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#(and steve kids himself that he's imagining a familiar voice coming from this blind man)
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FICBUNNY TIME! 
Hospital Shrunkyclunks Meetcute AU
2012 Steve is having an anxiety-attack at a hospital he's visiting to do a Cap Meet n Greet 
so he ducks into what he thinks is an empty room 
which actually contains: THE WINTER SOLDIER
TWS is a recently-admitted veteran who is missing an arm and has bandages across his eyes while he recovers from a traumatic eye injury, sustained during some heroic noble act like rescuing a bus full of schoolchildren or sth
(he is recovering suspiciously well/fast) 
they strike up a conversation and Steve decides to visit again
they end up falling in love despite neither of them knowing who the other one is
Key moments:
Steve being moved by Bucky's stoicism and positivity despite the severity of his injuries
Hydra breaking into his hospital room to re-take blind one-armed Bucky WHO STILL MANAGES TO KICK THEIR ASSES by the time Steve gets there
Steve being there the day Bucky has his bandages off and he Realises
This piece of dialogue: 
Bucky: I don't think much of these doctors. They said, 'hey, do you want the Good news or the Bad news? The Bad news is: you've lost your arm. The Good news is: you can't see it!'
Steve: *leaping up, about to punch someone* They DIDN'T?!
Bucky: *snickering* No, they didn't.
24 notes · View notes
wkemeup · 3 years
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Back to Bourbon Street
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summary: When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 6.7k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, poison, brink of death cuddling, angst with a happy ending
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There is a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of the battlefield; a brief, impossible moment that allows Bucky to take hold of a peace he’s been missing for decades. The perfect storm of violence and adrenaline is one he’s familiar with, something he knows well enough to allow his mind to take a step back and give control to his instincts.  
Left jab. Right hook. Kick. Swipe the leg. Shoot.
The sound of the chopper above is muffled. The shouts of the men rushing at him with weapons and malice are indistinguishable. His body moves of its own accord and this is what makes him untouchable. Even with the Winter Soldier buried to the deepest parts of his mind, Bucky finds a relief in letting go of the control, of allowing an untethered detachment to rise to the surface just long enough to get the job done. 
Bodies in his wake, blood on his hands, and his mind elsewhere.
That is, until you come into view.  
Elegant in your movements, exceptional in your ability, you’re teasing Sam on the coms as you duck under the swing of a mercenary and clip him on the chin on your way up. You’re laughing, bright enough that it carries the several feet away to where Bucky is in hand to hand with a combatant half his size.  
He pauses, taken back by how clear your laugh comes through when the rest of the world seems muffled and distant. It’s not enough to give the scrawny opponent an advantage, because even as Bucky watches you with an awe and disbelief, his left arm snakes around the man’s throat and hurtles him fifty feet away with little effort.  
Amongst enemy lines filled with bad guys and guns, amongst the blinding snowfall and the blistering wind, amongst blood staining crystalized white upon the frozen dirt, you capture the entirety of his focus. Clear as day. Spotlight down from the sky. A wonder to behold.  
You catch his eye and for a moment his heart skips completely because you smile at him. A light breaking through a sea of shadows, wrinkling up by your eyes, a giggle in your chest, and Bucky’s knees nearly give out from under him. 
You must notice the fluster burning hot on his cheeks and you start to laugh; that same beautifully, sweet sound that shouldn’t belong on a battlefield. He smiles back.
But the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s something too kind for the evil you’re surrounded with and it’s taken away in a matter of seconds when Bucky sees the sharp reflection of a blade flicker under the haze of sunlight.  
His stomach drops as if he’s stepped off the edge of the cliff, as if he’s falling hundreds of feet into a dark ravine to the icy waters below, and he barely feels the sharp burn of a bullet as it skims his right shoulder.  
“Y/n!” he screams, wasting no time in firing fatal shots to the men around him before he rushes towards you.  
But he’s trudging through mud and quicksand and his limbs are fighting through the resistance of ocean currents. He’s trapped in a nightmare, he’s certain of it, because his body is failing him in the one place it’s not supposed to. Time slows down as he watches the flash of panic in your eyes.
He’s still a few feet away when the knife embeds itself in your stomach.
Something else takes over; maybe it's the Winter Soldier, maybe it’s something darker that has always resided inside of him, lying in wait, but his vision fills with red as he watches you clutch at the shoulders of your assailant, lips parted in shock, chest heaving as you glance down at the knife buried in your gut. A sickening smile curves up on the man’s face and he drops you to the ground.  
Bucky only vaguely registers the bodies that fall around him as he empties his clip. He can't look at you now, not as blood starts to seep around your suit and drip into the snow, so he focuses the brunt of his tunnel vision to the man wielding the knife. The satisfied grin drops as he notices Bucky raise his weapon. It only takes one shot, but Bucky fires six.  
By the time he reaches you, he’s skidding on his knees into the snow. It soaks into his suit and sends shivers into his spine in unpleasant memories of the ice, but he pays it little mind as he bends down to assess the damage. His hands hover over the blade, almost afraid to touch you, and he resides to keep the knife secure until he can safely remove it.  
“Hey, Barnes,” you mutter weakly and it snaps Bucky from his trance. He looks up to see you smiling at him, though your eyes are fluttering shut. Your breathing is shallow.  
“Don’t talk right now,” Bucky warns you because he can see the energy draining away. It’s happening too quick. The blade doesn’t appear as though it’s nicked any major arteries, and yet, you look as though it plunged straight through your heart.
You chuckle, though it’s faint and you wince in the effort. “Sick of my voice already?”
Bucky shakes his head, astounded how you can still tease him in your position. “You kidding me? Not a chance.”
He reaches up to press a finger to the coms to get ahold of someone, anyone, to get you airlifted out of here, only to find it slipped out of his ear in the struggle. A quick glance back behind him and he knows he’ll never find it amongst the snow. He clenches his jaw and tried not to let the panic show as he looks for yours.  
“Lost mine, too,” you mumble, gesturing to the broken pieces in the snow beside you. One of your attackers must have hit you hard enough to dislodge it and slammed it under his heel to cause that much damage.  
Bucky pulls in a deep breath, glancing up to the sky in search of Sam, only to find a dark cast of clouds carrying over. On the ground, dozens of mercenaries are engaged with the rest of the Shield team and more are piling out from the woodwork.  
“I have to get you out of here,” Bucky resides. He doesn’t have a plan, but he knows it’s not safe where you are. He slips a hand under your knees, another around your back, and hoists you into his arms. He’s lucky the blade is small enough that it stays nestled in place as he carries you away from the field.  
He tries not to think of what would happen if a mercenary caught up with him now. He was defenseless with you in his arms and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sacrifice you to save himself.  
The wind whips around the trees, snow stinging on his cheeks as it builds in the scruff on his cheeks. You curl into his neck as best you can and he knows it’s subconscious, that it doesn’t mean much more than you seeking out the warmth of his body, but it doesn’t stop the trace of a smile that pushes at his cheeks.  
“Stay with me, alright?” he pleads, though he’s not sure you can hear him. It earns a tired hum in response.  
A storm is approaching quickly judging by the dark overcast of clouds and the snow on his boots that inches up higher along his shins with every step. If the blade doesn’t kill you, the exposure will, and Bucky starts to pick up his pace.  
The field is nothing but a distant haze by the time he reaches an unmarked dirt road. He must have walked miles with you in his arms, fading in and out of consciousness, waking you up every few paces when your eyes started to flutter closed. The relief is overwhelming when he spots a cabin at the end of the road, obstructed by trees and overgrown weeds. Abandoned.  
“Almost there,” he tells you and you curl up tighter against him. A whine leaves your lips and he picks up the pace.  
Bucky doesn’t bother with picking the lock and slams his foot to the most vulnerable angle of the door instead. It whips open to reveal an empty living room; dark, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and dust upon the mantle. He rushes inside to escape the painful sting of the wind and the snowfall as it piles outside the door. His footprints are already swept away in the impending storm. 
“You’re alright, hold on,” Bucky mumbles, blindly searching around the room until he can lower you onto the couch. He wipes away as much of the dust as he can as he eases you against the cushions. Your face scrunches up in pain and he knows how hard you’re trying to hide it from him.  
He brushes a hand over your forehead and it startles him when he finds it burning hot. He doesn't have a lot of time.  
“I’ll be right back.”
“No! Wait--”
He freezes, stunned when he hears your voice so clearly. Your hand wraps at his wrist, clenching so tight it would have hurt if it wasn’t constructed of solid metal. When he meets your eye, he finds a pain stab straight through his chest, because he’s become so used to your light and joy and charm that the fear etched into your features ruins him completely.  
“Bucky, don’t go.”
His heart splinters.  
“I need to find a first aid kit. I’ve got to clean that wound before it gets infected,” he explains as gently as he can, sinking down to his knees beside you. You nod at his words, but you’re unconvinced.
“I won’t leave you,” he adds with a little more conviction.
His relationship to you is complicated; filled with teasing smiles and playful tension in the sparring ring, late night talks and comfortable silence. You were the first person he trusted in Shield outside of Steve and Sam, the first to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the first to accept him completely and entirely as the man he is, not who he was in his youth or what Hydra made him to be. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t.  
He cares for you and he knows, at least on some level, you must care for him, too. He can't imagine that anyone would be as sweet as you are with him if you didn’t. There’s too much violence to overlook, too much evil ingrained into his veins. You don’t seem to mind and Bucky wonders most days if you’re not simply an angel sent from heaven itself with the extent of absolution you grant to him. 
So it’s not a question. There’s no second guessing. He won’t leave you.  
“I’ll be right back,” he presses again, eyes flickering to the knife in your side. “I promise.”
You nod, letting go of his wrist, but he can tell you’re still afraid. He recognizes it in himself, how he’s felt as though if he closed his eyes for even a second, he might convince himself it was all a dream and he’ll wake up right back in Hydra’s cell. He realizes then that you’re wondering if Bucky steps out of your view, he might disappear entirely and you’ll be alone, facing the impending darkness on your own.  
“Hey, remember that summer in New Orleans?” Bucky starts, hoping to ease your panic through the sound of his voice as he slips from the room. “Sam was walking around Bourbon Street with a dozen beaded necklaces and tripping over his own feet?”  
Bucky can vaguely hear you chuckle weakly from the living room as he rummages through the drawers in the bathroom.  
He continues. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam that wasted before. I had to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room.”  
Shifting through old toothpaste containers, wash rags, makeup brushes, Bucky knelt down under the sink in search of anything he can use. He grabs the clean towels and an ace bandage hidden behind the pipes and moves onto the first bedroom. He still needs something to close the wound.  
“Idiot passed out on me before midnight,” Bucky calls out to the living room, stealing a glance at you to make sure your eyes were still open. You smile at him, faded and faint, but he continues on. “You called when we didn’t show up to the bar, remember? You didn’t think you could keep up with Natalia’s tolerance and you wanted to push some of your drinks off on me.”
Bucky is surprised when his lips curve up into a smile at the memory. It was the first time anyone managed to convince him to stay a few days passed the scheduled mission. He always had such a hard time saying no to you.  
“Think that might have been the first night I went out dancing since the forties. It was a little different than what I was used to but the music had the same soul to it,” Bucky continues as he searches under the bed, through the closet, shoving aside old clothes and shoe boxes. He can feel the panic rising, though he keeps his voice as calm as he can manage. His hands are trembling until he finds a small white box tucked into the back corner. Red cross on the top.  
It’s missing a few pieces inside but it’s enough. Relief surges through him and Bucky makes his way back out to the living room.  
“Don’t know if I would have let anyone else drag me away from the bar long enough to get a whole song out of me,” Bucky says as he holds up the kit for you to see and quickly moves to the kitchen to wash his hands.  
“You’re a good dancer, Barnes,” you mutter out feebly, smiling fondly at the memory.  
It’s a good memory, he thinks. A little faded with time, but he can still recall how you felt pressed against his chest, how his left nestled along the small of your back, his right intertwined with yours. Slow movements, swaying gently to the soft strum of the guitar. 
Bucky smiles backs at you, pauses for just a moment to memorize the way your lips curve up so beautifully into your cheeks before he turns to the sink to wash his hands. The water comes out brown for the first few seconds before it clears up. He washes his hands quickly and gathers a bucket of water before he makes his way back to you.  
As he kneels down at your side, he tries to mask the flash of panic that courses through him as he catches sight of the blood seeped into the couch under your back and the sweat dripping down your temples. It’s wet in your hair and you don’t seem to be in much pain anymore. Just tired. Your eyelids fall heavy.
“Hey,” Bucky calls sharply, shaking your shoulder a little harsher than he intended. Your eyes snap open. “You need to stay awake for me, alright? You know I’m lousy at this stuff. Need you to make sure I’m doing it right.”
You laugh, though Bucky can tell it’s forced. You both know he’s lying. He’d tended to wounds of his own far worse than this before. But Bucky doesn’t care about causing himself pain. He powers through it, uses it as a means of strength. He knows how badly this will hurt you and he hesitates as he holds a pair of scissors to your suit.  
“I trust you,” you say so quietly Bucky isn’t certain he even heard it. You nod at him.  
Bucky takes a deep breath as he cuts away at your suit and removes the fabric away from the wound.  
“It’s going to bleed a lot,” he warns. “Don’t let it scare you.”
You nod, staring up at the ceiling as you try to prepare yourself.  
Bucky doesn’t say anything else, because he knows it will make this harder. Your chest rises a little quicker, hands clench into fists, and it takes nearly everything Bucky has not to hold your hand instead of the hilt of the knife.  
It happens quickly. He pulls the knife from your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp at the sudden sensation, a cry in your voice as you bite down on your fist to keep yourself from screaming, and Bucky presses a towel to your side to absorb the gush of blood and it drenches the cloth in a matter of seconds.  
He removes it in favor of a clean one and drops the bloodied rag onto the floor. The next towel doesn’t turn red as quickly and Buck begins to exhale a sigh of relief. The blood flow is slowing down. It’s a good sign. It’ll give him the chance to clean the wound and stitch you up enough to keep you together until rescue shows up.  
It takes a while before Bucky dares to lift the cloth. It’s heavy in his hands and dripping with blood, but the wound doesn’t appear to be freshly bleeding. Bucky gets to work, humming quietly to himself as he cleans the wound as best he can. He can feel your eyes on him, watching as he tends to the wound and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. You’re awake. It's all that matters to him.  
“You really need to do that?” you ask nervously as Bucky begins to thread a needle.  
Bucky shrugs. “There’s a stapler in the office if you prefer that?”  
You laugh, enough to cause a bit of blood to seep out from the cleaned wound and Bucky presses a hand to your stomach to stop the bleeding.  
“Hey! Don’t mess with my work!” he teases, thankful for a moment where you feel more like yourself than you had since he picked you from the snowbank on the battlefield. You nod, trying to contain your smile, though its weak and fading.  
“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes.”
“That’s Dr. Barnes to you,” Bucky quips back, distracting you long enough to slip the thread through your skin. You wince, hand gripping in tight to the straps on his shoulder.
“Yeah?” you mutter out tensely. “What decade did you get your medical degree in, Doctor? Feels pretty amateur from where I’m sitting.”
“You should be nicer to me, doll. I’m the one with the needle in my hand,” Bucky smirks. Only two more threads to go before the wound is closed and you’re taking it like a champ. Pride swells in his chest and he has the urge to kiss you, but quickly pushes the feeling down.  
“Imagine how I must feel,” you scoff playfully, exhaling a heavy breath of relief as Bucky sits back and cuts the thread.  
Bucky grins, brushing a clean cloth over the surface to wipe away the excess blood. “You did good. Try to get some rest now, alright? I’ll be here.”
He lifts a blanket up over your body and lets it lay against your chest. You smile at him again and he’s certain it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He stands to clean up the mess around the couch when your hand catches his.  
“Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, rub your thumb over his wrist, something so tender and loving that it nearly jolts his heart straight from his chest.  
“Anytime, doll,” he replies as even as his voice will let him. By the time he finishes cleaning the bloodied rags and rinsing the red stains from his hands, you’ve already fallen asleep.  
Bucky takes his time as he gathers a few stray blankets and lays them down on the floor beside the couch. He knows there’s a room with a decent bed just a few feet down the hall but he meant what he promised you. He wasn’t going to leave your side.  
So, he lays down on the hardwoods, rests a pillow under his head, and stars up at the ceiling; content to listen to the soft sounds of your breathing until they too lull him to sleep.  
***
He wakes abruptly a few hours later. It’s dark outside, nearly pitch black in the cabin, and Bucky rubs his hands over his tired eyes before he realizes what woke him up.  
Quiet whimpers above him, muffled, pained. You’re crying.  
Bucky jolts up in a panic. He kneels beside you to find you curled up on your side, knees tucked to your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're sweating again, and it drenches into your hair.  
“Y/n?” Bucky begs, hands hovering over you, terrified to make it worse. “Y/n, talk to me.”
“It hurts,” you cry, barely able to mutter the words out. “It hurts... bad. S-Somethings wrong.”
Bucky nods, rushing up to the fireplace to give some light. It takes him longer than it should and he nearly shouts out in frustration before it sparks and a flame bursts onto the wood. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s enough.  
“Let me see,” he requests, and you release the blanket to let Bucky's slide it off of you. He helps guide you to lay flat on the couch and he knows how much it hurts you because you’ve bitten down so hard on your lip, it’s bleeding. You choke back a cry.  
“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, running a hand down your arm to find you shaking so badly it trembles right into his palm. You’re fully sobbing as he tries to pry your hands away from the wound. “I’m so sorry, but you have to let me see it, honey. Come on now. It’s alright.”
You pull your hands away, clutching them tight into the couch cushions and it's then that Bucky sees the series of large, angry, purple veins extending from the wound. Jagged lines protruding out across your stomach, stretching up towards your chest to your heart.  
Bucky can’t find his breath as he stumbles back. On the ground at his feet, the faint flicker of the knife catches his eye in the dim light of the fire behind him, and he bends down to pick it up. On its surface, hardly visible, is a sticky thin substance; green in color, bitter in its stench. Poison.  
“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
Bucky’s eyes snap up to you as the knife slips from his hand. It clashes against the hardwoods and echoes through the painful silence in the cabin, only obstructed by the muffled whistle of the wind outside and your faint attempts to stifle the sob etching its way through your throat.  
“No,” Bucky replies quickly, though his voice wavers. You’re unconvinced as tears slip past your eyes and you drop his gaze in favor of the ceiling tiles.  
“No,” he tries again, firmer as he kneels by your side. He runs a hand over your forehead to brush away the sweat, soothes his palm against your face and traces the line of your cheekbone until you dare to meet his eye again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not letting you die today; you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”
“Bucky...”
“You’re going to be fine,” he says again, determined. “Starks probably got a whole branch of the military searching for you by now. We both know how much of a soft spot he’s got for you. Hell, I’m lucky you’re the one I’m MIA with. Stark wouldn’t waste an AI suit on tracking me down. But you? Come on. He won’t sleep until you’re home safe.”
Bucky doesn’t know why he’s trying to draw a smile out of you. He’s terrified and he knows you are too, but dammit, all he ever wants to do is make you smile.  
“Tony would send more than an AI for you.”
Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You underestimate how much he dislikes me.”
“It’s been better, hasn’t it?” you ask, and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself from the pain, so Bucky nods.  
“It has. He hasn’t tried to kill me lately, so I’d consider that an improvement.”
You smile and Bucky’s whole world brightens around him. Sunshine through the night sky, past the dark clouds and the blizzard outside the window, flowers blooming through the snow. It's perfect. You’re perfect.  
But then the pain sweeps in again and steals your smile away, warps it and twists it until you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe and Bucky is helpless but to watch.  
There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t know what the poison is, let alone how to counteract it. He doesn't often wish Stark was around, but he does in this moment. He’d know what to do. He could save you, take away this pain, in a way Bucky couldn’t.
He finds himself looking to the windows, watching as the snow continues to fall in blurring sweeps enough that he can’t see the trees beyond the clearing. He figures at least another foot of snow has piled up in the last hour but maybe if he could find the right layers in the back bedroom, he could make himself useful, venture out to find a nearby town or a phone or --  
“Don’t.”  
Your voice is barely a whisper but it punctures straight through to Bucky’s heart.
“Please don’t go,” you mutter out. “I don’t want to be alone when... when I...”
“Hey,” Bucky exhales, shaking his head, “hey, come on. What did I say? You’re not dying today, remember?”
He tears his eyes away from the window, forgets his plan because he knows you’re right. He can’t leave you. He wants to believe that his hope is enough, that his insistence will sway fate herself, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He can’t do much of anything at all, but he starts to wonder if there is something he can do to shoulder even an ounce of your pain.  
Slowly, Bucky slips an arm under your back and gently guides you forward just enough so that he can slide into the space behind you. You mold against him as he eases his way onto the couch beside you, gathering you up into his arms. He runs a tender hand over your stomach along the spidery veins around the knife wound and you don’t wince. It seems to come and go in waves.  
The next wave comes quickly and Bucky holds you through it the best he can. He’s never felt so helpless in his life; arms wrapped tight around you, a hand soothing along your arm as he tries to reassure you that this will pass, that Stark’s on his way, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth anymore.  
You exhale as the pain subsides again and you’re drenched in sweat. Bucky is too, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means he can give you even an ounce of comfort through this. You curl against him, careful of the fresh stitches in your side.  
“I’m scared.” It comes out broken and aching and Bucky’s heart lurches.  
“I know, honey. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”  
It’s all he can say.  
His own helplessness makes him sick.  
There’s a prolonged silence and Bucky finds himself keeping a finger against your pulse, just to be sure. He feels like screaming or crying or maybe both, but he exhales a steady breath and tries to calm his heart rate instead because he knows you can hear it.  
“I’m glad it’s you,” you say after a while, voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s faint, fading, and Bucky bites down on his cheek. “I’m glad... that if this is... if this is it... you’re here.”
It breaks his heart, shatters it to pieces. He’d trade places with you if he could, absorb your pain tenfold if it meant you’d survive this, but he knows it’s a fantasy. Bucky Barnes stopped allowing himself to indulge in such dreams a long time ago.  
So, he holds you a little tighter, dares to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and rubs gentle circles along your spine. He can feel your pulse weaken, how it slips to beats a little longer apart, how your breaths fall shallow and he’s not ready to lose you yet. He’s not.
“How about when we get out of here, we go dancing?”
You don’t say anything, but he can feel your smile against his chest, the warm of your breath as you exhale a tired chuckle. It takes nearly all of your energy.  
“Been thinking about it a lot since New Orleans,” Bucky continues. “It could be fun, you know? Get dressed up. Listen to good music. Beautiful woman in my arms. Sounds nice.”
“You should... You should go,” you tell him and he barely recognizes your voice. He clenches his jaw until it aches, brushes at the tear in his eyes you’re too weak to lift your head to notice.  
“I’m not going with anyone but you, so no deal.”
“Bucky...”
“No deal. You or nothing, doll.” Bucky finds himself smiling through the tears. “You’re my only dance partner, okay? Can’t be having just anyone step all over my toes.”
You hum and it’s so faint he can hardly hear it. 
Bucky clears his throat, swallowing back the lump that threatens to choke him. “We’ll have to go back to that bar, okay? The one off of Bourbon Street. Live music only. I can show you how we used to dance back in my day. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.” 
A smile breaks through the tears as he imagines spinning you under the soften glow of amber lights and the reflection of the moonlight through the windows, the roar of trumpets settling in his chest and the echo of your laugh etched right into his soul. You’d smile at him and his whole world would stop spinning. 
“What do you say, doll?” Bucky sighs, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He brushes the hair away from your eyes, sticky and wet with sweat.
But you don’t say anything and suddenly, it’s impossibly silent.  
Bucky stops breathing because he can’t hear the crackle of the fire place or the wind barreling against the cabin walls. He can’t hear the heavy snow as it brushes against the windows. He can’t hear your breaths, can’t feel the pulse as he reaches up to your neck, and that silence begins to feel like a void, like he’s screaming, but it’s all inside his head.  
“Y/n?” he chokes out. There’s no reply, but still, as if to break his own heart a little more, he tries again. “Y/n? Please... don’t do this. Come on. Come back to me.”
Nothing.
“No... no no no... don’t give up on me,” Bucky pleads, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Y/n...”
He barely notices as the cabin door is blown open, as the wind screams outside and snow barrels in through the frame. He can’t focus on much of anything else as he tries to move your lifeless body in his arms, trying to wake you from the edge of a paralyzing darkness. He doesn’t recognize the blur of red and yellow as it crashes into the room.  
“Banner! I need the antidote, now!”
You’re being pulled from his arms and all Bucky wants to do is hold on tighter.  
“Barnes, you need to let go of her.”  
The voice is calmer now, gentle, and Bucky allows himself to meet Tony’s eye. There’s a kindness there he doesn’t expect, an understanding. Tony’s helmet has been discarded and Bucky notices quickly he bares the same redness in the whites of his eyes, the same dark circles beneath. Tony’s hand lays upon your shoulder.  
“Let me save her, Barnes,” Tony tries again as Bruce barrels in through the door in a parka a few sizes too big for his frame. He’s clutching a syringe in his hand, desperately trying to hold up the hood around his head.  
Bucky nods numbly and releases you from his hold. Tony and Bruce lower you carefully down to the ground, laid upon the blankets he slept on less than an hour earlier. Tony presses his hand to your chest and an electrical spark jolts through your body. He tries again, and still, nothing.  
Bruce pulls off the cap of the syringe and without hesitation, plunges it directly into a vein and releases the serum inside. He sits back on his heels and waits.  
It's agonizing. The seconds feel like hours and Bucky is certain he’ll never learn to smile again, until suddenly, the purple veins along the knife wound begin to retract. They crawl along your skin and shrink back to the wound until they’ve disappeared entirely.  
But then, the most beautiful sound.  
You gasp for air, chest rising high off the ground before you sink back against the blankets. FRIDAY reports your pulse, says you’re stable, and Bucky presses his hands over his face to stop the sob before it consumes him whole. It’s made of relief.  
“You did good, Barnes,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hands.  
He’s suspicious of the praise, but as Tony runs a hand over your hair, soothes it away from your face, Bucky knows he meant what he said.  
“We should get her to the cradle,” Bruce says, shivering as he glances back to the door. “Helen will want to fix that wound up and run some tests to make sure the antidote worked.”
Tony covers you with the blankets as best as he can and gathers you into his arms. Bucky tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as you press your nose to Tony’s neck, seeking out his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else before he flies out the front door, back to the quinjet.
Bruce starts to make his way to the door when he realizes Bucky isn’t following behind. He pauses and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder.  
“How did you know?” Bucky asks weakly, staring at the empty syringe.  
“A few of the Shield agents came back from the field with the same symptoms,” Bruce explains. He scratches the back of his neck. “We wanted to be prepared if either of you were infected by the poison.”  
Bucky nods. He feels empty.  
“She’s going to be alright, Barnes,” Bruce says and he places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It surprises him but he can feel the tension slip away as Bruce squeezes the muscle tightly. He gestures to the door. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
***
Bucky’s right hand is throbbing. Blood trickles down from the open scars on his knuckles and it smears into the punching bag. Beads of sand embed themselves into the wounds but he presses on because it’s better than the pit in his stomach, of seeing you laid up in the med wing with wires attached you and a monitor displaying the weak rhythm of your pulse.  
It’s been days since you’ve been home, since the antidote was administered and Helen properly stitched up the stab wound in your stomach, and yet you’re still unconscious, barely breathing on your own. Banner can’t make sense of it, but he suspects it’s because the poison was in your system longer than the others.  
Bucky can’t help but wonder that if he never left the field with you, if he had just stayed put and fought off whoever tried to come near, that maybe they could have saved you. Maybe he’s the reason you're still fighting for your life. Maybe if he wasn’t around at all you'd be safer, you'd be alive.
The bag dislodges from the ceiling and slams into the wall in an echoing thud.  
Bucky sighs, slumping his shoulders down as he kicks at the sand streaming from the bag onto the gym floors. He turns to pick up the next bag in the long line leading from the storage closet when he stops dead in his tracks.  
You’re standing in the center of the gym, still dressed the pale blue scrubs from the med wing, holding onto the edge of a weight machine for support. There is a mark in your arm from where the IV line should be, tape residue around your mouth from the tubes. It’s a miracle you’re on your feet at all and all Bucky wants to do is run towards you, wrap you tight into his arms, just to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re standing right there, but instead, he holds his ground. He’s turned to stone.  
“Thought I’d find you here,” you chuckle, your voice raspy and airy, but it has a strength to it again. It sounds like you.  
Bucky grips his hands at his side. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”
You shrug. “Don’t think the nurses do either. Helen might be mad at me when she finds an empty bed in my room.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Y/n,” he says, his gaze focused on the floor. He pushes aside the heavy stone sitting in his chest as he starts to walk towards you to usher to towards the med wing. “I should get you back...”
“What else was I supposed to do when I woke up and you weren’t there?”  
You’re smiling, teasing. There’s a laugh in your voice, and still Bucky can’t help the pang in his stomach. It twists and turns and threatens to consume him whole.  
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe not wander around the tower after being in a coma for four days?”
The smile lingers upon your face despite his tone. It doesn’t seem to bother you at all, doesn’t throw you off your game, doesn’t puncture even a crack into the shield of your charm. No – you smile at him.  
“You broke your promise, Barnes,” you say simply. “I’m here to scold you for it. Think you may owe me a few takeout nights before you’re out of the doghouse.”  
Bucky narrows his eyes, daring to challenge your gaze. “What promise?”  
“You left.”
Bucky feels the hitch in his lungs before the flash of guilt sweeps over his gut. You notice it just as quick because the teasing smile falls in an instant. He stumbles back away from you, slipping out from the extent of your outstretched hand.  
“It’s better that way, Y/n,” he mumbles. “I’m the reason you ended up there.”
“Don’t you dare do that,” you snap, enough so that it startles him. 
You struggle to walk the few steps closer to him, your legs wobbling underneath you and he wonders how you even made it across the tower and down five floors to the gym without anyone stopping you. You reach for his hand and because Bucky can’t bear to see you struggle, he offers his support. You balance yourself on the edge of the weight machine beside him, one hand anchored in his left forearm.  
“Y/n,” he starts, taking in a deep breath, but you cut him off quickly.  
“No. There is no room for the Bucky Barnes guilt parade here, okay?” you argue. “You saved my life, Bucky. You can’t possibly stand there and think for a second that you’re somehow to blame for anything less.”
He shakes his head. The guilt and shame that burns deep into his chest is one he knows well. It lives inside of him, festering, waiting for moments like these.  
“If I hadn’t taken you from the field, if I got that blade out sooner, Banner could have given you the antidote hours earlier and you wouldn’t have—”
“I would have bled out before he had the chance,” you press, pulling yourself a little closer. “Those other agents? They had scrapes, Bucky. Nicks. The poison only started to affect me after you removed the knife. Bruce thinks it reacted to the oxygen in the air. Waiting to remove the blade, closing the wound... Bucky, you prolonged it as long as you could have. You gave me more time, gave Bruce and Tony time to find us. You saved me.”  
Your hand squeezes at the solid metal of his forearm and Bucky knows he can't really feel it. He can only register the synapses faintly, as if they were distant, far away; it reads it like data and numbers, but there’s something in the way the pads of your fingertips press into the divots of vibranium that makes his breath hilt. His stare focuses on your thumb as it rubs soothing sweeps along the crevices and it takes him a moment before he dares to meet your eye.
When he does, all that is waiting for him is that same smile that lit up across a battlefield, that pushed through when you were on the brink of an endless darkness, that cast away the shadows and demons that swarmed in his chest just with the wrinkles up by your eyes. He felt lighter. Safer.  
“Now,” you start, sliding your palm down his forearm until you can intertwine your hand in his own. You curl your fingers around his and you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the harsh chill of the metal. You smile at him and for the first time in a while, Bucky finds himself smiling back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Sergeant.”
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toomanyrobins · 3 years
Text
a little birdie told me pt. 10
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Summary: Y/N “Birdie” Parker left New York and her family three years ago in the middle of the night. Now, a call for help to her best friend brings her back into the fold of the Three Families and their “business”
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Parker!Reader
Content warning: physical abuse, miscarriage, mentions of forced marriage, mentions of alcohol abuse
Word Count: 1.8k
series masterlist // next part
Y/N was in the kitchen when she heard someone return home. She had been sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at a glass of whiskey. She had poured it to settle her nerves, but had yet to pick it up. Pepper walked in and immediately could tell that something was bothering her daughter. She saw the glass and slowly slid it out of Y/N’s hands, “What’s wrong? I thought last night was a success. Did something happen?” The younger woman nodded and refused to meet Pepper’s eyes. It didn’t take much for the intuitive woman to guess what was ailing her daughter. She nodded, “You finally realized you are in love with Steve.”
“I didn’t mean to be,” Y/N wailed as she slammed her forehead onto the island, “ow.”
“Why is this such a bad thing?”
“Because the last person I was with was a terrible person,” Birdie grumbled, “I had every intention of staying single forever to avoid feeling like shit every again.”
“Honey, that’s insane. Anyone with eyes can see that Steve is disgustingly in love with you and would move mountains to make you happy.”
“It’s just so soon. Too soon.”
“There’s no timeline for this kind of thing. When you know, you know.” Pepper laughed to herself, “The funniest thing is that when I confronted your father about the arranged marriage, he told me that the plan was for you and Steve to get married.”
Y/N shot her head up and nearly toppled off the stool, “What? He picked Steve for me? I—I have to go.”
Y/N was trying to keep her head on straight as she walked into George’s office. The entire drive over, she had tried to calm down and approach this with some levelheadedness. Before she could even sit down across from the desk, that plan was thrown our the window, “I need answers and I don’t think Dad will tell me everything. Why were you going to marry me off to Steve?”
George sighed and leaned forward, “First of all, I’ve told your father that you should’ve been told about all of this. The truth of the matter is that we needed stability in the families and this was a way to bring us together. HYDRA had started gaining power and your marriage was a way to secure some balance and open up channels that had previously been closed off to us. Also, we had seen the two of you together. You got on well. Why the sudden interest?”
“I don’t know if I can stay here. Apparently, everyone has decided I’m Jamie’s mom. No kid deserves to be stuck with me as their mother.”
He leaned back in his chair, “He really did a number on you.”
Y/N felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs but she tried to play dumb, waiting to see how much he knew, “Who?”
“You think I don’t know things, Birdie? I’ve got your medical records from your hospital visit. I know that your hospital visit wasn’t a one time thing. I know about the miscarriage. I may not know his name, but I will soon.”
“Ho—how?
“I'm a Barnes. A third of the group that runs New York. You think I can’t get information?”
“Have you told anyone?” They both knew who Y/N was truly worried about.
“I haven’t told Steve or Tony. You should though. I highly doubt they would be mad at you for anything,” his voice softened, “You were abused, Birdie. Nothing that he did to you is your fault.”
Her nails were digging into her palm, trying to focus on anything else, “I let him kick me in the stomach. I didn’t even try to stop him. What kind of fucked up, evil person does that?”
“You’re not evil. You’re hurting and have been for a while. I don’t think running will solve anything for you. Are you truly capable of leaving Jamie behind? Your family? Can you leave Steve when you love him?”
Y/N looked at her godfather, “I don’t love Steve.”
He laughed, “You used to be better at lying. He has always brought you back down to earth. I thought a match between the two of you would settle you down. Steve even agreed to it, but he stipulated that you had to go to college first and that you had to agree. He couldn’t force it on you.”
Y/N couldn’t believe it. She thought that he had just been hiding the marriage from her. Never had she considered that he knew he was her future husband, “He knew the whole time? Why would he want to marry me?”
“Of course, he knew. God knows why, because you were insane, and still are. He was ready to marry you. Clearly he thought you could make each other happy.”
“He didn’t tell me he knew it was him the whole time. I just thought he knew you were marrying me off.”
“Seems he wanted a chance to romance you all on his own, but you were gone before he got the chance.”
“This is so much information,” Y/N rubbed her temples.
George poured himself a drink, “I was like you for a really long time. I fought with my father every time I saw him, and I spent most of my teens and twenties drunk and alone. It’s a sad, lonely life that you have an opportunity to avoid. Take a chance, make mistakes. It’ll be worth it.”
Y/N sat there for a minute, trying to absorb all of the information that had been thrown at her. The office door burst open and Tony came in, “Good, your mother said you’d be here. I need you to do something.” Y/N’s nerves immediately felt like they were on fire. The moment her father had that look on his face, it was a problem, “There is a deal coming up and we need to present a united front. With the rumours swirling since your return, we’ve discussed and think the best move is for you to marry Steve.” 
“Tony—,” George tried to warn him that it wasn’t the time. The whole office was frozen as she absorbed the information. 
The laugh that broke the spell was harsh when Y/N realized he wasn’t kidding, “Oh my god. OH MY GOD! That talk about not wasting my life was just a load of crap.” She whirled around to Tony, “You will never learn, will you? I am not some piece of property that you can trade!”
Her father tried to walk closer but she stopped him. He continued anyway, “What is your objection to Steve, exactly? He’s a good man...mostly. We thought he'd be a good match for you three years ago and you are even closer now.”
Y/N started to walk towards the door but she turned, “I knew about your plans for me then. It’s part of the reason I left. You move people around like pawns and don’t seem to know or care that your choices affect us. All I’ve ever wanted is a say in my life and every fucking time I think maybe it’ll be different, you manage to prove me wrong. So congratulations, you continue to fuck it up.” She stared unblinkingly at Tony, “I think it goes without saying that I’ll be taking you up on your offer.” 
Y/N walked down into the Ivory bar on a mission. She found her brother in his usual booth with the group. She marched up to the table, “Evening, gentlemen.” They all nodded at her before she turned her attention to Steve. She planted her hands on the table, “Look here, Rogers, you can just move on to the next girl and stop wasting my time and yours. Do me a favor and lose my number. I’ll never marry you.” 
She didn’t look back as the men watched her through the window. She swung her leg over her bike and shot off. No one said a word and instead turned to look at Tony and George who had come down after her.
After she had left, Y/N pulled off near Central Park and parked. She wandered for hours until she bumped into someone. She had felt the weight of someone’s gaze for a while. Spinning around, she expected to see a familiar guard and was ready to tell them off. Instead of one of Tony’s men, it was the person who haunted her nightmares. “Better watch where you’re going, darling.” The voice made her blood run cold. Y/N was looking into the eyes of Brock Rumlow, the devil himself.
She stumbled back, trying to put some distance between them, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. You think I’d just let you leave?” Brock grabbed her arm and jammed a finger into her stomach, “You’ve got my kid in there.”
She laughed in his face, “No, I don’t.” He gritted his teeth and tightened his on her arm. Y/N knew that she was going to have bruises later. 
“You killed our baby?” she shook her head, but Brock was blinded by rage. He shook her, “Don’t lie to me, you traitorous whore.”
“You beat me so badly that night that I lost the baby. There is no one to blame but you. And now, you have no claim over me.” Y/N wrenched her arm away, “You lose.”
“That’s where you are wrong, darling. What would Daddy Stark think of you running away to be with me? A member of HYDRA? Would they keep you if they knew the truth? You really would be a traitorous whore in everyone’s eyes.”
Y/N thought she was going to be sick. Brock was a member of HYDRA? She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known. This was so much worse than she could have imagined. “Stay away from me.” She turned and walked away.
He called after her, “I’ll be seeing you, baby!” The moment she rounded the corner, she took off in a run. Y/N’s thoughts flying as fast as she was down the streets. Once she was a block away, she cut off into an alley. She needed a moment to get her plan organized. As much as it pained her to admit it, Brock was probably right. If everyone knew the details about his connection to HYDRA, at minimum, she’d be exiled and never be able to see her family again. At worse, she’d be dead… a traitor to the Three Families. Y/N knew that there was only one thing she could do to make her position more secure and she hated it more than anything: she needed to marry Steve Rogers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@samwinter09
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speechlessxx · 4 years
Text
I Can Keep A Secret. - 3 (Steve Rogers x Reader)
Chapter Summary: Weeks after the welcome party, Steve and (Y/N) continue their secret affair under her father’s nose. However, when a new face is introduced, the fate of this unlikely not-couple is tested. 
Warnings: surprise guest... love triangle (?), language, short makeout scene, shitty writing. AGE GAP (reader is 21 but feel free to imagine her wtv age you want!)
Word Count: ~3k
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<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->
Steve tsked to himself as he pressed reply to an email regarding a rejection for an investment deal. He heard the door open but paid it no mind. Thinking it was his assistant, he didn’t bother to look up from his screen – all his attention had to be on this email or else their company may lose another crucial investor. It was only when the lock clicked that his concentration had snapped.
Tearing his eyes away from the computer, an entertained smirk found its way onto his face when he met the oh-so-flirtatious eyes of one (Y/N) Barnes. His eyes glanced down to her hands as she reached over and closed the blinds of the windows that boarded the office door.
“What ‘cha doin’?” Steve asked her as she slowly strutted over to him, her wedges tapped lightly against the floor. He gave her a look over, taking in the short yet flowy sundress that stopped right above her knees. She smirked at him and pulling at his desk chair, turning it so it faced her, giving her enough room to straddle him. “(Y/N) – “
She shushed him and cupped his face with her hands before connecting their lips. As the kiss quickly became heated, the younger woman began to grind herself against Steve’s not-so little friend, who was quickly making his presence known. His hands drifted from her waist to underneath her skirt, cupping her ass with both hands.
He kneaded the flesh, giving it a light slap ever so often, as her arms fell to wrap themselves around his neck, deepening the kiss. He let out a breathy moan as her lips descended from his mouth to beneath his ear, sucking on that spot lightly, smearing her lip gloss on his skin.
It was only when the familiar voice of her father was heard throughout the office floor that the two separated.
“Has anyone seen my daughter?” Bucky asked rather loudly. Steve’s skin was hot – surely the pretty girl in the sundress didn’t go unnoticed as she slid into his office. To his relief, Bucky was met with a few muttered responses of “no, sir”’s. Bucky had yet to formally introduce his daughter to their employees, making Steve’s surprise visitor a complete stranger to most of them.
Through the covered windows, the silhouette of her father could be seen with one hand on his hip and the other brushing through his hair. Steve’s hands quickly retreated from beneath her skirt. One hand had a finger pressed against his lips, the other held her against him, trying not to make a sound.
She could feel his rapid heart beating against her chest and she was certain he could feel hers. (Y/N) knew she shouldn’t have ambushed her secret lover in his office – a hallway and a right turn away from her father’s – but she couldn’t help herself.
Earlier in the morning when her father gave her an empty tour of the building – they arrived before any of the other workers even showed up (much to her dismay) – she had caught a glimpse of Steve. He had a Dunkin Donuts coffee in one hand, his other held his cellphone to his ear and wore a suit – and boy, did it do a number on her.
“Fucking hell,” Bucky muttered. He turned and knocked on Steve’s door, finding it odd that his partner had it locked. “Steve?” He called out, knocking again.
Steve coughed. “Kinda busy, Buck.” He looked over to (Y/N) who had the most devious smile on her face. His brows frowned at her as if to tell her to behave but the mischievous glint in her eyes told him otherwise.
“I’ll be quick… Have you seen (Y/N)?” Bucky asked. He tried to turn the doorknob only to find it locked. He found that quite odd considering Steve, the charismatic and “friendlier” boss, constantly enforced the open-door policy – extending it to his actual office door.
Steve opened his mouth to respond when the woman in question ground her hips into him causing him to stifle his moan into a series of coughs. Both hands found grabbed at her waist as he shook his head at her as if begging her to stop. His very tight grip had successfully stopped her movements, causing her hand to fly up to her mouth to muffle the yelp that escaped her. She was sure he’d leave bruises.
“Are you okay, bud?”
Steve was breathing heavily, head thrown back against his chair as he tried to calm his raging hard on – which he found increasingly difficult with the cause of it on his lap. “Yeah, yeah,” Steve coughed. “Wrong pipe.”
He watched (Y/N) lean towards his ear. He felt her lips ghost over that sensitive spot again. Steve shut his eyes tightly, suppressing another moan.
“Haven’t seen her, Bucky,” Steve called out. The words were rushed, suspicious even, but they could hear Bucky let out a deep sigh before watching his shadow disappear. Steve gave her a pointed look. “You,” he fisted the hair at the back of her head, pulling it slightly, causing her to moan, “are gonna get me in a lot of trouble.” 
He pulled her in, giving her a final peck on the lips.
She smirked as she hopped off his lap, fixing her dress as she stood. “You like the dress?” She asked him, twirling.
Steve nodded. “Where ya off to?”
“You mean where are we off to,” (Y/N) corrected as she began to preoccupy herself by looking through his office. She picked up a snow globe that had the Chicago Bean inside it and shook it to watch the Styrofoam snow float around.
“What do you mean?” Steve questioned.
“Didn’t you check your emails?” She responded, cocking her head to the side. “You and my dad are going to that charity polo match held in Tony Stark’s honor.
Steve scoffed. Of course, Tony would have it in his honor. He clicked around on his computer and sure enough – it was on his schedule. He let out a deep sigh causing the younger woman to laugh.
“What’s wrong? Don’t like Tony?”
He scratched the back of his neck as he tried to find the answer. Truthfully, he wasn’t fond of the Starks though professionally, he respected the empire that Tony built. However, after the many times he and Bucky had spoken to the engineer turned entrepreneur, the exchanges always left a sour impression to the up and coming CEO.
Unfortunately, with his and Bucky’s company tiptoeing slowly beneath the red line, a partnership with Stark would most likely save the company – resulting in their desperate attempts to build a relationship with the Starks.
“I do, I do… He’s just … I dunno, (Y/N)…” Steve sighed as he began typing on the computer, finding himself a bit unfocused.
She frowned before nodding. “Well, I should probably leave you – looking very business-y and serious on that computer.” Steve looked up at her and gave her a quick, thankful smile. She rushed over to his side and gave him a quick kiss before waltzing towards the door. “See you in a bit then, Rogers.”
“Bye (Y/N).”
»»————- ♡ ————-««
New York’s sun was undeniably hot. The multitude of attendees – from socialites to celebrities to business owners small and big – took shelter from the blistering summer heat beneath giant white tents. Ever the social butterfly, (Y/N) found herself getting swept away by her new friend, Wanda Maximoff, who pulled around the tables, introducing her to new faces.
Bucky was well known for being the icier partner between he and Steve, but due to Steve’s inability to hide his distaste for the Starks on his face, Bucky had taken the lead when the man of the hour came by to greet them.
“Glad you two could make it.” Steve gave Tony a quick nod. He adverted his eyes to stop himself from rolling them. His attention landing somewhere else – rather… someone else.
The banter between his partner and their most promising future partner became white noise as Steve’s stare lingered on (Y/N). Her arms were linked with Wanda and in front of them was Peter though Steve knew better than to be jealous – the multiple secret make-out sessions that followed (Y/N)’s welcome party convinced him not to be. Although they had never talked about exclusivity, it was clear that their chemistry was almost as hot as the sun. She was his as he was hers without the need for a pesky label that would only complicate the situation even further.
As if feeling his stare, she threw a glance in his direction. He gave her a smile and a small nod in acknowledgement as she gave him a small wave before turning her attention back on Stark’s son.
“So, how’s your daughter adjusting to the city?” Tony asked Bucky, drawing Steve’s attention back on the two men.
Bucky clicked his tongue and nodded. “She’s faring quite well, really… But I’m sure she’s used to big cities, though.”
“So I’ve heard,” Tony nodded. “Peter says she grew up in Los Angeles?”
Bucky nodded. “That’s where her ma took her, yeah.”
“They hit it off – Peter and (Y/N). They’re constantly texting.” That was news to Steve. He glanced over to where she was previously only to find that the three had disappeared. “That’s some good press.” Stark chuckled and Bucky followed suit, leaving Steve the only one silent with a clenched jaw. “Imagine that – Stark Industries and SHIELD inc.’s heirs merging two big business families… Quite the headline.”
“That’s a long headline,” Steve said, dryly. Bucky had subtly nudged his partner as if to tell him to shut up.
Tony nodded, taking it into consideration. “But I’m just sayin’, it looks good for the companies to see both of our kids hanging out, getting friendly.”
“Well, if they’ve hit it off, I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t mind being seen with Peter.” Bucky agreed.
Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes or retort the fact that he’ll mind.
“Holy shit,” a woman at the table next to the three men gasped. Bucky shot her a strange look as she fluffed her hair and pulled down the neckline of her dress, exposing her breasts a bit more. “Twitter’s saying the Kents are here!” She and her girl friends began to buzz with excitement.
“Oh, he made it?” Tony asked with a surprised tone. He got up from his seat across Bucky and gave the two a nod. “I gotta go greet him. I’ll see you gentlemen.”
“Kent. Kent.” Bucky repeated, frowning. “Name’s familiar but I can’t quite – “
“One of the wealthiest families in America – well known for real estate and their lavish hotels,” Steve filled in the gap. In their dynamic, Steve had always found himself as the social one, keeping an ear to the ground regarding any good business opportunities.
“Right.” Bucky said in realization. He raised his brows at Steve and Steve instantly understood.
“We should catch up with Tony, then.”
»»————- ♡ ————-««
(Y/N) tilted her head, smile never straying as Wanda swayed her phone to take a boomerang of the pair. Although she had come from the land of social media influencers, she never quite understood the appeal. Perhaps, it was because she preferred to keep her endeavors to herself.
“I’m gonna go get a refill,” she told Wanda before making her way through the party. She’ll admit, she was using her half empty glass of champagne as an excuse to find Steve. She would’ve killed for a moment to themselves – preferring his company to Wanda and Peters although she did enjoy being with her new friends.
Her shoulders dropped as she returned to her table, finding Steve and her father were gone. She huffed before putting the glass of champagne down and walking off. When she returned to where Wanda and Peter were before, she found that the pair were now missing, too. She groaned to herself, suddenly feeling completely isolated in a party full of strangers.
She wandered around the grounds for a bit longer, ultimately finding sanctuary from the blazing hot sun beneath an umbrella. She felt her leg start to bounce anxiously as she tried to scan the area for a familiar face.
“Fancy some company?” She turned and found a sparkling pair of steel blue eyes staring at her. He offered her a smile, tilting his head, curiously at her.
“I’m a bit of an extrovert of sorts, so I can never turn that down,” she joked. The man towered over her and was rather built. The buttons on his dress shirt were hanging on for dear life. He chuckled and bit his lip before nodding as he stepped beneath the umbrella with her. God, and he smelled good.
His hand combed through his curls before reaching out to her. “Clark.”
“(Y/N).” She introduced herself and took his hand. He shook her hand firmly, reminding her of Steve. Maybe it was a businessman thing – firm handshakes. The man before her was handsome. Maybe she just had a thing for suits?
“So,” he said, nodding over to the game playing out. Her brows shot up in surprise – she hadn’t even realized it already began. “Who’re you going for?”
“Truthfully,” she laughed, “I came here with my boy – dad. My dad.” She caught herself before the word could even escape. He’s not your anything, dumbass, she reminded herself. “So, I’m not quite sure what’s even going on.”
“Well,” Clark chuckled. “One team’s funded by the Starks. The other by the Kent family,” he eyed her to see her reaction, finding she was just as clueless. He smiled to himself realizing she didn’t know who he was. “Whole thing’s organized by Tony Stark… something about his birthday? Honestly, I didn’t even read the invitation.”
She hummed and smiled at him. “Well, you have more of an idea about what’s even happening than I do.”
“Go for the team in blue,” he encouraged her with a wink.
“Will do,” she nodded.
“So, (Y/N),” he segued, “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new?”
“Technically, yes. I was born in New York City but was raised in LA after my mom and dad split,” she explained.
Clark nodded. “Well, Los Angele’s loss is New York’s gain. I’m sure,” he smiled.
“What about you?” She piped up. “New York native?”
He shook his head. She watched as a curl fell, draping over his forehead. She fought the urge to reach up and comb through his locks. That’s creepy, (Y/N). “I was raised in Kansas.”
“Wow, that’s a big difference.”
He smiled. “I suppose. I moved around a bit but always found my way home.” Before she could respond, a gust of wind suddenly blew into the air, cooling off many of the attendees and managing to blow up her skirt.
She gasped as both she and Clark reached down to stop the dress from exposing her. Their hands grazed each other – and she felt an odd feeling in her stomach… fuck, are those butterflies?
“Should’ve went for a longer dress,” she laughed as the wind calmed.
Clark’s hand reeled back as he stared down at her. They held each other’s gaze. The fluttering feeling had yet to dissipate.
“Kent!” She looked past Clark to see three men hurriedly walking over. She didn’t miss the way Steve frowned at her, rather at Clark – he had obviously witnessed whatever that was.
“Ah, Tony,” Clark greeted as they neared.
“(Y/N)?” Bucky looked over at his daughter.
“Hi, dad.” She smiled.
“I see you’ve met the lovely (Y/N) Barnes,” Tony told Clark.
“Barnes.” Clark repeated, glancing over to her. “As in SHIELD inc?”
“That’s us,” Steve responded through clenched teeth.
“It’s a pleasure.” Clark offered his hand to the blonde. “Clark.”
“Steve,” he responded, ignoring Clark’s outstretched hand.
Tony raised a brow at Steve’s sudden iciness, finding it rather strange. Bucky, trying to make up for his partner’s uncharacteristic attitude, took Clark’s hand, giving it a shake.
“James, but please, call me Bucky,” her father added. He threw Steve a weird look as if to tell him to be professional – they needed an investor.
“Enjoying the game so far, Kent?” Tony asked.
Clark nodded. “Honestly, I haven’t been paying attention, had the loveliest distraction.” She felt her cheeks heat up as Clark winked in her direction.
Watching the interaction made Steve’s blood boil. Peter Stark had been one thing – a momentary lapse of judgement. He was just a kid. Not a real threat at all. But Clark Kent, a man who rivaled Steve in many ways, was a completely different thing.
He made her blush, the jealous voice in Steve’s head taunted. The reaction was rather odd, to say the least. (Y/N) had always been the one pulling the reins with her and Steve, coming and going as she pleases. Steve had always been the blushee and her the blusher. Finding that the tables turned for Clark caught Steve off guard, and he hated it.
The men had begun to talk. Steve let Bucky take the lead again, not trusting himself to interact without saying the wrong thing and ruining any potential deals. He watched a bored expression glaze over (Y/N)’s face as she began to look around the grounds, finding Wanda again. Just before the conversation took the business route, she excused herself.
She began to walk away when she heard someone call her name. She turned to find that Clark had chased after her. “Sorry about the interruption.”
She waved him off. “No need to apologize.”
“But I would love to see you sometime. Of course, if you want. No interruptions. Promise. Just you, me, dinner?” He tried, smiling and hopeful.
She bit her lip. “Okay,” she nodded. “Dinner.” She fished her phone out from her clutch and handed it over to him.
As Clark punched in his number to add to her contacts, Bucky saw his daughter making a valuable connection to help keep their business afloat… Steve, on the other hand, saw a threat.
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musette22 · 4 years
Note
As it's Chris' birthday today, what's your Evanstan headcon for how they are spending it? We don't know if Chris is still in LA (as far as I know), do you think he might be back in Boston to be with his family? That would mean Seb could easily visit him now that the lockdown in NYC is over. Or would he fly to LA to celebrate with his bf? (He hasn't been seen in NYC in the last couple of days either, right?) Or will the only hang out virtually? I would love to know what you are imagining 😊
Hello darling!! So yesterday, I said I probably wasn’t going to write any Evanstan for a while, but then I woke up this morning and had a lovely little Evanstan headcanon fantasy about Chris’s birthday - as you do - and then I thought screw it, let’s write this thing. So here’s a little drabble (well, it should’ve been a drabble) about how Chris might have spent his birthday 😘
A/N: This is just a nonsensical little fantasy scenario that doesn’t actually make any sense, but the idea made me happy, so I hope it’ll make you guys happy too! Don’t look too closely, please, there’s some overlap with previous fics and this was all written very quickly and hasn’t been edited properly because it’s late where I am and I need to sleep lmao 🙈 Sorry about that!
Happy birthday, Mr. America 
*********
Chris likes surprises, generally speaking.
Not the nasty kind, like when a part unexpectedly falls through, or someone gets angry at him out of the blue and he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. But he likes it when exciting things happen and shake things up a bit, like when he’s having a lazy day alone at home, and a friend suddenly shows up on his doorstep to tell him, change of plans, we’re going bungee jumping. When that happens, Chris will happily drop whatever he’s doing and jump in the car, because that’s the kind of thing that makes him feel alive.
So when he arrives at the Evans’ family house today, on his birthday, and is greeted by a chorus of Surprise! and Happy Birthdays from a bunch of people he hasn’t seen ages - literal years, in some cases - Chris is delighted and touched; excited to see familiar faces and catch up with his friends and family.
That excited feeling lasts for a solid few hours, until his Aunt Melanie corners him and starts telling Chris about her Pilates instructor. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to set Chris up with whichever wonderful girl she’s most recently met and feels would be perfect for Chris, but this time she’s really hammering on about how she just can’t understand why a good-looking, successful young man like him hasn’t found a wife yet. She no doubt means well, but that doesn’t mean Chris is about to go on a blind date with her Pilates instructor.
When he’s finally managed to excuse himself under the pretense of needing a bathroom break, he sneaks off to the back of the house, to his dad’s old study. As soon as the door closes behind him, he lets out a sigh of relief and leans back against it for a moment, catching his breath. He loves his family to bits, but there’s no denying they’re a lot. There’s a sofa in the study, a wide, navy blue one, and Chris lies down on it, stretching himself to his full length. He closes his eyes, hoping to nap for a couple of minutes, but no dice. His aunt’s comments play in his head on a loop, causing something uneasy to stir in his stomach.
The thing is, she’s right. He should already be married and have a couple of cute kids to dote on. He’s wanted to have a family and settle down for a long time, ever since he got done with sowing his wild oats and calmed down a little. He’s the long-term relationship kind, and there had been a few girlfriends with whom he thought he definitely could see a future.
That had been Before, though. Before Sebastian Stan had waltzed into his life and upended everything Chris thought he knew for certain, complicating everything in the best and worst possible way. After the initial shock of developing feelings for another guy wore off, Chris had simply accepted his infatuation as a fact of life, and it had become something he carried with him always, but never acted on or even spoke of. He wouldn’t know where to start. It was clear there was something between them, though. The way Sebastian looked at him sometimes… It had to mean something. For the longest time, they’d danced around each other, always just shy of outright flirting, and there had been a few times when Chris really thought something might finally happen between them. But it never did.
And now it never would. They’ve hardly even seen each other, over the past year, after they stopped working together. Sure, they kept in touch from time to time, but there is only so much keeping in touch two work friends can plausibly do before it gets weird or necessarily has to turn into something else. And Chris thought he’d accepted that, more or less.
But then last week, he and Scott had gotten drunk together – like really, stupidly drunk. At around 3 in the morning, Scott had put on The First Avenger so he could make fun of Chris in his skin tight leggings, and then suddenly Sebastian’s face had been right there on his TV screen: larger than life, young and handsome like he’d been when Chris first felt that tug in his gut when he’d looked at him.
And Chris, whose brain-to-mouth filter unfortunately ceases to exist entirely whenever he’s had too much to drink, had just blurted out, “I think I’m in love with him.”
Initially, Scott had thought Chris meant that Steve was in love with Bucky. 
“Well, clearly,” he’d slurred. “They’re soooo gay, oh my god.”
And instead of using the misunderstanding to cover up for his unfortunate drunken slip-up, Chris had slowly shook his head and corrected, “No, with Sebastian. ‘M in love with Sebastian. Have been for a long time, I think.”
He’d passed out not long after, possibly his subconscious’ way of trying to protect himself against the barrage of questions from Scott that Chris had been in no state to answer in that moment. Inevitably, Scott had tried to talk to him about it the next day, but Chris – hungover, embarrassed and annoyed with himself for opening his big mouth and spilling this secret that he’d managed to keep for close to a decade – had told Scott to leave it and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Nothing was ever going to come of this now anyway, so it was much better if they could all just forget it ever happened.
Scott and he had gone to dinner at their mom’s that night, and of course, Lisa had instantly sensed something was off. Unfortunately, Chris never did stand a chance in hell against his mother, so when she took him to aside after dinner and outright asked him what was wrong, he’d had no choice but to spill the beans. Besides, if he didn’t, Scott would probably have found a way to guilt him into telling Lisa, eventually - they’d always shared everything with her, after all.
Lisa had been so loving and understanding, just like Chris knew she would, and despite the aching in his chest, he was grateful and a little bit relieved to know he wasn’t keeping something this significant from her any longer. But in the end, it didn’t change anything. Of course, Lisa had asked him why he didn’t just go for it, told him to just go for it, call Sebastian and ask him out for dinner, but Chris had dismissed all her suggestions. It just wasn’t going to happen. Certainly not now, not anymore.
She’d dropped it, eventually, but Chris is under no illusions that he’s heard the last of it.
Since then, he’d tried to put the whole fiasco out of his mind, but then Aunt Melanie started badgering him about his marital status and it had all come rushing back again.
Just when Chris about to give up on trying to nap and head outside to get some fresh air instead, there’s a knock at the door.
Chris sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Come in,” he calls, not bothering to get up because it’s probably his mom coming to check on him. “Hey, mom,” he says, when Lisa’s head does appear around the door.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she replies, smiling. She opens the door a little wider. “There’s someone here to see you.”
“Oh?” Chris says, sitting up a little straighter for whatever friend or family member his mom wants him to meet so urgently, but then Lisa steps aside to reveal –  
Sebastian.
Sebastian is here. In his mom’s house. Standing right there, looking a little apprehensive and unsure, but still so fucking gorgeous it makes Chris’s heart stop for a moment inside his chest, before it starts up again at double speed.
“Hey, Chris,” Sebastian says, and it’s his voice, he’s really here, in Chris’s dad’s old study, speaking actual words at him.
What the fuck.
Chris gets to his feet so fast he feels a bit lightheaded, lightly swaying on his feet before he manages to get some semblance of a reply. "Hi. What- Sebastian. What are you doing here?"
Sebastian’s eyes flicker to Lisa for a moment, looking at her a little uncertainly. She gives him an encouraging nod.
“Um,” Sebastian starts, turning his eyes back to Chris again. “Lisa, your mom, invited me to your surprise birthday party.” He licks his lips nervously. “So, yeah, happy birthday. And, um. Surprise.” The last word is accompanied by a dorky little wave, and Chris is just. Speechless.
Literally, can’t form any words speechless, which is highly unusual for him. When he just keeps standing there, staring a Sebastian like he’s some kind of fata morgana, Lisa rolls her eyes and nudges Sebastian with her elbow.
“Well, go on, then,” she prompts, nodding in Chris’s direction. “He won’t bite.” Then, the look in her eyes turns mischievous, and Chris has half a second to think oh no, before she adds, “Unless you like that sort of thing, of course, but then he'd ask first. I raised him well.”
Sebastian makes a strangled sound, but starts towards him nonetheless, and before he really knows what’s happening, Chris is holding Sebastian in his arms. Holding him in his arms and burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. Sebastian’s arms go around him, too, a little tentative at first, but growing tighter, more secure, the longer the hug lasts. 
And it lasts, much longer than a casual happy birthday hug between friends is supposed to last, but Chris can’t for the life of him bring himself to let go. He knows he’s clinging, that he’s got his nose pressed to the spot below Sebastian’s ear and that’s probably far too intimate, but Sebastian’s arms around are wound tightly around Chris’s waist and his cheek is presses to the side of Chris’s face, and he’s not letting go either.
Finally, after what feels simultaneously like forever and the blink of an eye, Sebastian inhales shakily, his chest expanding against Chris’s. With Herculean effort, Chris makes himself pull away. But, of course, that brings with it the complication of being able to see Sebastian’s face, flustered and glowing, eyes shining with something unnameable. They’re so close then, their faces only an inch or so apart, and when Sebastian’s eyes flicker down to Chris’s mouth for a split second, Chris’s restraint breaks.
He lunges forward, and Sebastian does the same, and their mouths crash together awkwardly and suddenly, they’re kissing. Really, actually kissing. 
Chris’s hands fly to Sebastian’s face, holding it like it’s something precious, causing Sebastian to make a small, desperate sound that reverberates throughout Chris’s entire body. When he licks at the seam of Sebastian’s lips, Sebastian parts them immediately, letting him in, and Chris is drowning. Drowning in the kiss, in Sebastian’s taste, his smell, the little sighs he’s making against Chris’s lips, like he’s just as overwhelmed and stupefied and happy as Chris is, while they cling to each other like they’re each scared the other’s going to disappear if they dare to let up for just one second.
Eventually, though, they have to break apart for air. Chris presses their foreheads together, unwilling to put any more distance between them than is strictly necessary, still breathing the same air. When Chris eventually opens his eyes, he finds Sebastian looking back at him in a way that makes his knees feel suddenly weak.
"Hi," Seb says, voice low and husky.
"Hey," Chris replies, his hands on either side of Sebastian’s face, thumbs idly caressing his cheekbones.
Sebastian giggles, a light, happy sound that makes his nose do that scrunchy thing it does, and Chris wants to die. He groans, pulling Sebastian back in by the back of his neck –
And then Lisa clears her throat. Sebastian startles; he’d evidently forgotten she was still there, or maybe assumed she’d have left to give them their privacy, but that just goes to show Sebastian doesn’t know Lisa very well – yet.
"Well,” Lisa says, a grin in her voice. “I'll leave you two to it then, let me know if you need anything.” She pauses, before cheekily adding, “Anything at all."
“Yes, thank you, mom,” Chris says quickly, keen to spare Sebastian any further embarrassment. Sebastian’s hiding his face in Chris’s chest as it is, arms still wound around his waist, and Chris is literally about to pass out from how fucking cute that is.
Holding up a placating hand, Lisa finally retreats, closing the door behind her.
Once they’re alone, Chris steers Sebastian towards the couch, sitting down and pulling him into his lap. Sebastian lets himself be guided, straddling Chris’s thighs and giving him a coy look through his eyelashes. Chris blows out a slow breath to center himself a little, bringing up his hands to settle on Sebastian’s waist.
He knows they’ll need to talk about this at some point, but right now he can’t think of a single way to express what he’s feeling, and what this means to him. Right now, all he can do is stare at Sebastian in wonder, relishing finally getting to look at him the way he’s always wanted to: unabashedly, fondly, and very appreciative of exactly how tempting Sebastian’s lips look – especially after having been thoroughly kissed. By him.
“Fuck,” Chris breathes, overwhelmed, leaning in again to catch those pretty pink lips in another kiss.
Sebastian responds beautifully, opening up right away, melting into him. His arms wind around Chris’s shoulders, fingers scratching gently through the hair on the back of Chris’s head, making him shiver.
It’s sweet, at first; lips sliding together lazily, slow and lush, but eventually, the kisses turn a little dirtier, with nipping teeth and teasing tongues. When Sebastian bites Chris’s bottom lip a bit too hard, pulling on it, Chris literally goes cross-eyed for a second. The hand that found its way into Sebastian’s hair tightens instinctively, pulling his head back just a little.
“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, eyelids fluttering, and Chris instantly feels all his blood rushing south.
He can’t believe it. He can’t believe he has Sebastian here, in his lap, looking like innocence and sin wrapped into one, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes like it’s Chris who’s something to be desired. And Chris wants. He wants so bad, with every fiber of his being, to have Sebastian right there and then, but he has just enough presence of mind left to know that they can’t rush this, can’t make any rash decisions they might later regret if they don’t talk about what’s happening first.
Words still seem impossible, however, so instead, Chris takes one of Sebastian’s hands in his and presses a kiss to the center his palm, hoping to convey with that one gesture everything he wants to say but can’t.
When he looks back up, Sebastian blinks at him, his eyes wide and stunned, before he suddenly grabs Chris’s face between his hands and starts planting breathless kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and even his nose. Chris lets himself be kissed, basks in it, feeling like his heart might burst, and when Sebastian finally presses his lips to his mouth, Chris seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Despite Chris’s best intentions, it turns heated again in no time. Without his permission, his hands slide under Sebastian’s shirt, stroking the smooth, warm skin of his back, while Sebastian mouths at Chris’s jaw, then trails a path of kisses down the column of his neck.
“Seb,” Chris groans, hands tightening convulsively on Sebastian’s waist. “Sebastian, wait.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Sebastian pants, lifting his head to look down at him. He’s disheveled, his hair a mess, pupils blown, his lips red and a little raw from mouthing at Chris’s beard. He looks stunning.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Chris says honestly, touching Sebastian’s left cheek.
Sebastian ducks his head turning his face into Chris’s palm, but he’s smiling, which makes Chris smile, too, then they’re just smiling at each other like a couple of dorks.
Chris shifts their positions to get more comfortable, tugging at Sebastian until they’re both lying on the couch on their sides, face to face. Pulling him closer, into his chest, Chris swings a leg over both of Sebastian’s, and Sebastian takes the hint immediately, snuggling into Chris and tucking his head under his chin so they’re full on cuddling.
“Best fucking birthday present ever,” Chris mutters into Sebastian’s hair, his hand tracing idle patters on Sebastian’s upper arm. In reply, Sebastian presses a kiss to Chris’s chest, over his heart.
Somehow, they snooze for a little while, just drifting in and out of consciousness, neither of them seeming to want to untangle themselves from the other, until after an indeterminate amount of time, there’s a soft knock at the door.
Chris hums questioningly in reply, not wanting to wake Sebastian, and the door opens cautiously. Lisa pokes her head in again, and the moment she sees them, all wrapped around each other like that, she covers her mouth with her hands, cooing softly.
“Happy Birthday, baby,” she whispers, her eyes shining with affection and pride.
“Thanks, mom,” Chris whispers back, blinking back tears. “Love you.”
From where he’s half asleep on Chris’s chest, Sebastian murmurs, “Love you, too.”
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legitlaur · 4 years
Text
Sweet Dreams // Bucky Barnes
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pairing: Bucky x Amnesia! Reader
word count: 3108
warnings: car accident, amnesia 
summary: Bucky was in the right place at the right time and managed to save you from a fatal car accident. He keeps tabs on you in the hospital and finds out you have amnesia, because of his experience with brainwashing and amnesia he is determined to help you
Nothing out of the ordinary happens to Bucky, at least nothing that doesn’t have to do with the Avengers, aliens, brainwashing, and having a metal cybernetic arm. Until you. 
Brooklyn.
Steve was constantly telling Bucky memories about their lives in Brooklyn. When Bucky wants to remember who James Buchanan Barnes was, he takes walks in Brooklyn. Sometimes he passes a building or inhales a smell, that has a familiarity with it that he doesn’t recognize. A thought that James would’ve had pops in his mind, or even snippets of memories. He sees Steve as a scrawny kid, his sisters, and his mother. Writing them down in one of his stacks of journals, he asks Steve about the memory when he doesn’t recognize anything. He knows he’ll never really be James Buchanan Barnes again, but somehow that person will always be apart of him. He needs to learn about James before he can become himself, his new semi-stable self, Bucky. 
Tonight like any other night when he leaves the tower, Bucky wears his black jacket and a matching leather glove on his left hand. Even in the crazy world that was the present, he was forced into hiding the truth about himself. Sometimes he didn’t mind though, such as now. His jacket and glove kept the cool breeze out. The night was brisk, there wasn’t much traffic. A few teenagers running around, an old couple holding hands walking across the street. 
A white SUV ran a red light, Bucky snorted. People have been running lights for longer than he’s been alive, some things never change. He’s thankful for that, the few constants he can remember help when he goes into dark places. 
This would be the last peaceful walk through Brooklyn he would have for a while. The white SUV he was laughing at, slammed into a light blue Toyota Camry. The Camry flew through the air, hitting the pavement hard. His body was running before his mind had time to process what he’d just seen. There was a crowd of people surrounding the two cars, seeing his stature they parted like the Red Sea at Moses’ command. He stopped at the Camry, laying himself onto the pavement to see if anyone was alive or seriously injured.
He saw you, laying there with hair so soaked in so much blood it looked black, your face so bruised and bashed it was unrecognizable. He knew he had to save you. Even if you were already dead, he couldn’t leave your body smushed in a car. Pulling the cap of his hat closer to his face, he lifted the car. Normally he would just throw the car, but he was gentle. Your body was in a fragile state, you had to be saved.
The ambulance showed up right after Barnes pulled your body from the deformed car. He argued with the EMT that he had to go in the ambulance with you. It wasn’t hard, giving the man wearing latex gloves one glare and he was in. Sitting next to you, never letting his eyes drift away. When the ER docs open the doors Bucky pulled the stretcher out by himself. The doctors watched in awe, grabbing the stretcher they jumped back into action.
“Trauma to the head, we need a CT stat. Unconscious.” A doctor called out while transferring you onto a hospital bed.
“What's her name? How old is she? Explain what happened? Did you call the police? Do you know her blood type?” A nurse began bombarding Bucky with questions he didn’t have answers too.
“I don’t know. I pulled her out,” his head was spinning almost as fast as the room around him, “I’ve never met her.”
One of the EMTs pulled him aside, “Come with me,” Bucky followed the orders, “Sit down, you’re in shock.” He’d been in shock so many times, the feeling was not one he enjoyed. Sitting down he tried to remember the breathing exercises Bruce taught him. “You need to eat something then get some rest. Why don’t you go home.”
“No I can’t,” he stood up and looked through the window into the room where you were lying, “I have to make sure she’s okay. Please, I can’t just leave her.” 
The EMT must have heard the urgency in Buckys raspy voice because he nodded, “I’ll tell the nurses to keep you in the loop.” 
Sitting back down Bucky was feeling better, “Thank you.” He had to make sure you were okay, he wasn’t going to leave you by yourself.
“Sir,” there was a tap on Bucky slouching shoulders, he opened his eyes to see a nurse, “The doctor said you were to be kept in the loop about our Jane Doe. She’s in room 207 if you want to go visit. She’s still unconscious, the doctors are running more tests.” 
Bucky nodded and followed the women in pink scrubs down the hall to room 207. “There’s a chair and TV in there.” 
“Thank you.” He let himself into the small room, closing the blinds he sat down in the chair furthest away from you. Bucky knew he looked intimidating, the first thing you see when you wake up shouldn’t be a terrifying stranger. You looked a bit more cleaned up, you were no longer wearing that blood-stained tank top. The blue hospital gown covered the cuts and scrapes on your shoulders. His brow furrowed as he studied your blueberry of a face. Swelling and bruising were only beginning, and there was no way to recognize who you were. He imagined you were beautiful, that after you heal your family would come to pick up their beautiful daughter and take her home safely. That would have to wait but your face healed. He felt sorry for you, there was no way to identify you until you woke up. So until then, he was all you had. 
After sitting with you for nearly five hours a new nurse came in, “Mr,” she looked down at her files, “Mr. Barnes why don’t you go home. She most likely won’t be waking up within the next few days. Come visit after you’ve gotten some sleep and some food in your stomach.”
Stretching his arms Bucky looked at your bruised face, and blood-soaked hair one last time, “Here’s my cell, keep me updated if anything changes.” 
________
“Where are you always off to now? You hardly ever leave the tower.” Bruce asked as Bucky was about to slip out the door.
“I saw a car accident a few days back, there was a woman. I, um. I pulled her out. I’m just going to go check on her.” Bucky shrugged. 
Bruce nodded, “Take something to eat. Here’s a plum,” he threw the purple fruit across the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Bucky caught it and left before anyone else started asking questions. 
Bucky didn’t like getting asked questions, he either didn’t know the answer or didn’t want to tell anyone the answer to their questions. 
“Mr. Barnes, how are you?” A familiar nurse at reception welcomed him.
Bucky’s bare hand and covered hand leaned against the counter, “Fortunate, hows our Jane Doe?”
The nurse was wearing the same scrubs and bun from last afternoon, “You’ve been here far too long, these shifts are ridiculous.”
She blushed, “Well you’re here almost as often as I am. Let’s go see your girl, her swelling has gone down just a bit, but the cuts and bruises weren't healing as fast as we’d like..”
“Thank you.” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. The purple and black swelling was gone. Your face looked so much softer and younger than Bucky expected. His mind began wandering again, about you and your family.
He sat down and watched you, the sound of the ECG and watching your chest rise and fall with every breath gave Bucky peace. Something he struggled to keep, darkness and tragedy often follow him.
Once you wake up, you’ll find her family and be safe. Then and only then, will he leave you. 
“Mr. Barnes,” A new nurse came in. “We’ve got to do some more tests, you’ll have to sit in the waiting room.”
“If I fall asleep, wake me when I can come back in?” 
She cleared the exit to the door for him, “Of course.”
He found a chair that gave him a view of you through the window of your room. The nurses opened the blinds for him. Pulling the cap of his hat closer to his face he fell back asleep. 
________
There were no changes, but the doctors were beginning to wonder if there was any brain activity. Bucky pleaded with them to keep trying. The next three days Bucky was at the hospital, he hardly slept anymore. The nurses all knew him, and one of the older ones took him to the cafeteria with her when she was on break to make sure he was eating.
“You really don’t know her?” She asked again.
Bucky took a bite of a mushy apple, “No. I watched the accident happen and pulled her out. I just,” he dropped his head, “ I just feel like I have an obligation to make sure when she wakes up she is safe and has someone. No one should ever have to go through that alone.” He cleared his throat. 
She took his hand, “Well that is very sweet.”
Bucky nodded and gave her a small grin.
After eating he went back into your room, sitting in his chair the furthest away from you he could possibly get. Having food in his stomach was making him sleepy. Something about the room, perhaps the smell of lavender, or the rhythmic sound of your ECG, maybe even just seeing you sleeping brings Buck into a state of calm. He closed his eyes and gripped the pager the nurses gave him. Drifting in and out of sleep he stopped focusing on the sounds in your room.
“Where am I?” a hoarse voice croaked.
His fingers were already digging into the pager for the nurses and doctors to come in. Sitting up from his slouched sleeping position, Bucky answered your question as calmly as possible, “You’re in Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn, New York,” He gives you a moment to process this then continues, “What’s your name?”
There was a silence quickly filled by your dry voice, “I think its y/n.”
Without missing a beat Bucky stood up, “I’m going to help you, y/n.”
Nurses came rushing in, the room was flooded with chaos. Bucky tried to get closer to you, even though your eyes were barely recognizable he could see the fear in them, feel it in your mind. One that he was familiar with, a fear that no one should ever have.
“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes you’ll have to move to the waiting room.” A nurse guided his bulky body out of the tiny room.
He clawed at the door frame, “But-”
The doctor saw what was happening and gave Bucky an apologetic smile. 
He couldn’t sit in the waiting room and watch you be tested and asked millions of questions alone. He couldn’t handle being in the hospital anymore so he left, willingly for the first time. 
Back at the tower, Barnes was sparing with Steve and Sam. They could feel the anger and stress with every punch he would throw.
“Come on, open up.” Steve passed him a towel.
Sam gasped for air after downing a bottle of water, “What's up with you man? Does it have to do with that girl in the accident?” “How do you know about her?” Bucky grunted.
“Banner.” They spoke in unison.
They had no right to meddle in his personal business, he didn’t have to sit and listen to them, so he turned to leave, “She’s none of your business.”
Sam chuckled, “Anything that has you leaving the tower this often is my business. Besides if she’s still in the hospital, Tony and Bruce might be able to help.”
Holding his breath Bucky faced his friends, “She’s awake, I’ll leave her alone after her family comes. She just, I,” he ran his metal hand through his greasy locks, “I know what it’s like to be alone, no one should be alone. Especially her.” 
 Steve placed his hand on Bucks right shoulder, “Why don’t you go shower and head back to the hospital. She’ll probably be wondering who you were from earlier.”
 Buck nodded, “Yeah, thanks.”
The hot shower loosened his tense muscles. The knots in his back from sitting in the hospital chairs for far too long. After changing he looked in the mirror, his appearance was so intimidating. He brushed his hair, put his leather glove on, with his favorite matching leather jacket and headed out.
Barnes was expecting to see a family in your room. Your little sister lying on the hospital bed with you, your mom holding your hand while crying, and your father talking to the doctors. When he saw you through the window his stomach dropped, you were alone.
Your doctor approached him, “Mr. Barnes, I’m legally not allowed to tell you this information, but you're the only person who has come to see our Jane Doe-”
“Her name is y/n,” Bucky growled.
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“What are you talking about?” His voice was becoming deeper.
He put his hand on Bucky's forearm, “She has amnesia, her name could just be something she’s heard while she was asleep, even something in her subconscious.”
Amnesia.
“Is it? Is it permanent?” His voice broke.
The doctor shook his head, “We don’t know yet, but Mr. Barnes, she's been asking for the man who pulled her out. Go to her.”
With three large strides Bucky was in your room, the blinds were open as well as your eyes.
“It's Mr. Barnes, right?” Your voice was sounding less rough, “The doctors and nurses said you saved me, and you’ve been my only visitor.”
“You can call me Bucky.” He inching closer to you.
“So tell me about myself. I can’t remember.” Your lighthearted shrug hurt him more than you could know.
His head dropped, “I can’t.” Your brow furrowed, “What do you mean you can’t?”
Bucky looked at your bruised face and swollen eyes, “I don’t know you. I was walking around Brooklyn when I saw the accident, I pulled you out and rode with you to the hospital. I’ve been” he looked down in embarrassment, “I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”
Your voice was barely more than a whisper, “You don’t know me?” She started shaking, “Who am I?” Her voice cracked on those last few words and tears fell.
Bucky never encountered an emotional girl before, he wasn’t sure what to do.
Comfort her, put your arm around her. Tell her you’ll help you.
Bucky's heart was racing, James had clearly dealt with emotional girls. From what Steve told him, he was quite the ladies man. Doing what James’ would do, he sat down on the bed.
“It’ll be ok,” He tried to be as gentle as possible using his right arm to put around you, “I’m not going to leave you. You’re not alone.” Dropping into a whisper he leaned in talking into your ear, “We can figure out who you are.”
Her sniffles were becoming less frequent, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just sat with you.
You finally calmed down, “How are you going to help me?”
His stoic face fizzled into a small smile, “I’ve got lots of experience in this area.”
You were too flustered to ask any more questions. You nuzzled your face into his body. Matching your breathing his, your eyes get droopy until you were asleep in this stranger's arms.
Bucky knew the hospital would have you go through physiological therapy as well as physical therapy. He planned on asking you if you would feel comfortable transferring to Tony’s facility so you could get the best help possible. He just didn’t know how to do it. 
Thankfully the nurses woke you up and asked Bucky to move from the bed in order to help you eat. His leg was bouncing up and down, waiting for the nurse to leave. With all the stress he now had, somehow when you smiled at him with your banged-up face he felt calm. Like everything was going to be alright.
“I’ll be back in 25 minutes to give you more meds.” The nurse reminded you while exiting.
Bucky pulled his chair closer to your bed, “How would you feel if I moved you to a different hospital?”
“What? Why?”
He clenched his left hand, “I am a personal friend of Tony Starks, he can get you the best treatment money can buy. Also, it would be extremely convenient for me.” His voice turned into a mumble, “I wouldn't have to leave the tower and interact with people as frequently.”
“Tony Stark, Iron Man? Why would he let me come to the tower?” You continued asking questions.
Buck slouched in defeat, “Because I work for him. Yes or no?” 
“Have you asked my doctors?”  You wheezed.
He shook his head, “I wanted to ask you before having a serious conversation with Tony and your doctors.”
“Let's see what the doctors say.”
Amnesia was not what you expected, it’s like all the important memories of who you are and your family are gone. Yet you still remember how to ride a bike and read, skills. You’d retained all your skills and a few ideas of memories. What you assumed to be your first name, Philly cheesesteak sandwiches, what TV show you were watching. These things were supposed to help you expand your memory, remember who you were. 
You may have had amnesia but you sure as hell knew who the Avengers were, somehow the man that saved you from your fatal accident knew them. Now you were getting transferred from Kings County Hospital to Stark Tower medical wing. Bucky the only face you really knew and trusted would be there, which was the main factor in you leaving the only place you knew at this point.
He wouldn’t leave your side as you were transported, his left hand covered with a leather glove was gripping the metal handle of your hospital bed rather tightly.
After you were settled down you met Tony Stark, he welcomed you Bucky hardly asked for favors so he figured you were important. That got the gears in your head greased up and spinning. Who was Bucky Barnes and could you trust him?
a/n: i’ll be doing a part 2 so lmk if you wanna be on the taglist
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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years
Text
Counterpart [4/5]
Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Framework!Steve
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Words: 5k
A/N: When Nat went underground, instead of dying her hair blonde like in IW, she dyed it black. I had fun with the idea of Nat and Pietro and Bucky forming this unconventional family of sorts, and I loved playing with the idea that Sam and Carol were old friends in the framework, though tbh, I don’t really know where her framework arc might lead. I will have to do a second pass proofread but anyway...
Note: There’s a Framework centric spin-off in the WIP tank!
Warnings: This chapter contains depictions and mentions of alcoholism, language, violence, etc. It’s a dark series, expect a darker take.
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CHAPTER FOUR: TWO HALVES
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~Canada, The Refuge
The sound of birds chirping outside his window stirred him from his slumber. Bucky was still groggy from sleep, rubbing the remnants of unconsciousness from his eyes with the pads of his flesh fingers. He yawned awake, sitting up from under the covers of the double bed. Glancing at the clock, he noted it was 6 am.
"72 hours," he reminded himself as got up from the bed and walked to the closet, a watch materialising on his wrist, a timer counting down.
"Thanks, Friday," he looked to the ceiling.
There was no reply. Only the sound of wind rustling through the blinds.
While digging through the closet, he was surprised to find several women's clothes hanging next to his. Choosing to ignore that red flag, he reached for a long-sleeved shirt on the rack and noticed his metal arm was a different colour than the usual chrome-blue and gold. This one was red, white and blue.
Cap's colours, he internally pointed out.
A canary emblem in place of the Russian star he had once sported.
"What the?" He glanced at the etched bird using the door fitted mirror beside him. When his eyes looked up to inspect his face, he was greeted by a head of short hair, shaven at the sides. He would have looked military if not for his medium length stubble. He ran a hand through his spikey hair, the brush of it against the metal feeling unfamiliar, "Is this pomade?"
As soon as his hand fell from the trailed paths his fingers had parted through his styled hair, a woman's voice spoke out dotingly, "Morning, Soldat."
The woman's Russian accent was faded but present, she sounded almost like...
"Nat?" Bucky swung around.
She tilted her head to the side. Her hair was longer, darker, a charcoal blackness that absorbed the light. Her face marked by an imposing lateral scar running across the length it, partially healed like a botched brazing job. She looked different but it was indeed her.
"Nat?" She laughed awkwardly. "Not Talia?" She shrugged as she walked over. "Semantics." Her gaze running across his exposed chest with shameless desire.
"Ugh, Nat- Talia, what are you?" Bucky tried to use the closet door to hide his body.
Natasha laughed again as though he were being silly, "You're acting weird this morning. When you're done being all modest, come down to the kitchen so we can start making breakfast for the kids."
Bucky's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, "Kids?"
It was then that he noticed the couple’s photo of him and Nat on the nightstand, coupled with Nat's flirty behaviour, the double bed and the shared closet, everything finally made sense. And now his stomach was doing summersaults.
"Kids?" Bucky said again as he stared at Natasha with his mouth agape. "Nat… Uhh, Talia."
"You can call me Nat if it's suddenly easier for you, liybimaya."
Bucky's neck reclined back as if those words had slapped him, "My love...?"
"Yes?"
"What is- Never mind… Um, do you know how to get in contact with Shield?"
"James, I thought we agreed to let that go. We have enough responsibilities with the kids as it is." Natasha pointed to the portrait style picture hung up on the wall.
Bucky peered at the sixteen by twenty inch photograph. In the forefront was a group of kids of all shapes and sizes, seated on two rows of benches, wearing clashing colours and sporting wide grins as they looked out at the camera. Natasha, Pietro, Bucky and a scary, muscly woman stood behind them. Pietro had thrown up an 'L' sign behind the other Bucky's face, his cheek lines prominent in an obvious laughing position while Natasha had pressed her face between two young children, one of them sticking out their tongue playfully.
Underneath the portrait was an engraving on a brass plate: Second Chance, Home for the Displaced Children of Sokovia, 2017.
"Oh, those kids," Bucky sighed inaudibly, relief hitting him like a wave of ice-water. When he turned back to answer the raven-haired woman blinking rapidly his way, he almost felt sorry for her. Even if she wasn't real to him, she was very much real in her own right, and this very real person had just lost the man she shared a life with. What was worse was that she didn't realise it yet.
"Right, of course, how silly of me to forget about that." Bucky's lips wound up in a corkscrew motion as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Okay, then do you know how to get in contact with Fury?"
"What is a 'Fury'?"
Bucky's eyes rolled in the back of his head, "A figment of my imagination apparently. How about Sam Wilson?"
"Sam… Wilson?" Her lips upturned in a half-moon. "Is he someone from your Shield days? The name is familiar…"
"Uhh, yeah, something like that."
Natasha frowned, "What's really going on with you? You're acting strange this morning. This isn't because of the news last night is it?"
"News?"
"That Hydra captured the Iron-Maiden?” Natasha patted his chest. “Pepper is stubborn, she won't talk, you can relax. We're safe as houses as long as we stay across the border." She left the bedroom as Bucky pulled on his jeans.
Jogging after her, he spotted another framed photograph of a younger version of him shaking hands with someone who looked presidential hanging on the Livingroom walls.
"Hurry up Soldat, these potatoes won't peel themselves."
"I'll be right there Na- Talia!" Bucky searched the large living space for a computer or electronic device, he needed to get familiar with this world before he could make any efforts to find Y/N.
After he had moved some couch cushions and disorganised several drawers, Natasha came back into the room, peeling knife in hand.
"James? What are you looking for?"
"The… remote?" His voice went squeaky. “I wanted to check the news updates.”
Natasha brushed the edges of her fringe away from her eyes as she blinked rapidly again, "James the kids lost that days ago. We sent Pietro to buy a new one while on his supply run." She peered at him, folding her arms defensively. "Are you sure everything is fine?"
Bucky exhaled, moving closer to Natasha so he could look her earnestly in the eye, "No, it's not."
Her mouth fell, "What's the matter, liybimaya?"
Bucky glowered briefly, "A friend of mine is in danger, a Shield agent. I need to help her before it's too late, but to do that I need to find her. Sam Wilson was… her contact. If I find him, I can find her."
"You've never mentioned this before..." Natasha rubbed his metal arm with her free hand. "The tablet is in the bedroom, you can search about your friend."
"Thank you!" Bucky buzzed with energy, teetering in front of Natasha indecisively, unsure of what their dynamic was. He settled for kissing her on the forehead, awkwardly.
"You're… welcome…?" She watched him jog back into their shared bedroom, her fingers spinning the peeling knife with great skill.
Bucky fished out the tablet, dismayed to find it password protected, "Shit!" He leaned his head in his hand as he thought of possible password combinations. "Okay, let's try my birthday."
The screen remained locked, a message notifying him he had two more chances.
"Damn it! If I'm with Shield in this universe, maybe I just got the format wrong..."
Bucky typed his birthday in the American format.
The screen was still locked.
"It can't be Y/N's birthday because this world's Bucky probably never met her…" Bucky drummed his fingers against his temple, his eyes widening when he punched in another set of numbers.
The screen unlocked.
"Curious..." Bucky thought out loud before opening up a search engine.
When he searched for the name: Y/N Y/L/N, he was perplexed when nothing came up, instead, there was a small 'i' icon at the edge of the screen that suggested: "Did you mean Y/N Rogers?"
Bucky pressed his lips into a white slash, his neck turning stiff as his finger hesitated above the red highlighted words. After taking a moment to gather himself, Bucky's metal finger tapped on the link swiftly, the metal colliding with the glass harder than he intended.
A news headline popped up and Bucky read the words, keeping pace with the speed of the scrolling script, "Android Ensures New Yorkers Sleep Safer. Hydra's top of the line security android, Spectre, successfully apprehended and pacified the Iron Maiden's (Virginia 'Pepper' Potts) terrorist cell with record low losses. Steve Rogers and his team (comprising of veteran Hydra officers Clint Barton and Y/N Rogers) were present at the sight, providing ground support and med-evac assistance. This signifies a new milestone in overseeing Director Alexander Pierce's vision for a safer, brighter world under Hydra's protective governance.”
Bucky's molars strained from the stress of his compressed jaw, memories of Alexander Pierce and the mind splitting brain-washing sessions made his blood boil. Shaking his head, which felt odd considering his hair didn't sway into his eyes, Bucky continued scrolling through other articles.
"Power couple of the century?" he retorted sarcastically as the picture of Steve and Y/N dressed in wedding attire mocked him. Their happy faces a punch to the gut. How could he feel jealous, angry and mournful at both his best friend and his girlfriend all at once?
Bucky's metal arm propelled the tablet like a boomerang at the wall, only it never reached it.
"I leave for two days and you return to your old brooding self, smashing furniture like we can afford it?" Pietro tossed the tablet in the air with a boyish grin on his face. "Come, friend, you better not let Talia see those tight eyebrows, huh." He flashed over to the dresser and back, tablet no longer in his hand as he patted Bucky on the back. "We can't keep reminding you that it's not your fault Steve was awoken by the tentacle crazies. What could you do, huh? You were a popsicle stick for almost a hundred years. A hundred years!"
Bucky felt his anger lose its hold on him, for a moment he had forgotten everything he was feeling and seeing wasn't real. Somehow having Pietro sit beside him, treating him like a friend, made that all clear again because Bucky had never met Pietro, he had only ever seen pictures of him hanging in Wanda's room, his very presence was the stark jolt of surrealism he needed to remind himself of why he was here.
"You're right," Bucky said as he rose from the bed and retrieved the tablet.
"Oh, hey, hey, hey now," Pietro held his palms up at Bucky. "You aren't planning to-" he made a throwing gesture at the wall.
Bucky's cheek lifted up as he returned a calming half-smile, "Don't worry, I'm not going to throw anymore furniture."
Pietro let out a shaky laugh, hands placed on his hips as his cheeks inflated from a deep exhale, "Good, because I broke the other one and we don't want to see Talia get mad again."
"Err, right. That would be…" Bucky pressed the 'e' at the end of his sentence as Pietro looked on with buggy eyes. "…Bad?"
Pietro nodded in agreement.
"Oh, did you remember to get the replacement remote?" Bucky asked as he typed in Sam's name into the search engine.
Pietro smacked his thigh with the underside of his hand, "I knew I forgot something. Don't tell Talia I was here, I'll go pick it up right now."
Pietro flashed out of the space in a fraction of a second, residual wind from his velocity drying out Bucky's eyeballs.
"Jesus," Bucky whispered when he read the information packet on Sam.
 ~Sam's Homestead, Missouri
Sam was rudely awoken by his loud alarm clock that sounded more like a fire alarm than a soothing melody. He smashed the digital clock as he fumbled with his sheets. His breath tasted of something foul, like stagnant bile, and his head pounded like a marching band had just traipsed across his synapses, a throbbing sensation pulsing at his temples.
When his eyes finally opened he was horrified by the disastrous state of his avatar's home. Clothes were piled on the floor, blinds shut, several cans and bottles littering the space, filling the air with a stale rancid smell of sweat, malt and sick.
He glanced down at his vest and noticed the vomit stains, "Jesus Christ."
Sam groaned as he motioned to sit up from the bed. However, with his balance out of whack, he tumbled onto the floor, face-first into a pile of unwashed slacks that made him retch.
"What the fuck?" He looked down at his feet and noticed he only had the one leg. The other was amputated at the knee leaving behind a mangled scar and a phantom pain that his conscious mind refused to reconcile since the real version of him still had control of both his legs, submerged in a tank underwater. "I didn't see this comin’."
Sam rolled his eyes as he hoisted himself back onto the bed and looked around for a pair of crutches, reaching under the bed instinctively, he was pleasantly amazed to find them there. "Let’s try this again."
He picked himself up on one leg, hobbling about on his crutches that got tangled with all the clutter on his way out of the room.
"Hello?" Sam called out into the dusty, humid house but there was no reply, only dead silence and the grinding of a fan in need of oiling. "Man, this is turning out to be one hell of a bad day."
A stopwatch manifested on his wrist, the hours counting down. Sam pulled his head back, eyes searching for some kind of sign in place of the water-stained ceiling, "Friday, I need to get in touch with Bucky, know how I can do that?"
Silence.
"Yeah, figures."
When he got to the kitchen he saw a note scribbled on a piece of stationery: 'There's some clean laundry in the dryer. I restocked your fridge. Remember: one day at a time. S.'
"S? Who the hell is S?" He complained, turning on his three legs to get a feel for the room. A wistful sigh filling the emptiness.
A gurgling noise rumbled from his stomach, the headache that most likely succeeded his avatar's heavy night of drinking was undoubtedly the cause. Sam tried to clear his throat and rid the taste of fermented wheat from his tongue and teeth, but it didn't help much, It only made him realise how desperate he was for a good shower and a bottle of mouthwash.
He set the rusty coffee pot to brew, deciding the metal tang it would adopt would only be a trick of the senses and hopefully not carry any lasting side effects. He cracked open a window, letting the smell of conifers and rain unclog his sinuses. He then clomped his way down to the bathroom and ran himself a bath after he figured showering would be more of a challenge given his new-old condition.
It bothered him more that he could still feel his leg. It was so surreal to look down and see it gone every time. The irritation digging into his under-arms from the crutches was a psychological reminder of the harsh reality he was about to be subjected to in this world.
After brushing his teeth and changing into new clothes, which required some tactful manoeuvring, Sam looked around for any electronic device that connected to the internet.
"Bingo!" He cheered as he saw a tablet stuffed between two couch cushions. There was no password protection on the device. "Gee, I guess I got nothin' to hide huh? Well if that's the case..." Sam typed his name into the search engine and regretted it immediately after he read the first few headlines: 'Reckless Pilot Destroys Multi-Million Dollar Flight Suit; Drunk, Dishonourably Discharged; Sam Wilson's Vet Clinic Foreclosure; Disgraced Pilot Flees to the Hills.'
"Well, this is depressing," Sam threw the tablet on the couch, opting to switch on the news channel instead. As he rifled through the strange house, the news reporter filled him in on whatever passed for news in this new, frightening world.
"Eyewitnesses report of seeing a strange blue and white streak making its way across Europe earlier this week. Hydra enforcements remind all citizens to call the subservient prevention hotline if they see any person or persons acting suspiciously," the reporter said.
Sam guffawed as he flipped through old photo albums, "Oh yeah, scare the little guy into giving up his neighbour… real patriotic."
"In other news, Hydra's defence android, dubbed Spectre by the head office, has successfully led a charge to apprehend and pacify the Iron Maiden's terrorist cell earlier this week. Citizens of New York can sleep safer knowing that this menace has been brought to justice and is expected to fill out her life sentence behind bars at the Hydra supermax prison."
Withholding the urge to spit, Sam clamped down on his crutches and stomped to the kitchen to grab that cup of coffee.
The reporter continued her deep-dive, "And now, politics. Hell's Kitchen boasts another prosperous year under the leadership of Mayor Fisk. Following recent events concerning the escape of the Punisher, former military specials unit Captain Billy Russo, local citizens have demonstrated their support for the mayor's proposed anti-vigilante task force by taking to the streets in protest against the rising number of subservients. Opposing mayoral candidate, Congressman Murdock, warns voters to not be so hasty with their vote as he fears the new proposed task force may cause an increase in police unemployment rates."
Sam switched the TV off, his frustration causing him to toss the remote callously onto the couch, where it bounced and smashed onto the floor, batteries popping out of the casing and rolling under the couch.
Not without difficulty, Sam got on his one knee, his stump waving in the air without a place to perch, and extended his arm under the sofa, patting down to try and feel for the cylindrical batteries. An odd film textured object slid across his calloused pads as he patted down on the floorboards.
With an interested drone, Sam fished out the glossy paper and fell back on his ass so he could observe it properly. It was a photograph of him with someone who looked like an aged Carol Danvers. She was wearing a green flight suit, hiding her crow’s-feet behind blue-tinted aviators. Standing beside her was a grey-haired Peggy Carter in a wheelchair held in place by Sharon – sunlight flares blurring her smile. The air force logo was stuck to the side of a jet in the background, his old nickname 'Snap Wilson' spray-painted on it.
Sam Flipped the photograph around to skim read the fine, cursive inscription: ‘Congrats on moving up, Snap. You'll be missed by the grunts at the bottom. Leave some target practice for us. And remember: one day at a time. C & S.’
"Well, I'll be damned. Hello, S..." Sam's nail scratched at a smudge on the corner of the photograph, it looked almost like a watermark stamp of the letter L. "What is--"
A shrill ringing sound came from his landline. He swivelled his head from side to side trying to spot the annoying thing. It was hiding under a stack of old newspapers that needed to be put in the recycling.
"He- Shit!" He almost tumbled on one leg. "Hello?"
"Sam? It's Bucky..."
***
Bucky shoved whatever useful supplies he could find lying about into a small backpack before slinging it over his shoulders and clipping it at the front of his chest -an old habit as it were.
Natasha walked in on him circling blind spots on a map with a marker, his face conveying devastation as if she'd just caught him in bed with another woman.
When Bucky didn't say anything, Natasha pointed to the training equipment peeking out from under her bed –their bed. "Training sessions. I forgot my knee pads." She picked them up, dusting them down. "You're leaving, aren't you?" Her tone was sad yet insightful.
Bucky was growing increasingly agitated as the seconds continued to count down on his watch, "I need to head over there!"
"James, stop! Last time you were on Hydra's radar that damned psychopath tore your arm off!"
He folded the map into his back pocket, "Stark?"
She threw her hands in the air, "No, Stark is the only reason you were fitted with a replacement! I'm talking about that monster that Hydra fished out of the ocean."
"Steve?" His tone went dark.
"Did you hit your head when you were chopping firewood yesterday? Yes, Steve. Of course, Steve!" Natasha smacked the side of his head with the knee pads.
Bucky strode past her, "You don't have to shout."
"Then stop acting like you were born yesterday!"
One of the foster kids witnessed their shouting and was ushered into another room by a worried-looking Pietro. Natasha swore in Russian before slamming their bedroom door shut, trapping Bucky inside with her.
He took her hands in his, "Look, I know I don't seem myself, but I have to get to New York. It's important. There's someone I swore to protect, no matter what and she's in danger now. I know you still care about the world, Na- Talia. These kids you're helping are evidence enough. Help me do this one thing and I promise everything will go back to normal."
Natasha sighed, "I haven't seen that look in your eye in a long time. Whoever it is must be important."
"More than you know."
"Where is she... your friend?"
"With Hydra. In New York."
"A prisoner?"
"Of sorts."
"New York huh?" Her eyes steeled with venomous conviction, her fingers twitching around the air between her fingertips and her scar. "I can think of a reason or two to tag along."
"No, I can't ask you to come with me, it's too dangerous, and the kids need you."
"You need me, liybimaya. It's like I told you all those years ago, the only thing powerful enough to separate us is death…" Her hand fell on his jaw, eyes searching his for something he couldn't give. "And even then, it wouldn't be enough."
Bucky sighed, finding himself instinctively leaning into her touch, "Okay, you win. But we have to stop somewhere first."
"Dge, Soldat?" her Russian trickled out.
"Missouri."
 ***
Knock. Knock. Knock
"I'm goin' as fast as I can, god damn!" Sam chewed his bottom lip as he clomped his way to the door.
Just as he was about to twist the doorknob, the door burst open and a supersonic boom shook the keys on the wall. A blue and silver streak whizzed past Sam's peripheral. Turning, he was pleasantly surprised to find Pietro eating a packet of crisps that he stole from the kitchen cupboard, feet kicked up as he surfed the channels. “Damn, that’s one fast kid. Like a friggin’ silver bullet.”
"Forgive him," Natasha urged. "Our TV hasn't been functional beyond the weather channel for days, he's forgotten his manners." She extended her hand, "Name's Natalia Romanova."
“Nat…” Sam's mouth remained open for a moment too long and her eyebrows rose up. Gathering his jaw off the ground, he clasped her hand with a loud smacking sound before nearly barking out his reply through a wide grin, "Sam Wilson. Pleasure to meet you."
"Samuel Wilson! I knew that name was familiar. You’re the pilot who crashed the prototype--" Natasha stopped herself mid-sentence.
Sam shrugged, "The very same apparently." He moved to the side to let her in.
Once in the kitchen, he noticed Bucky hadn't stopped staring at his leg, or rather the absence of it. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." He glowered. "If you thought your day was weird, mine was definitely worse."
"I can see that," Bucky cocked his head to the side.
“Coffee? I’m pretty sure it’ll give you tetanus from the rust but…”
“No, thanks.”
 Bucky laid out the map from earlier on the kitchen table, his mind obsessing over his attack plan. Sam kept leaning over every now and again to catch a glimpse of Natasha and Pietro looking very much alive and real in the next room.
Curiosity got the better of him, "What's up with you and Nat?" 
"It's Talia over here," Bucky's eyes remained glued to the blueprints. "And apparently we're together and I go by James."
"No shit?" Sam's tone took on a higher pitch, hands tucked under his pits. "I'm an alcoholic who lost a leg and you get paired up with Nat. Yeah, that's very fair," he grumbled sarcastically.
"Sam..."
"I know, I know, I'm focusing on the wrong thing. It's just I'm a little mad is all."
Bucky stopped hunkering over the table as he looked at Natasha and Pietro with an almost-longing stare, "It's weird, you know. The other Bucky has this full life here. He smiles in all his photographs, he wasn't brainwashed by Hydra. Hell, he's even raising kids with Talia and is like an older brother to Pietro. Despite how fucked up things are over here, his life seems fuller. He seems… better."
Bucky shook the thoughts from his head, dropping the permanent marker on the table, watching it roll without making an effort to stop it.
"Speak for yourself," Sam told him off. "This side's Sam is a mess. I practically woke up in my own vomit this morning."
"Jesus," was all Bucky gave him.
"Hang on, did you say you and Nat are raising kids together?"
"Mmm-hmm. We run a kids shelter in Canada. I train them in self-defence on Wednesdays and Fridays, and History and English every other weekday."
Sam laughed, using his crutch to poke Bucky's side, "Well, shit. Look at you. Mr Professor Barnes."
Pietro's pure laughter rippled out from the other room as he watched cartoons going about their usual tomfoolery. Something kept gnawing at Bucky's stomach, making him feel uneasy.
Sam scratched his cheek, "You alright there, Tin-can?"
"During the car ride over here, Talia kept reminiscing about our third year anniversary and how we spend a week on a luxury cruise aboard a blip –for some reason, they're the more acceptable form of travel here."
"I mean, it's not such a bad idea. Reduced carbon emissions-"
"That's what you're focusing on? Blips are filled with hydrogen. They explode!"
"Excuse me for finding a bright side in all this. In case you hadn't noticed, there's not much of that going around." Sam tapped on his leg, his eyes narrowing at Bucky.
“Christ on a cracker, must I spell it out?”
“Spell what out?”
“Three-year-anniversary,” Bucky waited for Sam to catch on.
“Oh Shit! Did you two…” He walked closer to Bucky to whisper-hum the wedding march.
Bucky groaned, “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to bring up in polite conversation, besides she already suspects something is off with me… him… us? Whatever, you know what I mean.”
Sam chuckled, “Huh… that’s kinda ironic. You spent so long being afraid to propose to the girl you love, even though you have everything –security, shelter –and yet somehow, the guy with more to lose, is the one who was least afraid of being with the woman he loved.” He said, glancing over at Natasha.
As if on cue, the dark haired woman rose from the couch, a piqued expression taking over her features. “Okay, James. Enough with the whispering and the side-ways glances. I think I’ve given you two enough time to catch up. Now… what’s the plan?”
“Well…” Bucky tapped his metal finger on the red circled dot and delved into the details of his rescue plans.
“That won’t work,” Natasha said bluntly once he was done. “The only way you get into Hydra alive is if they bring you in.”
“Are you suggesting…?” Sam’s eyes widened.
“Yup.”
Pietro whooshed in from the couch, licking the crumbs from his fingers. “If we’re going after Hydra, we’ll need backup.”
“I agree,” Natasha replied as she pulled out her phone to dial a number.
“I don’t think the bol'shaya zhenshchina will be enough. I have a favour I can call in. Don’t wait for me.” Pietro added before zooming out of the house.
 ~Hydra HQ, NY
You marched into the interrogation room, the sound of muffled steel punches landing on a human jaw made you flinch. The doors opened automatically and a large molar flew across the room, knocked loose from the mystery man’s mouth. He laughed, staring down his interrogator with such conviction it made your skin erupt in goosebumps.
“Leave us,” you told the man wearing the knuckle duster.
He nodded curtly before spitting, “Terrorist scum!”
You dragged over a chair and sat on it, arms resting on the back support. “So, they tell me you got caught trying to cross the border patrols. Not very smart.”
“Oh, I don’t know, as plans go…” the man lifted his head so his striking blue eyes pierced through you, a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips when he noticed you physically shudder. “It wasn’t so bad. After all, it brought me to you, didn’t it?”
Instantly, a migraine hammered against your cranium with the highest intensity yet, something about his presence, his voice, his eyes, undid every fibre of your being until all you felt was nausea bubbling up to the surface. You gripped the chair to steady yourself but the longer he stared at you, the worse everything got. You felt like you were being torn apart at the seams. In desperation, you hurried out of the room and raced towards a potted plant so you could relieve your stomach of its contents –though there wasn’t much left to throw up.
“Babe, are you alright?” Steve’s hand rubbed at your back as he kneeled next to you.
You huffed lifelessly, wiping the residue of puke from your mouth with your sleeve. Your chin quivered violently forcing your teeth to chatter. The sickly miasma of ozone clung to your nostrils as ghosts from another life encroached around you, and visible only to you from the fact that Steve wasn’t distressed in the least to see a very alive and well Wanda Maximoff laughing by a window -sunlight like fire on her red hair. Through the windows reflective surface, you saw him again, the ghost from the apartment and suddenly, you understood why the man in the interrogation room had shaken you to your core. It was him… the ghost, only he wasn’t a figment of your imagination. He was real too.
You grabbed onto Steve’s arms like they were the only thing keeping you from downing. “I think I’m losing my mind…”
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Chapter Four: The Choice
AFWHI tags: @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @sleepingspacedragon @500daysofbecky @reidreader  
Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees
tags: @ladybugsfanfics 
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elcorhamletlive · 5 years
Link
fandom: MCU (Alternate Universe: College/University) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Pre Serum Steve Rogers/Fluff/Kind of a meet cute
If Bucky was here, he’d have told them to just leave the bar.
It wouldn’t be an entirely bad call, Steve guesses. It wasn’t even that good of a bar, anyway. Too loud and too crowded, with drinks way too expensive for a bar whose clientele was composed mainly of college students. Based on the quality of this evening alone, he really wouldn’t mind going somewhere else.
But it wasn’t just about that.
The guy was bothering Wanda. He really, really was. At first, it had just been awkward, when a blond douchebag stopped her on her way to get the drinks and ended up inviting himself to sit with their little group. Steve had exchanged worried looks with Bruce and Betty. If it had been Peggy, the douche would immediately have gotten a cutting reply; if it had been Natasha, a single look would have him so scared he probably wouldn’t even have approached her in the first place. But Wanda is more shy and reserved, much like Steve himself, and she isn’t very used to being chatted up. At first, she tried to let the guy down gently, smiling and nodding politely at his endless rambling, but as time went by, it became clear the man just wasn’t willing to entertain the possibility of a woman who wasn’t interested in him.
To make matters worse, although the guy is clearly a douchebag, he is also a very popular one. Wanda had become the target of one of the richest frat boys of the campus – when he introduced himself as Ty, Steve hadn’t made the connection to the Tiberius Stone, but now he did, and at least it explained the guy’s sense of entitlement.
When Ty stood up to go to his table to ask his friends about some party he was hell-bent on taking Wanda with him, Steve did what Bucky would have told him to do, and walked everyone to the exit. Bruce and Betty were wondering which bar to go next, and Wanda seemed more relaxed, when Steve stopped to say: Oh, I forgot something. It took a moment, but Steve managed to convince them to just go on without him. He promised he’d meet them later.
As soon as he got back to the bar, he walked towards Stone’s table with angry strides. It wasn’t fair that they had to be the ones to leave the bar when they weren’t the ones being inconvenient creeps. Besides, what if the jerk jumped from bothering Wanda to bothering some other girl? It wasn’t right. Something had to be done.
So that’s how Steve finds himself in front of a table with a bunch of the richest and most popular guys on campus. All of which have at least a head over him and would be definitely capable of knocking him down if they wanted to.
“Uh,” one of them starts. Steve recognizes him as Justin Hammer, who throws big parties down the hallway of Steve’s dorm. He’s sitting between Rumlow, from Steve’s math class; and a dark haired guy that also seems familiar, though Steve can’t tell why. Hammer squints his nose at Steve as if he smells really bad. “Do you need something?”
It occurs to Steve that, though he recognizes most of them from campus, none of them have any idea who he is. He feels the spike of anger on his chest rising. Stone, who has been busy looking at something on his phone, raises his head and flashes him a grin.
“Oh, hey, Stan. I’m just checking in with everyone, tell Wanda I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, with a wink.
“That’s not my name,” Steve says, clenching his fists at his sides. “And I’m not here to tell you anything about Wanda. I’m here to tell you to leave her alone.”
Stone tilts his head, frowning. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Steve blurts. His stomach clenches a little in worry as he assesses the other guys – most of them are pretty bulky, with the exception of the brunet, who seems to be more on the leaner side; and, yeah, they’re all bigger than him. He swallows. “Wanda is not interested. She’s been trying to make this clear to you the entire night, but you keep pushing, and you need to stop.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the table breaks into a bunch of chorus of Oooooo’s and surprised laughter.
“Sounds like you’ve got competition, Ty,” Hammer says, tapping him on the back. “Tough guy here wants to take you down!”
“Look, kid,” Stone says, incredibly condescending with an edge of hostility. “I’m sorry the chick is not into you, okay? If you apologize nicely for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll hook you up with some nice piece of ass.”
He reaches to pat Steve’s arm, and Steve shakes him off angrily, face flushing, in embarrassment and rage.
“Wanda is my friend. Not that it matters, because I’d be here even if she wasn’t,” he says. He keeps himself steady as he gives Ty a once-over. “She’s not interested in you, and, frankly, I don’t think she’s missing out on anything.”
There’s no laughter this time, though Steve does hear a solitary chuckle coming from the table. Stone stands up.
“Okay,” he says slowly. He’s a head taller than Steve. Maybe more than that. “This is where you apologize.”
Steve’s stomach twists, but he stands his ground. “No, this is where you apologize and offer to leave and not bother us anymore.”
Stone takes a step forward, towering over Steve. Definitely more than a head. “I think you should reconsider this, lightweight. The only way I’m leaving is to take Wanda to a kickass party that you definitely couldn’t get inside in a million years.”
Steve swallows. Clenches his fists. Inhales deeply before answering.
“Fuck you.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence, and then, almost immediately, Stone is all up on his face. “Listen here, you little—“
“Wow, wow, wow, okay,” a voice interrupts suddenly, and Steve turns to see the lean guy standing up and placing himself in between them. He has wild brown hair and wears a band t-shirt that definitely costs more than Steve’s entire wardrobe. Though he’s the smallest of the group, it’s clear that the energy changes a little at his interference. He lands a hand on Stone’s shoulder, casually, and Steve gets the sense that, while he may not be the leader of the pack, he’s definitely a significant part. “Ty, buddy, I’m pretty sure you won’t be leaving here with anyone since the car is, well, not yours. It’s mine, maybe the last couple of beers made you forget that,” he speaks very fast, gesturing with his other hand, and turns to Steve. He has big brown eyes that seem just as frantic as his rambling. “As for you, Lancelot, don’t worry, ok? He got loose for a while, but we’ll keep an eye on him. He won’t be bothering your friend anymore.”
Steve takes a sharp breath. Despise being shorter than his friends, the guy still has a couple inches on Steve. His expression is conciliatory, as if he’s begging Steve to cooperate. Behind him, though, Stone seems shocked and not at all apologetic, so Steve crosses his arms.
“He shouldn’t be bothering any woman who’s made clear they don’t want to talk to him. It’s not right.”
Ty’s friend seems off-put for a moment, but he recovers immediately, plastering a grin on his face so fast Steve almost thinks it must have been his imagination. “Listen, here, uh, Stan? No, wait, you said that wasn’t your name – what do I call you, not-Stan?”  he lays his hand on Steve’s shoulder now. Before Steve can answer, he continues: “I’m Tony. Tony Stark.”
Steve barely holds back a swear. Everyone’s heard of Tony Stark, the richest kid on a campus filled with already very rich people. Steve can vaguely remember seeing his face on the television a couple times, doing interviews, while he was zapping channels. Back then, he hadn’t paid much attention, just like he never paid any attention to Bill Gates’ kids or something. But he heard of Tony Stark around campus, too – how he gave the best parties, how he was disputed by several fraternities despise never joining one, and how he was apparently the smartest person since his father.
Of course, Steve thinks. Of all the people in the world to get in trouble with, Steve had to do it with Tony Stark’s friend.
Tony Stark, apparently oblivious to his shock, continues to ramble: “Look, Ty is a bit blind to other people’s autonomy sometimes – flaws, who doesn’t have them, am I right – but he doesn’t mean any harm. I assure you, he will leave your friend alone,” his voice grows strangely earnest at the last few words, but he quickly changes back to his light, fast-paced tone: “Is there a way I can make it up to you guys? Maybe buy your table the next round?” He smiles brightly, the smile of someone who’s used to buying his way out of trouble. “I’m all ears.”
Steve frowns. Stark seems weird, but something about him comes off as bizarrely sincere, in the middle of all that useless rambling. The word charisma barely begins to cover it, Steve thinks, a little taken aback – he almost managed to make Steve forget Stark wasn’t defending his friend because he made an innocent mistake, but because said friend was being a total creep.
Almost.
“There is a way,” Steve crosses his arms, staring at Stark’s expectant face. “You guys could leave.”
Stone groans. “Oh, fuck you, you—“
“Again, my car, buddy, it’s your way into Pep’s party,” Stark says, surprisingly firm, before turning towards Steve again. He seems to evaluate the situation with a few rapid blinks.
He eyes Steve up and down, rocking on his feet and thinking. Steve can’t help but shift a little, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and something flickers on Stark’s eyes. He licks his lips, staying silent for a moment until he suddenly snaps his fingers.
“I know,” he finger-guns at Steve, grinning. “Why don’t we settle this like gentlemen, huh?” He points towards the table with his thumb. “Arm wrestling. You and me, Lancelot. You win, we leave.”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “And if you win?”
Stark’s grin grows playful. “I don’t feel really good about my chances. You’re only missing your stick and stone, David.”
Steve isn’t sure if he should feel insulted or not. It sounds like it should be an ironic comment, but something about it doesn’t sound very mocking.
Stark turns towards the table, taking a seat and placing his elbow on the center. “Come on.”
Steve considers his options. Stark is not as bulky as the other guys at the table. He’s taller than Steve, sure, but then again, so is everyone. And, again, he’s Tony Stark, born with a diamond spoon in his mouth. Steve doubts he has much experience with arm wrestling, and, well, Steve grew up with Bucky. He may not be able to do anything about his size, but he’s picked up a few tricks. He figures he could probably catch Stark off guard and win this one.
Maybe.
Then again, it’s better than getting beat up, Steve guesses. And if it gets Stone’s creepy ass out of the bar, it’s worth risking a sore arm.
He sits down. The other guys on the group are watching attentively with a uncertain smiles, and Steve gets the feeling they don’t really get what Stark is going for, here. To be honest, Steve doesn’t get it either – logically, the guy didn’t have to offer him any compensation, let alone a chance to get them away from the bar entirely.
Then again, Steve thinks harshly, he didn’t have to stand up for his creeper of a friend, either.
Steve clasps Stark’s hand. It’s surprisingly calloused. Stark looks – well, he looks like the kind of guy who would have soft hands. Instead, though, his hand feels like it belongs to a person who works a lot, and Steve must frown, because Stark grins.
“Sorry, forgot to moisturize this morning”, he remarks, and it’s clearly an attempt to distract Steve that doesn’t really work. “Okay, one… Two… Go!”
Steve is prepared for the pressure of Stark’s arm. He’s not prepared for how strong he is – he almost twists Steve’s arm immediately before Steve composes himself, clenches his muscles and manages to hold out against Stark just before his own arm hits the table.
Steve takes a sharp breath and probably grunts as he does his best to keep focus, to throw his body weight to the side to push against Stark’s arm, and he can hear Stark’s friends chuckling but he stays determined, using everything he’s got.
For a moment Steve thinks it’s over, but then Stark’s arm starts losing ground, slowly being pushed back slightly. Still, though, it’s very hard to keep up, and Steve’s other hand grips the table as he struggles to keep himself steady. He can feel his breath getting short, which – oh no, oh no – is not a good thing.
“Hey, are you okay?” Stark asks, seeming alert. “What is happening?”
Steve tries to focus on breathing, but he can’t seem to find any air, and, oh God, that can’t happen, not now.
“I’m fine,” Steve blurts, even though he’s most definitely not fine, and he needs to reach for his inhaler but if he lets the table go he’ll lose his support.
He tightens his grip on Stark’s hand, focusing even more on pushing it. He can feel his face flushing, but he doesn’t care. He takes a sharp, forced breath that catches no air and his head grows dizzy.
“Ok, everyone,” Stark suddenly says, voice serious all of a sudden. “Go meet Happy.” Steve faintly hears some protesting coming from the others, but he barely registers it, focusing on blinking fast to get rid of the white spots in his vision. “Go. Now. Say I sent you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go, whatever; just get out of my sight.”
Steve clings to the table so hard his knuckles go white, and he hardly hears the responses. All he can focus on is the pressure of Stark’s hand, that seems to be… stopping?
Steve blinks as the strength in Stark’s hand clearly fades, allowing Steve to raise their hands back to the initial position. Steve tries to not lose momentum, when he hears something, the sound of the door of the bar slamming shut.
“Okay, that’s the last of them,” Stark says, and his arm just goes flat, easily letting Steve’s hand push it down, landing on the table.
Steve is panting and can barely decipher what just happened. Immediately, Stark is right next to him, hands on his shoulders.
“Okay, Lancelot, breathe,” Stark says, sounding nervous. “Tell me what you need.”
“I—“ Steve stutters. “My inhaler—My pocket,” he reaches for it before Stark can, taking it to his lips and huffing it, feeling the relief of the air reaching his lungs.
“Holy shit,” Stark says. “Were you—Were you seriously not grabbing it just because it would lose you the match?”
Steve huffs it a few more times, blinking as his vision regains focus. He looks at Stark’s face. He’s close now, leaned over Steve.
Steve is a little taken aback by the proximity. Stark is a handsome guy, of course, but right now, he looks very… smooth, with those huge bright eyes and fluffy hair falling slightly on his forehead. His nose is small with a roundish end and he has long eyelashes, giving his already warm eyes a more delicate look. It’s the rare type of face that manages to be interesting and pretty at the same time.
Steve feels his cheeks heating a little. “Yeah.”
Stark huffs out a surprised laugh, then shakes his head. “Holy shit. You’re crazy,” he says, but he sounds slightly impressed.
“You’re crazy,” Steve counters, a bit more composed. “You threw the match,” he states, unsure of how to feel about it.
“Uh, yeah, of course I did. You know, I was gonna tell them to leave anyway,” he shrugs. “Thing is, they wouldn’t have gone if they thought they were doing what you wanted. Trust me, they’d stay here all night just to annoy you. So I thought I could stall the match and then I could tell them to go ahead and that I’d take an Uber or something.” He runs his hand through his hair. It looks very soft. “Also, I thought I was going to win and it didn’t occur to me you’d be willing to kill yourself to stop that from happening.” He shakes his head again, still looking at Steve as if he has done something amazing, instead of making a fool out of himself. “Do you—Do you go here?”
“What?”
“Here. As in, on campus.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Steve shifts a little. “I’m a Political Science major.”
Stark’s grins grows. “Awesome. You know who I am, obviously,” he gestures to himself flippantly. It comes off as strangely self-depreciating. “What about you, though? I refuse to believe your name is actually Lancelot, that’d be just too much.”
“I’m, uh. I’m Steve,” he stutters, then pauses. “Why Lancelot?”
Something flickers in Stark’s eyes. “Ever read the legends? Bravest knight on the King’s court,” he shrugs, giving Steve a sideways glance. “Just seemed to fit.”
Steve’s tongue feels too big to form actual words. “Oh.”
Stark smiles. “Not a lot of people stand up to Ty, you know,” he says, looking away. His voice lowers to an almost whisper. “He doesn’t take it very well. None of them do.”
Looking at him now, Steve is struck by how different he is from the Tony Stark from TV. Tony Stark in the interviews seems a lot more exuberant, arrogantly talking over reporters and feeding the camera with outraging soundbites. Tony Stark in real life is more… believable, Steve thinks, with his nervous eyes and self-depreciating grins. He seems more real.
Steve likes him better this way.
“Why do you hang out with them?” he asks, unable to hold himself back. “You—You know they are…”
“Complete shitheads?” Stark grimaces. “Yeah. Most of them have business with my family, and Ty, his father is one of my father’s long time partners, so, yeah, the friendship was kind of sealed at birth.” He looks away, a little distant. “Reached its expiration date a while ago, though. But I can’t exactly… You know.”
Steve just looks at him. “Why not?”
Stark shrugs, and something about his smile seems a little sad. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Guess it’s just sort of hard to come to terms with not having anyone to sit with during lunch. Or some equally cheesy crap.”
Steve just stares at him wordlessly. Stark’s eyes dart away and he clutches his hands.
“I really am sorry about this whole thing,” he says. “I thought—I don’t know, you just came up to us, and Ty usually handles his problems by punching them, so I thought…” He gestures aimlessly. “I didn’t want you to get punched. And I really wanted to buy your table the next round. You guys deserved it.”
Steve still doesn’t answer, a little taken aback.
“What were you going to ask?” he blurts, interrupting Stark’s ramble. “If you won. You never said.”
Stark gives him a grin. Not the thousand-watt grin he gave him earlier. It’s smaller, charming, but also slightly nervous.
“Full disclosure? Your number.”
Steve’s eyes widen. “You—“ he stutters, feeling his cheeks heating, as he watches Stark blink expectantly at him with those big, pretty eyes. “Why would you—“
Stark frowns a little. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, a playful smile on his lips as he eyes Steve up and down. The warmth of Steve’s face travels over his whole body, in the wake of Stark’s gaze. “Like I said, not many people can do what you did, even for a friend. And almost dying to prove a point, hey—“ He shakes his head appreciatively again. “Gotta admire that.”
There’s a smile threatening the corners of Steve’s mouth, and he tries to bite it back, to play it cool, even as he shifts awkwardly, hands on his pockets. “Well,” he watches the way Stark’s eyes blink at him, and, damn, he wouldn’t mind being the target of that look more often. “If an asthma attack gets you in the mood, I’m definitely your guy.”
Stark laughs. He has a nice laugh, Steve notices, unable to fight back his own smile. A really, really nice laugh. “Nobility gets me in the mood, I guess. Like I said – Arthurian geek over here.” His smile makes Steve’s knees feel a little weak. “Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re really cute.”
“You’re also—Uh—You’re really—“ Steve stumbles over his words, but Stark doesn’t seem to mind, smile growing fonder. Steve swallows. “Well,” he bites his lower lip, before giving into a huge grin of his own. “Will I have to arm wrestle you again for your number?”
“Not really,” Stark (Tony? Steve should call him Tony, right? The thought gives him pleasant butterflies on his stomach) says, taking his phone off his pocket. “But just so you know, you’d win again.”
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adorkablesuperhero · 6 years
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Yooooooo, what if [ hear me out ] Peter loses a limb, a leg, during a mission with the avengers. They , the avengers , help him with physical therapy and it become a big ol' bonding section between all of the avengers. Tony then makes him a prosthetic leg that help him walk. After awhile he goes back to being Spider-man. [ dude this is long lol ] ( ~ ʖ °)
Oh my gooooddddd!!! I really love this idea. I started writing and it just sorta took off. I didn’t fit the whole prompt in, but here’s the first part! It’ll probably be a two-parter, but possibly three. (more notes at the end)
Warnings: major injury, loss of limb, angst
Peter jolted awake, eyes shooting open. The bright lights blinded him, but he still rushed to sit up. The building! It was going to-
“Whoa, Whoa!” Tony was there, quickly moving into the teenager’s vision. He pushed him back down. “Calm down, Pete. You’re okay.”
“But- the building..,” Peter gasped, looking up. He expected to see a roof coming down on him, but instead, he saw the familiar ceiling of the medical bay. What?
“Shh,” Tony’s arm held him down, not forcefully, but just enough to where he didn’t try to sit up again. His other hand reached for the call button. “Just breathe.” Peter nodded, shutting his eyes to steady himself. After a minute, he felt his heart rate returning to normal.
“What happened? Last thing I remember we were at the Hydra camp, and they rigged the warehouse,” Peter struggled to remember, but he didn’t know how he got here.
“The building came down. You were knocked out by the debris, but you’re..,” Tony paused to find the right word. “alive.” Peter’s face turned to confusion, but before he could ask anything, Helen Cho came in.
“He’s awake? Good,” She gave Peter a warm smile. He blinked. What was Helen doing here? Usually, Bruce covered all their medical stuff. Was Bruce okay?
“Hi..,” Peter gave her a skeptical look, but the woman pretended not to notice. She pulled up the panel with his vitals on it.
“How do you feel?” Helen asked, touching his shoulder lightly.
“Umm… a bit of a headache and thirst, but I’m okay. How long was I out?” Peter’s mind drifted to Aunt May. She must be worried sick.
“About 20 hours,” Tony seemed to read his mind. “May needed to take a nap, but I’ll wake her up in a bit.”
“Wait… May is here?”
“She was worried.”
“But I was just knocked out. I’m fine,” Peter protested. His brain was still groggy, but something felt off. Tony wouldn’t usually bring May to the compound…
“We should get some food in you,” Helen interjected. “Tony, why don’t you go grab him something from the kitchen?” Tony hesitated, eyes flickering between the pair, but he eventually peeled himself away from Peter. When the door was shut, Helen looked him over some more, shining a flashlight into his eyes. Peter squinted.
“Still got that headache?” Helen asked. Her hand gently touched the top of his head, feeling the swollen bump from the concussion.
“It’s getting worse the longer I’m awake,” Peter admitted. With most of the Avengers, he’d try to play the tough card, but Bruce drilled into him that medical situations called for honesty to be on the safe side. Peter assumed Dr. Cho would be just as adamant.
“I’ll increase the pain meds,” Helen murmured. She moved out of his vision to adjust the drip running into the back of his hand. Cho wrote some stuff down on a notepad as Tony reentered.
“I brought you scrambled eggs, Pete,” Tony set the plate aside for a minute and grabbed the bed tray. He set it up specifically so it covered Peter’s hips, and Tony dimmed the lights some. Peter assumed it was to help his overwhelmed senses. He was wrong.
“Thanks, Mr.Stark,” Peter smiled. Cho pushed the button on the bed to help him sit up. The room was quiet as Peter ate the food. The silence almost felt tense to Peter, but he shrugged it off as his concussion. When he finished, he set his plate on the side table instead of the bed tray. Tony stood up.
“What’re you-“
“I’m bored. Where’s my phone?” Peter asked. His fingers curled around the bed tray to move it aside, but Tony was there, pulling his hand away but disguising it as a hug.
“…Mr.Stark?”
“Sorry. Just glad you’re okay. Why don’t you stay in bed for a bit, sport?” When Tony pulled away, Peter tried to read his worried eyes. How badly had he been knocked out?
“Okay… I feel fine, but phone?”
“It’s in your room,” Tony answered. He started to offer to get it, but Peter was moving again. Tony tried to stop him, but the kid had already moved the bed tray.
“Oh. I can get it. It probably needs a charger which you won’t be able to find unless I-“ Peter started to swing his legs to the edge of the bed, but froze. Something was missing. Tony tried to grab the boy’s hand, but it beat him to his hips.
Peter’s heart skipped a beat. No. He was definitely imagining this. It was the concussion… But the longer he tried to find his left knee, the more his breath hitched, eyes widening. “Oh my god. Tony. Where’s- where’s-“
“Peter-“ Tony grabbed his wrist, pulling it back up, but the superhero fought his grip.
“Where’s my- my leg?! Oh god. I can’t- I don’t know where-“ Peter stammered, panic drowning him in a sudden wave. Tony struggled to keep his hand from returning to his thigh, but the teenager started thrashing, tears welling in his eyes.
“Peter! Stop! Calm down. Please,” Tony pleaded, fighting to keep his own anxiety under control. He grabbed Peter’s chin, forcing the boy to look at him instead of his lower body.
“I- Tony,” Peter was hyperventilating. His brain tried to process what was happening, but everything and nothing went through it at once. “What happened?!”
Tony opened his mouth, but he didn’t know how to respond. How could he possibly tell him? The kid was staring at him with that same look as Titan, believing in him to make everything alright. Helen intervened, setting her hand on Peter’s shoulder again.
“Peter… we had to amputate your leg,” She spoke the words clearly, but she spoke as if the words would turn around and attack her at any moments. Peter’s chest tightened as his brain heard the words. It took a moment to register. It started with a shiver. Then a shudder that ran through his entire remaining body.
“Peter… breathe,” Tony warned. A strangled sob escaped the boy. Tears began to stream from Peter’s eyes, covering his face quickly. Within moments, Peter was wailing, shoulders shaking violently with the sobs. Tony pulled him into a hug, pressing the youngest Avenger’s face into his shoulder.
“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Tony promised, rubbing his back carefully. Peter quivered against him, mind racing through millions of fears and anxieties. It couldn’t be gone. His leg wasn’t… he wasn’t…  but they had… another thought struck him, and Peter suddenly wrenched out of Tony’s arms.
“You! You cut it off! You- you-” Peter growled. Tony started to say something but Spider-Man grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking the billionaire closer. “You did this!”
“We had to! You were going to die!” Tony’s eyes widened at the anger in Peter’s eyes. He tried to pull the hand off of his shirt, and Peter shoved him backwards. Tony stumbled into the counter painfully.
“Cho!” Tony cried.
“This is your fault!” Peter shrieked. Cho rushed to the drip, turning the pain meds up to full. “It’s your fault!”
Tony watched, horrified, as Peter screamed obscenities at him. However, all the thrashing and the sobbing slowed as the drugs kicked in, knocking him out cold within moments.
“What the hell was that?!” Tony asked. Cho shook her head sadly.
“He’s in shock. I doubt he knew what he was saying,” Helen tentatively adjusted the drip back to a normal level, but a level that would keep him out for a few hours. “Do you want to restrain him?”
“No,” Tony’s heart wrenched at the idea of his kid waking up and being unable to move. “Just let him sleep a little longer.”
Peter woke up later, but this time, he didn’t speak. He just cried. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and the bile in his throat threatened to choke him. This time, May was there, not Tony. She just held his hand, running her other fingers through his hair until he passed out again.
The next time Peter came to, he wanted answers, and they sent Steve in to give them. Steve was visibly uncomfortable, but Tony didn’t have the heart to tell Peter the details, and to his credit, Steve kept his composure incredibly well as the kid asked about the injury.
Peter learned that the building had indeed collapsed, but only he, Bruce, and Thor were trapped under the rubble. Thor was fine on account of his godliness, and Bruce broke most of his ribs, but he hulked out to escape. That left Peter.
According to Steve, they’d found him under a solid layer of rubble. He was alive, but a rock knocked him out in the fall, and his leg was trapped under both rebar and a steel beam. They’d moved him and gotten him back to the compound, but his leg was wrecked. The rebar had gone through his lower leg, and the beam crushed most of the bone.
They’d tried to save it, but the bone shards damaged several nerves, veins, and arteries. Even if they didn’t amputate it, his leg would’ve never worked again, and in the end, the internal bleeding left them no choice.
Additionally, Tony had lied about the timing of it all. The surgery took four hours and between the concussion and blood loss, it was three days before he woke up for the first time. Apparently, he’d also gotten several broken ribs that his powers healed before he roused.
“I’m sorry about this, Peter. I really am. I wish we could’ve done more to help,” Steve apologized. His voice was soft, but the man carefully kept the pity of it, knowing from experience that it only angered patients.
“It’s okay,” Peter sniffled. “Thank you for being honest, sir. You saved my life, I’m sure.” Steve had nodded, standing up and gently patting his shoulder before he stalked out of the room.
The next day, Tony offered to move him to the living room. Peter didn’t know if he wanted to face the team, but the monotone walls of the medical bay were killing him with boredom, so he agreed. He’d wanted to try walking, but they wouldn’t let him. Steve came and carried him to the living room before the rest of the team woke up and settled him on the couch under a thick blanket. Natasha was the first to come in for breakfast. If she was surprised to see him, she hid it well.
“Hey little spider. How you doing?” She cooed, running a soft hand through his hair. Peter just shrugged. The rest of the team wandered into the combined kitchen/living area, and Peter worried he’d have to move to the table, but the team seemed to sense the anxiety. When Steve finished cooking, everyone grabbed their plates and sat in the living room. Peter was thankful that the conversation was casual, and the topic had nothing to do with him or their previous mission; Natasha and Clint were sharing funny stories of missions gone wrong.
Rhodey had sat down on the other end of Peter’s couch. At some point in time, he caught Peter staring at the device Tony had made for him and smiled knowingly. “Tony’s almost done with yours. You’ll be okay, kiddo.” He tickled Peter’s side lightly, forcing the kid to crack a smile. It faded when he caught a few other Avengers looking at the pair. Clint felt the tension and suggested watching a movie.
About an hour in, Peter began to crave popcorn. He considered asking Natasha to get it for him, but something stopped him. It wasn’t too far to the kitchen. He’d be fine. He had to at least try. When Tony left the room to take a phone call, Peter shifted his leg to the side of the couch. Rhodes looked at him in alarm.
“Where are you going?”
“Popcorn,” Peter said, as casually as he could manage. Don’t overthink it. He grabbed the arm of the couch and pushed himself upright. He only wobbled for a few moments when he stood up, and then he started to work his way to the kitchen. He could feel the eyes on his back with each hop but did his best to ignore them. He could do this. However, the longer he stayed up, the more his leg felt like jelly. Almost there, Pete. You’re halfway there. Nope. He started to lose his balance, but a strong pair of arms wrapped around his waist.
“I got you,” Clint promised over his shoulder.
“I don’t need help! I can walk.”
“I know. I won’t pick you up. Just let me keep you from falling.” Peter nodded slowly and let Clint pull the teenager’s arm across his shoulders. It was an agonizingly slow pace to the kitchen, but they got there. Peter pulled away from Clint, using the counter for support as he grabbed a bag of popcorn. Steve had paused the movie, and the group waited patiently for the popcorn to be out of the microwave.
“Okay,” Peter clutched the bowl against his chest. Clint tried to take the bowl from him, but the kid was determined to hold it himself, so they compromised. Peter did most of the work, but Clint had a hand on his elbow just in case as he hopped across the open space. Peter tried to keep all the popcorn in the bowl- he’d specifically chosen an oversized bowl to try and combat the jostling. Almost there. Just a little further.
Peter pulled his arm away from Clint as they got back to the living area. The couch backed up to the half-step down, so he just had a few more hops to go. Peter steadied himself on the armrest and jumped down the small step. He landed on the side of his foot and crumpled to the side. No!
Steve, who was sitting on the floor, shot his arms out at lightning speed, catching Peter before his hips hit the ground. Popcorn flew everywhere when the bowl slipped out of his arms, and Peter’s eyes were red as Steve sat him back up against the couch. “You okay?” Steve asked quietly.
“No,” Peter whispered, rubbing at his eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry! You’re an Avenger.
“Pete, it’s okay,” Natasha scooted to his other side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders- which quivered quietly.
“No. I couldn’t even get a stupid bowl of popcorn!” Peter hissed.
“It’s going to take time to recover,” Rhodes reminded.
“I know. I just feel so useless,” Peter sighed. A tear escaped from his eye, and he tried to stop, but the dam had broken. His cheeks were soon covered with the salty substance. Nat pulled him closer, trying to calm him down. Besides Tony, the two spider-themed avengers had bonded the most- Peter even called her Spider-Mom as a joke from time to time. Tony reentered now, and it didn’t take much to deduce what happened. He quickly moved in front of Peter and knelt down.
“Hey. We’ll get there,” Tony reached out and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair.
“It’s not fair,” Peter sobbed. He dropped his head, not wanting to meet anyone else’s eyes. Tony took a deep breath and looked at Natasha for help.
“We’re all going to help you. I promise,” Nat said quietly. Peter leaned into her shoulder.
“I know it’s frustrating, Pete. But take it from me: we’re going to work through this together, and trust me when I say it’s nice to have the help,” Rhodey grabbed Peter’s hand and placed it on one of his disabled legs pointedly. Peter curled his fingers into the denim jeans and nodded.
“You wanna start physical therapy tomorrow? We can do that,” Tony offered.
“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. “Sounds good.”
The next day, Steve helped Peter sit down on a bench in the training room and ruffled his hair. The rest of the team was there, but they were working on their usual routines, giving Peter the space he needed but remaining nearby if he wanted them. The door slid open, and Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey entered with a long box.
“You ready to see your new leg, kid?” Tony gave his signature smile as he set the package down on the bench next to him. Peter shrugged. Bruce patted his shoulder reassuringly as Stark opened up the box. Peter gaped, and Tony grinned knowingly.
“Looks real, doesn’t it?” Tony asked. Peter nodded slowly and reached out to touch it. The skin-like material even felt like flesh, and it was warm. “Helen, Bruce, and I started working on this pretty much as soon as you were stable. It’s top of the line, I promise. This is the most advanced prosthesis we could make.”
“You didn’t have to-”
“Don’t even start with me. We did. Only the best for you, Pete. It’s going to take some testing and configuration, but eventually, this should act just like the real thing. Here,” Tony held out a small device. “We even created a neuro device for you- kinda like the one I use with my nanotech. Put it on behind your ear and think about changing the color.” Peter accepted the tan circle and pressed it to the side of his head. He stared at the leg, and it took a few moments, but he eventually managed to turn it scarlet red with a texture like carbon-fiber, just like his Spider-Man suit.
“Whoa…” Peter looked on in awe and brushed his fingers over the device again.
“Want to try it on?” Rhodes chuckled.
“Yeah.” Tony pulled the leg out and slid up the hem of Peter’s shorts. The device clicked in relatively easily, and Peter could feel the weight when Tony let go of it. His fake foot hit the floor.
“Go on. Try and lift it,” Tony encouraged. Peter glanced at him shifted back to the new leg. He willed it to move, but nothing happened. His brow furrowed in frustration, and he tried again. Nothing was happening. Rhodey sensed the mounting frustration.
“Don’t overthink it, Pete. It’ll become natural eventually,” Rhodes moved one of his legs around pointedly. Peter nodded, and finally, his leg shifted, straightening out.
“I got it!” Peter’s eyes lit up with excitement as his foot now hovered over the ground. “Can I try walking?”
“If you feel ready,” Bruce agreed. Rhodey and Tony both grabbed an arm, helping Peter up. Once he was stable on his right foot, Peter carefully allowed his weight to shift onto the left prosthesis. So far so good.
The first step felt like a monumental effort. His brain strained, trying to send the right signals to move the fake leg forward. When his foot finally lifted, Peter wobbled a bit, but his teammates kept him upright. The foot slowly shifted forward and flattened out on the floor.  Hesitantly, Peter transferred the pressure onto the leg, and when he was sure it would hold, he drifted his real foot past it. The teenager breathed a sigh of relief. He’d leaned on Rhodey and Tony more than he would’ve liked, but it was a start. After a few minutes, the group reached the pair of bars that Rhodes had first used for his physical therapy.
As the morning wore on, Peter moved back and forth along the bars, and walking became easier the longer he did it. The other Avengers supported him, coming over during their breaks to compliment his efforts or say he looked good. At one point, Clint and Natasha paused a sparring session and asked Peter to settle an argument about some Star Wars lore. Peter knew the team was probably just saying these things to be supportive, but he appreciated the effort and distraction. The teenager refused to take a break until his right leg hurt from overuse, and when Peter finally relented, Tony wasted no time in declaring that was enough for the day.
Tony, Bruce, and Rhodes returned to the living room. Peter insisted on walking there this time, so it took triple the normal time to get there, but no one seemed to mind. After lunch, Natasha opted to sit with Peter on his couch. The teenager was stretched across it, so she simply lifted his legs and scooted under them; Peter’s calves and knees now rested in her lap.
“Feeling better, Peter?” Nat rubbed his real calf with precise, practiced touch. The movement was subtle, but Peter appreciated the massage on sore muscles.
“Yeah. We’re getting there,” Peter sent a thankful smile, and then, his eyes lit up. “Look what I can do!” He thought and shifted the color of his leg to black. Digitized, white spider-webs covered the surface in increasing density. Natasha raised her eyebrows.
“Okay. Even as Black Widow, I’m going to say that’s a little creepy. But I’m glad you’re having fun with it.” Peter blushed at the comment and changed his leg back to a flesh color.
“You’re managing well, spider jr. I’m proud of you.”
Lowkey didn’t edit this or do any research, but in the next part, I’m going to try and mention recovery methods. Since it was a long prompt and my brain ran away with it, not everything fit in here, but Peter will start training again, return to school, and maybe even go on a mission! Loved this prompt!
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~Belong to You~ (Steve and Tony #1)
*So, this involves some semi minor/major Civil War and Infinity War spoilers. So, read at your own risk. You have been warned.*
Tony was sat on the very edge of his bed, staring at the shield on the never ending stack of paperwork on his desk. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the last thing he’d said to Steve out of his mind.
“That shield doesn't belong to you. You don't deserve it. My father made that shield!”
He was so stupid. So, so stupid. Who cares if his stupid father made that shield, it belonged to Captain America. It belonged to Steve Rogers. Without a doubt. And what had he done? He’d taken it away from him. Well, not exactly. Cap had surrendered the shield after Tony’s words but still he’d been the one that took it from him.
“God, I’m such an idiot.” Tony said, leaning back against his pillow, rubbing his hands over his chin stubble that needed to be trimmed. He wished that he could take it back more than anything. But Steve was being so goddamn stubborn, just like he always was. Though, Tony was just as stubborn but at least he knew when to admit it. Or did he? He was just as at fault here as Steve was. Though, Tony hadn’t broken the law- except that he had. He’d broken the law by even being with Steve and him.
Even the mere thought of him made his blood chill. He was a killer. A murderer. A dangerous, mind controlled soldier from the 1940’s and yet Steve chose Him.
Why? What did He have that Tony didn’t?
Well, he had Steve. He had Steve and Tony didn’t. And that, unlike anything else, made his blood chill, made his heart feel like it had been shattered into a bajillion pieces that just couldn’t ever be put back together. He just felt empty. Empty and alone. But that was ridiculous. He still had everything, didn’t he?
He had a job, friends, an entire business with his name attached to it, a soon-to-be young apprentice but he had no Steve.
He was a mess. God, he was a mess. A miserable, disgusting mess of a man tearing himself up over a man that he didn’t realize he’d needed around until he was gone. He’d never admit it out loud but Tony came to the sudden realization. He needed Steve Rodgers.
Steve stood next to T’Challa watching as they once more attempted to remove whatever it was in Bucky’s head that kept him from being 100% himself again. Nothing made him happier than to know that the one piece of his past he truly had left was finally in safe hands. But as he watched all he could think was how much of his more recent past he’d just lost.
He’d committed treason, basically, gone completely against every order he’d been given and torn apart the Avengers. The more he thought about it the more he tried to analyze how different things could have gone if he’d let the government make the decisions.
There was no way Bucky would be here, he’d have been captured and locked up again. He would be miserable, following orders from someone who clearly hadn’t been trained on the battlefield and having to sit back and watch them torture his best friend. But, then again he’d still have his friends. He was fairly sure he still held the trust of a few of them but he knew it was over with Tony. He’d screwed that up in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Steve found himself just so blinded by the need to hold onto his past life that he’d forgotten just how important the people in his new one truly were to him.
“It does one not well to ponder on the events of the past but to rejoice in the ideas of the future.” T’Challa said, jolting Steve from his deep thoughts of the past.
“Wh-What?” Steve whispered, turning his head to look at T’Challa. The tips of his ears singed pink as he heard the way his voice sounded so small and innocent. He wasn’t innocent.
“It is not good to dwell in the past, Captain.” T’Challa repeated, this time though Steve was paying full attention and was listening fully.
“I think I’m beginning to see that.” Steve admitted, solemnly. T’Challa gave Steve a pat on the shoulder.
“You’ll find a way back to him, don’t worry, He’s,” The King of Wakanda gestured towards Bucky’s direction, “He’s safe and he’s not going anywhere for awhile. Maybe try and think of a way to talk to Stark.”
Steve opened his mouth to protest but T’Challa held up his hand.
“Believe me, Steve, something as simple as a letter can tell someone exactly how you feel. You don’t even have to send it, but Steve, trust me, it will make you feel a great deal better.” And with that T’Challa walked away, leaving Steve Rogers to stand in front of the glass that kept him from being by his best friends side. It took him a few moments for him to realize T’Challa was right. He had so much to say, so much he needed to get it off his chest and that was just what he was going to do.
Tony was sitting at his desk as he finished Steve’s letter. It was more than what he had expected. Because if he was being honest, he’d fully expected he’d never again hear from him, yet Steve, ever the charmer, had written him a letter explaining everything. God, how could Tony have been so stupid to have let him get away from him? It hadn’t said much, but it said all it needed too. If the time came when The Avengers, whom as Steve had said in the letter now belonged to Tony, really needed him, he would return. For them. For them, but not for him. Tony knew he should let that go but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell anyone that he’d received anything from him.
He wanted to keep that last piece of Steve Rogers to himself.
Fast forward two years and they’d had no contact. Tony had had no reason to use the cell phone Cap had sent with his letter. Yet, if it wasn’t in his sight Tony always freaked out. Yet now, Tony had failed again. He was stranded on an alien planet with Nebula after watching his friends die in front of him. The Guardians were gone, Strange was gone, The kid, for christs sake, was gone. The only other person Tony had let his heart get a hold onto was gone, poof, just like that.
Tony didn’t care. He sat there and openly sobbed. He’d lost so much in such a short amount of time. Not at all did he care that the weird blue cyborg was standing there allowing him to have his sob fest. She as well looked rather sad.
After a while, Tony finally realized that there must’ve been someone, some avengers who’d survived. He had, but who else did? After a more than awkward conversation with Nebula the two of them had set off back to the Avengers Facility, hoping, praying there would be a way to get in contact with whoever was still alive. Tony ran inside, skidding to a halt when he realized he had the perfect way to find out who was still alive.
He ran again, this time on a mission. Once he reached his desk, Tony searched through drawer upon drawer looking for the direct clone of the phone he’d originally gotten from Steve. When he finally found it he exclaimed happily, jumping around in circles. Before realizing he probably looked like an idiot. With shaking fingers, he dialed the number.
Gone. They were just gone. Steve looked around at the few people he had left. Nat. Thor. Bruce. Rocket. That was it. Everyone else had simply vanished. Steve sat back on his heels and ran his palm over his face. They’d failed. No matter what they tried..they had officially failed.
“Steve-”
“Not now.” Steve mumbled, shrugging away Natasha’s hand on his shoulder.
“Stev-”
“I said not now Natasha-”
“Steven Rogers. Answer your phone.” Thor snapped pointing at the phone ringing from Steve’s belt. Steve was shocked. He’d been so distracted in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the ring. With a deep breath he picked up the phone and with shaky hands he pressed it to his ear.
“Tony?” He asked, his voice so quiet he hadn’t even known if anyone heard him. However, there was a sob of relief from the other end of the line.
“Steve. Thank god. Where are you?” Tony’s voice answered. But Steve couldn’t reply. It was something he couldn’t explain. Something that came over him. His whole body felt invigorated, thrilled, livid, relieved. He felt Nat take the phone from his hand and he let her. God, it had been two years, two years, since he’d last talked to Tony Stark and he couldn’t even say two words to him. If he’d thought it before, he knew it now. He was in love with Tony Stark. In love with the man that tried to kill him multiple times, a man that got on his nerves so bad he got turned on, in love with another man.
“Cap, Stark’s on his way- Are you alright?” Nat asked. Steve just nodded and got to his feet.
“Y-yeah I’m okay.” He mumbled. Steve wouldn’t meet any of their eyes and instead he just walked away from them. He had to clear his head. He couldn’t be around people right now. He had to be alone. Had to clear his mind.
There was no way after 110 years that suddenly he could have come to a decision about himself that changed everything. Unless of course he had.
It made more and more sense to him, each and every second he thought about it. But how could that be? It might have been legal now but it still felt wrong to Steve. It felt so wrong because in truth, it felt so right.
Tony pushed his suit more than he ever had before but he didn’t give one single shit. All he wanted was to fall into the familiar arms of someone. Anyone. He hadn’t spoken to Steve for more than a second before Natasha took the phone. Tony had been too relieved to care but the more he thought about it as he flew towards Wakanda he felt almost as if still after all that time the Captain of his dreams didn’t want to face him. And really, who could blame him?
“Our left thruster is failing.” Friday reported. Tony cursed.
“Make it last, we’re almost there. It’ll last. It has too.” Tony said more to himself than Friday.
Thankfully, it did last until he reached Wakanda but it didn’t last long enough for him to have a safe landing.
“Sir, we’re goin’ down.” Friday announced.
“Yes, thank you Friday, but why are we going down-”
“Overheating, sir.”
“Shit.” Tony exclaimed as he hit the ground. He groaned and pulled the front part of his mask away from his face and he turned dry heaving into the grass.
“Tony? Oh my god, are you alright?” Steve’s voice called. Tony knew it was cheesy, but he instantly felt better. Just hearing his voice. Just knowing he was there made him happy literally everywhere. But it wasn’t until he was being crushed in Steve’s bone crushing hug that he was finally able to wheeze out an answer.
“A little crushed, but I’ll be alright.”
Steve shoved Tony away from him, now suddenly glaring, angry. Tony bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. He was going to finally get yelled out. Get the beating he should have got when Cap kicked his ass two years ago.
Just as Steve opened his mouth to answer Tony held up a hand.
“No. Me first.” He pleaded. Steve closed his mouth and waited. He watched as Tony reached back and pulled forth his shield from his back.
“Steve, I-I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things, goddammit I wish I could take it all back, everything. But I was very wrong about this. This...it belongs to you.” Tony offered Steve the shield. Steve stared at Tony, bewildered for a long moment. He took the shield in his hand for the first time in two years only to thrust it away seconds later, wordlessly. Tony sighed, watching as Steve tossed it aside like it meant nothing to him. He really had screwed everything up. He had.
Though, he didn’t expect what Steve said next.
“That belonged to a man who lived in the past. That man, is gone. And I’m not sure you’ll like the one that has replaced him.” Steve himself, was shocked at the words that left his mouth, but he knew deep down that he meant them.
Tony smirked.
“Try me.” He teased, tenderly, afraid to say the wrong thing. But apparently it was only the right thing because before Tony knew what was happening he was once more pulled into Steve Rogers’ arms. The arms he dreamed about every single day. The arms held him close and the lips that pressed against his own with a passion he’d only imagined he could feel.
By the time they pulled apart they were both breathless, clinging onto the other to keep themselves upright.
“I think I like the new Steve much better.” Tony smirked making Steve grin. Maybe things could start to get better. Maybe.
“I think I’m starting to.” Steve said, once more touching their lips together.
~Kaley/Always13lwwy
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sly-punk1712 · 6 years
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Night Moves
AN: For this most part this is harmless just a cute little fluff. It does mention panic attacks and touches indirectly on body issues (Steve’s) so if that’s not something your interested in skip Steve’s dreams
If anyone had asked Tony, which for the official Pepper report, no one did, He’d say this was all Darcy’s fault. If the intern had just submitted to his inquisition then he wouldn’t have had to invade everyone’s privacy and he wouldn’t be trying to stem the blood flow from his broken nose. As soon as this blew over he was going to write it down somewhere official they were no longer hiring pesky tag along interns, certified geniues only. But Lewis was already here so he probably couldn’t kick her out. 
She had been sleeping in his lab almost a month now. She was just as restless as the other scientists and would meander from lab to lab until she tired. So Tony let her sleep on his cot. Just polite. It was on such a night that he tinkered over improved repulser links when he heard the murmur of gentle laughter. Tony looked up from his work and glanced around. Darcy was sprawled on her back one arm covering her eyes from the harsh light of the lab. Her mouth was curved into a small smile and she was chuckling softly. Tony smiled she looked peaceful, young. A swell of affection rushed over him. She was alright. 
It was nice to see someone who slept without worry in his tower. This thought was interrupted by a fuller laugh as the intern started to wakefulness the ghost of her dream still pulling her lips up at the corners. She blinked slowly still chuckling. 
“Dreaming of me again, Double D?” Tony smiled as innocently as he could manage trying not to let on how curious he actually was. Darcy rubbed her face and stretched ignoring the man who so generously let her nap in his lab. 
“Don’t ask. If I say it out loud I lose” Darcy said this as if it made perfect sense. and to a person pre-coffee it probably did. To Tony it was just the tip of the iceberg. He raised a brow but the young brunette simply waved him off still chuckling. 
Little did she realize the absolute shit show she had begun in his life.
******************************
“This is a terrible idea. I would literally rather build Ultron again.” Bruce said rubbing his temples to combat the headache Tony was giving him. Tony scoffs.
“First of all, That wasn’t a bad idea just a poor execution. Second off, how could this go wrong?” Tony pushed the glasses up onto his head and peered at his tablet once more. Bruce just made a noise and headed for an exit.
“You are 100% on your own.”
“You’re gonna miss it!”
“I’m leaving!!” and he did. It was almost like he thought his disapproval would stop him. No he was committed. It had been three weeks of her giggling laughter and refusal to tell the joke. He had even recalibrated his memory projection glasses just to sneak a peek. Tonight he thinks, tonight it will go flawlessly. 
No sooner had he thought it than the giggle sounded softly from the feed Jarvis had playing on his tablet. 
“No time to waste!” He beamed and slid the glasses down to rest on the bridge of his nose. one last breath and he slide the gear to on. 
This was one of the most nauseating experiences of his life. and he wasn’t sure if it was the glasses or the scene before his eyes. Steve was dressed in some sort of toga? Tony tilted his head and wondered closer looking for Darcy. Surely if this was her dream she’d be in it right? There was no one in the garden that he could see so instead he scooted closer to Toga Steve.
Toga Steve sighed heavily and pouted dropping his chin to his hand. 
“If there’s a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I’ve already won that” Tony’s head snapped to look at the soldier in abject horror. Toga Steve was singing. 
“No man is worth the aggravation.” 
What sort of hell was this? Tony looked around for Darcy as Toga Steve continued. Suddenly as T.S. lamented his love life Darcy appeared legs crossed, also wearing a Toga on a bench near Toga Steve. but she wasn’t alone.
Beside her, also in togas, were SHIELDs deadliest assassins. Barton with his usual reflective sunglasses and purple hearing aids, Natasha with the widow bites and pom-poms?
“Who you think you kidding? He’s the earth and heaven to ya!” All three new arrivals to the dream began to sing in time to T.Steve’s tune.
“Try to keep it hidden, honey, we can see right through you.”  This line brought movement from the trio as they followed Steve and began some sort of synchronized dance. It was one tenth terrifying and nine tenths hilarious. It’s no wonder she woke up laughing. Tony felt himself swell with laughter despite the fear he initially felt. That laughter wasn’t his. A side effect from being in Darcy’s psych? Honestly he wasn’t sure these glasses would even work much less work so well.
“Steve you can’t Conceal it, we know how your feeling and who your thinking of!”
“No chance no way! I won’t say no NO!” Toga Steve flounced away dramatically spinning the hem of his toga up a little.
“You swoon you sigh why deny it uh oh!” The assassins swayed in perfect time faces stone but seemingly earnest. 
“It’s too cliche I wont’ say I’m in loovv” 
Before Toga Steve could finish his line Tony was ripped away. Thankfully, Lewis had a twisted sense of humor.
*****************
And the other room Darcy awoke with a sharp laugh and a smile still splitting her face. 
****************
Instead of waking up Tony found himself standing in a familiar room. Jane’s lab? His suspicion was confirmed by Thor walking in?
“THOR?!?!” He hadn’t mean to shout but this was an odd time for the asgardian to come waltzing in. His heart raced behind his reactor and he felt a surge of relief and tinges of longing. Not really his feelings but still strong. The beefy blond paused in surprise. “What are you doing here buddy?”
“I’m here to collect my Lady Jane for our date. Why are you here Anthony?” He tilted his head curiously like a oversized labrador. Date? The awnser appeared before he could even verbalize his confusion. The lab doors opened again and Jane came crashing through looking nothing like the Jane he had seen half an hour ago. For one thing, this Jane was showered and looked well rested. and in a sparkly dress. Tony made to push the glasses up and rub his eyes. 
When he reached his face he found no cool glass and metal. No glasses. So this was a dream. Jane’s dream if he had to guess. He had thought Thor looked extra ripped. 
“Hey Sorry I’m... Tony?” Jane asked in confusion. He waved sheepishly in greeting. 
“Sorry I think I’m lost.” He gestured over his shoulder feeling odd for intruding. If this was Jane’s dream he didn’t want to intrude on her time with Thor, imagined or not. He felt the longing she did and knew he needed to evacuate quickly before the tears or the sex. This dream was likely to go either way at the moment.
 He opened the door that normally would have lead to his lab and hastened threw.
******************* 
In Jane’s actual lab she awoke face drool glued to a paper. She peeled her cheek free and groaned. No Thor. but why would Tony be there?
*********************
When he closed the steel door behind him his gaze lighted on a room that was most certainly not his lab. It was a dimly lit, rather drafty bedroom. In the bed before him was a woman. Pale, skinny, blond and unmoving. His heart sank slightly. His own feeling.  Beside her to the left stood a young Bucky Barnes hat in hand eyes rimmed red with tears. To her right holding her hand... well Tony wished he could leave this right now. Bruce was right. This was the worst idea he’d ever had.
Steve knelt, not small and sickly, like a 1930s him should have been. Instead he was in his uniform, strong and handsome, huge hands swallowing her slender one, face soaked in tears and snot. 
“No Ma, please, Look at me, I’m here, It’s me Stevie” He babbled not letting her hand go. “Ma look! I did it! I’m so much better now Ma, healthy and tall. I can take care of us both now Ma. Please just look at me.” Tony had never heard Steve talk like this. Like he was from fresh off the boat. An Irish accent cut threw the Brooklyn accent he sometimes spoke with. not a trace of the midwestern show horse the USO tour made him.
“Ma!” He cried and for being the biggest one in the room he sounded like a little boy to Tony’s ears. Bucky moved forward and Tony left out a soft sigh, Barnes would handle this, make Steve stop hurting.
Barnes rested his hand on Steve shoulder calling, Steve’s gaze to meet his. The young man gave a crooked smile, Tony had seen a thousand times. 
“Let her go Stevie. Being big isn’t gonna fix this.” Tony’s gut clenched, this dream stank of something sinister. “Didn’t help me did it?” His face was still in the kind smile even as his words made Steve recoil. Tony’s heartbroke, a Steve feeling. 
“No Steve!” Tony couldn’t be silent anymore. The dream morphed around him and he was looking up at the sky. The light blinded him and he could barely make out Steve’s face against the bright sky. 
“Tony please!” Steve sank to his knees. “Damnit Jarvis let him go. Tony hang on.” Tony realized he couldn’t move. He was trapped. In his suit. Steve’s fingers clawed helplessly at the armor. “Tony!!” Steve’s voice was getting distant. Tony’s chest felt tight. was this a panic attack in a dream? Could he die here if he died in Steve’s dream? His heart began to race and fear pounded thicker than his blood. 
“I’m sorry” Steve sat back, bloody hands on clutching in his hair rocking slightly. He was giving up. Oh God Steve wake up!! He thought desperately.but  his vision began to shrink and go dark. As the darkness overtook the sky his panic faded to calm, fear settling into rest and Tony saw his mother and Steve’s holding out their hands.
***************************
Steve bites his tongue when he wakes up, startling violently upright sweat covering his body. After a few deep breaths he sighs. Just a dream. He can hear the sound of Bucky’s documentary playing in the living room and takes a fortifying breath. Everything is okay. He’s home.
***************************
His eyes opened once more to blinding light. He sat up in a slight panic hands flying to his chest. His hands moved so that was something. He sent up a silent prayer that Bruce would find him soon. or at least that there would be no more nightmares. He shuddered. Poor Steve. 
Panic settling he examined the terrain to find himself in a soft green field. An open empty place that looked a bit like late spring. A single tree broke up the landscape the only thing visible in this vast dreamscape. He trotted toward it. In dream time distances pass oddly and he found himself running up on the tree faster than he’d intended he screeched to a halt when he saw who was seated beneath the tree weapons drawn, eyes narrowed. 
Natasha, Clint and Agent were all in some weird killer puppy pile, sprawled across each other looking practically peaceful save the angry looks and sharp knives there were holding. He held his hands up in surrender not moving. They assessed him shrewley.
“I don’t want trouble.” He said honestly. Dying once in a dream was bad enough he’d rather not give them reasons to kill him again. 
“What do you want?” Asked Agent. 
“Just to rest” Tony answered after a moment. “Just to sit and be with you.” He shuddered at the acceptance that filled him. It was finality as he’d never felt it. Natasha nodded and even tho they went back to lounging no one put away their weapons. Tony didn’t dare move any closer instead keeping his hands visible he sank to the ground. Into what was probably the softest grass he could even imagine. Actually he couldn’t imagine it and that’s why it was someone else’s dream. but whos? No thought or feeling projected in a way that was helping him decipher. Clint or Natasha? Natasha or Clint?
The four of them sat contented for what felt like a long time. The spysassins gently combing fingers over Agent Agent. Tony enjoying the peace and also studying the pair. This wasn’t how he ever got to see them. So fucking happy. It tugged somewhere deeper than his heart. He closed his eyes to enjoy it.
Maybe it didn’t matter who’s dream this was. Maybe that was the point it was less a dream than a rest. maybe it was both of their dreams. Tony opened his eyes to look at him teammates and their handler. He said a prayer to whoever answered his prayers that this could be every dream for them. Tony was glad they decided to stay in his tower. That joy just made this dream invasion all the more terrible. Something else swelled in his heart. Something sour. Regret. He didn’t want to be here.
“I’m going to go now.” He said finally. His voice was soft but not hoarse like an unused voice should be. Three steely eyes rested upon him. Natasha nodded first. Clint closed his eyes with a small smile and Agent hummed in chest. 
Tony stood and made to walk away.
“Tony.” He couldn’t tell who spoke. He turned regardless. “We’re glad you’re here” None of the three’s mouths moved but he still heard it. If anyone could figure out telepathy just for the sake of being closer to someone it’d be these two. Tony smiled and began his trek into the openness of the field. 
******************
Natasha and Clint woke without moving. Her eyes opened and alert swept the room. He gave a soft groan at being woken from a good dream. Their eyes met briefly before  they settled deeper into their bed and each other’s arms. Unwilling to wake just yet. Contented.
*******************
Tony awoke to being sucker punched in the face. The greenness of the Agents’ dreams popped from view as the bridge of his glasses was violently propelled into his nose. 
“HOT FUCK!” He cried hands shooting to his face. Threw watery eyes he saw the small crowd standing in front of the chair he’d started this whole fasco in. Steve in a fresh tee shirt and sleep pants arms crossed frowning at him, Jane in her lab coat looking Pissed with a capital P. Bruce shaking his head slightly and lastly Darcy shaking her hand out indicating she’d been the one to break his nose.
“W’at was dat for?” He pouted pushing the glasses off his face and into his hair.
“Like you don’t know!” Jane snapped and left the room in a huff. 
“Otay I’m sobta sobby.” He shrugged. “But Da’cy woulbn’t tell me ‘er dream” He pouted tilting his head back. “T’at was a good d’eem do, Ah like ‘oga Steebe.” He grinned. Bruce and Steve gave Darcy a look.
She flushed. 
“That is nothing what it sounded like. Toga Steve is hot for Toga Bucky who  never makes it to my dream because I wake up laughing at the singing.” She babbles. Bruce once again pinches his nose and throws a towel in Tony’s direction. Steve blushes. 
“So Smooth Da’cy.” He smiles. She glares and stomps out too. Steve looks at Tony uncertainty. 
“Are you okay Tony?” Steve asks finally.
“Mah Nose Is bwoken but dat’s otay” He shrugs. “Are you?” Tony tilts his head so the bleeding stays minimal but he can eye Steve. Steve shrugs and runs a hand threw his hair. 
“Wasn’t a good night.” He rubs his neck. “Sorry my dream wasn’t funny.” Tony marvels at the man who’s apologizing to Tony when Tony was the one dream peaking. 
“Its otay Stebe, Ah’m sobby Ah made you sad” Steve’s eyes search his face closely and Tony turns to look at him properly most of the blood drying. Steve deserves to look at him properly.  There’s a long pause, it’s the stillest this room has ever been with him in it. Bruce watches puzzled.
Steve gives a crooked smile and nods once. 
“Goodnight Tony” Steve says softly making for the door.
“Night Stebe. Sweet Dreams” Tony grinned at Steve’s parting scoff. Bruce waits till the door is closed before clearing his throat expectantly. 
“W’at?” 
“Well?”
“Welp W’at?” 
“Aren’t you gonna tell me what her dream was?” Bruce for all his nay saying was just as curious as he was! Tony beamed and held a hand dramatically to his chest. 
“B’uce dat’s a hooge viola’ion of privacy!!”
“You literally violated everyone’s privacy tonight!!!” Bruce protested.
“Yea well this is mah learning from may mishakes” 
Bruce’s eye twitched dangerously but he merely snatches Tony’s dream hopping glasses and stomps back to his lab. 
“And you said it was a bad idea!” He shouts. Theirs the sound of glass smashing probably the 600 thousand dollar dream glasses.  It was not a bad idea. 
His nose throbs.
Okay maybe it was a dumb idea, but only maybe and he’s gonna right that in the Pepper report later. 12 percent of a dumb idea.
On his way toward his apartment he passes Darcy on his cot, soft smile starting on her face. He pauses thinking about the all dreams he visited. 
And maybe tag along interns weren’t so bad.
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lazywriter7 · 7 years
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Blind date part 2
so apparently fandom has been set on fire because of shitty reviewers on the internet being shitty and instead of ranting, I will make up for the general shittiness by writing fluff and Steve Rogers being in awe of and pining for the beautiful man that is Tony Stark. So there. For @ishipallthings and @xtaticpearl (and also @winterlysoldier for my first comment on a fic posted on Tumblr ahhhh), here is my continuation for the fill for the prompt:  “you’re supposed to be on a blind date with someone but you sat down at the wrong table and i haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise to tell you that and it’s been thirty minutes” au Read part one here
Steve cleared his throat.
For the minute sound that it was, Tony positively leapt out of his skin. His elbow hit the wooden underside of the table, the chair legs dragging noisily against the floor as he staggered to his feet. Dark eyes shot up to Steve’s face and then away, unshielded by coloured glasses.
“I..erm.” Tony seemed to have lost control over his vocal faculties. His eyes were watering slightly, possibly from the pain of his elbow knocking into the solid wood. The words, when they came, exited in a messy spill. “This. This is my Tower.”
I thought you said it belonged to all the Avengers now, though the tone was less taunting, more…fond. Steve just nodded, lips curving up slightly. “Okay.”
“My Tower.” Tony repeated. Blinked once, as if mentally clarifying where he was getting at with this. Nodded in turn, chin bobbing up and down. “I’m allowed to be here. So there.”
“I’m sure.” Steve couldn’t quite stop the smile from taking full form on his face, waving a hand towards the chair Tony had knocked askew. “Care to sit down?”
Tony stared at him suspiciously, like he hadn’t quite figured out the mechanics or motivation behind Steve’s facial muscles doing the weird smile thing. Sat down slowly, fingers going up to tug at the fraying end of his scarf, wool winding around his index finger.
Steve pulled up the opposing chair, watching Tony’s eyes bug out of their sockets even more as he lowered himself into it. Dragged his palms over the khaki stretching across his thighs, pushing out a slightly unsteady breath. Found the smile sitting just as easily on his lips as it had half a minute ago. “Fancy seeing you here.”
A dull thunk echoed between them, like Tony had just started again and banged his knees on the underside of the table in the process. His eyes were darting over Steve’s features like a rampant pinball machine, absolutely refusing to settle on Steve’s eyes. “Look Steve, I- this wasn’t- I know you can’t be very happy with me right now but-”
“No, I don’t-” Tony clamped his mouth immediately when Steve began speaking; it had the effect of Steve’s words drying up in his throat as well, watching Tony’s eyes look at him apprehensively. Shit. What had he wanted to say anyway? “I don’t…um. I don’t really. Mind.”
Wow Rogers, flooring performance. Really making him feel wanted, aren’t ya?
Tony’s eyebrows had gone winging up to his hairline. “You don’t?”
“No-o.” Damn. Why was Sta-Tony behaving like he was the one needing the assurances, anyway? Steve pushed out a nervous laugh, lips pressing together tightly in the aftermath. “I mean…you can’t exactly be unused to that? What with the billionaire, philanthropist, genius-”
So original, Stevie. He’s absolutely never heard those glowing adjectives, certainly not from his own damn mouth-
Shut up, Buck. For all of the internal growling, Steve was feeling progressively more pathetic by the minute.
“-playboy asshole, yeah I know.” Tony completed with a nod and a resigned smirk, and Steve nodded along- wait, what? “Guess you must’ve been expecting a stunt like this.”
“I don’t think you’re a-” The words exited Steve’s mouth automatically, but were promptly halted in place by a crook of Tony’s eyebrow, eloquently spelling out- really?
“Only to those who deserve it.” Steve amended with a slight wince, and reluctantly thought back to all of his own straight-backed, wide shouldered, righteous jaw posturing in the not-so-distant past. Hell, he had been a total cad to his future café wife inside his head and he hadn’t even met her. “And I can admit that I usually do. Deserve it.”
Tony was watching him strangely, eyes dark in frank, unreadable appraisal. Steve could feel the warmth beginning to creep up the bottom of his button-down collar again.
Silence lingered at their table for a while, before Tony broke it slowly. “You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”
“I’m a little surprised too.” And Steve and mental Bucky groaned in unison inside his head, because god he was terrible at this. No wonder any dame wouldn’t give him the time of day. “I mean. We just…uh, got off on the wrong foot earlier-” and again and again and- “and I wouldn’t have actually imagined going on a- a date with someone like you,” take that judgey Cap off you idiot, “so…so intelligent and… innovative and fearless and sprinting up ahead of the times,” and now you’re a breathless fanboy, well done, “but I couldn’t really bring myself to walk out of the café when I saw you so I was just. Surprised.”
Quiet.
Well that was an unmitigated disaster.
Practically feeling the heat steaming off his face at this point, Steve was expecting either a disdainful moue or a snort of well-deserved laughter. Tony however remained seated, uncharacteristically still, fingers motionless around his scarf ends. His lips flickered for a few seconds, blinking thrice before clearing his throat and repeating all too inexplicably, “On a date with someone like-”
You. Steve was on a date with Tony fucking Stark.
“Cap, I think there’s been a-”
I, Steve clamped down on his miserable anxiety with characteristic anger, am not going to fuck this up.
“My favourite colour is blue.” Steve interjected, because screw charm and suaveness and everything else, he was going to do this on the power of sheer determination. No one could say Captain America didn’t have that. “Not the light, powdery kind. Robin’s egg, a bit of cyan. Darker the better.”
Tony blinked at him again. His lashes curled out slightly at the edges. Steve had never seen a man with eyelashes like that. “That’s…nice, I guess.”
“I like bagels. Freshly made, seven in the morning. Plain is nice, but sesame seed is better.” I never tasted fresh bread after my ma died. But no, that was too dark for a first date. “The serum made it so I wouldn’t be allergic to anything, but anchovies still make me nauseous. Running is nice too. I like running before the sun comes up.”
“Not that all that isn’t positively scintillating, Cap, but you don’t have to–”
“Swimming!” Steve blurted. His fingers were tapping faster and faster on his knee, probably a blur at this point. “I’m a soldier, but I never learned how to swim. People find that strange. I like old movies. From my time. Proper old, not when da- women say they like old movies these days and talk about flicks from the goddamn eighties.”
“I’m partial to ‘The Last Starfighter’ myself.” Tony murmured almost absently. “Steve, listen to me-”
Where are your manners, Steven, hogging all the conversation like that. Peggy’s reproving tone echoed in the caverns of his head, let the man talk, for Pete’s sake. “What’s…uh, yours?”
More confused blinking. Even through the dulled panic, Steve’s eyes were drawn to the motion. Dark lashes, up and down, up and down. Heck, this wasn’t even like ogling Tony when he was flying in loop-de-loops, for heaven’s sake; the entire human race blinked, it wasn’t exactly spellbinding, what was wrong with Steve–
“What’s my what?”
“Favourite colour.”
The answer to that question, Steve reflected in the silence that followed – not the fucking colour one, the one just before, ricocheting wildly off the walls of his empty head – was everything.
“I’m sorry.” Steve heard the words drop uselessly out of his own mouth. “That’s a stupid question.”
“No, no.” Tony laughed – then paused for a second, as if taken by surprise by its sound.
Wellll, at least he’s laughing. Bucky observed. Even if it’s at you.
The smooth, shining surface of the table was looking more and more tempting by the second. Steve wondered if it would survive the impact with his forehead. “Shut up.”
Steve didn’t realise he’d actually vocalised till Tony’s brows crooked. “I’m sorry?”
“No, not you…just. Voices.” Steve said lamely, and then let the words hang there; too miserable to be appropriately horrified. He’d grown familiar enough with the modern times to know what that had just sounded like.
A good soldier knows to quit while he’s ahead. You did your best, Rogers.
Apart from the fact that his best…well, to borrow a modern colloquialism, sucked. Steve exhaled, tight and despairing. “I’ll just go.”
“You probably should.” For all that Tony was smiling, gentler than Steve had ever seen him, the words still hit hard. “My fault entirely, shouldn’t have come here in the first place. You should probably look for the person you actually–”
“Have a shot at? Yeah, I get it.” Steve bit out, knees knocking against the table as he rushed to his feet – and regretted the words instantly. Tony was being so kind, he’d had met dames that wouldn’t sit through ten seconds of that joke he called a conversation, and here Steve was messing it all up with his humiliated resentment. His nails dug into his palms, lips pressing together tightly even as he struggled to parse the words out in a dignified tone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…you’re right, this was a mistake. Thank you for giving this a chance anyway, I know this isn’t exactly your kind of…” A deep exhale. “Who’m I kidding, it’s a throwaway café at the bottom of your Tower, this is miles away from anything you’re accustomed to, I don’t know what I was hoping for–”
The lines on Tony’s face were growing deeper as Steve went on, eyebrows pulling down, something faintly distressed about the curve of that mouth. “No Steve, it isn’t like–”
“Bye Tony.” Steve forced out, and Tony’s expression changed strangely in response – right, he hadn’t been informed of the Stark-to-Tony change that Steve’s euphoric, idiotic brain had made when he’d first glimpsed that dark head in the bustle of the café.
His chair dragged against the floor as his palms pushed away from the table, hands coming to hang rigidly at his side as he turned away. Right, so. First course of action – go up to his floor and rip the spine out of How to Get Out of Your Mind and Start Living. And then set it on fire, though he’d probably have to enquire about incinerators first. There were apparently pollution laws for this kinda thing now. And then maybe look up that site Barton was recommending for people who wanted to meet other people, but not do much talking. Steve didn’t want to open his mouth again for the rest of his life. The site had the oddest name though, something about inflammable wood –
“Steve.” Something snagged at his wrist. Steve glanced down, saw tanned fingers and grease under nails. “Wait.”
His eyes flicked back to Tony’s face of their own accord, heart frozen for a beat. Apprehension and a myriad of other emotions were warring in Tony’s features, contorting and twisting and looking for all the world like he had no idea what business his hand had wrapped around Steve’s wrist.
“Are you going to keep holding my hand,” The words were falling out of Steve’s mouth, roughly hewn with the tiniest tinge of desperation, “or are you going to actually say anything?”
“I vote both.” Tony returned with a smoothness that surprised even him, if the rocketing eyebrows that followed that declaration were any indication. He stared down at the table, gave it an affirming nod, and looked up – once unreadable eyes resolving into determination. “Can we do both?”
Steve’s mind was stuck in static, and before he even knew it, he was being guided inexorably back down; knees folding and tailbone hitting the chair, hand encased in Tony’s warm, calloused grip. It was his turn to blink confusedly, heart thundering to life under a chest that threatened to burst. I don’t understand, he meant to say, except –
“Are you sure?” Slipped out instead, cracking at the edges a little.
Tony stared back at him, jaw firm and eyes unwavering. His hand didn’t twitch, forefinger and thumb tucked around Steve’s wrist bones, palm cupping the knuckles. “Absolutely.”
And then his eyes dipped, almost as if conscious, mouth reduced to a blur and vowels and consonants escaping helter-skelter. “I mean, when you strode onto the Helicarrier in that spangly outfit, I was pretty much but soft, what light through yonder window breaks and all that jazz–”
A snort escaped Steve without his cognizance, eyes widening after as Tony’s own narrowed in turn. “What, you find Shakespeare hilarious, Rogers?”
“Just thought someone modern might be more up to your speed.” Steve managed to reply without stumbling, still all too conscious of the exact location and status of his left hand. Was his skin clammy? It was clammy, wasn’t it? “I dunno. Uh, Han Solo?”
“We aren’t there yet, hun.” Tony replied easily, like the two of them together, like this, wasn’t still making Steve’s head throw up an Error 404. Oh, he should probably say that out loud sometime. Tony would like the reference.
“Barmy old coot that he may be, Shakespeare still has his uses.” And now Steve’s hand was being taken even farther away from him, hovering close to Tony’s chin – oh god, that’s where his lips are ­– Tony’s fingers sliding around all too easily to wrap around Steve’s own, thumb brushing the knuckles. But hell if Steve could concentrate on any of that – it was like his and Tony’s sightlines had infallibly tangled together, and he couldn’t look away any more than he could hush the thrumming blood in his veins, roaring in his ears. Tony smiled, a flash of white incisor in the midst of all that enrapturing darkness. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
Steve’s neck burned. Seized with the inexorable urge to drop his eyes – no, to knock Tony’s hand aside and curl his fingers into that thrice-damned scarf and pull, right over the table till Tony’s elbows knocked into the wood and his chest heaved and smirking lips parted –
Tony broke the eye contact. His lashes swept down, colour bursting to life on olive skin, rich and sparse, like wheat browning under the glorious sun. His lips barely moved in a murmur, “You have quite the sweltering gaze, Captain.”
“I have good inspiration.” Steve returned on autopilot. Huh, not bad.
Tony seemed to agree, eyebrows flying up to skim his hairline. His cheeks were still faintly coloured, “That is the smoothest thing you’ve said all afternoon.”
“It didn’t have much competition.” And Tony snickered as if in agreement, but Steve could feel his own lips curving to echo his, tightness in his chest easing away to leave something far lighter behind. This didn’t feel mean. This didn’t feel mean at all. This felt more akin to Peggy pursing her scarlet lips, bright-eyed with ill-concealed amusement, all ‘you really don’t know how to talk to women, do you.’
“You aren’t half as eloquent as you are when you’re all mad and Captain-ly.” Tony observed, eyes skating searchingly over Steve’s features. It made Steve’s skin prickle, and not unpleasantly. Tony’s mouth crooked, soft and discreet, more fetching than all the flagrant smirks in the world. “It’s charming.”
Steve cleared his throat, Tony’s smile growing even more delighted in response. “Uh. Wanna order something?”
And so it went on. They didn’t chat constantly, about everything and nothing like the closest of pals because they…well. Weren’t. But there was something here, Steve thought – something about how Tony’s smug grins and salacious comments didn’t ruffle his feathers half as much as they used to, something about how Steve’s blunt words didn’t make Tony stiffen in his seat. They weren’t immediately jumping to the worst conclusions about each other, jagged edges melting to run and flow together. Assured of his welcome, Steve’s words grew stronger and more confident – all the while his heart skipped a merry beat, hand growing warmer and warmer in Tony’s unceasing clasp.
“I always found it inherently ridiculous when they said it in the movies,” The sun was in its final lap, orange and gold streaks shooting across an indigo sky. Tony leaned casually against the café door, one ankle crossed over the other – how long had it been? Two hours? Three? Steve hadn’t been keeping count. “But I’m starting to think I haven’t been going on the right kind of dates. This was nice, Steve.”
Steve shifted on his feet, shoulders slouched, all too conscious of obstructing the entrance to the café. Tony seemed unconcerned, shoulder blades propped against the glass, fingers still holding Steve’s left hand hostage.
Maybe you can ransom it with a kiss, Bucky sniggered – Tony dropping his hand immediately as if he had a direct line to Steve’s deranged head. Steve flexed his fingers in the empty air, trying to clamp down on the disappointment. “Yeah?”
“Hmm.” Tony hummed. His freed hands reached up to wrap the faded maroon scarf more securely round his clavicles, lingering at the soft neckline of his tee after. Steve ached. “When I first met you, you felt like…the gathered essence of every asshole who thought they knew exactly what I was made of.”
Steve’s gut twisted in unease. “I’m so–”
“Uh-uh hero, still talking.” Tony stepped close, restless fingers reaching out to fiddle with the lowest button on Steve’s shirt. Caught before an exhale, Steve stopped breathing. “Today though. Today you asked me what my favourite colour was, like something out of Clueless, or a seventh-grade dating manual.”
If he breathed out now, Tony’s knuckles would brush past his abdomen. Lungs drawn tight, Steve could barely push out the words. “It was stu–”
“Guy flying around in a red-and-gold suit of armour.” Tony interrupted again, blunt nails scraping down the rough cotton, peeking between the buttoned gaps. “And you ask my favourite colour. Hell, maybe I’m reading too much into this – scratch that, I totally am, but that.” The quietest of breaths, dark irises flitting up. “That, wasn’t presumptuous at all. And I liked it.”
Beat. Beat. Steve exhaled. Tony tilted his chin up, as if to catch the warm breath on his own lips, chapped pink skin fluttering minutely.
They were so close now.
And then it struck him, as clear as his instinct before flinging the shield at a target, mind mapping out angles and trajectories. Nothing that had happened during this date had come naturally to Steve, and yet there wasn’t a split second’s hesitation in his frame as he tilted his head back from Tony’s uplifted face, gentle yet decisive. His loosely hanging hands came up to encircle Tony’s wrists in turn, detaching his fingers from Steve’s shirt with a soft tug.
Tony’s eyes flickered open, dark and confused. Steve could feel a rabbiting pulse, as his thumbs grazed over the thin skin of those wrists. Soft and low, his voice was mere vibration held captive in the enclosed space between their bodies.
“Who’s being presumptuous now?”
He held on, long enough just to feel Tony’s shiver, and then dropped them. Counted out two blinks before Tony’s mouth curled, eyes gleaming; denied and pleased somehow all at once. “You’re an asshole, Rogers.”
“Only to those who deserve it.” And his heart was anxiously, traitorously thudding away all the while, but his voice held and Tony laughed outright, almost breathless. God. God.
His grin was probably far too broad to be as smooth as he was trying to project himself, but Steve couldn’t care less. Not anymore. A step back, and another, till he was nudging the door open with his back, Tony’s glowing eyes following him all the way.
“See you later, Tony.” And he could hear Tony’s pleased inhale at the name, and Steve turned around, hands reaching down to slip into his pockets, lips struggling to hold the sheer force of his smile. Walked away, with an almost jaunty spring to his stride.
Nothing to say now?
Well done hotshot, you and Stark can fondue from now till the end of eternity, Bucky pronounced flatly – but Steve knew better. Could imagine the mocking words of his best pal all the way from the forties, coupled with that proud little glint in his eye.
God Buck, if only you could see me now.
I am, Bucky promised – and Steve allowed himself this. This not-delusion, on the day he went on a fucking brilliant date, if he said so himself, with Tony goddamn Sta –
With Tony.
Right, so. Course of action. How to Get Out of Your Mind and Start Living could probably live to see another day, Barton could keep his website. He had a Black Widow to personally thank.
~to be continued
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