AN: The prompt was: Ghost ducks vs Winter Soldier

Drabble 12-Ghost Ducks?

It all started out with coffee.

Bucky, like most of the other Avengers, lived off coffee and takeout. It was one of the simple pleasures in life, and like cheese, it got better with age. Especially now that they had coffee creamer and Starbucks. In the thirties it was black and bitter and the first time he tried it he wanted to spit it out. This stuff, however, was heaven in a Styrofoam cup.

The whole heaven thing stopped when he walked out of the subway station and into a flock of green ducks.

He didn't like ducks, but he didn't hate then either. As long as they minded their own business they wouldn't get shot. But these ones… well, lets just say he was ready to make an exception. Because these weren't your average green ducks. All of them were just… glowing green with beady red eyes that vaguely reminded him of the little squirt's nemesis, Plasmius. How Danny got a Twilight wannabe to hate him so much, well, that was still a bit of a mystery.

People who walked past didn't pay much attention, oddly enough. Just avoided them while they talked on the phone or tweeted about their new orange overlord.

"Come on," Bucky said, walking towards the flock of ducks. "Shoo! Go on, get outta here," his Brooklyn accent was unmistakable as he waved his arms at the waterfowl.

At that moment he knew he fucked up.

All of them seemed to share a brain as they flew clumsily toward him, latching their bills onto different parts of his body. They got his hand, two were on either leg, and their was one hanging from his metal arm, trying to get a better grip through the clothing.

If a little girl hadn't made eye contact with him when he dropped his coffee all over himself he would have started screaming bloody murder. There goes his little slice of heaven.

Every tine he pulled one off they would either turn intangible and his hand would go right through them or they would just fly back onto him. After almost ten minutes if this he gave up trying, and sulked his way down the sidewalk to the Tower, which was, of course, seven blocks away.

This is just like the time with the ghost hot dogs, Bucky thought bitterly.

—-

45 painstaking minutes later he walked through the front doors of the tower, ignoring the stares of Stark's staff, and brushing off Happy Hogan as he pushed his way into an elevator. It stopped twice on the way up, and both times the people who had needed on said they would catch the next one. It's okay though, he didn't want to talk to people anyway.

By the time he made it to the living room he was sure, so sure, that he was gonna make Clint more dead than their resident ghost boy. Because as soon as he walked through those nice, pristine, expensive doors, Clint was all over him like the ducks attached to his legs and arms.

He was cooing at them, acting as if they were so fucking innocent with their death grips and hatred of him for no fucking reason.

Barton the Dog Whisperer though could apparently talk to more than just dogs because with just a little bit of persuasion they had all come and followed him (and some bread he pulled out of nowhere) and curled up on the floor next to him, literally eating out of his hand.

"Are you fucking serious right now?' Bucky raised his voice in frustration, blowing some loose strands of hair out of his face.

Barton just shrugged and continued feeding them, and Bucky could swear one of them was laughing at him. Oh, if they weren't already dead…

—–

When Danny got home the last thing he expected to find was those loose ghost ducks curled up in Clint's side sleeping, while he was also sleeping, and a moody Bucky glaring at them from across the room tending to some nasty looking red marks on his legs. He glared at Danny and shook his head before going back to his legs without a word. Danny just shrugged and pulled out his thermos.

"So, what did I miss?"