Hello all, hope you're having a good weekend! Here's another heaping dose of fluff and cuteness! Enjoy! :D


"Alright, punk, time for bed," James says when he catches Steve yawning for the fourth time in five minutes.

"Not sleepy," Steve mumbles back tiredly, accentuating the protest with another huge yawn. The fact that he's literally swaying to avoid toppling over is dead giveaway as well. Stubborn to the very end.

James smirks a bit and stands slowly. "Sure you're not," he says, walking over and scooping Steve up off the floor with his metal arm. The crayons he'd been coloring with scatter across the floor and James makes a mental note to pick them up later before they get ground into the carpet. Infinitely better than the paint but still a pain in the ass to get out of carpet fibers.

"You'd make a much better argument if you weren't about to fall asleep sitting up," James tell him as he walks down the hall toward the bedroom. Steve looks like he wants to pout but he just yawns instead. James smiles a little. "My point exactly."

The bed looks absolutely enormous for Steve's much tinier body and mattress itself seems to dwarf him entirely. This was a rather unforeseen circumstance and James spends a good five minutes rearranging the pillows and blankets to make something of a barrier along the edges of the mattress to prevent Steve from tumbling out of the bed in the middle of the night. Satisfied with his work, he gently deposits the tiny Captain into the middle of the bed and proceeds to further bracket his body with pillows.

"I drew a picture," Steve tells him as the pile of pillows continues to grow taller.

"Oh yeah?" James asks absently, tucking the sheets in tightly and keep the pillows in place. "Of what?"

"You," Steve says, holding up the prized, crumpled drawing for him to see. It's a mess of colors and scribbly lines but there is clearly a humanoid shape in the center of the page with long hair and one grey arm. Even worse, the figure is sporting a big, goofy grin that spreads all the way across his face. James stares at the portrait in a combination of shock and horror.

"Like it?" Steve asks with a big smile all his own.

"Uh...yeah, kid," James says, taking the offered picture carefully. "It's...great?"

Steve grins again and snuggles into the pillow fort James had built around him, content with the assassin's acceptance of his gift. James continues to stare at the drawing for a few more seconds, unsure whether he should be flattered or appalled. It's undeniably endearing, crudely drawn and uncoordinated but obviously Steve had spent a good amount of time on it and was proud of the final result. He finally gives in with a small shrug and tuck the drawing into his pocket.

Steve appears completely oblivious to all of this and watches him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. "Will you tell me a story?" he asks after a second and James freezes momentarily.

"A story?" he repeats, halfway between surprised confusion and flat out refusal.

"Mhmm," Steve confirms, nodding like a tiny bobble head.

"Uh," James drawls, stalling for time to come up with an appropriate excuse. Finding next to nothing, he sighs and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "Listen kid, I'm not exactly the story telling type. All the stories I know don't really have the happy endings everyone is so fond of."

"Please?" Steve presses and dammit all if he doesn't use those puppy eyes again. What's even worse is that he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. Jerk.

"Alright, alright, fine," he says with a sigh, waving his hands like it will somehow banish the effect of Steve's imploring expression. "Enough with the puppy eyes. Seriously, those things should be added to the Geneva Convention as a form of cruel and unusual punishment."

He sighs heavily and sits down on the edges of the bed. "What kind of story do you want?"

Steve thinks for a second, sinking further into the pile of pillows that have taken up the bed. "A good one," he says finally and that seems to answer all the questions in his book.

"A good one, huh?" James continues, tucking the blankets around Steve's tiny, frail frame. He seems to be wading in the seas of blankets and pillows, his small form dwarfed by all the bedding.

"Yeah," Steve says with a sleepy grin and a single nod.

"Fair enough," James says with a shrug, smoothing the edge of the comforter briefly. He's stalling for time, he knows he is, but in all honesty he doesn't know any bedtime stories. Cryostasis be damned, he doesn't even remember bedtime stories from his childhood. His mother certainly never told him any before bed and the very few he had heard of (Goldielocks, Little Red Riding Hood, something about some chick with an apple) were little more than scattered snippets that he wasn't sure how to piece together. He sighs, realizing he's stuck, and just starts with whatever is on the top of his head.

"Once upon a time there was a dark, scary monster," he begins, rambling off a basic, skeletal storyline as he goes. "This monster was mean and angry and everyone was afraid of him but that was okay because the monster didn't really like people very much to begin with and it suited him just fine." And suddenly the bedtime story had become a personal anecdote...seriously, how is this his life?

He tugs the comforter up a little higher over Steve's skinny shoulders and continues. "So the monster stayed hidden away in a cold, frozen castle for a long time, only coming out to terrorize the people when some sadistic dick bag decided he needed to use the monster for his own purposes."

"What's a-" Steve starts and James cuts him off before he can finish because Jesus, hearing Captain America say the words "dick" and "bag" in the same sentence was enough make Uncle Sam roll in his grave, let alone a tiny, toddler version of the good Captain.

"Nevermind," he says quickly, continuing on with the story. "So anyway, one day the monster was confronted by a brave knight. This knight was strong and courageous and just a little too stupid for his own good," James mumbles and he rolls his eyes when Steve grins at him.

"Quit smiling like that. That's nothing to smile about. The knight is kind of an idiot." Steve continues to grin and James is left at a loss.

"So this brave, stupid knight confronts the monster and tells him he doesn't have to be mean and scary. He tells the monster he'll be his friend and that the monster doesn't have to live in his cold, frozen castle anymore. The monster retaliates by immediately trying to eat the knight."

Rather than being upset by the change in the story, Steve is looking up at him expectantly, his expression painfully optimistic. James feels an uncomfortable little twist in his stomach and continues. "So the monster tries to eat the knight a few times and nearly gets him killed on more than one occasion but the knight just doesn't know when to quit and sticks around like a stubborn jerk."

James pauses, reaching out to very carefully push Steve's too long hair away from his eyes. The tiny Captain is nearly asleep, blinking slowly and fighting the alluring pull of slumber.

"Well the monster, having never met someone who wasn't afraid of him, was kind of impressed by the knight's bravery. Actually, he was more baffled by his stupidity but bravery sounds better in the long run. Anyway, the monster decided that he didn't want to eat the knight anymore and decided he would rather protect him and keep him safe instead."

"Then what?" Steve asks quietly, his voice soft and fading as he slides closer to sleep.

"Then the monster kept his promise and made it his new mission to protect the brave knight and keep him safe. The monster had made a friend and he was going to make sure nothing would ever happen to the knight as long as he was around."

He shrugs as the story he created comes to an end. "And they lived happily ever after. At least until the knight decided to do something stupid again and the monster seriously started considering locking him away in a plastic bubble for the rest of his life."

Steve smiles sleepily up at him. "I like the monster," he says simply and for some reason that means everything.

James smiles and smoothes his hair back once again with gentle fingers. "I know you do, kid." He reaches down on the floor and grabs that stupid Bucky Bear that Clint had made certain they take home with them. Damn him.

He tucks the bear into the pile of pillows and blankets and Steve hugs it close. "Now get some sleep, okay?" he says, leaving the lamp beside the bed on but tilting the shade away so it dims the light. "I'll be down the hall if you need me."

Steve doesn't even have the energy to protest and simply hugs the bear closer, burying his face in the soft fur. His eyes slide closed and he's asleep within seconds, leaving his unofficial guardian awake and alone in the room.

James watches him for a few seconds longer before he finally makes the move to get off the bed. He pulls the blankets up a bit higher, tucking them around Steve so he stays warm. Satisfied, he turns and walks toward the bedroom door, closing it halfway behind him as Steve sleeps on.

OOOOO

James comes awake with a jerk. He's gotten used to going from complete unconsciousness to instantly alert over the past few decades but it doesn't mean he enjoys the experience. He's wide awake now though, eyes open and staring up at the darkened ceiling above him. There's someone in the room with him, standing right beside the bed and hovering. He turns his head to see Steve standing hesitantly by the side of the bed. He lets out a long, heavy sigh, muscles still tense and rigid from his abrupt return to consciousness.

"Jesus, kid...give a guy a little warning next time, huh?" he mutters, passing his metal hand over his face wearily. When Steve still doesn't move, he finally turns back to look at him. "What's wrong, Stevie? You okay?"

"I had a bad dream," Steve tells him quietly, his voice shaky and fragile in the darkness. James can't stand that, not for a second, and he turns on the light. That's almost worse.

Steve is hovering by his bedside, teddy bear tucked under one arm and tiny fingers tangled in the rumpled sheets on the bed. His hair is sticking up at all angles, wild and eschew, and there's the barest hint of frightened tears in his wide blue eyes. He looks little and lost and James feels all his earlier snappiness fade away in an instant.

"A bad dream, huh?" he asks, pulling himself into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "What kind of bad dream?"

"There was a man under the bed," Steve tells him and James momentarily freezes. It wasn't outside the realms of possibility that it hadn't been a nightmare but, in fact, a reality. If someone found out about Steve's pint-sized predicament, it would be all to easy to slip in in the middle of the night and snatch him away.

James is on his feet then, maneuvering carefully so he's placing himself between Steve and the door. He doesn't want to frighten him but he doesn't want him to be too close to the open door either. He doesn't have any weapons in the apartment (thanks toddler-proofing) but he doesn't necessarily need them to take someone down. Especially if that someone is a threat to Steve.

"What did the man look like, Stevie?" James asks, edging toward the door and glancing down the hall toward the other bedroom. There's no sign of movement and he doesn't hear anything but his senses stay on high alert.

"He had a red face," comes Steve's tiny reply and he clings to the bear a little tighter like it will magically chase away all the bad dreams.

A red face? James frowns and it takes a second for the pieces to click together. He vaguely remembers a man with a red face from a lifetime ago, his flesh the color of blood, silhouette shrouded in flames. He remembers reading the files about Steve's final mission before the ice, how he defeated Red Skull and thwarted his plan at the cost of his own life. It seems that even seventy years down the line, he was still prominent enough in Steve's mind to give him nightmares.

James feels his shoulders relax just slightly and he lets out a slow breath. "Red Skull? Red Skull was hiding under your bed?"

Steve nods emphatically at the question. James nearly laughs in relief and shakes his head. "Don't worry, pal. I don't think Red Skull is going to be bothering anyone anymore."

When Steve still remains rooted to the floor, he shrugs in defeat. "Do you want me to go check for homicidal Nazis under your bed?"

There's another swift nod and James gives in to the world destroying puppy eyes which are rapidly becoming Steve's greatest weapon. "Okay, let's go check it out," he says, allowing Steve to grasp his flesh hand with his tiny fingers and follow him down the hall.

The bed is still partially made from where he'd tucked Steve in earlier but there was a small pathway leading out of the sheets toward the edge of the bed where the tiny Captain had crawled out. The mountains of pillows and piles of blankets were still there though, a true testament to the quilted fortress James had built around him.

Steve hangs back by the door when James steps into the room, still clutching the bear tightly. James gives him a reassuring smile and begins the process of checking the room for any signs of nightmare fuel A.K.A Red Skull. Despite the fact that he's relatively certain Steve just had a nightmare, he takes every precaution necessary to make sure Steve is safe. He can't afford not to. At the slightest sign of trouble, he's more than ready to toss Steve over one shoulder and bolt out of the apartment.

He checks beneath the bed, in the closet, behind the door, and basically every other dark corner of the room a 1940s sociopath could hide in. Coming up with nothing (to his great relief) he turns back to Steve who still hasn't moved from the doorway. "There," he says, indicating the room with a wide sweep of his metal arm. "See? Nothing here. It was just a bad dream, Stevie."

He walks over the bed and pulls the sheets and blankets back into place. Once the bed is somewhat remade, he looks back over his shoulder at Steve. "Come on, punk, back to bed. It's late." He's actually not sure what time it is but he knows it's way too late (or early depending on the technicality) for Steve to be up and awake.

Steve doesn't move, still hovering by the door frame and looking into the room like it's housing his worst fears. James resists the urge to sigh. "Stevie, come on. You're safe, I promise. There's no one here but you and me."

Steve still doesn't move, his wide blue eyes sliding just the tiniest bit to the side to glance back down the hallway toward the assassin's room. James instantly understands the unspoken question and shakes his head. "Oh no. No, no, no. You're not sleeping with me, kiddo. That's three kinds of stupid and ten kinds of crazy. Trust me, you're much safer in here."

Steve is undeterred, still absolutely convinced that sleeping in the same bed as a reformed murderer was preferable to being left alone in a room with the memories of a red faced boogeyman.

James shakes his head, determined to be just as stubborn. "Steve, no. There is nothing wrong with your room or this bed, two things I cannot speak for down the hall. Trust me kid, this is the safer option."

There's brief moment of silence, a battle of wills and determination. Steve still hasn't moved and James is determined not to be swayed in his decision. But then it happen, dammit all, it happens. The tears form in Steve's eyes and his thin shoulders tremble just the tiniest bit. He's scared, terrified even, at the very thought of being left in this room alone again and James feels every last ounce of his resolve crumble.

"Fine. Fine!" he halfway shouts at the ceiling, frustration and fatigue causing his voice to carry louder than he means to. "One night. That's it. One night, understand?"

Steve nods and in an instant is already halfway back down the hall toward the other bedroom, teddy bear in tow. James lets out a long, heaving sigh and follows along behind him, wondering where exactly he'd gone wrong in his life to be toppled by a tiny toddler version of his best friend.

Steve is already back in the bedroom by the time he rounds the corner, hovering by the edge of the bed and waiting for the James to get there. The assassin accepts his fate and closes the door, flipping the lock absently. "Alright punk, I'm warning you right now: you hog the blankets like you used to do when we were kids and I'm kicking you out. Got it?"

The tiny captain nods in agreement and climbs up into the bed, still clutching the bear tightly. He scoots to the middle of the bed and waits patiently until James sinks onto the mattress beside him, flicking of the light as he settles back onto the bed. James barely has time to lay down before Steve latches onto him like a tiny, bony leach, curling against his side and clinging tightly.

The assassin huffs out something close to a resigned laugh and curls his flesh arm around Steve's thin shoulders, keeping him close. The stupid bear is digging into his ribs and the bed has suddenly become half the size it was before but Steve is relaxing against him and slipping off into a deep, restful sleep and James feels he really can't be angry about it anymore.

He settles back against the mattress, keeps Steve tucking tightly against his side, and closes his eyes.


Thanks for reading guys! :D