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babyjakes · 5 months ago

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baby barnes | 1. homecoming.

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summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.

characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)

warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.

word count | 1,440

an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷

"Sorry. This place is a mess."

As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.

It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.

"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.

He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.

Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.

For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.

Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.

The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.

Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.

"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"

"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."

All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.

"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"

"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.

Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."

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whatthefishh · 2 years ago

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Have fun on the Amalfi coast while my heart shatters for Santiago over here!!!! Miss ma’am you just know how to twist the knife you so eloquently stabbed me in the heart with but ily for it so 😣❤️

RSVP

Summary: A prequel to Homecoming set 10 years before. The moment Santiago realizes he's missed his chance with you.

Homesick masterlist | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

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We invite you to share with us a celebration of love for the wedding reception of William Miller and Abigail Jackson.

Santiago stares down at the invitation. It's a showy calligraphy font with lots of rounded gold-gilded curves offset with the pink blossoms, roses and carnation in the background of the card.

A bit tacky for his tastes, and personally he'd probably would've opted for something much simpler, but luckily he's not the one on the hook and three hours from getting married.

He leans back against the car seat, trying to make himself more comfortable, eyes drifting to the side mirror that gives him a decent angle of your front door.

Thirty minutes.

He's been sat in this car for thirty. Whole. Minutes.

You never take this long to get ready for anything. The normal routine is: throw on the cleanest shirt and jeans combo you have on hand. Or if you're feeling really fancy, a dress you have abandoned and forgotten in the corner of your closet before you jump into the car, applying makeup as best as you can, while he drives you to where you two need to go.

He's never had to sit in a car waiting for you for half an hour while you get ready.

Not for your graduation.

Not for your first job interview.

Heck, not even when you were a bridesmaid to your best friend's wedding (because you'd both overslept and you ended up clumsily pulling on the bridesmaid's gown in the backseat while he was racing down the highway to the hotel where the bride was staying with minutes to spare).

So why on earth you would need this long to prepare for Ironhead's wedding reception is beyond him. There's hardly going to be any royalty there.

Santiago sighs, reaching over the dashboard to change the radio station when from the corner of his eyes, you've finally decided to grace him with your presence. In the side mirror, he sees you locking up the front door and approach the car.

The pale blue of your dress sways in the mirror.

Santiago is confused. You're wearing a new dress. One he knows he's never seen before on you.

It's a pretty little thing. Sheer blue lace, and a flowing line that hugs your hips flatteringly. The fabric of the summer dress flutters in the wind when you walk, the edges of the skirt flirting with your thighs as it rides up slightly and he can feel his brows arch in question as you approach the passenger side of the car.

"That's new," he says, as you open the door and scoot into the passenger seat.

You look up at him as if you don't know what he's talking about, and when he gestures at the dress, you just shrug, like there's nothing unusual here to see.

"It's a wedding reception Santiago, what else am I going to wear?"

He catches you inspecting your makeup in the mirror, your chin tilted upwards as your lips part to make sure the red lipstick and gloss on top hasn't smeared.

It feels surreal somehow, like he's wandered into a house of mirrors at a funfair. It's you, but you're behaving like something alien to him.

As he starts the car and pull out the driveway, the thought vaguely occurs to him that he needs to rewatch Body Snatchers, because he's pretty sure this is how it starts.

Still, you do look very pretty.

"The dress looks good on you," he tells you when the car's at a standstill at a red light.

The corners of your lips curve into a soft smile, and you look so happy that Santiago tells himself that if you have gotten body-snatched, he's just going to have to learn to co-exist with aliens now.

It's a big gathering held in a beautiful garden space. There are all the usual trappings of a Pinterest wedding fare. Fairy lights hung up in trees. Pink balloons and mason jars scattered on rustic looking wooden farm tables that he knows must've cost a leg and an arm on Will's paltry salary check.

His body is tensing. Leg itchy and Santiago feels like he can't stand still in one spot. The lingering pain in his right knee acting up again. The last surgery should have fixed it, and the surgeon had warned him it's probably psychosomatic at this point, but whether it's real or make-believe doesn't help Santiago when the pain is there.

There's a lot of familiar faces from the army here, which Santiago doesn't love.

It's not something he does, bring you around where that world can sink its contaminated claws into you. He doesn't want you near it.

Doesn't want you to hear the confusing military jargon, and have to explain what "Dependa means", or to have one of his "buddies" refer to you as a "civilian".

He never likes it when you're reminded that out of the eight to ten months he's gone for the year, there's a dividing line separating your life from his that you are not part of.

Doesn't want you to be faced with the fact that when he's not here next to you, he's not your Santiago. He's not the guy you grew up, the one you always beat at Street Fighter and used to run a racketeering at the local pool hall for pocket money.

Doesn't want you to think of the fact that when he's out there, he's committing war crimes under a legal technicality courtesy of Uncle Sam, the way some dumb misguided 18-year-olds were shipped to both your motherlands once upon a time and burnt it down with napalm and bullets some decades ago.

Fuck, he doesn't want you to be here. Should never have invited you.

But Frankie had accidentally blabbed about Will's wedding last week, asking, in front of you, who Santiago was bringing as his plus one. You had looked up at him with such big excited eyes, because you fucking love weddings, and you are always his plus one. What was he supposed to say? No?

It's so uncharacteristically clumsy of the man and Santiago swears, if Frankie wasn't his best friend, he could've killed him for that.

Santiago scans the space, spotting more pink flower arrangements, carnations and pink tulips and hydrangeas, it looks like a pink confetti bomb went off in this space.

Under a large tree of heavy branches carrying pink cherry blossoms, Santiago spots the very culprit he was thinking of. Frankie is leaning against the thick trunk. He's looking as uncomfortable as ever in the big crowd, obviously hiding away so he doesn't have to make mindless conversation with the other wedding guests. Shoulders slump so low, the man looks like he's trying to shrink into the tree.

Santiago shakes his head. It's hard to ever stay mad at Frankie. He couldn't even if he tried.

Jutting out his arm, Santiago looks to you as your arm curl around his. The unbending tension in his neck seems to melt away when you are pressed to his side. He can feel your sun-warmed skin brushing up against him, as the two of you make your way over to Frankie.

"Hi Frank," Santiago greets.

Frankie looks up, those big brown eyes fill with absolute relief at seeing a friendly face. The man is all soft smiles as he lets out a long exhale, the tension fizzling out of his frame.

"What you don't like weddings?" Santiago teases.

From Santiago's side, you slip out your hand where it's looped against him arm, and wave at Frankie despite that you're not even two feet away from each other. You're acting a bit awkward, your greeting a bit stiff. There's a warm and almost nervous smile on your face that makes Santiago raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Hi Frankie," you say and your voice is all soft and buttery and breathless.

Frankie's eyes darts towards you and when the man sees you, he looks like he damn near swallowed his whole damn tongue.

It's bizarre.

Both of you are acting strange.

From the outside looking in, it probably looks innocuous, just two good friends having a conversation, catching up after not having seen each other for several months.

Except it's not. Something is different. He can tell because he knows you both so well. Something is just slightly off.

Santiago sips his beer as Frankie's telling you about how much he liked the book you lent him before he got shipped off. He's recanting how he'd read them in his mosquito filled tent, while sitting in the back of a truck waiting to be transported to another town. He's telling you the bits and pieces of his everyday life on the other side that Santiago never shares with you, and Santiago doesn't know how to feel.

The fact that Frankie can so easily share that part of his life with you, without batting an eye, like it's the easiest thing. The fact that you're nodding and smiling, responding with details of your daily life at school and work, like it's no big deal.

There's no dividing line between you and the two of you act like all of this is completely normal.

Except it's not normal.

Because Frankie's taken off his cap and he's no longer hiding under it. As at ease with you he might seem, he's also nervously running his fingers through his hair over and over again while he talks to you. He can't take his eyes off your face, tongue darting over his bottom lip while he's staring at your mouth while you laugh.

And you? You're smiling and laughing with your whole face as you listen to Frankie's story. It's a smile so big and bright and unrestrained in a way that Santiago's always thought was reserved just for him.

And he doesn't know how he feels about that either.

Santiago is watching Frankie's eyes trail over your collarbone down to your legs. Eyes rounding into big saucer and the effect is almost cartoonish. It makes Santiago want to roll his eyes, this man never could rein back his appreciation for a good sundress.

And oh.

Oh.

This is why you're wearing a new dress.

Santiago blinks, feet rooted to the ground, stupefied as the realization hits him.

You wore this for Frankie.

You took half an hour to get ready for Frankie.

You were excited to come here... For Frankie.

Santiago is the third wheel.

And he finally figures out how he feels about that.

Like shit.

That’s how he feels about it.

Not that Santiago lets it show. He smiles, he nods, he cracks jokes with the two of you. Makes jabs at Frankie and teases you, like there’s nothing wrong.

Still he smiles, he smiles so wide and so fake his fucking cheeks hurt with the muscle ache of it. Smiles like there's nothing wrong. Like his whole fucking world isn’t imploding before his eyes and he’s watching it burn down to a crisp to the background ambiance of the warm afternoon sun and the live music of a string quartet.

Dramatic? yes, doesn't make it any less true for him.

Fuck, his knees hurt.

Santiago’s eyes roam over the space filled faces that are all smiling and laughing. Everyone’s happy. Drinking and eating and laughing. In this intimate space, surrounded by a crowd of people celebrating life and love, he’s never felt more lonely in his life.

He feels like he’s drowning, head held under the surface. There’s a claustrophobic pressure hugging his ribs and his lungs squeeze painfully tight. He can’t fucking breathe, and he wonders if he could die here without anyone noticing that anything is wrong and--

“Santiago.”

His eyes blink, focusing in on your worried face as you’re peering up at him. “Are you ok? You look a bit pale.”

“Uhm, yeah sorry. I…”

Your eyes are staring back at him, piercingly sharp. They feel like a scalpel held against his raw tender skin poised to make an incision.

He looks away, unable to hold your gaze, eyes flittering over the crowd. “Sorry, I think I see someone I know that I have to say hi to… and catch up with.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie throws a look over his shoulder, “who did you spot?”

Santiago scans the space for a familiar face, any familiar face that will serve as an exit route.

There’s Jones, his former captain back in the early days. The asshole who used to call Santiago ‘pretty boy’ derisively, and make him do pull ups until he felt so sick that the contents of his breakfast would end up outside of his body again.

To his left, Will is making the rounds from table to table, greeting and thanking the guests for coming. Will is too busy, which isn’t an option.

“Jones,” Santiago murmurs, and the moment he says it, Santiago already knows he made a mistake.

Frankie’s face scrunches up in distaste. “What are you talking about? That guy is an asshole. You hated him back in the army, why do you wanna catch up with him?"

Santiago laughs it off, because he can’t very well tell Frankie the truth. That Santiago feels the walls closing in and needs to get away from the two of you. So he makes up a cheeky lie.

“Guy owes me money.” He pats Frankie on the shoulder, and juts his chin in your direction. “Keep her company for me will ya?”

He turns to leave, and for a brief moment his eyes catch yours.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Santiago's part, but he swears that for the first since you arrived, your smile falters. There’s something in your expression, the way your brows scrunches up, hands hovering mid-air as if you’re about to reach for his sleeve, that tells him you don’t want him to go.

A snide critical voice in his head thinks he’s delusional. He’s just reading into something that isn’t there. Because why would you care? You’re perfectly happy in Frankie’s company.

In this moment as Santiago stands here before his former captain, he is regretting every single decision in his life that has led him here.

That he was a dumb naive teenager at the age of 17 that was tempted by a shopping mall recruiter to go "see the world" by joining the army. That he ended up in this man's regiment. That he didn't RSVP Will's invitation with: 'thank you but no thank you'. That in all his years of being in close range fire he somehow hasn't ended up with hearing damage that would have spared him from listening to this man talk.

Santiago glances over to where he had left you and Frankie half an hour ago, because he can't even be bothered with the pretense of acting even vaguely interested in what Captain Asshole has to say.

Santiago's been observing the two of you throughout. At first, it was awkward between the two of you. Because even though the two of you are no strangers to one another, usually Santiago is always around to play intermediary when there's a lull in the conversation.

You were hugging yourself, eyes darting to the ground, feet shifting. Frankie wouldn't stop running his fingers through his goddamned hair even as it started to look like a bird's nest that's fallen off a tree. The two of you were standing some distance apart, and Santiago cringed inwardly at the scene...

But if Santiago is being completely above board and honest... there's a small tiny sliver of a piece of him that was happy about that. That there's still a space for him between you and Frankie.

It doesn't stay that way of course. As the evening goes on and the harsh bright Florida sun starts to dim, the fairy lights flicker to life. It bathes everything in that romantic soft amber light against darkening canvas of the sky.

Frankie lends you his old worn jacket as you start to shiver. Then gradually, you two are inching closer and closer until you're standing shoulder to shoulder.

Santiago gets to witness it in real time, how the space between the two of you is closing (as is his place between you). He doubt he could physically squeeze himself between you even if he tried.

It's never gonna be a pleasant feeling to know that his best friends have just made him redundant. He knows that, and running away the way he did was probably not the most mature thing he's ever done. But now that he's seeing it from a distance, he can see how happy you two look. He has two seeing eyes after all.

For the first time in a long time, Frankie looks completely at ease. There's a soft glow to his cheeks as he's looking at you, utterly besotted, and you're smiling so wide your eyes are crinkling at the corners.

Santiago takes another sip from his beer, and despite the sickly sweetness, the beverage still warms his stomach. There are worse things in the world than seeing the two people he loves the most in the world happy, even if he's not the reason for it... right?

He peers out over the setting sun, squinting against the amber brightness and even among the buzzing crowd he can pick up the sound of your laughter distinctly from everything else. It's all he can hear.

It's funny how he never saw it before. But the two of you would be perfect for each other.

Frankie’s a bit quiet, and maybe he’s a little bit shy sometimes and takes a while to open up. But he doesn’t run away from his problems. Not like Santiago does. He’d never leave you if things started to get too serious or too hard; Santiago’s not sure he could make that same promise. But he knows Frankie can. Santiago knows how good Frankie would be to you.

And you? Just looking at the two of you now, he can see how Frankie's comfortable around you. Practically lighting up like the Rockerfeller center. Frankie looks like someone took an electrical socket and plugged it into him and he's buzzing and alight as he talks to you, Santiago can't remember the last time he's seen Frankie so animated... so at ease. Except maybe when he and Frankie are left to their own devices, during downtime, just the two of them, without having to hold a weapon in their hands.

"Captain! Mind if I borrow Pope here for a second?"

Santiago blinks out of his reverie to see the man of the hour, the groom himself in front of him.

Like a guardian angel descending from the heavens, Will stands with the sun glowing behind him, the golden boy.

The Captain nods, patting Will on the back, making some crude and off-handed and inappropriate joke about how "it's all downhill from here" not even a handful of hours after the man's nuptials.

Will doesn't smile, just juts his head with a nod, as they both watch the man depart. Then when he's out of hearing range, Will turns to Santiago.

"What the fuck were you doing with that guy?"

Santiago sips his bottle, and tips his head in the direction where the two of you are sitting. "Just wanted to give the two of them some space."

Will turns around and observes the two of you.

"Right," Will says, but his tone is gruff and serious, grinding his teeth as he observes. Will has never been the type to make any comments about anyone's personal lives, it's not his style.

"It's not my place to say something," he starts, then he stops, mulls it over as if deciding whether he's really going to say something.

The man shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. "Look, just... are you sure about this?" Will says.

It's all he says, he doesn't flesh out what he means. Just looks Santiago dead in the eye, with that sober Ironhead expression that he's so famous for.

Santiago doesn't pretend he doesn't know what Will is talking about. The man is smart. Santiago's not going to condescend him and play the game of the dumb best friend who doesn't realize he's in love with his best friend. It'd be like spitting in the man's face.

Instead Santiago takes a deep breath, and down the rest of his beer.

In front of him, Frankie's waving his hand so animatedly he nearly knocks over a canape tray from a waiter that was walking by behind him, and you're having a laughing fit over it.

Santiago doesn't know the answer to Will's question. He doesn't know what there is to be sure or unsure about. But he does know one thing... The two of you look good together.

Who is he to be in the way of that?

After all, Santiago has always had hang ups about how no one is good enough for you. Because you are his best friend and you deserve the best, and if Santiago is not gonna pull his head out of his own ass, at least Frankie will always take care of you and be there for you.

Frankie is a good man. A patient man, a kind man. The type of man he wishes he could be sometimes. He'd be better for you than Santiago thinks he ever could be.

Who's to say this isn't going to be the best thing that's ever happened to the three of you?

"Yeah man," Santiago says as he tears his eyes away from the two of you. "I'm sure."

Credits and Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who already had to see this angst-fest a year or so ago and have to deal with my constant angsting over these three for funsies.

A/N: Sloppy written angst before I go on a two week hiatus as we're on a long holiday to get away from the rain and enjoy some sunshine on the Amalfi coast! I love you guuuuuys!

#Santiago garcia angst #santiago garcia fic #homecoming series

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