"I'm not gonna ask you boys again. Get the hell off my property."
The three Avengers stared in surprise at the hostile man, before Sam started guffawing loudly.
"I'm surprised an old man like you can actually hold that thing!" he wiped a tear from his eye. Before Steve or Bucky could react accordingly (like slapping their friend upside the head), the stranger lowered his gun.
"Sammy Wilson? Is that you?" the man peered at the Avenger. "Well, I'll be damned. The prodigal son returns!" The stranger moved toward Sam and engulfed him in a bear hug.
"Mr. Fell, you have no idea how good it is to see you. I'll explain later, but right now my teammate is hurt real bad, and we can't go to any hospitals," Sam gestured to the limp body cradled in Steve's arms. Mr. Fell, Bucky presumed, quirked an eyebrow and gave Sam a fond but exasperated look.
"Cate's not here right now, but Marge'll try to patch your friend up the best she can," Mr. Fell paused for a moment. "And how many times do I have to tell ya? It's Walt, son." He promptly spun around and strode back towards the house. Steve and Sam followed Walt without hesitation, but Bucky felt like his brain had short-circuited. What the hell just happened? He shook his head and jogged after the group, determined to get the full story once they treated Natasha.
Upon entering the house, the delicious smell of home cooking wafted into Bucky's nose. Going by the yearning on Steve's face, Bucky guessed he wasn't the only one whose stomach had caught up with him. Walt called from somewhere deeper in the house, and Bucky took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. The front door opened to a mudroom where shoes lay haphazardly on the floor. He made sure to remove his own before continuing farther in, where he found himself in a hallway. On his left, spiral steps led upwards to a second landing, and on his right he saw a cramped dining room. Straight ahead, the hallway opened up into a cozy den, complete with comfortable-looking couches and a fireplace. In each space, the walls and shelves were decorated with all sorts of knick-knacks and memorabilia. Bucky noticed that most of the pictures featured two girls: one brunette and one blonde. The brunette seemed to be the oldest, and looked affectionately annoyed by whatever pose the blonde held. Bucky had never felt so out of place in his life.
He moved carefully through the den, making sure not to disrupt anything. His skin prickled and the hair on the back of his neck rose, every part of his body screaming at him to leave before he ruined the normalcy of the scene. Since he fell off the train in 1945, his life had been an endless cycle of brainwashing, cryo, and murder. Since joining the Avengers, he'd experienced nothing but unbearable tension that kept him on edge 24/7. Despite the Avengers recovering after their "civil war" and the Accords being amended, the animosity between the two sides hadn't died down. In fact, it had only gotten worse since he moved into the Avengers compound. Most of his teammates clearly felt uncomfortable around him, and Tony wouldn't even hold a conversation with him, let alone stay in the same room. It was becoming difficult to talk to Steve too. He didn't often say it, but it was obvious that he hoped Bucky would suddenly wake up and act like his old self. After living through such hostility for so long, being in a home with a family that clearly loved each other unnerved Bucky. How should I act? What's the protocol for interacting with civilians? Bucky knew those thoughts were unreasonable and he shouldn't overthink it, but in that moment, he'd have rather faced a legion of Hydra soldiers. At least Hydra wouldn't expect small talk, Bucky shuddered. Attempting to dismiss his anxiety, he focused on navigating through the house. When he reached the kitchen, he saw Natasha stretched out on a table, and an elderly woman using a pair of forceps to dig into the redhead's leg.
"Aah!" Natasha couldn't help her groan of pain as the woman finally found the bullet, and tugged it out unceremoniously. The woman worked quickly to disinfect the wound, earning another grunt from the Avenger, and then wrapped it up in wide sheets of gauze.
"There now, sweetheart. That feel better?" The woman smoothed Natasha's hair down and dabbed some of the blood away from her forehead. "Take a deep breath, darlin', I'm almost done," she said soothingly, then applied more disinfectant to the head wound. "Walt, get me a glass of water."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied teasingly, winking at Bucky as he crossed the room to get to the fridge. "She always gets bossy when she's patching someone up."
"I should think so, too. Hesitation'll kill you in this business," Marge muttered distractedly once she held the glass in hand. "Now, sweetheart, I'm afraid I need you to drink this up before I let you off this table. You lost a lot of blood, but it's nothing that shouldn't be cured with some fluids and rest," She helped Natasha drink up the water before gesturing to Steve and Bucky. "Well, aren't you two boys going to help this lady to the couch?" Something about her tone reminded both men of an Army Captain, and immediately prompted them to apologize and carefully carry Romanoff to a blanket covered sofa. "Now, as much as I'd like to hear this story, I have a patient to tend to. Dinner will be served in an hour," she nodded to each Avenger before whisking off to their couch-bound friend.
"Unflappable, that woman. Unflappable," Walt chuckled. "So now that your friend's taken care of, tell me straight, Sammy. What are Captain America and Bucky Barnes doin' in my kitchen?"
"Oh, that's all, hm?" Walt huffed disbelievingly. Sam had done his best to explain how they had been tasked to infiltrate a Hydra base that allegedly held records regarding future possible operations, without compromising any secrets that a normal civilian shouldn't know. Walt's eyes held Sam's, who kept shifting and glancing in different directions. "Sammy," he said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "You did the right thing coming here. I don't care what happened in the past, you know our home is always open to you." Sam gave a half-shrug and a sheepish smile.
"Thank you, Walt. I don't know what we'd have done if you and Marge hadn't been here," Sam smiled gratefully, and a meaningful look passed between both men. Seemingly satisfied by whatever Sam implied, Walt grunted and moved to the sink to fill up four water glasses. Sam looked relieved, as if a large weight had lifted from his shoulders. Content with the silence, they listened to Marge fuss over Natasha in the other room. Bucky would've preferred to remain quiet, but Steve cleared his throat.
"Sir, thank you for having us in your beautiful home. Steve Rogers, at your service," Steve stepped forward to offer his hand. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I can't thank you enough for helping save my teammate's life."
Momentarily stunned, Walt set down his glass before clasping Steve's hand. "Captain, do NOT feel that this is an intrusion. It's our pleasure to host Captain America in our home. Actually, if you don't mind," his face grew red, and his tone turned bashful and rushed. "I have a few trading cards that I'd love for you to sign. It's just... I grew up on the stories of Captain Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos." Going by Sam's surprised chuckle, Bucky assumed that Walt didn't usually fluster easily.
Steve laughed, the sound reverberating deeply through each person in the room, "My friends call me Steve, Mr. Fell. And it's no problem, one of the bravest men I knew asked the same question once."
Walt beamed, "Please, Steve, call me Walt." He turned to the hulking shadow that lurked at the edge of his kitchen. "Sergeant Barnes, it's such an honor to meet you. Welcome to my home," Walt smiled broadly and extended his hand. Bucky hesitated before gripping it.
"Bucky. And thanks, you've got a beautiful property," he responded with a tense smile. Walt had child-like wonder in his eyes, and it took all of Bucky's training to not shy from the imploring gaze. He hated when people looked at him like that, awestruck and searching for a hint of the legendary Howling Commando. Bucky had turned the tides of political and literal battlefields, seen the worst of human nature, and become jaded to most things, no matter how marvelous or terrible they were. He felt more comfortable fighting for his life in a warzone than holding a conversation with even his teammates. Conversations that would normally flow easily made him nervous because he could no longer differentiate between a joke and a threat. He scrutinized kindness, criticized faith, and had seen horrors beyond belief. Yet nothing could prepare him for the moment when he realized that this man, this father, saw him as a hero to look up to. Bucky knew he should say something that would keep those rose-tinted glasses in place, but he'd be lying if he said a part of him didn't want to rip Walt's naivety away-the same way his was when he fell off that train.
Staring into Walt's wide eyes, Bucky felt weighted down and so tired. There was nothing of value that he could offer. He didn't know how to be the old charismatic Bucky, or the self-assured soldier that Steve played. Of course, he tried his best to remember who he was before HYDRA, but he only felt comfortable acting that way in a fight. There was no pressure from people watching his every move, expecting him to either snap or participate in conversation. Steve in particular fell prey to that trap, making jokes and glances that he clearly expected Bucky to respond to. When Bucky didn't react the right way, he saw Steve remember that his friend wasn't the person he used to be, and that he might not ever be that man again. Everytime Steve looked at him forlornly, Bucky felt a little less sure of who he was versus who he ought to be. Steve wanted him to be the Howling Commando, Tony and Fury treated him like a sleeper agent about to go off the rails, and everyone else waited to see which group was right. In reality, he wasn't Sergeant Barnes or the Winter Soldier anymore. He was just Bucky. And as shameful as it was, when the new Bucky felt cornered, he deflected. "So how do you and Sam know each other?" he asked, praying Walt would take the bait. He wasn't disappointed.
Walt's eyes lit up, and Sam groaned. "Sammy grew up with my girls. He was a few years ahead of my oldest. His daddy was a minister in Harlem around the time we lived there, so when he wasn't around, Sam came over to our house. Spent a lot of time with us, and even more time in Marge's pantry!" Walt chortled.
"Alright I think that's enough, Walt," Sam interrupted, red in the face. "No one wants to listen to that stuff." Walt opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam didn't give him the chance. "Anyways, where's Cate? She home from med school yet?"
Walt suddenly grew somber, "Sam-"
"SAM WILSON!" the front door slammed and a shriek echoed through the house. Both Steve and Bucky stiffened, their hands going to their weapons, alert for a possible threat. Sam paled.
"Oh man."
A woman stormed into the kitchen, fire in her eyes and a menacing scowl on her face. She stopped at the sight of the four men, her eyes narrowed and locked on a very worried-looking Falcon. She pointed at him, her finger trembling, "You."
Sam seemed to fold in on himself, but offered a weak smile and the tiniest, most awkward wave, "Hey Cate. How's it going?"
It was obviously the wrong thing to say because the woman snarled lightly and her fists tightened. She marched right up to Sam, and regarded him hotly for a moment.
SMACK!
Her open palm cracked against Sam's cheekbone. Bucky and Steve looked on in shock, but Sam just stood there, face turned away from the seething woman.
"I deserved that," he sighed. He slowly raised his eyes to look at her, eyes sad and resigned.
"Yes, you did," her voice was tight and filled with pain. "Five years, Sam. Five fucking years. You didn't even have the decency to call once." Bucky winced as her voice cracked, but was unable to tear his eyes from the pair in front of him. What did you do, Sam?
"Cate," Walt said quietly. Her attention briefly flicked to him, and suddenly realized that they had guests. Bucky watched as her shoulders slumped and all of her previous anger slipped away. She turned to the super soldiers, and Bucky was surprised to see her act completely opposite from the woman whose presence had previously filled the room. This new woman brushed a dark curl away from her face and eyed both men with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. After a moment, she stepped closer and stuck her hand out warily.
"Catharine Fell. Cate. You're Captain America?" Her tone sounded civil, but her body language reminded Bucky of a deer about to bolt. Instead of taking her hand, Steve loomed over the woman intimidatingly and crossed his arms.
"Yes. And I don't take well to people attacking my teammates," he spoke harshly, sending clear signals of dislike and mistrust. Cate glared defiantly at the lead Avenger. Oh this should be good, Bucky thought. Surprisingly, Cate's attitude melted and she hung her head slightly. Even more surprisingly, Bucky felt disappointed. He'd been looking forward to seeing her stand her ground against the most stubborn person Bucky knew.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Captain. I shouldn't have behaved so improperly in front of guests." She turned and dipped her head to Sam, who looked completely shocked. Bucky noted with no small amount of delight that she hadn't actually apologized for hitting Sam, and had to stifle a chuckle. Apparently his laughter hadn't been that quiet, because Cate's head whipped around and she jumped like she had forgotten he was there. He gave her a small smile, and nodded.
"Bucky Barnes!" Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly and offered him a smile of her own, "Cate Fell."
"That was a good swing. Knowing Sam, I don't doubt he deserved it."
"He did," she held his gaze, as if daring him to question her reasons. Bucky almost obliged her, but Walt, who had been watching from the sidelines, interjected.
"Cate's my oldest. She works at the nearby town as a tour guide," his cheer sounded forced. "Honey, why don't you see if your mom needs help? Their teammate was hurt pretty bad and I'm sure an extra set of hands would be welcome."
Cate seemed like she might protest, but she nodded at her dad and left the kitchen. Bucky's eyes momentarily lingered on her form before flicking back to Walt. The oven timer beeped.
"Well that was entertaining."