since he got here.
"So. Those were some pretty interesting files that came out after DC. Hydra assassin?" Pepper levels a glare at him, but Steve's already opening his mouth. They're a team, after all, and a team trusts one another.
"Yeah. You know about my unit in the war, right?"
"Only heard stories about them every day as a kid. I was always pretty sure my dad liked you guys more than he liked Mom and I." Steve ups his earlier assessment to 'absolutely had no business raising a kid.' "Anyway," continues Tony, before Steve can apologize for Howard Stark, "What about it?"
"Well, Bucky, my Sergeant, he was my best friend, and my first combat mission was rescuing him off a Hydra lab table, along with the rest of my men. I didn't realize at the time, but Hydra was trying to recreate the serum that made me, and they at least partially succeeded with Buck." Bruce has gone very still, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Steve takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "So, uh, when Bucky fell off that train in the Alps, he didn't die."
"Shit." breathes Tony. "The Winter Soldier?" Steve nods, glad not to have to say it out loud.
"They-they experimented on him, replaced the arm he lost in the fall. He's strong, fast, has a healing factor like mine. Pierce sent him after me in DC, but Buck couldn't kill me. Saved my life after the helicarriers went down."
"Yeah, can I just say, really mad about that whole thing. I mean, who helped them design the damn things?" says Tony. "But no, no, their idea of a 'thank you' is to try and kill me. Nazis for you, am I right?"
"And now, he's probably in Europe, working through Hydra's network faster than Fury can find them." says Bruce, and Steve makes a noncommittal noise. Teams trust each other, but he damn well knows Buck's in Europe, unless he's moved in the last two weeks, and the fewer people know that, the better, for everyone involved.
"You planning to go after him?" asks Tony.
"I don't know if it's a good idea. He's okay enough to be going after Hydra, and if he wants to see me, he will." And he is thankful, so thankful, that they don't know him very well. That line would never have worked on Sam or Natasha.
"Well," says Tony, "I can't say any of that's good news, or that I'm totally okay with the assassin bit, but we're here for you. Right, Bruce?"
Bruce nods, slow and deliberate. "Of course. We're a team."
"I can't imagine how you must feel about this, Steve," says Pepper, "but if you need a friend, I'll be here." She takes Tony's hand and squeezes it, and Steve thinks, all of a sudden, that he might be in for more friendship than he'd originally anticipated.
After that, the conversation shifts to other, less charged topics, and Steve mostly just listens to Bruce and Tony argue good-naturedly over science, while Pepper sips at her wine and interjects with her own thoughts every now and then. They've just gotten into the finer points of a project of theirs when Steve's phone vibrates against his thigh. The number is blocked, which means exactly one thing.
"Hey, I'm gonna go upstairs. It's been kind of a long day." The two scientists don't even seem to hear him, but Pepper bids him goodnight. Steve waves, makes his retreat as casually as he can, and answers the phone as he unlocks the door to his apartment. "Hey," he says, feeling his voice drop back into the cadence of home.
"Hey, Stevie." Bucky's rough voice crackles over the phone. "Still alive. How are you?" Steve grins, leaning against the wall of bulletproof glass overlooking the city.
"I'm in Manhattan, Buck. Got the keys to my new place today."
"You're livin' in M-Manhattan like some k-kinda swell?" The stutter had shown up the first time Bucky called, and he gets good and bad days as far as talking goes. Bucky hates it, hates dropping words and getting stuck in the middle of his thoughts, but apparently, it's pretty common with brain injuries.
"Nah," snorts Steve, "just staying at Stark's a few days while I get furniture and all. The apartment's in Brooklyn, down on Bridge. What've you been up to?" Buck refuses point blank to talk about where he is or about how he's very obviously spending most of his time killing Hydra operatives, but he'll tell Steve about the more mundane aspects of being on the run. Assuming, of course, he can string the words together, which is a real 'if.'
"Remembered about summer in Brooklyn." he says, soft and a little shy, like he always is when he mentions his memories, because he's always afraid his brain is making things up. "Sitting on the fire escape after work, listening to records and watching the sun go down while you sketch. Did-did that h-" and dammit, Steve can feel the tension ratchet up, and he wants to bring Arnim Zola back to life so he can kill him himself. Eventually, Bucky sighs into the phone, a rush of static in Steve's ear and says, with feeling, "Fuck a goddamn duck. Sorry, it's not shapin' up to be a great day for talking."
"'S'okay, I knew what you meant." says Steve, making sure none of his clenched fist makes it into his tone. "Yeah, we used to do that a lot in the summer. It was always too damn hot to sit inside." He grins, remembering. "You used to stick your cold beer bottles under my shirt, too. Nearly fell off the top of the fire escape a coupla times, trying to hit you for it." Bucky doesn't really laugh, but there's another rush of static like he's snorted, and Steve'll take what he can get.
"Well, good," he says. "I'd hate to think I dealt with a three-hour migraine to get more of my brain's bullshit." Which is a thing that happens. Because of course it is. "And-" he pauses again, gathering the words. "The girls. They're my-sisters? Or cousins? Bex and L-L-" There's another pause, long enough that Steve thinks Bucky's just going to hang up. Eventually, though, he takes a deep breath and asks, voice tight, "What's the name?"
"Lucy. Your younger sisters."
Grudging, "Thanks. Lucy. They begged us to walk 'em down to P-P-Prospect Park every day."
Steve smiles again at the memory of Bucky's sisters, their matching dark hair in braids, Lucy a miniature version of Bex, begging with her big brown eyes, "Bucky, please, it's so nice out-"
"Yeah, your Mamma wouldn't let them walk by themselves until Bex turned 14." He chuckles. "Lucy was a manipulative little thing, she knew damn well no one could resist her puppy-eyes."
"I-I remember," Bucky's voice is hushed, and Steve's heart breaks for him. "My sisters. Have you-are they a-" his voice cracks and drops out on the last syllable.
"Lucy is," says Steve, forcing his voice steady. "She lives in Chicago with her daughter and a bunch of grandkids. I, uh, actually saw her, summer before last." Steve had visited after the Battle of New York, met Bucky's nieces and nephew and spent an evening telling edited Howling Commando stories to the kids. Had spent the next morning with Lucy, drinking tea and crying at her kitchen table.
"Jesus," murmurs Bucky. "I don't know what answer I actually w-wanted." Another sharp exhale into the phone. "How fucked-up is that, huh?" Steve opens his mouth to say-something, something reassuring, but Bucky beats him to it. "But sh-she's happy? G-g-got a good l-life and all?"
"Yeah, Buck. She was married 60 years, has two daughters, Molly and Emma, and a son named George." One of her granddaughters is named Jamie, but Steve doesn't mention that.
"Good, that's-that's good." On the other end of the line, then, there's a sharp, insistent beeping noise. "Shit," snaps Bucky. "I gotta go. I'll call again when I can, okay?" On Bucky's end there's a sound that's almost definitely a gun being rapidly reassembled, and Steve tamps down on the worry that creeps into his heart. Bucky is perhaps the most dangerous person on the face of the earth, he can take care of himself.
"Sure, Buck. I'll have plenty of shopping to complain about next time."
"Pick up a s-sense of style while you're at it, Old Man." And the line goes dead before Steve can make a comeback. He glares at the phone.
"Asshole."
Yeah. He's thought about it a lot, and New York is a good decision.
A/N: So yeah. Join me on a journey through the trash pit. I swear it's not gonna be this dialogue-and-feelings heavy all the time. Also please leave reviews. Reviews fuel my soul and muse.