Bucky Barnes was a household name, a hero straight out of the history books, a vintage children's toy, a limited edition release collectors card (and, as it later turned out, the motherfucking Winter Soldier). There wasn't a child alive in America who didn't know the story and sacrifice of James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky Barnes was also quite clear: only Steven Grant "That Star Spangled Ass" Rogers got to call him that.
...No, really. Peter was not making this shit up. It was right there on the guy's twitter handle:
_ Don'tCallMeBucky
Only Steven Grant "That Star Spangled Ass" Rogers gets to call me that
The account appeared to the world at large about 24 hours before the man himself, his full, signed confession in strings of 144 characters, selfies at each major city or landmark near the sites of destruction with links to the news reports...or, you know, leaked classified documents. Some the Widow's doing, and some his very own handiwork.
James Barnes had essentially cut out the middle man, jumped ahead of the press, and gone straight to his judge, jury, and executioner. The dude was a war hero, political prisoner, HYDRA Assassin with multiple kill counts on every continent. As it stood, fucking Sealand was his best bet for a fair trial.
[Stark's idea, of course...and because it was Stark's idea, it started off as a joke and quickly became a reality. Iron Man's first move after procuring the place was proclaiming James Barnes the nation's sole diplomat and himself President and Dictator for Life.]
[Peter would never tire of fastidious Pepper Potts being introduced as Her Majesty the CEO and President of Stark Enterprises. Deez Nuts '16 had nothing on Pepper's smug-yet-oh-so- professional-and-refined poise.]
"I mean, really," Barnes drawled lazily into the camera, one eyebrow raised, blue eyes and half- smirk set to stun. "Was the Winter Soldier ever going to be tried anywhere else but the court of public opinion?"
The dude was young, hot, a real-life badass action hero with a cynical streak a mile wide and a vulnerable side he played just right to the camera. Add that to the hair and the tragic woobie backstory and the world never knew what hit them. The Internet existed, Peter was sure, because the Universe knew one day James Buchanan Barnes would come into Existence and require Worship.
James Barnes was the GOD of Tumblr.
And Twitter.
And YouTube.
[Because, and Peter shat you not, in the words of Barnes himself, "Fuck facebook."]
James Buchanan Barnes had, it was conceded, officially won the internet. After rising from the dead, blowing up half of DC, rampaging across the world and either a) assassinating the shit out of HYDRA or b) maiming the fuck out of HYDRA on camera until they divulged state secrets to the world then uploading them to fucking YouTube Snowden style or c) scaring the ever-living shit out HYDRA until they turned themselves in because Dear fucking Lord, life in Gitmo was a hundred billion times better than being on the receiving end of a guy your organization had tortured and brain washed over the last seventy years, The Winter Soldier had finally come home to roost.
...literally. The dude strode up to the Avengers Tower in broadfucking daylight, made out with Captain America with all the gusto and finesse of a porn star under the collective watchful eyes and guns of Stark's private security, the remnants of SHIELD, the Avengers, and the US Government before disappearing up the lobby steps, carrying Steven Grant Rogers bridal style, lips still locked in place.
And that, Peter learned on Tumblr and then again via history class the next week, was how Captain America and Not-Bucky Barnes came out of the closet after 70 plus years of speculation. They watched the news clip of two 90 year-old men sucking face, and Mrs. Spinoza had sighed, shrugged, and muttered something suspiciously like 'I give up', and tossed their textbook unceremoniously in the trash.
But unlike Cap's righteous fury and boner for liberty and justice for all, his poised yet still passionate responses of 'no comment' and reclaiming conversations and questions about his sexuality by reframing them into sermons about equality, representation, the appalling state of sexual education in America, media exploitation, and the right to privacy, James fucking Barnes would all out destroy you.
James didn't do official interviews, of course (Peter had tried and tried and tried, for his school paper column, his personal blog, and even by abusing his press pass with The Daily Bugle). Even the unflappable Pepper-I've-dealt-with-Tony-Stark-how-bad-could-it-be Potts refused to put him in front of the press. The guy was a walking PR disaster. So no, James Barnes did what any sick fuck with 70 years of assassin training under house arrest would do: he took to taking down Steve's bullies on the internet.
You question Cap's sexual orientation? James Barnes would have a list of your own sexual indiscretions posted within 24 hours, complete with links of your most watched porn.
You took (and published) paparazzi photos of Steve? James Barnes would dox you.
You tried to take and publish sexually explicit photos of Steve? James Barnes would hack you, post your dick pics all over your social media.
You troll Steve or make some sex-pun user name or fake official site? James Barnes would personally call up your mom and send her the link.
Call Steve Rogers a fag? James Barnes would email it to your partner. Your employer. Post it on your social media, get you fired. You'd never be hired, never find a date again. James fucking Barnes would erase you.
The Avengers had a press conference after one of Barnes' "victims" committed suicide, stating the loss of his job, inability to get hired, the loss of fiance, child, and family support as well as friends left him with no option but to kill himself due to Barnes' bullying.
"Good," James grunted, before even Steve Rogers could stop him.
Later, after the ensuing fiasco, the Winter Soldier donned his old regalia and had a brief q and a, supervised by a very, very frowning Pepper Potts and a sterner-than-usual—faced Maria Hill. "Let me clarify: when I said 'good', I was being insensitive. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad that bastard is dead. I regret he was such a selfish asshole that he killed himself in the subway and subjected other people to that sort of trauma. What a dick."
Peter Parker was in love.
...and so, it turned out, was Steven Grant "That Star Spangled Ass" Rogers. No, really. The guy's Instagram was nothing but pictures of cuddling, kissing, soft sweaters, and the motherfucking Winter Soldier's most recent cooking disasters.
Complete with recipes. And a bit of alien-punching on the side.
Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were memes. Pop culture icons. YouTube stars. Instafamous. They made the term 'Instahusband' look cool.
...not to mention made #socialjusticewarrior as badass as it had always sounded. It was all so adorable, really, it was enough to make Peter puke.
But it was perfect, really, wasn't it? Finally, fucking finally, they all got to see what happily ever after looked like.
And if it happened to look suspiciously like (consensually taken and published photos of) Steven Grant Roger's Star Spangled Ass in all its glory...well. Peter Parker, for one, wasn't complaining.
