#also also bruce should NOT have survived falling from space

[bkworm5]

going from Chuck Dixon writing the batfam on New Earth to Chip Zdarsky writing the batfam on whatever the current era is called (still Rebirth? Infinite Frontier?) is giving me such major whiplash

like, these are not the same characters AT ALL

[aethertetsuya]

Otherworldly Engagement

Jon and Danny are engaged.

Krypton was falling apart. Its the end of their planet.

When Jor-El and Lara were preparing to place Kal-el (Clark) on his ship, one of their projects came online. It's a portal. Out came Clockwork with a deal. Safe passage and a bright future for Kal-el in return, their grandson would be engaged to his ward. As an added bonus, Jor-El and Lara may continue their existence in Clockworks lair but must remain hidden from their son until such a time when their reappearance would not cause disaster to the timeline.

For the parents, it was a no-brainer (sending your child to the unknown and dying yourself or a shady deal that would ensure all your survival)

A deal is made.

And so begins Jor-El and Lara's Netflix and Chilling life in CW's lair. Watching Kal-el (Clark) live his live until Jon was born and until a certain halfa was targeted by the observants.

Danny becomes the Ghost king, his parents accept him, and a giant anti ghost comet is hurtling toward earth that, if not stopped, will cause mass level extinction. The JL big hitters are off world dealing with Darkseid or some other agent of Chaos. *This was the Ancients at work. CW is the conductor*

Amidst the chaos, Phantom and Superboy collide with each other, and Jon decides to help Phantom with his plan. He also got the remaining JL members to help build the intangibility machine with the Fentons.

Long story short. Phantom Planet without the Danny/Sam ending. Jon was there for the reveal (the other JL members were manning different terminals for the machine)

When the dust settles. They become best friends, but Jon is still not revealing his true self, afraid that Danny will no longer think he's cool if he knows he is only half an alien.

He talks to Damian about this and just got called stupid. If he really likes the guy and he knows the others secret identity, then he should too.

Finally, Jon makes up his mind. He's gonna do a reveal to Danny and ask him to be his boyfriend.

Knowing how cool Danny's parents are, he does a reveal to them first, and they are immediately on board with having him as a son-in-law. He asks Damian, Sam,Tucker, and Jazz how to do this.

Their Idea: Picnic on the moon with fireworks

Damian is watching from the Watchtower and is live streaming it to Sam, Tucker, and the Fenton Fam in Fenton Works Living room. It is at this moment that Superman returns with the JL from their deep space mission. He asks who superboy is with, and Damian just says "your future in-law, the Ghost King"

Superman panics, but just as he was about to interrupt the two, he gets tackled by Jor and Lara. "Son, your mother and I love you very much, BUT you are NOT ruining this" says Jor-el. Lara just nodding in the background.

Flash runs to grab popcorn while Dianna, Bruce, Hal, and Jonn sit by a couch made by Hal. Their too tired to do anything since there seems to be no threat.

On the screen, Danny excitedly says yes, and the two share a hug. Floating and spining on the moon.

"Robin, cue fireworks" says Lara.

---I did this in 30mins with barely a percent knowledge of DC. Needs refinement ---

Can people add to this? Spread the word, please! 🥹

[eddysocs]

Halle's Comet - Part Three (Tony Stark x OC)

Summary: When disaster strikes, it’s up to Tony, with the help of Bruce Banner, to assess the damage and help Halle survive her ordeal.

Word Count: 1,438

Warnings: Injuries, unconsciousness

Tony sent his Iron Man suit into overdrive just trying to catch up with her before she could hit the ground. Amidst the dust and rubble the impact had caused, he couldn’t be sure she’d survived the blow caused by the rogue comet, but hitting the ground from their height would spell certain death for her, so if she could be saved, it was left to him to do it. It was nearly impossible to see and bricks dinged the metal of his armor repeatedly, almost to the point of steering him off course at the rate they were knocking into him. It was only the glimmer of the red sparkles on her dress that made him able to finally locate her. He could reach her if he just flew a little faster.

When he caught her in his arms he realized something. She hadn’t screamed. Hell, Halle had screamed the first time he’d convinced her to let him take her flying with the suit, but falling to her death she hadn’t made a peep. He held himself together until he’d managed to land them far enough away from all the damage. Removing the helmet, he looked at her, scraped, bloody and bruised as she laid unconscious in his arms. "Halle," he urged, hoping she’d wake. "Halle," he tried louder, gently shaking her. Nothing. "Come on, Hal. Yell at me, anything." He was able to get J.A.R.V.I.S. to tell him that she was still alive, something he should have been able to notice himself had the thought of losing her not shaken him so.

Hospital. He had to get her to a hospital. His mind frantically searched for the name and location of the closest hospital but came up empty. But one place he knew of did come to mind. The laboratory of Dr. Bruce Banner. He put a call through to him as he took off with Halle. "Dr. Banner, it’s Tony Stark. I have a young woman who's just been impacted by a fragment of a fallen comet. I’m bringing her in to your lab. I don’t think your usual doctors are going to be able to deal with this kind of damage."

"Tony, I don’t think—" but the line went dead. This wasn’t a situation where Tony was going to be able to take no for an answer. If —between the two of them— they couldn’t figure out how to save her, then he could deal with the consequences of his actions, but until then, two geniuses, one of whom was an actual medical doctor, seemed to be her best hope.

When he reached the lab, there wasn’t time to stop at the door and knock politely. Instead, Tony crashed through the window, making himself a promise to pay for the repairs once this crisis was over. "Jesus," Bruce screamed at the sudden invasion into his space.

"I’ll have the glass replaced," Tony dismissed, while he laid Halle out on a metal table, "just help me save her. She’s been unresponsive probably since before I stopped her fall. She’s breathing, but it’s shallow." Tony explained everything in a hurry, trying not to leave out any information lest he miss something vital.

Bruce was clearly shaken up by this whole situation, but was trying desperately to remain level headed about it all. "Mr. Stark, I understand that you’re an important man, but as I tried to tell you on the phone this is not a hospital." Bruce had meant to continue, but was stopped when Tony took him by surprise, grabbing his lab coat in his fist and pulling him forward until Tony was looking him dead in the eye.

"Help. Me. Save. Her." The words were said through gritted teeth, and Bruce realized in that moment that this would be a losing battle. Tony wanted his help, so he’d give it to the best of his ability. Once released, Bruce went over to examine the young woman. At first glance there didn’t seem to be any alarming injuries, no obviously broken bones, no deep cuts, but it was very possible that she had a concussion and also a good chance that she’d inhaled some of the debris, causing her labored breathing.

Tony waited anxiously for Bruce to say something, or do something, anything besides walk around and look at her. Patience was not his strong suit. Then he noticed Bruce pause. "She wouldn’t happen to be wearing a glowing yellow necklace, would she?"

"No, I don’t think so, why?"

"You’re going to want to come look at this." Tony came around to Bruce's side of the table, and pointed to the pulsing glow emanating from roughly the center of her chest, bright enough to be seen through her dress. Tony, no stranger to Halle's body, was the one to hook a finger into her dress and lift it, seeing if he could locate the source of the light, but he could find nothing.

"I’ll do a scan, take some blood, see if we can see what's going on in there," Bruce said. Tony only nodded. This was certainly unusual. She didn’t seem affected by this strange glow. Maybe it would make a difference when she woke up.

Bruce was able to draw some blood and give her body a full scan with the equipment he’d used many times on himself. It would take a little while for results to come through, so now they were focused on waking her up. As Bruce took her vitals, which all came back relatively normal, Tony turned his attention to the possibility of waking her up. Under normal circumstances it wasn’t good for her to be unconscious for this long. It had to have been at least twenty minutes since he’d stopped her fall. These weren’t exactly normal circumstances though, Tony reminded himself. He certainly didn’t want to wake her only to send her system into shock, but he wasn’t sure he should —or could— just wait it out either. So while he debated, he took her hand.

He wasn’t sure how much more time had passed, with him lost deep in thought, the whirring and beeping of the machines in the room being the only sound. While he battled his decision, Halle took it away from him by waking on her own. Her back arched off the table as she took a deep, gasping breath, startling both the man at her side, and the one across the room, waiting for her results. If Tony hadn’t had his gaze so fixed on her face, he might have missed the golden yellow glow that shone from her eyes as she sat up. When the light faded away, they returned to their normal light brown.

"Tony," she cried out when she turned and saw him by her side. She dived in for a hug, completely catching him off guard, but once her arms were around him, Tony reacted on instinct and hugged her back.

"Halle, are you okay?"

Slightly embarrassed about her outburst, she pulled away from him. "I think so. We were on the roof, and then I was falling. I don’t know what happened."

"Comet fragment got a little too close for comfort," Tony informed. "Took down the observatory and you with it." He decided to leave out the bit about the strange glow that had come from her chest until he could assess her health and state of mind.

Bruce lingered several feet away and took the lull in conversation as his opportunity to speak. "Blood results are in. Iron levels are high. Astronomically high. Shouldn’t even be able to be reached by the human body kind of high."

"And what does that mean," Tony snapped.

"Malfunction," Bruce supplied. It was the best possible answer he could come up with. "It shouldn’t be possible, and she seems fine. Scraped, bruised, a little dirty, but fine."

Tony waited for him to go on, but Bruce offered no more information. "And the scan," Tony finally asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Hasn’t come back yet. Takes a while, even with my tech. Halle, if you’d like to clean up, bathroom is out that door and just down the hall to the right. There’s a robe hanging inside. When you get back, then we can get those scrapes and bruises seen to, make sure they’re just superficial."

Halle swung her legs off the table and got down. "Thank you. I won’t be long." Tony wanted to go after her, keep an eye on her, but he knew she wouldn’t permit him to. He’d just have to wait.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Part Two <- ❤️ -> Part Four

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @baubeautyandthegeek, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @bossyladies, @getawaycardotmp3, @misshiraethsworld, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw

Halle Conners: @adrianas-ocs-and-such, @dollvi3e

[flowers-of-io]

I’ll kick the hornet nest and say Witch Queen got a downer ending, but it’s, ah, a subtler failure that took us over a year to realise? At least that’s how I read it: we technically win, but really, what have we achieved? The Traveler is back (but our faith in it is cracked; it had done the unthinkable, and now we can’t be sure if it won’t leave again), the Lucent Hive are subdued (but they still have the Light; they’re still our greatest enemies, blessed by our god), Savathun is dead (but she is our only viable source of intel on the Witness, and we won’t survive this war without her knowledge, so we’re inevitably gonna crawl back to her for help eventually). We’ve won, but at what cost? We’ve also done the unthinkable; we’ve still killed Ghosts.

But I agree, TWQ is not out Darkest Hour. It’s a bit of a different story altogether; it’s not about losing completely, it’s about a victory that tastes like a loss.

I LOVE Lightfall’s downer ending, I love how Caiatl says, “We’ve just lost”, and I love how gut-punchy it is, how the Traveler is the cost we pay and how we have to choose between it and Ghost. The final mission is a BLAST. Caiatl’s presence in that story is incredible. The fireteam dynamics between her, Nimbus and Osiris (and Rohan) are perfect. And I had fun playing through Lightfall! I really really did! At first I was extremely surprised to see the overall negative reaction to it when I finally emerged from my gamer zone and checked social media. Beyond Light and Witch Queen and Forsaken before that were emotional rollercoasters; I cried during Witch Queen; my guts still twists when I think about Forsaken. It was nice to have some fucking levity in this game for once. I love Nimbus and what they bring to this story so much, especially paired with their very real grief over Rohan (which is palpable, but not stifling; it makes them determined rather than apathetic).

I also think this is Lightfall’s problem.

Maybe it’s just me, but… I don’t really feel the stakes? The story opens with a huge space battle scene, we watch Guardians get literally sliced into ribbons, we see Osiris just fuck off Light knows where, we see the Traveler do the sonic blast and it’s intense and insane and then there’s the Witness standing against it and holding its own with nothing but a gesture. We leave the battlefield and go to Neomuna, yes, but all the while we’re there, the battle is still going on. Remember how the HELM’s windows shut in the first cutscene? Well, the shutters lift in the last one and the crew is still standing there. Not much time has passed! If I were to estimate, it’s been a few days, maybe five at most, certainly less than a week.

But then we’re in Neomuna and it’s just an action-packed adventure complete with a Strand obstacle course and getting Neomuna’s systems back online or whatever, and that whole Vex mission in Radiosonde that has nothing to do with the main plot, like… That’s fine. That’s fun. But it doesn’t work in a tense, clock-is-ticking story where we’re supposedly doing all we can as fast as we can to fend off Calus while up there Guardians are holding off against the Witness and getting sliced to pieces. It doesn’t feel like the Darkest Hour because it’s… not particularly dark? Other than the first Radial Mast mission where Caiatl saves our ass, Rohan’s sacrifice, and the final stand against Calus, I don’t really feel the urgency or any sense of pervading doom that we should be feeling considering what the stakes are. It’s an action movie! When I saw that first Lightfall title card revealed back in 2020, and especially the name, I was like, oh fuck. But the ‘Light fall’ we got is 85% a Bruce Willis movie in vapourwave and it just clashes so weirdly with that 15% that is actually unfathomable sacrifices and a gruelling failure.

I don’t know if that’s the reason for most of the criticism Lightfall gets (and I don’t necessarily care what reddit thinks), but that’s what I think is my problem with it.

(Also gosh the CloudArk stuff and lorebooks being pandemic-era fiction… I didn’t think about it before but I CAN SEE IT omg)

I think with Lightfall like. It's fun. I had a good time. A blast, even! Especially with the gameplay, even when I got frustrated because I was playing Legendary and I'm not a good gamer.

It's action movie fun. Which is what it intended to be, really, from all the tropes and the pacing of it. But it got bodied with sudden roadmap changes and Witch Queen as video game Oscar bait.

Yeah, I think it could have used a breather to bond more with Rohan especially, but there was in-game justification for going fast and I'm sure the format A Destiny Expansion(tm) limited the team. We saw it bad in Witch Queen's seasons, and Bungie acknowledged that yeah the seasons structure was limiting them. As someone who works in software dev, nobody likes having to make things worse. But it happens a lot. Sometimes in really bullshit ways that the software folks wouldn't expect to be that level of bullshit, let alone anyone who isn't working with the software day in and day out. And by bullshit I mean "massive overhaul of the entire system just to make one tiny change" kinds of bullshit. Again, nobody likes it. I promise you.

Back to Lightfall. It's a fun action movie. It's also the plot point we'd been hurtling towards since Witch Queen, and probably even well before that: The Darkest Hour. We're struggling to use this new power in time, the mysteries around us have unraveled but in the end it's too late for us to get the upper hand, and it nearly costs us everything. In the year beforehand, we'd been losing in one way or another at the end of the seasons: Crow kills the Psion, our rituals fail to stop Calus, Eramis gets away, Rasputin dies. The Witness accesses the Traveler.

What it also does is it sets up the rest of the year for our Triumphant Finale. We get a thread to follow - how to get into the Traveler - and chase it through the year, alongside other threads like what the Veil is and how we're gonna deal with Xivu Arath. As of the end(ish) of Wish, we've got our answer and are primed for The Final Shape as our finale.

But first we had to have The Darkest Hour. Which, in the short term, being what it is, is a bummer. No getting around it. It's also part of why comparisons to Witch Queen went awry, IMO.

Witch Queen is, as I said before, the Oscar bait, insofar as an MMO looter-shooter has Oscar bait. It puts the tangled web front and center instead of tracing one thread and then zooming out to show the whole thing. It's more philosophical in nature, sitting back and asking us whether we think we're special and what really separates us from one of the enemies we hadn't forged alliances with yet: the Hive. And, of course, if we'd noticed the puppetmaster behind it all. It ties up the question that's been going on since Forsaken: are we the bad guys? (No, not really, we're struggling to survive the way everyone else is. Which, nobody else we've been fighting is really "the bad guy" either.)

It's a really good storyline! I loved it, even if, honestly, I didn't like the gameplay as much as Lightfall. I think it's earned its good reviews and positive reception.

But it is the Oscar bait. And unlike Lightfall, its plot role didn't require the same downer ending. It could sprawl, and honestly? I don't think it would have worked as our Darkest Hour. Not without screwing up the story and making a jumbled mess. Seriously, I don't think Destiny's "everyone gets a second chance" philosophy would have carried well at all if The Darkest Hour was when the Hive got Ghosts. Instead it would have reinforced our misconception at the beginning of Lightfall - that we are the sole rightful Lightbearers and that the Hive getting the Light was a wrongdoing.

Destiny did need something between Witch Queen and The Final Shape. And they moved things - but announced it less than a year before Lightfall released. At their big press conference-y deal, but still. Limited time for folks to get the news.

And then it came out and it was an action movie, not Oscar bait. But it followed Oscar bait, so that's what the expectation was.

Personally, I'm fond of, say, Moonlight. Fantastic movie. Beautiful and heartfelt. I enjoyed it and I think it is worthy of its high praise. But if you ask me what my favorite movie is, I'll say it's a tossup between Pacific Rim and Mad Max: Fury Road. They fit different niches in the cultural ecosystem - Moonlight isn't a bad Pacific Rim and Pacific Rim isn't a bad Moonlight. Not unless you pit them against each other despite their vast differences.

Also I remember there was lots of complaining about how empty Neomuna was at first, but everything about the CloudArk and especially the lorebook is such early pandemic-era fiction.

Lightfall is a good action movie. Witch Queen is good Oscar bait. Both of them have their strong points and weak points. There are technical factors that limit things. There are other external factors that limit things (looking at you, upper management).

It's fair to critique a story but like, I dunno. Bungie's devs, writers, and artists aren't idiots or evil or out to get you specifically. Lightfall is fine but you can't - and shouldn't - expect it to be Witch Queen.

Please, for the love of everything holy, don't let us repeat the nasty bitchy maelstrom we got around Lightfall. Or I'll start shitting in ovens.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Promise

MAIN MASTERLIST

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,140ish

Summary: You know Steve very well after having dated for many years. So you’re pretty sure you know that he’s planning on staying back with Peggy.

You and Steve had been dating since just after the Battle of New York. You two had survived everything the universe threw at you, together. The fall of SHIELD, Ultron, the Accords, and now Thanos.

While the two of you were on the run after the Accords, Steve had proposed. He promised you a better life after all the dust had settled. But it never did. Thanos came and wiped half the population off the earth— out of the universe. It changed the both of you. Though the two of you still relied on each other for support, Steve also seemed to be separate. Taking on all the blame for what had happened to all those people.

You were by his side when the team traveled back in time to retrieve the Stones. You were even there when they went back to 1970 and Steve saw Peggy. You watched as he stared at her with a sadness and longing that you had never seen from him before. A piece of your heart cracked at the sight, but you moved the ring around your finger, reminding you of the promise he had made to you.

When you arrived back at the compound only to find that Natasha had been lost, Steve wouldn’t comfort you nor would he let you him. It hurt you, but once again you reminded yourself, using the ring, of the promise he had made. He was going through something too. He just needed some time and space, at least that was what the both of you were telling yourselves.

When Thanos attacked the compound, Steve made sure that you were never out of sight, just as you did him. With tears rolling down his dirty cheeks, he watched you crumble in on yourself as Tony took his last breath. 

After you two had finally gone home after the long and grueling battle, Steve was still attacking distant. As the two of you laid in bed, there seemed to be a canyon in between you. Taking a shakily breath, you moved over and curled up in his side. Steve tensed and began to move slightly. You feared that he was moving away from you.

“Please…” you whimpered. “Don’t go… I need you…”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you so that you were laying on his chest. “I know…” he replied softly, pressing a kiss to your head. “I know…”

You found out a few days later, that Steve had volunteered to return the Stones. You immediately wanted to join him.

“No,” Steve responded, authoritatively. “This is something that I have to do myself.”

“Why?” You asked, the two of you getting ready for bed. “Why do you have to do this by yourself?”

“I just do, Y/N. Okay. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then talk to me! I want to understand, help me to understand.”

“I… I… There’s just something I have to do.”

“And that is?”

“Just something.”

“Just something?! Steve! You’re acting like you’re cheating on me. You are—“ Then it hit you. You should have known the moment you saw Steve notice Peggy. “You’re going back to her.” You stepped back. “You… I thought…”

“Y/N.” Steve stepped forward, reaching out for you. “It’s not—“

“It’s not what I think it is? Is that what you were going to say?!” You scoffed. “I should have seen this coming. You’ve been acting distant and I thought you just needed some time. But you don’t.” You shook your head. “I can’t stay in this room knowing that you’re just here to keep me company until you left me for good.” 

You rushed past Steve towards the door, only to be stopped by his hand on your arm before you exited.

“Please stay and hear me out,” he pled.

“No,” you replied. “I’m not wasting another second on you. You promised me a life. We’ve been together for 11 years, Steve, that’s how long I’ve wanted for a life with you. Willingly waited for you to be ready for one as well. You can’t go back and think that Peggy was sitting there waiting for you. She got married and kids, moved on. You should have too.” You ripped your arm from his grip and ran to your car.

Only Bucky knew about the fight the two of you had had. That is why he was just as surprised as Steve to see you waiting in the trees the day Steve was to take the Stones back. You were honestly just as surprised yourself. You were still incredibly angry at him, but… deep inside…. There was a bit of hope that he would come back. That he did love you as much as he had always told you. 

After hugging Bucky, Steve went to head towards you. But the moment he took a step in your direction, you took multiple steps back. It hurt him to see you so defensive. But he understood. So he mouthed an ‘I love you’ before turning and heading onto the platform.

Bucky and you weren’t freaking out like Sam and Bruce were when Steve didn’t come back when he should have. Bucky turned to see you sitting at the bottom of a tree, crying into your knees. He began heading over to you when the sound of the machine whirling spun him back around. You didn’t notice because you were too inside your own head to.

“Punk,” Bucky smiled up at Steve, who was frantically looking around. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Steve asked in his rush down the machine’s steps. “Did—“

“Y/N’s right there.” Bucky pointed to you in the tree line. “Hasn’t stopped crying. Better hurry before you lose your chance.”

“Right.” Steve nodded, hurrying towards you. He crotched down and gently rested a hand on your knee. You jerked it away.

“I don’t want comfort right now, Buck. I just want to cry,” you said, lifting your head up. “Can you just— Steve?” Your heart stopped. “Y-you’re here?”

“Of course. I was never planning on leaving you.”

“But… Peggy. You—“

“I needed to fulfill the dance I promised her. Nothing more than that… I promised you a better life and I’m planning on keeping that promise as well. That’s why I had to make another stop.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled something out. “I had to get this.” He opened his palm to reveal a simple gold ring. “This ring has been passed down in my family. I want it to keep doing so.”

“Oh, Steve…”

“Please forgive me for the distance. I was just nervous that I’d tell you about the ring and I wanted it to be a surprise. A new beginning for us after everything we’ve been through. So, Y/N L/N, will you marry me once and for all?"

[moonlit-imagines]

The Doctor Is Out

Stephen Strange x reader

warnings:

a/n: wrote this a while ago and its been sitting in my drafts. part 1/2

prompt:

In (2)

Without opening your eyes, you stretched your stiffened body against the silk sheets and rolled over to face your husband.

“Good morning, dear.” You whispered through a yawn, which led into a smile. Stephen was already awake and reading one of the many books he kept at his bedside.

“And good morning to you, too.” He leaned over and gave you a kiss on the temple, letting your eyes flutter open. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’d say so.” You reluctantly sat up on your side of the bed, pushing the covers away. “Any plans for today?”

“Not in particular.” Stephen decided to get out of bed with you and get ready for the day, although he was in a gray jacket and blue jeans in the blink of an eye. “We don’t have very much to eat, I might go run out for lunch.”

“Lunch?” You asked as you pulled on a pair of pants.

“Yes, well, you seem to have gotten a late start on the day.” Your husband explained. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so content with your dreams.” You took Stephen’s wrist to take a look at the time.

“It’s half past eleven?” You stared in shock at your husband’s watch. “You just waited for me?” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Stephen rarely ever let himself lag behind, it was truly sweet of him to keep you company while you drifted through the peace of your head, thoughts you’d already forgotten. “It seems the odds were in our favor when our paths first crossed, huh?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, my dear.” Stephen’s barely shaking hands cupped your face and right before he leaned in for a refreshing kiss to the lips, he whispered, “I’m not as great a man as you make me out to be.”

You hummed into the kiss he gave you and pulled back just a tad. “Oh, you’re right. You’re just the worst.” Sarcasm failed to escape you in moments like these, it was more entertaining than anything else in the eyes of your husband. “Now, I’m starving. Want to go to the deli around the block?”

“That’ll work. We should ask Wong if he’s hungry, too.”

—————

“You don’t have any money?” Stephen asked as the three of you walked through the Sanctum in a fixed line.

“Attachment to the material is detachment from the spiritual.” Wong’s wise words rung in your mind as you tried to figure out what he did before the two of you had moved in with him.

“I’ll tell the guys at the deli.” Stephen snarked. “Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.”

“It’s fine, we’ll pay for your lunch.” You interjected after hearing enough of that. Somehow, the trip down the stairs was unsuccessful since your steps from only a few seconds ago were nothing but rubble. You fell to the floor as Stephen and Wong took defensive positions.

“Thanos is coming.” An unfamiliar voice spoke as you lay on the cold floor. Were you able to get up on your own? Probably, but that fall would definitely leave a mark. After a moment’s time of your lonely visit with the floor, your partner rushed over to you.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” He crouched beside you and helped you back up, lightly brushing your cheek as he checked for any injuries.

“I think I’m okay.” You nodded. “Hit my head on the way down.” Peering over his shoulder while he checked your head for any bumps, you saw Dr. Bruce Banner crawl from the rubble. “Do I have a concussion or was it a gamma scientist that just crashed into the Sanctum?”

“Hi, I’m Doctor—” He waved just before you cut him off.

“I know who you are, Doctor Banner.” You replied with a smirk. “I’m Dr. L/N-Strange, specializing in neuroscience, but formerly gamma research.” Stephen smiled himself when he heard you say your name and just a little more when you described your profession. Maybe he was just proud to be near someone so accomplished.

“I don’t think you have a concussion.” A kiss on your forehead was the best medicine he could give, but you knew that it also meant he needed to get to work.

“‘Formerly gamma?’ Why’s that?” Bruce asked, somehow ignoring the big picture here. I mean, you were just happy to get some visitors, I suppose. You’d answer anything.

“For a while, they went hand-in-hand for me. You’d be surprised at what could be accomplished when you put them together...” You explained, Stephen patiently listening beside you.

“But?” Bruce pried a little more.

“But then I heard about your little ‘accident,’ decided to take a break just in case. Refocus my research.” You felt your partner’s hand rest on your shoulder and slide down your arm as you watched Dr. Banner’s guilty expression surface. It wasn’t your intention to offend, you were just obliging to his curiosity.

“As much as I love hearing you talk about your career, darling,” Stephen finally stepped in, “I think we need to talk about the threat to our planet?”

“I was wondering when you’d stop me.” You chuckled. “That’s alright, I’ll just go pick up lunch for you three. Dr. Banner, do you like sandwiches?”

“I...yes? I guess so. Turkey and swiss is...I haven’t had that in a while.” He stammered, leaving you to peer over at your husband and have him give you a near-identical look. Sometimes, the two of you just thought that same exact things, no words needed.

“Will you two stop doing that weird thing where you stare at each other in silence? We have work to do!” Wong interrupted and you decided it was about time to head out.

“Love you, Stephen.” You said with an amused shake of your head, giving him a quick peck in the lips.

“Love you, too. Don’t be too long if you can help it, Dr. Banner seems to have a pretty good idea of dangers to come.” He told you as his cloak gave you a quick pat on the arm. You didn’t know whether to say goodbye to his outerwear, as well.

“I’ll see what I can do.��� You winked and pat the red cloak back, heading for the door that your bag was hung beside. Now was the time for a walk to clear your mind, no “Thanos” or whatever the hell that was. Just the music to your ears that was Bleeker Street traffic and insufferable pedestrians. You just kept your eyes front and went on walking, you’d walk straight through crowds if you had to.

A few block’s worth of steps and you’d reached the deli that was so dear to your husband, now it was time to wait in line, a pretty long one, nonetheless. Maybe it was time to shoot Stephen a text.

Just made it to the deli ;) Anything I should be worried about out here?

Tony Stark is here. Outlook not so good.

Did you just magic 8-ball me?

“Dude, are you texting right now?” Tony asked in disbelief of the wizard looking down at his phone. It wasn’t very typical of him to check it in times like these, but you had a specific ringtone. Once he hears that ringtone, he replies. No matter what.

“I always answer my s/o.” He cleared his throat and stashed his phone away.

“At least we have something in common.”

—————

The line at the deli took so long that you got caught in the crossfire of an alien attack. Was it unbelievably amazing? Of course. Was it one of the most terrifying days of your life? You bet.

You could no longer get ahold of your husband and you soon knew why when he flew overhead in an attempt of offense. You’re guessing that these people were looking for the Time Stone.

Desperately hoping for one of your wizard “pals” to come and save you, maybe have you fall through a portal and back into Sanctum, you just hid in an alley. This may be one of the lows in your life, but you’d see worse days soon enough.

And the invasion was over just like that. You, like many other New Yorkers, stepped from the crevices of the streets to witness the damage firsthand.

“Uh, Dr. L/N!” That same voice from earlier spoke, causing you to swivel your head and see Bruce waving you down. Since he was the first person you recognized out here, it’d be best for you to head his way. It was a maze of cars, bricks, and broken glass before you’d made it over to him.

“Where’s Stephen? Or Wong? Tony Stark?” You bombarded him as if he weren’t stressed enough, but scientists always wanted answers. He knew that from experience.

“The aliens have your husband.” A line you never thought you’d have to hear. This better be a sick dream. “Wong said he was going back to the ‘Sanctum’ to protect it, and Tony is also with the aliens.”

“At least my husband has backup.” You sighed with a slight hint of relief, but your stomach was still turning just thinking about what they might do to Stephen. If they wanted that Stone, they’d do whatever they could to get it. Stephen was as smart as he was stubborn, it’d take a lot to get him to hand it over.

“Are you going back home?” He asked as he snagged a phone from the rubble.

“I figure you have a plan, I’m coming with you.” You watched him freeze for a moment with a name on the phone highlighted. “Trying to reassemble the Avengers, huh?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it’s going to be dangerous.” Way to state the obvious. You didn’t know if you could handle it, but...

“I have to get my husband back, I can’t just wait around.” You wouldn’t back down, but it was a little comforting to have someone backing him up. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to put myself to good use.”

—————

It has been...twenty days since the disappearance of several Earth-based heroes. Among them was Spider-Man, Tony Stark, and your husband. But today was the day you’d know the truth.

Half the population had vanished into thin air. It was hard to tell if anyone had survived the trip to space. You’d been staring out the window all day, just trying to spot the cosmic wonder that was “Captain Marvel.” If anyone could find them, it was her.

Just as you were about to nod off, a bright glare intruded in the sky.

“Guy? Guys! She’s back!” Everyone had been on edge today, so they were ready to dash outside. Your heart was beating out of your chest, this was the moment of truth.

Carol landed a beat-up spaceship onto the open field and out stumbled Tony Stark and what looked to be an alien. You stared at the ship’s door, waiting for one more person. Just one more.

Everyone was staring at you now, waiting for you to realize that your husband wasn’t in there. Once Tony caught sight of you, he pieced together who you were.

“You must be the wizard’s s/o?” He leaned against his fiancée and Captain America, struggling to look you in the eye. “He wanted me to give you a message. Uh...sorry, I’m going blank, rough ride.” He rubbed his forehead as you stood there in tears. “‘This will make sense later.’ Oh, and he loves you.”

“I...” Everyone was still looking at you with pity in their eyes. Yes, they all lost people, but you were still clinging onto hope. All of your optimism had been destroyed in these past few moments, you didn’t even know how you were supposed to take this. “I need a minute. I’m sorry.” You stormed off into the guest bedroom of Avengers HQ, leaving everyone around you worried. You didn’t know them long, but it was easy to bond through a trauma like this.

“Y/N?” Bruce knocked on the door. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” You reluctantly answered and Bruce let himself in.

“I brought you carrots.” He offered the bowl. “It was all we had in the fridge, sorry.”

“We have to find Thanos.” You grumbled though tears. “I won’t give up until we fix what he did.” Bruce stayed silent out of fear, he knew what could happen to someone in mourning. People can get...crazy.

“We’ll do the best we can. We’re working on it.” Bruce explained as he set the food down on your end table.

“Take me with you. I have to be there this time.” You were in no way qualified to face an intergalactic being capable of that much destruction.

“Y/N, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He shyly countered you, using this calm tone was an exercise he learned during “anger management,” maybe it could help.

“I wasn’t asking.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @lxncelot // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @blizzardbabe // @agentshortstacc // @rosadiaz-sarayvargas-harleyquinn //

[moontheoretist]

MCU timeline, if they actually cared about the characters as much as we do:

Phase 1 (setting up the universe)

- Iron Man - Incredible Hulk (+ Bruce’s DID is included and well represented, Hulk is not shown as a monster which cannot control himself so much he hurts everybody around including Betty, in fact he is shown to avoid hurting anybody who isn’t actively shooting at him, Dr Samson and Rick Jones are a must for this origin story, post credit can stay the same) - Hawkeye (includes: his childhood with an abusive father, his brother Bradley, his past in the circus so basically his origin story, his deafness, him being conscripted by SHIELD, and post credit scene with him choosing not to kill Natasha) - Black Widow (includes: her childhood in the Red Room, the fall of USSR and change in Russian politics, KGB being dissolved, Natasha’s breaking of her programming, her leaving the Red Room thanks to meeting Hawkeye, the assassination of Dreykov’s daughter, What Happened in Bucharest, Natasha joining SHIELD, and post credit scene with her taking place of the PA which was supposed to apply to Stark Industries) - Iron Man 2 (+ more info about Howard’s abuse of Tony, Natasha is there, but it’s not her first appearance, and also she isn’t shown as if she knew she was in a movie) - Thor - Captain America: The First Avenger (I think that his stupid behavior in CW is completely set up by his origin story, so I wouldn’t change anything if we wanna have that conflict with him being more concerned about Bucky than literally anything else going on) - Captain Marvel (because her existence makes Fury think about Avengers and explains why Fury wanted to create them in the first place, also action happens mostly on Earth) - Avengers (+ Jane Foster and Darcy are part of the science team and greatly contribute to the plot as scientists, because I am fed up with women being sidelined)

And because Avengers has a post credit with Thanos we should get some movies in space now related to Thanos first, before Iron Man 3.

Phase 2 (we learn about the ultimate badguy)

- Guardians of the Galaxy - Thor: The Dark World (but hopefully better written, + no damselling of Jane) - War Machine (Rhodey’s only movie, Tony is busy doing whatever) - Hawkeye 2 (how Clint dealt with everything which happened during Avengers, how SHIELD agents treated him, introducing his family?, maybe bringing back Barney and showing his relationship with Mockingbird and stuff like those) - Iron Man 3 (without the ableist meta message that all disabled people just wait to become murder machines, but still introducing Extremis) - Black Widow 2 (could be the same story as we got in 2021, introducing Yelena Belova) - Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch (includes: their childhood, how their parents died (Yugoslavia being bombed by NATO, but I doubt Hollywood would ever wanna say it out loud), them growing in orphanage, possibly attending university (universities for citizens in Serbia are free and because Sokovia is based on Serbia, and it is a slavic country we can assume they have that system as well, and there are also social support programs available from both the government and possibly the university as well), the difficulties of a life in which they have to cover their costs of living themselves, because they have no parents, American army stationing in Sokovia, twins getting radicalized, protesting against foreign influences in their country and joining Hydra, experimentation, if they were trained by Hydra to use their powers or not and how were they trained, Sokovia being shown to be normal country instead of breaking apart state which Americans see each time they think about it) - Falcon (Sam’s origin story, his mission in Afghanistan and stuff - I don’t know his origin story, so I dunno what to say here) - Captain America: The Winter Soldier - TV show about the consequences of the movie above. Possibly something akin to Agents of Shield. What happened to the agents, how world reacted to Natasha’s “fuck you”. - Ant-Man (introducing Hank Pym) - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Ultron is Hank Pym’s like in the comics, but in some versions of this Tony helped or provided tech so he still wpuld feel quilty afterwards, + no dying Pietro)

Phase 3 (everything gets complicated, but they prevail)

- Incredible Hulk 2 (what happened to Bruce and Hulk and how they dealt with the idea that Steve literally had his well-being in his ass by inviting Wanda and Pietro to the team, what is going on with Thaddeus Ross and Betty Ross, we meet Jennifer Walters) - Black Panther (different one than the one we got, introduces T'Challa and his family) - Spider-Man: Homecoming (could be earlier, just after Avengers, but *shrugs* this story is written in such a way it is better after Iron Man 3 and Age of Ultron) - Captain Marvel 2 (basically setting up why she didn’t participate in Civil War, my idea was to depower her, but not take her powers away, so she could have some more down to earth stories instead of stories set in space, maybe even explore her alcoholism that way) - Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch 2 (deradicalisation, becoming heroes) - Captain America: Civil War (Accords are better explained, Matt Murdock or Jennifer Walters show up to do exactly that, RAFT is explained as American prison not related to the UN, Steve this time has valid concerns about the Accords, but he still goes ape shit over Bucky, still lies to Tony about his family, because those traits were all set in his origin movie) - The Wasp (Hope’s origin story) - Hawkeye 3 or Hawkeye TV series - Black Widow 3 (something something about Ross hunting her, but Red Room was already taken down, so different story is here instead) - Ant-Man 2 (Wasp is here too, but this is Scott’s movie, previous Ant-Man and The Wasp) - Black Panther 2 (about Kilmonger and T'Challa’s scuffle for the throne) - Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (didn’t know where to put it, because it is mostly unrelated to any other movies with this story about Ego, but it develops Nebula more, so let’s be here) - Doctor Strange - Thor: Ragnarok (I am not opposed to Planet Hulk, but I am more inclined to not put Bruce into a movie which is supposed to be about Thor and Loki so… more time for Brunhilde) - The Winter Soldier (solo Winter Soldier movie) - Avengers Infinity War/Endgame (it makes no sense to make two movies if we can have one, the snap was used as a plot device more than actual defeat of the Avengers, so it can last less than 5 years and also no time travel which then you have to explain why TVA didn’t put everybody in jail for that, Tony doesn’t die and Carol and some other powerful people (LIKE HULK, Hulk is NOT less powerful than Thanos or fearful or something) take down Thanos instead and Tony finally retires and is left alone by everybody goddammit)

Phase 4 (new era, some heroes retire, others take their place, while different ones just get the grip of whom they truly were all along, and also we get a new ultimate bad guy and possibly set a stage for his defeat) <- this one not really well set up, because we don’t know most of the movies and TV shows which appear in this phase so dunno how to set them.

- Spider-Man: Far From Home - Photon (origin story of Monica Rambeau) - War Machine 2 - WandaVision (or Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch 3, adjusted, so it would not repeat some facts and would only remind about the most important stuff. Also, Pietro lives in this timeline so no Bohner guy lol, he is just insufferable brother-in-law to Vision, and weird uncle to kids) - The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (but with Steve who didn’t go back in time, because there was no going back in time in this timeline, he just finally is learning what accountability is and has to forfeit his shield, because it’s time to retire) - Falcon 2 - Winter Soldier 2 - The Wasp 2 - Loki TV series (Loki survives Thanos and is taken by the TVA, it basically doesn’t force the story to make him quickly develop feelings in the first episode and bypasses that issue, + more Loki Variants, all genderluid and presenting in various ways in the show) - Incredible Hulk 3 (Bruce and Hulk finally start communicating and Hulk becomes gradually smarter, and we meet Bruce’s another alter Grey Hulk and the circus with getting along starts all over again, because Grey Hulk hates Green Hulk xD, is setting up She-Hulk) - Shang-Chi and the Legend of Ten Rings - What If…? TV show - Ms Marvel TV show - Eternals (feels like should be in different phase) - Spider-Man: No Way Home - Doctor Strange: In the Multiverse of Madness - Thor: Love and Thunder (about Mighty Thor - Jane) - Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (about Shuri?) - The Marvels (Captain Marvel 3 basically) - Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quntamania (setting mutiple Kaangs I suppose) - Moonknight TV show - She-Hulk TV show - Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 - Blade (feels like should be in different phase) - Fantastic Four - Avengers (in which they fight Kaang?)

I was going with the idea that every superhero should get at least 3 movies ONLY about them. As of now, I managed to put 3 only for a few, and some were swapped for TV shows instead to fill the place and better show the character and what they’re up to, because TV shows have more hours than movies.

I know there are supposed to be TV shows for Armor Wars, Iron Heart and Secret Wars, but I dunno when, so no idea where to put them.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Nine

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: None

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho, @claudiahxrdy​ (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Bruce’s fingers ran through Demetria’s black hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before his fingers slid softly down her jawline.

She was fast asleep, her head resting on his chest, their legs intertwined. Her breathing was gentle, heart beating slowly against his. Her jacket was draped over her like a blanket. His arms wrapped around her protectively.

After having their way with each other, they’d put their clothes back on with the intention of driving back home, but exhaustion overwhelmed them and instead they opted for sleeping on the floor. 

Bruce felt relief wash over him, knowing that he didn’t have to hide from her nor did he lose her in the process. His eyes fell to her stitch on her forearm. The scar would forever be a reminder of his carelessness and he would never forgive himself for as long as lived.

Her eyes fluttered open, a tired smile forming on her lips.

“Morning,” she mumbled, nestling her head closer to him as she basked in the warmth of his body.

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her close to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, but nothing some asprin can’t fix.”

“I have a bottle in the top right drawer. I also have aftercare stuff for stitches in my desk if you need it. I’ve had to stitch myself multiple times.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “You do it yourself?”

“Alfred helps.”

She hummed. “I’m getting you a blanket to keep in here. Maybe a pillow too.”

He chuckled, his lips hovering over the top of her head. “I don’t need it.”

She lifted her head. “But I might.” 

“Who says I’ll allow you back in here?” he teased. 

“I can make myself very useful to you.” 

“You’re always useful to me.”

She rolled her eyes, lying her head back down. “You know what I mean.”

His fingers circled her back as he rested his chin on top of her head. “Dem?” 

“Yea?” 

“Are all your panic attacks like that?”

She glanced up. “Like what?” 

“Like how it was last night?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never had one that intense before. They vary in severity, but usually it’s manageable.” 

He closed his eyes, cursing himself even more. He knew he should’ve been there. “What can I do for you when you have them?”

 “Just ask me what I need,” she shrugged. “I’ll usually tell you if I want you there or if I want space.”

“You promise?” 

“I do.” Her fingers reached toward his hair, running through it. “I appreciate you asking.” 

She pecked his lips before stretching her arms carefully, aware of the stitch on her arm. “How the hell did we fall asleep on the floor?”

“I think we were both just were too tired to care.”

She got up, helping Bruce up off the ground. She threw on her jacket. “By the way, how the hell did you and Rachel survive that fall?”

He chuckled. “I’ve jumped off higher buildings. That was nothing.”

She cocked her head. “You live in a penthouse.” 

“When you’ve been at it for as long as I have, you get used to it.” 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” 

He smirked, resting his hands on her forearms. “I don’t want you jumping off buildings.” 

She scoffed playfully. “Fine, keep your secrets.” Then it dawned on her. “Speaking of which, does she know?”

“Rachel? Yeah, she does.” 

“Anyone else?” 

“Lucius Fox. He helps come up with the tools and the Batsuit. All this you see in here is his handy work. As for Rachel, I rescued her a long time ago.”

Demetria nodded understandingly. Bruce put his hands on her hips, pulling her close to him. “I should’ve told you sooner. I just wanted to protect you.”

She gently grabbed his hands. “Be honest with me here, were you really ever going to tell me?”

“I was hoping I could step down before we got married so that I could tell you when it was over so you wouldn’t worry. I realize now how foolish that was.” He paused. “I threw the fundraiser for Harvey because I believe he’s what Gotham needs and deserves. He’s better than Batman. I want him to continue so that the Batman can leave and I can begin my life with you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to be too mad at him, realizing his intentions were nothing but good. She also cursed herself for ever doubting him. 

“Well first, know that the right time to tell me anything is when it happens,” she told him. “Second, don’t get me wrong, what Harvey’s done for the city is great but he’s not you. You should be proud for what you’ve done for the city.” She pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek. “I want you to know that if you don’t want to give up Batman, that’s ok. If you feel like you’re done, then that’s ok too. What I don’t want is to be the reason behind your decision.” 

He shook his head. “You’re always my reason. Demetria, you’re everything to me.” 

Her lips curved into a small grateful smile.  “Just know I’m here and I’m proud of you and that you’ll always be my hero.” 

‘I’m proud of you.’ Four words filled him with a sense of security he hadn’t felt in a long time. No, he never searched for glory or praise when it came to his Batman or personal duties, but Demetria’s support meant the absolute world to him. He knew his luck and he’d be damned if he pushed it any further.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his thumb wiping her bottom lip.

Her hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck and his hands wrapped her cheeks. “I love you too.”

He leaned forward, his breath hitting her lips for a moment before his lips brushed up against hers.

His kiss was gentle, but with meaning, just like his declaration. If both had their choice in life, they would choose to stay in the moment forever. To stay trapped in the most meaningful kiss that made the world and its problems around them disappear. 

Demetria slowly pulled back and rest her head on his chest as his hand rubbed her back. Her eyes shifted over to the computer screens, curiosity filling her eyes. 

“So what exactly is this for?” she questioned, motioning her head toward it. 

Bruce looked at the computers. “Helps with tracking.” 

“Tracking what?” 

“Anything and everything.”

She turned her head to him. “Including me?”

His hands were shoved in his pockets, slight embarrassment painting his expression. “Two times. Tops.”

She leaned forward, a playful smirk on her lips. “You’ve spied on me twice? When?”

“First time was the anthrax scare.”

“And the other?

“Huge drug deal happening in the basement of your apartment building. 

She hummed, the memory coming back to her. “Ah, yeah. That was a fun time.” Her eyes then widened. “Wait a minute. You called me that night...and you...you asked-.” 

“For you to spend the night,” he finished. He nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” 

“So that's why you made me stay at your place for the entire weekend?” 

He cracked a smile. “Made you? I seem to recall you not fighting me on it.” 

“I just thought you were needy.” She looked back over at the computers. “Would you teach me how to use the system?” 

“Why?”

“I want to help you.”

His smile faded. “Demetria, I told you I don’t-.”

“I’m already involved, Bruce. Besides, I’ll stay in here and this is a safe enough space for me. Plus, I worked in journalism. I know how to dig deep and find out things.” 

“I thought your job was to get people on shows?” 

“We had to do background checks and in-depth research.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Look, I can’t jump off buildings or fight, but I can help with hacking and with research and that’s just as useful to your work as the physical stuff is. Think of it as me 

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to fight her. She’d had a point - she was already involved. She was also helpful with the tip from last night. Maybe she could be an asset.

“How do you know to hack?” he questioned, cracking a tiny smile.

“I know people,” she shrugged casually.

He shook his head. “We’ll try it on a trial basis.”

She perked up, her smile widening. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“I see you now know our little secret, Miss Gallagher.”

Demetria and Bruce looked over to see Alfred carrying two to-go coffee cups. He made his way to the couple, offering the first cup to Demetria. 

“You’re a lifesaver, again,” Demetria thanked him as she took the coffee. She took a sip, the taste of caffeine, half-and-half, and sugar welcoming her. 

She watched as Alfred set down the other cup on the desk as Bruce turned the computer systems. Suddenly, the pitch black screens turned to looped videos of The Joker. From security cam footage to his video from yesterday, his presence graced the screen and caused shivers to go down Demetria’s spine. 

The memory of the way The Joker’s eyes pierced in to her in the moments before he slashed her flashed in her head. She exhaled, shaking it off so Bruce wouldn’t see. 

Just when a distraction was needed, her phone rang. She dug into her jacket pocket to find it was her mom calling.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled.  

She walked to the other side of the Bat Cave and pressed the green button. “Hey Mom.”

“Thank god you’re alright! I had Henry calling me at midnight in hysterics, saying you were attacked and hospitalized - I could barely sleep last night!”

“I know I should’ve called-.”

“Thank god for Alfred! Alfred called me from the hospital to keep me and Henry updated. He even called this morning to say you were sleeping in and that he and Bruce had you taken care of.”

Demetria made a mental note to thank him for keeping her mother at bay.

“And Bruce! My god, the poor thing!” her mother went on. “I mean, he got lucky he was only locked in the closet, but it could’ve been so much worse. Thank god the rat guy came in when he did.”

“His name is Batman, Mom.”

“ I called Harvey to check on him and he said Rachel was attacked too?”

“Yeah, The Joker threw her out the window-.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”

“Mom, she’s fine. Batman saved her.”

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. This was the absolute last thing she needed.

“That’s it! I’m coming in tonight.”

Demetria’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not! You are not coming to Gotham!”

“Demetria, do not fight me on this!”

“Mom, I need you to stay where you are. Now is not the time to come here.”

“I need you to be safe.”

“I am safe. They’re increasing security at Bruce’s place as we speak.”

“What about Harvey?”

“He’s untouchable. He’s going to be fine.”

Her mother sighed in defeat. “Alright, but I want a phone call everyday. You hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And if this continues, I want you, Bruce, and Alfred on your way here or I’m coming in.”

“Fair enough. I promise everything’s gonna be ok. Just do me a favor and keep Henry calm and updated. I’ll call him later.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Demetria hung up, shoving the phone back into her pocket. She made her way back to Bruce and Alfred who were staring at the monitors. 

“Targeting me won’t get their money back,” Bruce said, his eyes glued to The Joker’s face on screen. “I knew the mob wouldn’t go down without a fight, but this feels different. They’ve crossed a line.” 

“You crossed a line first, sir,” Alfred pointed out. “You squeezed them, you hammered them to the point of desperation and in their desperation, they turned to a man they didn’t fully understand.” 

Bruce turned away from the monitors. “Well, criminals aren’t complicated, Alfred. We just need to figure out what he’s after.”

The case that held his Batsuit rose from the ground as Bruce stared at it. 

“With respect Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man you don't fully understand either,” Alfred suggested. He made his way toward Bruce, Demetria watching him. “A long time ago, I was in Burma, my friends and I were working for the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of the tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never met anyone who traded with him.One day I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away. “So why steal them?” Bruce asked with a slight shrug. 

“Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

As Alfred walked away, Bruce and Demetria looked up at the screen at the Joker’s face. 

============================================

Back at the penthouse, Demetria sat in the living room watching GCN’s coverage of the deaths of Police Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb and Judge Janet Surillo. Both were murdered - one poisoned, the other blown up in her own car. Both deaths were believed to have been conducted by The Joker and by the city’s mobs. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if what had happened to her last night was premeditated. One of the henchmen singled her out to The Joker, referring to her simply as “her.” Perhaps she was on the list for round one of victims.

It dawned on her that by confirming her friendship with Harvey in her editorial, she set herself up to be a target. 

She shut off the TV and began pacing the room. What if the orphanage was next or GCN? What if they were going to blow up her old apartment building with everyone in it? What if they were going to try again?

She cursed herself for writing that damn thing. If only she had just let it go, she wouldn’t have gotten herself involved.

She ran her hand through her hair, when she turned her head over to see her laptop. 

That’s when she thanked God she was smart enough to befriend some of the IT people and researchers at GCN. 

She grabbed her cell phone and went through her contacts, before finding the name she needed. She dialed the number. 

“Harvey, are you at the office?” 

“Yeah, is everything ok? Are you alright?” 

“Is Grace at the office?” 

“Of course.” 

“I need you to let go on an errand for me.” 

*********************************************************************************

That night in the Batcave, as Bruce suited up in his Batman outfit, Demetria sat at the desk setting up her new laptop. 

“And what exactly did you tell Harvey you needed a new laptop for?” 

“I spilled water on mine,” she answered, her eyes not leaving the computer. She clicked a key. “There we go! Now if you need me to hack into a place, I’m ready to go. I’m also logged into the scanner and can hear everything, but that’s not as fun.” 

“How do you know which security cameras the buildings use?” 

“Most places have the same system,” Demetria explained. “At least that’s what I was taught.”

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets,” Bruce noted. 

She furrowed her eyebrows. “There’s a difference between my limited knowledge of hacking and you being Batman.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “Are you going to be ok in here?” 

“I have a blanket and pillow and I’m wearing my favorite sweatpants so I would say so.” She eyed his computers. “I’m still working on figuring out those systems but I should be ok.”

His hand touched her cheek. “It won’t always be like this. Soon, you’ll have me all to yourself in bed all night.”

“And I cannot wait, but for now, focus on getting home safe and without a scratch.”

“For you, absolutely.”

He put on his cowl when Demetria said,” “Scanner is already reporting a shooting at West Point apartment on 78th. Gotham PD is on their way. Checking for security footage now to see if it’s the Joker.” She looked over her shoulder. “Better move along.” 

[edyacouky]

Not My Pack

Can be read on AO3

Sumary : Reverse Robin / Omegaverse

Batman and Tim are gone to a mission in space.<br />

Alfred take his first vacation since forever.<br />

So Damian is let alone with the last pup, Jason Todd, that his father adopt a few month ago.<br />

Not a big deal, right?<br />

Well until the pup start his heat ...“Are you sure everything will be alright?”

Note : 

Damian Wayne Al Ghul  Alpha 20 years old

Tim Drake: Unpresented 14 years old

Jason Todd: Omega (presented in this fic) 12 years old

Cassandra Cain: 9 years old not in this fic

Dick Grayson: 6 years old not in this fic

***

Damian sights and rolls his eyes. His father can really be exasperating, especially since he decides to add some pups to their pack.

“Tt- It’s not the first time who leave Gotham to me for one of your Justice League mission.

-This time Alfred won’t be with you either.”

Bruce could only blame himself, he is the one that force his father figure to go on vacation somewhere without cellphone so he can really relax. But he didn’t have expected having a mission on space with the Justice League.

“Maybe I should cancel his trip. He will understand …

-Father, don’t you trust me?”

Now Damian start to be really upset. With the years, they had many problem of communication and trust. Now, they both know that they love each other deeply and would do anything for the other, but they still have difficulty to talk to each other.

“This isn’t the problem. Bruce says wanting to avoid a confrontation. I am not comfortable to let you without back up.

-I will have back up. Damian roll his eyes. Colin leaves in Gotham, in case you forget, and Jon will stay in Metropolis like Iris will be in Central City. And …”

Damian looks at where Jason watches Tim prepare his bag.

“Tt- with your obsession to add unnecessary pups to the pack, we will even have a Cambion each. Oh yeah that’s true my name isn’t good enough for Drake and he change it. By what already?

-By RedBird. And we already talk about that, no pup has to be necessary.”

Bruce sights. True is Bruce is the one who convince Tim to change the name.

He never liked that Damian chosen this name and now that he got by Batson, Bruce just want this name fallen in oblivion.

RedBird is the name Tim chose and Bruce is happy with that.

But Damian never accept that. And he is particularly spiteful with Tim, refusing to accept him as part of his pack.

“Is leaving you Jason going to be a problem for you?”

Jason arrived in the Manor only a few months ago and if the little pup doesn’t seem to have found his place yet in their pack, Damian doesn’t show him the same animosity that he shows to Tim.

“Tt- as long as he doesn’t stole the silverware, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Bruce sights and want to add something but Superman call him to know when they will arrive. He calls Tim so they leave by the ZetaTub.

“I know the “Cambion remark” was to be mean, but just in case: Jason isn’t authorized to go on the field.

Tt- I know.

-Take care of yourself, sons. Tim and I should be back soon.

-See ya.” Jason says

***

True to be told, Damian as less aversion for Jason that he has for Tim.

Todd didn’t found his father’s secret identity, didn’t come to his house after Damian’s departure because Batman “need” a sidekick.

Todd was unlucky enough to be an orphan from the Narrow and bold enough to steal Batman’s tire the day of his parents death.

Damian can respect that.

Plus, Jason mostly like to be alone, or doesn’t mind spend hours in the same room of someone without talking. Damian appreciate this quality.

“You don’t need a babysitter, do you?

-I am twelve.

-Good. You just need my permission for leaving the Manor, otherwise do whatever a kid like to do.”

Jason raises an eyebrow watching Damian who goes to the Batcomputer.

“That’s it? Aren’t you afraid that I could steal the silverware?

-I already hide it.

-Seriously?”

Damian doesn’t answer, he simply start to caress Alfred the Cat who has taken place in his leg.

Jason doesn’t insist and decide to go to his room.

***

The following days were good. Damian was doing a good job at being Batman in Gotham, he didn’t even need back up. Jason was mostly in school or in his room. They spend time together only to eat.

At first, Damian join Jason because he was sure the pup was like his father and Drake, unable to cook and survive without Alfred.

But when he enters in the kitchen, Jason was already cooking something that smell marvelous.

“Not sure I am supposed let you behind the stove. Damian says

-Like you will cook?

-I am not incompetent like my Father. Mother teach me everything I need to survive, included cooking.

-Well, my mother wasn’t in good state to teach me anything but I am sure I am better than you.

-Tt – What about we check your little hypothesis?”

And just like that, they take the habit to cook together.

Unfortunately, it is not a family habit to have so many good days without any problem coming.

When Damian goes to the kitchen, he is surprised to not see Jason already there. He waits some minutes trying to decide if he should start without him, but it doesn’t seems right for him.

He suddenly realize that he doesn’t hear about Jason for hours now.

He is not worried about his father new pup, absolutely not. After all, he accepted coming in the Manor only to replace his father as Batman. Not to form a bond about this pup that won’t be part of his pack.

He is just curious that’s all.

And if it happen that today, Todd doesn’t want to cook with him, then it would be fine. There is no need to be disappointed about this prospect at all.

He doesn’t find the pup at the library so he goes to his room.

Weirdly, Todd isn’t in there either but Damian hears the shower running.

“Todd, will you eat tonight?” Damian asks knocking at the door

No answer.

Damian knock again calling after the pup, but just the sound of the water answer him.

“Todd, I’m coming in.”

As soon as Damian opens the door he has to pinch his nose.

“That’s stink!

-Fuck you. ‘m still smell better than you.”

Suddenly, Damian recognizes the smell. An omega in heat.

Except Colin’s, Damian never liked the strong smell of an omega in heat or an alpha in rut. Not even his own smell.

Jason is sitting on the shower, cold water that keep fall on him.

“How long are you in there? Damian asks stopping the water

-No! I am too hot! Jason moans

-Tt. How long are you in there?”

Damian take a towel and put it around Jason so he can make him leave the bathroom. Jason is right, he is really warm. Nothing unusual for an omega in heat, but always unpleasant sensation.

“I don’t know. It was still dark outside.

-Tt! It’s noon already! Why didn’t you come find me?”

Jason shrugs.

“Didn’t think you would have help.”

Damian frowns.

He knows that he isn’t a member of a pack of Jason, but he though that the pup knew that he could found him if he was in trouble.

“You’re a pup, of course I would have help you.”

Once Jason was dry, Damian put him so random PJ and put him in the bed.

“Stay in bed, you should be better here. I bring food and water. I don’t want to move, understand?”

Jason keep moaning and rolling in the bed, scratching his clothes. Damian rolls his eyes and leaves him.

***

Damn, this day gets wrong with every minutes.

When Jason hears Damian’s voice, he was relieved. He wants someone to help him, telling him that everything will be fine. But no one in his life was like that to him.

Even his mother … She tried but despite how much she loved Jason, she was part of the reason Jason needed help.

It’s been a few month since he was living in the Manor. The pack is really weird.

Damian, Tim, Alfred and himself are part of Bruce’s pack.

But Damian never try to bond with them, so he isn’t really part of Tim and Jason’s pack.

And Tim and Jason don’t see each other much. Tim come to the Manor only for patrol and Jason can’t participate for now. So they don’t consider each other as part of the same pack.

Alfred tries to change Tim and Jason relationship but there isn’t much that could be do with Damian.

“What a mess.” Jason thinks

Never less, Jason though that when he will finally have his heat, it would be safe and not so lonely.

Jason couldn’t help himself but cries.

He wants the pain to stop. He wishes his mother was alive and hugs him. He wishes Bruce was there, calling him champ. He wishes to have more comfortable PJ and more blanket.

He would have prefer not have an alpha that isn’t pack near him. Logically, Jason knows that Damian is an asshole but he can be nice like when they cook together. But he can’t help but fear of being abused.

Damn, would he feels this miserable every time he will have his heat? That sucks.

“Are you crying? He hears Damian but refuse to react. Tt- there is medicament with your food. Take it.”

Jason shake his head and cowers.

“Tt! Don’t act like a child.”

Damian forces him to sit down and give him some soup and medicament.

“Take it. It would be better after.”

Finally, Jason decide takes a sip, hoping that Damian will leave him after. But the demon forces him to drink all the soup.

“More. Your stomach is empty. You will feel better.”

Damian keeps telling him that but honestly, Jason is just feeling worse.

He can’t wait for his heat to pass.

***

Damian paces in the corridor.

The pup not only stink because of his heat but also because of distress.

Damian doesn’t understand what else he could do. The pup is safely in his den, with food and an alpha to protect him. What else could he want?

Of course he tries to contact Bruce or Alfred but neither answer. And Damian doesn’t consider the situation as an emergency.

True is he is too proud to admit he is overtake by the situation.

Seriously why did that happen now?

Did Jason too young for that? Damian doesn’t think that Drake as presented yet. Himself didn’t present until he was thirteen.

How could he fail? He helps Colin frequently, so he knows what an omega need.

Colin always seems happy in his bed after some food and medicament.

Another sobs is heard from Jason’s room.

Damian sighs.

He needs backup. Quickly.

***

“Hey Dami.

-Hey Beloved.

-Still no improvement? Colin asks him after they kiss

-It gets worse. Damian admits. I appreciate that you comes.

-That’s ok. But he may not want someone that is not part of his pack to come near him.

-Well one of us, will have to come in his room, no matter what.”

Colin shrug an eyebrown.

“Didn’t you guys get close this day?

-Still not pack.”

Colin didn’t try to debate with Damian. His lover could be as stubborn as possessive sometimes.

They were arrived to the corridor, when Colin had to take a break before he was going to throw up.

“You didn’t lie, it stinks. He must have been in distress for hours now.

-He says it was dark when he wake up.

-Damn Dami, you should have call me sooner.

-Tt …”

When they arrives in front of the door, Colin knocks and just stick his head in the room.

“Hey pup, can I come in?

-Who are you?

-I am Dami’s friend, he though I could help you.”

Jason took a moment to smell the air.

“Omega?

-Yes, I am.

-And a rapist?

-Of course he is not! Damian takes offense. Why should I bring some degenerate here?

-Why should I know that? You are not pack, right?” Jason yells

Damian looks really hurt and guilty by the accusation, Colin gently caress his cheeks.

He isn’t really good to show it to people but Damian really care, so much that he may hurts him sometimes.

“I am not here to have sex with you, neither is Damian.”

Jason simply looks at him, judges him.

“Can I come in?”

Finally Jason shrugs.

“Why not?” He whispers

Colin enters and carefully sit down next to Jason. Tenderly, he caress Jason’s hair. He moans so pitifully with just this little touch and love himself against Colin so quickly.

“What? Aren’t Dami’s hugs good enough?

-Damian doesn’t hug.” Jason scoff

Damian doesn’t hear clearly what the two omega say, but by the glare Colin sent him, he knows he is in trouble.

“Are you in pain?

-Not really, don’t feel the cramps since Damian gives me medicament.

-But you don’t feel good?

-Feel like shit.” Jason admit now putting his arm around Colin

Damn, Colin thinks this pup is so cute. He can understand why Bruce decide to adopt him.

After being sure that nothing was physically wrong with the pup. Colin look around the room and see many weird things.

“Don’t you have more blanket? Maybe some more soft.

-Probably. Bruce’s mother was an omega, they must have thousand blankets here.

-True. And are you the one who took away the curtain of your canopy bed?”

Jason shakes his head.

“There weren’t when I took this room.

-May be nice if I put some. Would you like it?”

Jason hums.

“Can I change PJ too?

-Of course sweetie, why couldn’t you?

-Don’t know. Jason shrugs. Damian gives it to me.

-I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you change.”

Jason nods, happy with this information.

“Ok, kiddo. I am going to bring all of that now.”

Colin tries to stand up but Jason yells and tightens his embraces.

“No, please no.

-Hey, everything will be alright. I have only for a minute or two. Just the time for you to change, ok?”

Jason starts crying again but let Colin go.

“I know that heat suck, but that would be ok now.”

Jason snorts. Damian keeps telling him that before and he was wrong.

He really hope that Colin is right because if his heat are all like that, without possibility of getting better, then he really want to found a permanent way to stop them.

Recalcitrant, Jason leaves the bed to change while Colin goes talk to Damian.

“So?

-So it was bad, Damian.”

Shit Damian and not Dami.

“You didn’t even hug the pup. Seriously, take a book or pick a movie and simply hug him.

-What? This is things I do only with you!

-There nothing sexual in that. And heat is not share only with mate, you know?

-I only do it with you.”

Colin frowns then realizes.

“Wait, you really never share a heat with anyone than me?

-Both of my parent are alpha, and it is not costume in the League. Damian blushes. Expect with the one.”

It’s Colin’s turn to blush.

“Is that for that you were so shy the first you share my heat? Even if it was platonic? Dami, you were only fourteen …

-And I already know then that you were my mate, Beloved.”

Colin could not help himself but to kiss him. His mate always find way to make in fall in love all over again, even if it wasn’t on purpose.

“Look, I understand now that it may be uncomfortable for you, but I truly think that you should give this pup some hugs …

-Beloved …

-You see how he reacts with me, and he doesn’t even know me. He is badly touch starved. And you get to know each other this last days, to appreciate each other, right?

-Tt …

-Look, if you really can’t I will, but for the long term, it would be better if it’s you.”

Damian looks at the pale figure of Jason, he stills seem miserable and shaking. Damian want to help him, he truly do.

“You will come back?

-Oh I just have to go buy some cigarette.

-You don’t smoke. Damian frowns

-No … I mean … That’s a joke.

-Are you sure? It’s not funny.

-Go help your pack’s pup, asshole.” Colin laugh pushing Damian in the room while he goes take what Jason need

Damian doesn’t have the time to tell “Not my pack” before Colin was gone.

Jason is back sulking in his bed and seems disappointed that Colin is not there anymore.

“Tt. Do you mind if I sit down with you?”

Jason shrugs.

“Tt.”

Damian sit down at the edge of the bed. The smell is still too strong and it still feel wrong to share the pup’s heat.

At least Jason stop crying and seems to find his discomfort funny and he is in the expecting of what Damian will do.

When his father will be back home, Damian will kill him for putting him in this position.

“There, there.” Damian says taping the pup’s head

And to his horror, Jason dare laugh at him.

“You’re really bad at that.

-Tt … Colin should be back soon.”

Jason see the alpha differently now. He truly though that he has abandon him, but he is here and with back up, for Jason.

Suddenly, this dark brooding distant alpha looks like a clumsy caring bear.

“Can I hug you?

-If it can truly help you.”

Damian sit a little closer to Jason and the pup throw himself into his arm, purring like a crazy once he was well installed.

Damn, Colin was right, the pup is touch starved. How could Damian miss that? He put one of his hands on the back of the pup and the other on his head playing with his hair. Damian wasn’t sure it was a good idea to repeat same gesture he do with Colin but Jason now is smiling.

The day may not be too bad finally.

***

When Colin return with blankets and curtains, he is relieved to see Jason and Damian much more relaxed.

He gives Jason the blankets and quickly he fix his nest so he can feel more comfortable in it while Damian and he put the curtains.

Once that Jason was sleeping between Colin and Damian, Damian could really consider that they success taking care of the pup.

And finally, sharing the heat of a member of “not his pack” that isn’t his lover is not so bad after all.

[avengerscompound]

Running to a Standstill - 16

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1849

Rating:  E

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers.  While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 16

By the time you and Bucky got home, Geo was awake again.  Bucky had given him a punnet of blueberries to eat on the elevator ride up. As soon as the three of you arrived at Steve’s apartment, the toddler jumped out of his stroller and carried the rest of the berries to the coffee table where he immediately started playing with his Lego.

“Good.  You’re back,” Steve said, approaching the two of you.  “Honey, I can’t say too much.  But we’ve finally got a solid lead on who has been hunting you.  We have to act quickly and hit hard. We’re leaving Hill, Agent 13, and some agents here.  There’s also some of the Iron Legion.  Stay put.  You’re safe in the building.  Don’t order food to be delivered.  There’s the common room and a cafeteria on four if you don’t feel like cooking.  If Geo gets bored, get FRIDAY to take you up to the party deck or the pool, but do not leave the building for any other reason.”

Bucky was used to Steve in the ‘take-charge, voice of authority’ mode he got into when he had slipped on the Captain America persona.  Bucky had always taken comfort in it.  When Steve was like this, as dumb as he might seem, Bucky trusted he had some kind of plan of attack.  The look in your eye told him that you weren’t as comforted as Bucky was.

You had the wild-eyed look of a cornered animal, not sure whether to lash out or run.  Steve put his hand on your arm and looked in your eyes.  “This is it, sweetheart.  We do this, and you’ll be free from it.  You just have to trust us for a little longer.”

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead.  “You stay safe.”

“You too, Steve,” you said quietly.

Bucky ruffled Geo’s hair and kissed your cheek.  “We’ll see you soon, okay?”  He said, hoping he sounded optimistic and comforting.

“Okay,” you said, obviously not buying it.

He looked back over his shoulder as he left the apartment following after Steve, seeing that you’d gone to sit with Geo.  Something on his face told him you were going to prepare to run.

“You might need to tell Hill that she’s a flight risk,” Bucky said as they both got on the elevator.

“She knows,” Steve said.  His jaw was clenched, and it twitched slightly.  It was hurting him knowing how scared you were and that that fear was potentially a little more potent than the bonds you’d formed with them.

Bucky rubbed Steve’s shoulder.  “We’ll end this.  Tell me what’s going on.”

The doors opened on the armory, and they both strode in and started suiting up.  Clint, Natasha, and Sam were all in there, getting the last of their gear.  It looked like they had already been briefed, and they were just waiting for Bucky to get back.

“The intel came back,” Steve said, as he pulled on his body armor.  “The drugs trace back to the Madripoor government.  Three manufacturing plants control distribution.  It all goes back to their current ruler.  Ophelia Sarkissian, or as she is also known, Viper, the current head of HYDRA.”

“So it was HYDRA?”  Bucky asked, buckling the last few straps on his suit.

“Yes,” Steve said, picking up his shield.  “Though not originally.  IGH was its own thing.  When Jessica Jones broke up their operation, HYDRA swooped in and collected up the scraps.  With the work they gathered using Loki’s scepter, paired with what they found from IGH, they were able to re-create a drug similar to the combat enhancers that IGH were selling to the American Military, but with more erratic side effects.  It looks like they want Geo to see if they can work out how to make a more permanent drug.”

“So, what’s the plan?”  Bucky asked, shouldering the last of his weapons.

Steve indicated to the door and Bucky, and the others followed him back to the elevator.  “We’re going in teams - four in total.  Three will be hitting the manufacturing plants,  the other - Castle Madripoor.  Each team will have additional agents with them.”

The elevator stopped, and they got out onto the landing bay.  One jet was ready for take-off, and the other three were being prepared and waiting in a queue to use the launch pad.  Everyone gathered around Steve.

“Team one is Sam, Wanda, and Clint,” Steve said, speaking to everyone but without breaking his flow with Bucky.  “Two are Rhodey, Natasha, and Bruce.  The third will be Bucky, Vision, and Tony.  Your groups will be the ones hitting the plants.  It’ll be important you not let anyone get out and get as much data as you can.  Carol, Thor - you’re with me.  The full briefs will be given on the jets.  We know HYDRA.  They are good at spreading roots.  We need to rip it all out in one go.  If they have any of this hiding elsewhere, we need to find it.  Any questions?”

When no one spoke up, the teams all split up.  Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm before he went to his Jet.  “Be careful, Buck,” he said.

Bucky smiled and pressed his forehead against Steve’s.  “You too.  We’ll get them.  We stopped them coming for Wanda and me.  We’ll stop them coming for her too.”

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath before breaking apart and heading to his jet.  Bucky ran to the plane his team was using. They were already in place and waiting for him.  Tony was in the cockpit with one of the agents Bucky had seen around; he thought her name might be Jacobs.  “Finished making kissy faces with your boyfriend, Barnes?”  Tony said and started flicking switches, preparing to take off.

Bucky put his machine gun into one of the racks and sat down, buckling himself into the jumpseat.   “So, what’s the plan?”  He said.

“Me and Viz are gonna jump out before we get in sight of the island and go ahead.  Viz is going to stealth in, get the data.  I’ll come in after - seal off the place.  You and the rest, land, and circle in and lock everything down,” Tony explained.  “Should be a piece of cake.  The castle is going to be the bitch, but Cap squared should be able to handle it.”

Bucky nodded and sat quietly, letting himself fall into the dark space he always went into when he had to fight.  He was a little worried about going back to you when he was done with this.  It still took about a week to shake off the soldier after a battle like this, and you hadn’t seen him like that.  Overriding that was the concern that you wouldn’t be there at all.  He couldn’t help but worry that he’d get back home, still in the winter soldier headspace, and he’d find you and Geo missing.  He didn’t quite know how he’d survive that.  Or at least the him that had started to heal and feel worthy since you, Steve, and he had started seeing each other.  That soft part of his person that was so fragile and so hopeful would never see the light of day again if that happened.

By the time Tony and Vision had left the jet to hit first, Bucky was buried in the dark zone of the soldier.  Aware of every flicker of movement, every sound made, every color in the room, yet not at all attached to his emotions.  Like he was an empty shell that processed the physical and nothing else.

The jet landed, and Bucky led the team out the cargo bay hatch.  “Branch out, we’re going in on all sides,” he ordered.  The agents followed his instruction, circling the factory. 

The sound of fighting was already loud, making him sink further down into that place inside him that HYDRA had made.  Tony circled overhead, and a series of explosions rocked the nearside of the factory.  Bucky shouldered his machine gun and ran.

Armed guards met him at the now destroyed fence around the facility.  Other workers were running around wildly, but from the looks of it, it didn't take too much to get them to drop to the ground and surrender.

The guards were more difficult.  They had HYDRA tech, and there were a lot of them.  Bucky wasn’t concerned.  He never was when he got into this state.  He had a mission - he would complete it.  Besides, he knew HYDRA better than he knew himself.  He knew how they fought.  He knew their weapons.  He knew how to take them down.

He moved quickly and without hesitation.  He shot two guards before he even reached the factory.  He leaped over the remnants of the fence and took out three more.  He ducked behind a wall and tossed a grenade at a truck that was barreling toward some agents.

A wall exploded nearby, and Bucky ran to the hole, jumping through it.  Some HYDRA goons were inside shoveling pills into their mouth.  Bucky took each of them out and ducked to the side as someone came charging at him.  They lumbered through the wall and out the other side.  “Stark,” Bucky called over the comms. “They’re taking the pills.”

“Shit,” Tony cursed.  “I’ll take care of the supers; you see if you can secure the drugs.”

Bucky moved through the room, taking out anyone that behaved aggressively, putting anyone else in cuffs.  Outside he could hear the battle.  It was already dying out.  While the plant was guarded, it wasn’t a military stronghold.  Bucky moved to an elevated position and watched over the room.  Another guard made a play for the drugs, and he took them out with his sniper rifle before they reached them.  Besides that, the room remained quiet.  The sounds from outside started to die off and then went silent.  A few agents came in and began rounding up the people in cuffs, but Bucky stood and waited.  He had a mission, and he’d stand here until it was done.

Tony flew in and landed next to Bucky.  “Hey, robocop,” he said, his visor sliding back.  “Vision’s still downloading the data.  We’re doing a cleanup.  We kinda need to be quick because this is technically an act of war.  They’re breaking international law, but they’re gonna retaliate.”

Bucky nodded, watching as even more agents came in and began packing up the drugs and equipment.

“You gonna be okay watching this?  I’ll go patrol.  We should be fine given there’s an attack going on on the castle right now,” Tony said.

Bucky nodded again.  “You heard anything?”

Tony clapped him on the shoulder.  “The other factories are ours.  Still working on the castle.  Your boyfriend is fine so far.”

Something relaxed inside Bucky.  He didn’t say anything as Tony took off again, and even as he stood there, keeping watch of the operation, a small smile cracked through the hard exterior as he realized that he did still have that soft part of him, even now.

// NEXT

[persephonessunflowers]

A little batjokes fic I have been working on. It’s also on ao3 but I’m kind of at a loss of which direction to go with it at this point. So I figured I’d post it here for now until I figure it out .

I fell in love with an idea. A picture I had created that was never meant to be. There was never any possibility that we could be happy together. That a life where only the two of us existed could be possible. Not when every part of me craved the adrenaline from a night of violence and waking up to new scars that defined who I was. And you with your savior complex, thinking the whole world would fall if you went away. Needing the praise even in anonymity. Hiding the scars that defined you with a well-dressed suit. It could never be. But I would be a liar if I said every part of me didn’t ache for the possibility of existing.

Joker rolled over. His thoughts had once again turned the bat. He would never admit that he spent countless hours losing sleep considering the possibility of a normal life. One where his past had not led him to this place. One where he could casually run into a beautiful man while doing something completely mundane. Maybe walking down, the street, perhaps in a coffee shot, or even stealing passing glances on the subway. Finally, one would make a move. They would go on dates, share laughs, and slowly fall in love. He grabbed a pillow lying next to him a slammed it into his face, an attempt to eradicate these thoughts. The joker wasn’t a romantic. He was tyrannical, a leader, the bringer of chaos.At least in his mind this was how he chose to believe he was perceived. Sure, some would say he was insane, psychopathic, a cold-blooded killer, and well truthfully, he was these things. So, these romantic urges that kept coming over him where very detrimental to the brand that he had built around himself. For God’s sake if a hot intelligent blonde woman in a skintight suit who was utterly devoted to him never did it for him then why the hell was he fantasizing about a grown man in a cape. Joker groaned again because it wasn’t just any man in a cape, it was Bruce fucking Wayne. Leave it to him to fall for an eccentric billionaire with a savior complex and moral compass to match.

If you had told Joker a few months ago, the man he was caught in this never ending dance of justice with was Bruce Wayne he probably would have laughed in your face and depending on his mood that day, you might have also not survived the interaction. He did have a flare for being dramatic and something about senseless murder just made him positively giddy. Rumors have always spread in Gotham City’s underground. And why would they not, everyone wanted to know who was truly under the mask that continuously foiled their plans. Most wanted to know so that they could end him for good. Or at the least target those closest to him in order to prove a point. Joker had never particularly cared about the identity of his sworn enemy. He much preferred the tango the two performed without any outside views of who the other was. Both pushing each other to the right to the edge, waiting for the other to overstep their boundaries and go too far. Names could ruin that. There was something about the not knowing that added to the thrill of it all. That made the excitement of both men rise. Joker couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of it. But now he had name to the face behind the mask.

It had started as a relatively normal day, when Joker received word that a Mr. Bruce Wayne had been seen sneaking around one of Joker’s new warehouses. Of course, this had piqued his interest. Why was the elusive billionaire in such a bad area of Gotham, it’s almost like he’s asking to be robbed. It’s not as if he could blend in, everyone knew his face. And secondly the only ones in the know about this newest warehouse were Joker, his most trusted henchman R, Harley, and a certain bat who had found out and stopped by for a visit a week ago. Of course he had found nothing, and the camera only caught him for a moment before he flung one of those damned batarangs at it and every other one he found. Joker sighed, batbrain probably never even considered the expense Joker would have to incur to replace those. The warehouse was nothing, more of a safety net if he ever needed the space. Or more than likely it would be converted to a place for those who worked for him to stay. God knows the filthy animals couldn’t keep a living space to save their lives. And providing living arrangements, food, drugs, and booze was generally the best way he had found to keep street thugs loyal to you. He may be insane, but he wasn’t stupid. And of course, he knew word about his new endeavor would draw the bat in. If there was one thing batsy couldn’t resist it was a hot tip about a new diabolical plan the Joker was forming. And so, what if Joker had his henchman anonymously tip off Jim Gordon knowing he would immediately find a way to alert the bat. Sometimes you have to force fate to get what you desire. And that night what he desired was not a fight but just to watch batman in action.

From his hiding spot the Joker could see everything his bats did. He watched him canvas the area and could hear the frustrated huffs he let out every time he again came up with nothing. He watched as bats paced back and forth clearly trying to figure out what angle was being played. Listened as he radioed Gordon filling him in on the nothingness the warehouse held. They went back and forth wonder what plan was being devised for this place. God Joker could watch him forever. Studying his lips, the way his jaw clenched when he was unhappy. He longed to see his face, to touch him. On the other hand, that would ruin their game and Joker really really liked games. It was fascinating to him that even though the bat had found nothing he stayed there pacing. Glancing at the door every few moments. Joker almost wondered if the bat was waiting for him to show up. Did their little fights give the bat the same thrill Joker got? The way both of their adrenaline rose, their hearts beating fast, and their breathing getting deeper. The pain was so intoxicating and led to the ultimate pleasure. Nothing else could top it. But not tonight. Tonight, Joker wanted him to squirm. And squirm he did. In semi defeat, the bat sat down on a box in the corner. Hidden in the shadows waiting. He waited the entirety of the night, unaware that the Joker was sitting merely feet away. It wasn’t until light started to seep in that the bat finally sauntered away. It was curious. Surely there was other crime going on in Gotham. Honestly when wasn’t there crime in Gotham, the city was a cesspool of it. He’d even heard tell of a heist the Penguin was planning that night. And surely Bats had been made aware of that. And yet he never left the warehouse.

Snapping back to the present Joker frowned at the tingly feeling the memory had given him. Now onto the pressing issue of why Bruce Wayne was at his warehouse and how he knew it was there. He gathered himself, choosing his most basic suit. It was navy blue and had none of the flare that he had come to appreciate. He also forewent applying his face makeup to appear more normal. After a moments thought he also chose to grab his sunglasses, gloves, and a hat in an attempt to slightly disguise himself. He doubted this would do much as he slid a hand across the white skin of his face. It was an aspect of himself that he struggled to hide. It was why he preferred the night over day. In the darkness he could appear normal, avoiding the judgmental eyes that the daylight cast. He had learned throughout the years of course. Purchased wigs and learned how to properly put them on so they looked real, he had found contacts that closely matched the color his eyes had once been. But he was unable to find anything for the skin. He had tried foundations but none of them worked. He often questioned if it was due to the acid, this led to a spiral of remembering the events that caused him to fall. He never spent to long considering it otherwise his mind began to drift to a dark place. A place that scared even him, one where he could feel his mental state slipping. Slowly succumbing fully to the madness. Joker shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. After a final glance in the mirror, he slipped out of his apartment to find an available car. He hoped Wayne would still be there, thankfully it was only about a 10-minute drive from his place. He had made this decision deliberately hoping that no one would consider he lived close to his investments and would rather stay far away from them to avoid suspicion. Once in the garage, he chose a simple black car and started the drive, preparing for a confrontation with the treasure of Gotham, Bruce Wayne. As Joker pulled into the warehouse drive, he could see a small blue car parked not far off in the distance. It was pulled off to the side of the road just slightly, he assumed the placement was meant to make it look like the car had broken down there but due to the current situation it seemed like it may be Mr. Wayne’s. He pondered whether he should go search the car before heading to the warehouse, ultimately deciding against it in case Wayne decided to stop whatever he was doing and head back. Joker put his car in park and turned off the engine. He felt it best not to alert the man breaking into his building. As he walked up the gravel, almost by divine intervention a certain someone was crawling out of one of the first story windows.

“Uhm, excuse me sir. I don’t usually like finding unknown men crawling out of my buildings.” it seemed best not to start off too accusatory in case there was a valid reason a billionaire was snooping around his property.

“Oh, uhm, of course I am so sorry about this.” He stopped and cleared out his throat. “I am Bruce Wayne, I uh wasn’t aware that someone had purchased this property. I had been informed it was for sale and wanted to check it out to see if it would be a good space for some new developments at Wayne Industry.”

Wayne held out his hand and Joker realized he intended for them to shake hands. How disgustingly formal. He slowly reached out a gloved hand to shake, watching as the man’s hand nearly covered his own. The strong grasp jolted through Joker and he quickly pulled away wiping the glove on his pants as if this would establish some kind of unspoken boundary between the two. Joker kept his gaze on the man, there was something so familiar about him. Maybe he was making it up it was completely feasible that he had just seen an interview the man was in. His excuse was reasonable as well. The property had only been off the market 2 weeks at most, but why bother sneaking into it and distancing your vehicle from the building?

“Oh, I see. I’m Jack. Jack…Sawyer. Do you always examine potential investments by climbing through the windows?”

The man’s face reddened. “The uh, the door was jammed and when I was assessing the outside of the building, I noticed one of the windows was ajar and figured it wouldn’t hurt to use that as an entry.”

“Hmm understandable. Well, I would be happy to give you a tour of the building, but I am afraid that it has already been purchased by me, so it would be no use to your company endeavors.”

Clearly embarrassed by having been caught the man stood there fidgeting. His jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes darting to the gate. He wasn’t scared, no Joker knew fear, and this was not it. Nervous perhaps? Anxious? Something was off but Joker couldn’t quite place it. His voice, his mouth something about it called to Joker.

There was a long uncomfortable pause before Wayne looked at Joker and said, “Yeah, I…I would love a tour. Do you have any plans for the building?”

Joker hadn’t expected this. It was more of pleasant offering rather than one he actually wanted to do. But, maybe during the tour he could pinpoint what it was about this man exactly.

“I’m not really much of a planner Mr. Wayne. To be honest the price of the building was such a steal I couldn’t pass it up. I’m sure you understand that you don’t become a billionaire by spending recklessly now do you? I am considering using it as a storage facility. I own a bar you see and the storage capacity there is really lacking so I figured why not buy a cheap warehouse.”

The man seemed genuinely taken aback by this statement. His jaw clenching again. His eyes searching Jokers face as if he was trying to pull something out of him. Joker stared back, his eyes never leaving Wayne’s. It was as if they were locked in a battle only Joker wasn’t sure what exactly they were battling for. Surely Bruce Wayne wasn’t so pressed for a warehouse building that he was going to come for some lowly bar owner. And that was when it clicked. Jokers’ eyes broke the stare and fell to the man’s clenched jaw. He knew that clench. He knew that mouth. As if he hadn’t fantasized about those lips on him for months now. Bruce fucking Wayne was Batman, unbelievable. In his surprise he let out a not-so-subtle gasp.

“Are…are you okay Mr. Sawyer?”

“I uh oh yes of course, sometimes my mind escapes me, I suffered an accident sometime ago and the effects seem to pop up at the most inopportune times.”

Wayne dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably. “You said you owned a bar. What’s the name of it maybe I’ve visited there?”

“Oh, I highly doubt that Mr. Wayne. It doesn’t usually bring in” he paused looking the man up and down “your type, but….If you’re ever feeling frisky, it’s called The White Knight.”

Joker stopped to look at the man after saying this. He knew damn well that Batman had no idea of the existence of this place. He had undergone every security measure to ensure so. But he knew that this would elicit a response from the bats. How could it not? The Joker owning a secret bar that batsy hadn’t been informed about, on top of the bar being a mockery of his title. It would make Batman seethe.

Wayne’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared, it was slight, but it was enough for Joker to confirm what he already knew.

“Thank you for the offer to show me the building Mr. Sawyer, but I’m sorry I just realized I have to go.” he glanced quickly at his watch, “I forget I had a meeting to attend. This has truly been an enlightening afternoon.”

“I agree Mr. Wayne, it certainly has been. Are you sure you don’t want a quick tour?”

“No, uh thank you but no. I truly have to go.” And with that Joker watched the man saunter down the driveway. He pulled off his glasses and stared after the man. This newfound information complicated things but it also gave Joker leverage and God knows Joker liked having leverage.

What to do with this leverage? He could let it slip…no…no he didn’t like that. Freely handing out this precious information to those lowly Neanderthals. No, they would go after him, and while Batman would never stand down, they would probably kill him. The bat would die at the feet of those he spent so long pursuing. He grimaced picturing the scene. He couldn’t let them kill Batman. Batman was his. Joker felt that nagging voice in his head again, the one he constantly tried to keep at bay with Scarecrow’s medication.

if anyone is going to kill the bat it’s going to be you right?? You could never let anyone take him from you. He’s yours, yours yours. HAHAHAHAHA.

He took his hands, slamming them to his ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up I do not want to kill him.”

Of course not, maybe just torture him a little bit until you can’t stop, poor Joker always unable to prevent yourself from going to far.. Drag the knife across his throat, cutting a tad too deep. Tie him up. Let him bleed out while watching you perform. That’s what you want isn’t it? For the bat to bleed, his pretty red blood spilling across the floor. And as he falls to the ground ceasing to exist so does his deluded version of Gotham. You, standing strong watching the city succumb to crime and destruction. Knowing they will not mourn him. Gotham doesn’t care. Gotham feeds on destruction, chaos, and the ruin of its citizens. If you’re born here you don’t stand a chance. There is no good in Gotham, so you must kill the only thing that believes it exist. Kill the bats, Kill the bats, Kill the bats.

He felt his mouth curving up into a terrifying smile as a fit of giggles erupted from his mouth HAHAHAHAHA.

His hands fell from his ears to clasp over his mouth, an attempt to silence, well really everything. After a few minutes, the laughter subsided, and the thoughts quieted. He sank to ground resting his chin on the top of his knees. His faced ached from the experience as it usually did, tears began to well in his eyes, a product of self-hatred, anger, and sadness.

He didn’t want the bat to die. Or…or maybe he did. Things would be far less complicated if a certain dark knight wasn’t involved. Unfortunately, a part of him wanted to be held by the knight. His slight framed wrapped in the strong arms of his enemy. Letting his body go limp as he breathed in the comforting smell. Hands running through his hair. Soft whispers trying to convince him that the world isn’t all bad. But it is isn’t it? There’s no good here, no God exists because if he did, he would surely drown this city. This hell on Earth, putrid and reeking of sin. Never allowing happiness to live within its borders. Joker pulled himself upright and violently wiped away the tears that had covered his face. He was the goddam Joker not some pathetic schoolboy with the luxury of pathetically crushing on the most popular boy in the grade. Brushing off his pants from sitting on the ground he began to stroll back to his car. Tonight, he would choose chaos. Perhaps a robbery he hadn’t performed one of those in a long while. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Harley to get the men prepped and to choose a nice jewelry store for their night out. Yes, a robbery sounded splendid. Maybe tomorrow he would figure out what to do with Mr. Wayne. Or maybe he would do nothing at all, just keep the information in his pocket. After all what was the point in ruining their game?

"Mr. J, if you don't mind me saying, you're uh heart didn't seem to be all into the score last night..." Harley's eyes didn't quite meet us. No doubt they were fearing the repercussion these words would bring. She would never say it but she liked the anticipation, the not knowing what was coming. Perhaps she even liked the pain when it came. But, perceptive as ever she was correct.

Sighing Joker looked over at her. "Harley I've told you time and time again please do not call me that. Just Jack is fine. Please just Jack. I was merely distracted last night. There's some financials issues with the club that I need to work out."

She walked over to him, placing one hand on his. The other at her side twitching to cup his face, knowing he would withdraw if she did. "I can't call you Jack anymore, it's too...personal." Then she jumped back and just like that her mood changed and smile erupted on her face "Besides Mr. J is so much more fun to say, wouldn't you agree? It gives you authority and I love a man who has power." The deviousness written across her face.

"Damn it Harley. Then call me Mr. Napier if you insist on acting this way about it. Also cut the showbiz act. It makes you seem desperate and pathetic." He knew the words would sting her. He wanted it too. He hated her for bringing out the worst in him. But that nagging voice loved her for it. Together the two could be unstoppable, maniacal. It's why he had broke it off. She was smart, brilliant even. She knew what his inside voice wanted and she knew how to provoke it out of him because in that world at least they are together. Part of him wanted to snap her neck and that be the end of it. And yet another part knew he could never do that because he cared for her in the way only two people with so much history and tragedy could. His gaze fell to her stomach, wondering what could have been. "Leave me alone Ms. Quinzel, your presence is pissing me off."

Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned to leave the room, slamming the door for effect.

He winced at the sound. Going after her would just provoke her wrath and he didn't have the energy to deal with that. It's best to give it a few days. He shouldn't have lashed out at her. He was frustrated. The bat had failed to show up last night, which meant the thrill he normally got from nights like that was nonexistent.

There was no point feeling sorry for himself. It never led to any place good. He stood up grabbed his jacket and headed for he bar. At the very least he could use this energy to get something done and for the sake of his workers hope that none of them were stupid enough to tantalize him tonight. His bloodlust was encompassing him and anything could set him off at this point.

The walk from his apartment to the bar wasn't a far one but the cold air made it seem like miles. Joker shivered trying to shake the chill that encompassed him. Gotham was always cold. It didn't matter what time of year it was. Sure the air warmed but you could still feel the breeze nipping at you, waiting to drop. He glanced at the sky, dusk was settling. It didn't matter, the sun never quite shown here in Gotham either. It was gray, just consistently gray. But it never seemed to bother any one else, or at least not that he had noticed. It's where his flare for colors came from, he wanted to break away from the gray.

He was merely feet away from the opening of the bar, the music creeped onto the otherwise silent street. He smirked, the song playing was one of his favorites. He leaned against the brick wall feeling the vibrations of the loud speak reverberate through calming him. He closed his eyes and just listened. Sighing as the song ended he felt a little better. Perhaps he would just go to his upstairs room and let the music take him away for the night. He would never admit the sway the sounds had over him. Finding comfort in the beats a rock song would produce.

A rustling sound came from the doorway, making him straighten quickly, keeping his face a blank canvas. He could already hear the gossip from his men if one of them found him out here basking in the sound of the music. Especially, with how he talked about it in front of them. Calling it a pointless waste. No. His entire personality was to remain hidden. To them he was a maniac, always angry, and mere moments away from snapping. Everything was jokes and crime. Not an entirely wrong synopsis but he was never to be seen as human, because that meant weakness and he would never again be seen as weak.

Fortunately, this was just a drunk patron stumbling his way out. In his drunken state the man couldn't particularly walk straight and managed to trip over his feet, his face colliding with the Joker shoulders. Finally a reason to have some fun. In less than a second Joker twisted away and wrapped his hand around the patrons throat, with full force he pushed him into the wall. The mans head collided with the brick, a sickening thud could be heard. Joker smirked, even drunk he could feel the mans fear radiating off of him. His adrenaline keeping him alert. His eyes screaming for help in ways his mouth could not. It was heaven. Joker leaned into the man, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you should watch where you're walking?" He could feel his smile widening

"I.....I......uh.....I....I'm sorry sir." He gasped between words. Jokers fingers were wrapped so tightly around his neck it was a miracle he was able to get any words out all. With a glance down, Joker could see that the man had wet himself. Well this is no fun, the poor sap isn't even going to fight back. His smiled faltered where's the fun in that?

Just kill him, he isn’t worth anything. No one would miss him. Snap his neck, feel his bones crush beneath your strength. Come on you know you want to. You want to feel that rush. See the light as it drains from his eyes. Pleading until the very last second.

Joke could feel his smile widening again. His fingers twitched as he started to laugh. The man's eyes grew large with realization. He knew that laugh. All of Gotham knew that laugh. His body started to shake as tears streamed down his face.

See how pathetic he is. He doesn't deserve to live. You know you want the high this will give you.

And with that he gave in. His fingers tightened and with a final gurgle the mans will gave and his body slumped. The Joker let go and gasped at the feeling it gave him. He was positively giddy. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad day after all. He pulled out his phone and called one of his men to come dispose of the body. He didn't need anyone poking around his bar. A worker came out the side door and Joker motioned him over.

The worker glanced briefly at the body "Geez boss what'd he do to you?"

With a sneer Joker spat back "Not that it's any of your business but he bumped into me. Now get rid of the scum."

Recognizing his boss's mood the man quickly grabbed the body and retreated.

Joker turned away walking into the bar. He was ready to have some fun.

[fluffybluekitten]

Akkakaka hypothermia with Bruce being the one getting it because pain.

@badthingshappenbingo

Here it is, fill for hypothermia

I really like this one

Read it at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31843678/chapters/79634398

or here

The headache hits first, an all too familiar throbbing filling his head and radiating out through his body. Then cold, biting in his hands and feet. When he attempts to draw them closer, blankets above him shifting, even that small movement is enough to make him want to keep his eyes closed and drift off again to wherever he was.

But he can smell something, a scent his mind registers as both pleasant and dangerous. He opens his eyes to a thankfully dim room. Shadows flicker across the wooden ceiling, crackling and spitting above a distant hum. He remembers being very small, winter nights with his parents, watching flames dance while falling asleep in front of the fireplace, and then floating in space. He forces his eyes open again, and gathers all his strength to roll towards where the light is coming from.

Coarse fabric brushes against his bare cheek as he comes to rest on his side. But nowhere else. He’s still wearing his suit. Gloves too, he sees as his hand moves into his field of vision. Water flaked with snow drips from between his fingers, but the skin’s dry underneath. Suit still intact, though the heating has clearly failed. Moving, even thinking, is exhausting. He stares into the fire like it’s a puzzle, and it dawns on him that in this state he’s unlikely to be the one who lit it.

Adrenaline jolts through him, and it’s certainly needed. He raises his head enough to glance around the room. He hasn’t been making an effort to move silently until now, but he supposes it’s second nature. The Riddler sits just a foot away, on the same rug he’s laid out upon, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and gazing into the fire. Bruce stares. His brain raises questions he can’t process fully right now. He settles for assessing his surroundings. They’re in a room. The windows are bright. Snow. Edward looks different when he’s still. Tired, almost as much as Bruce feels.

He needs to cough. He tries to supress it, but a shiver runs through him and Edward looks over.

Cover blown, he struggles to sit up. Edward uncurls from his seated position and shifts towards him, and Bruce pushes the last of his strength into moving, and leans forward and coughs, hard. A lot.

When he’s able to look up Edward is leaning over him, cheeks red from the fire.

Bruce plants his hands on the floor, takes a deep shuddering breath and looks around for a handy piece of furniture to pull himself up on.

Edward stands. “You’re in no condition to move.” He walks past, and Bruce tenses, turning to keep him in view. But he only grabs a couple of large cushions from a fireside armchair.

“I-”Bruce attempts to get up anyway, of course, but the connection between brain and body isn’t working well enough yet. He just needs a little time, but he can’t afford that now.

Edward drops the couch cushions behind his back and disappears further into the cabin. Bruce watches after him, but the light in the room Edward walks into is too bright, almost blinding him. He blinks, he can hear that hum more clearly now, quiet voices from another room.

When Edward returns Bruce is leaning back against the cushions, gathering his strength. He still wants to sleep very badly, his head still thrums, and every moment has the blurred distance of a waking dream. He forces himself to keep his eyes open.

Edward carries two mugs, and hands him one. Their fingers brush as Bruce takes it, Edward’s are pale, and Bruce watches him sit and wrap his hands around his own mug, moving closer to the fire. Something’s gone wrong, and Edward needs his help. That explains why he’s still alive. Edward can be sensible when it comes to his own survival. But if there’s other people here… that means… He shivers. No, he doesn’t know what that means.

Edward is watching him, and Bruce braces for a riddle, but instead Edward sips his drink. Bruce looks at his own cup. Looks at his shaking hands struggling to hold it upright. He breathes through the next shudder and focuses on the steam rising from the mug, the smell of herb and lemon. It stands out against the musty smell of the layers upon layers of blankets covering him. He supposes he might as well drink. It seems unlikely that the Riddler would poison him now. Redundant.

The tea tastes bitter and then sweet, and it replaces the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The liquid’s warmth flows through him. He watches Edward drink too, and sees him shiver for the first time, is he trying to suppress it too? He looks back at that white window, the inside of the cabin dim compared to it even with the fire. He remembers snow, filling his vision, blinding and covering.

“What happened?” His voice comes out only a little croaky.

“You fell. Considering the time you spent in the snow, and the time it took to drag you back here, it doesn’t take a medic to diagnose hypothermia. And you must have received a severe concussion to knock you out for the best part of an hour.”

That’s worrying. He attempts to use the sensors on his suit to check his body temperature, but all higher functions are out. Then he realises what Edward is saying. “You saved me. Why?” He glances round as he speaks, checking the cabin a second time now he can look at it without his eyes watering, and realises the voices from the next room are the radio. Edward is likely correct about the concussion.

“What else could I do? What an anti-climax for my greatest rival to die from his own clumsiness.” Edward stands up quickly. “Now your vital signs were normal last I checked, except for a ridiculously low pulse, but then I expect your baseline must be low. I suspect your GCS score will have improved at least.”

When Edward steps toward him, Bruce puts out a hand to stop him.

Edward glares at him, but sits back down. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll test your brainpower in a different way. Riddle me this - How do you warm up in a cold room?”

Bruce’s hand has gone from firm to shaking already. He raises it to his face. “My mask, it’s still on.”

Edward’s glare intensifies. “Of course. Now Batman, my riddle.”

Bruce finds he’s already forgotten it.

“As I suspected.” Edward sounds resigned. “Well, you’re no use to me for now.” He leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes.

“You’re tired,” Bruce says. He’s not sure if it’s countering anything, but it’s a fact he can clearly identify. He’s not the only one not at his best here.

“Yes, dragging your mass around will do that. But don’t get any ideas, I’m doing far better than you.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Hmm? Talk radio. Useful to keep up with the news up here.”

“It’s quiet.”

“Do you want me to turn it up?”

“No.” He can’t think why he pointed it out. Why he’s even making conversation with the Riddler. Only that his instincts are screaming at him that this is an opportunity he can’t ignore.

“It’s useful to have some background noise. Solitude is valuable, a relief. But even short periods of absolute silence can induce auditory hallucinations. It says nothing about my sanity.”

“I’m aware. It seems a sensible precaution.”

“It is.” Edward sounds defensive, which is usual for him, and the way he’s looking at him is searching, evaluating, also usual, but there’s something else too, a caution Bruce isn’t used to seeing on his face. It is strange talking to Edward like this. Even this short conversation must be the longest they’ve had without riddles or threats. “Good to hear your mind’s at least partially intact,” Edward adds.

“I suppose I have you to thank for that.” It sounds like a question. But he doesn’t have time to find out the answer now. The fog keeping his mind in this cabin is clearing a little. He needs to get back to Gotham.

“Don’t get any ideas, I still intend to destroy you when you’re well, speaking of which, will you at least consent to me checking your temperature.” Edward holds up an ear thermometer. Bruce raises his hand once again to check that his mask is in place. “Not the type recommended for hypothermic patients, but I suppose we’ll have to make do.”

“No.” Bruce presses forward, gathering himself under him. He needs to get up, keep moving, that’s what will finally get him warm, get him back home. Once upright, he’s able to stand without swaying after only a few seconds. Edward watches from the floor. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

“You have no chance of taking me anywhere at the moment.”

Bruce grabs Edward by the arm and tries to lift him, but Edward seems stuck to the floor, all Bruce’s pulling just putting himself off balance. Maybe he should leave him here for now and come back later. The important thing is that he gets back to Gotham now. But Edward’s grin looks about to turn into a laugh, so he puts all his strength into one final heave, and succeeds in pulling the other man to his feet. For a moment they balance there together, and then the world tilts. He’s falling forward, crashing into Edward, feeling arms around him in the moment before everything disappears.

[dragoqueen]

Whoops! Wrong Way 3/8

Summary: Peter has been living at Avengers Tower for 2 years, known to the workers and Avengers as Peter Parker-Stark-Rogers.  When his teacher announces that they're going on a field trip to Avengers Tower, or SI,  he's going to have to attempt to survive a day of embarrassment and keeping a secret identity.

Words: 2023

And here it was, the day of his death. The day of his misery. The day all his worst nightmares would come true. Friday... the field trip.

He had done all he could to convince each and every avenger to not mess with him. He got positive answers from Bruce, Steve, and Thor. However, he was going to have to deal with the rest in any way he could. He had tried to figure out their plan, knowing that they stayed up at night to plan his demise. However, he couldn't figure out a single thing. He had the bright idea to try and figure out what they were doing when he arrived by asking FRIDAY but until then he was doomed.

Tony woke him up an extra 30 minutes earlier than he usually did, not wanting Peter to be late for the field trip. The only good thing he had gotten out of it was that Bucky and Steve had gotten up early too to cook him a smorgasbord of food. He quickly scarfed down enough food to last him the beginning of the day before changing into his outfit and meeting Happy downstairs to get a ride to school.

Somehow, despite getting up early and getting a ride with Happy instead of walking, he was almost late. Almost. He made sure to spend extra long eating his food in hope that he would miss the bus and the school would just make him attend normal classes. Unfortunately, he was just in time to get on the bus and clamber to the back where Ned and MJ were sitting. Sadly, Flash wasn't too far from them either which made the ride to the tower, which he had planned on spending sulking and dying inside, worse.

Flash spent the entirety of the bus ride making jokes of Peter and insulting him. Most of them were intern-related, reminding Peter how he "didn't have an actual internship at Stark Industries" and "wasn't even smart enough to get an internship even at McDonalds". Luckily, before Peter knew it, they had arrived at the tower and the teacher was trying to keep them quiet so he could go check them in and make sure everything was ready.

Then, he got them out of the bus and lined them up in the lobby of the tower for their tour guide to explain the rules to them and hand out their badges. "Alright everyone. I'm Mars and I'm going to be your tour guide today. First, I know you all signed NDA's so please remember anything that happens in this tower that could be secretive you will be forced not to tell anyone or risk getting sued and, let me tell you, we have some very good lawyers. Speaking of the NDA, we are also going to have to confiscate your phones so we don't have you taking pictures or recording things. So I'm going to come by and hold out a basket I expect you to all place your phones in." Mars began walking down the row of children, having them all drop their phones in. when he got to the back where Ned, Peter, and MJ were, he just smiled at them and walked away, having already recognized them and knew that they were authorized to have their phones. Then, he returned to the front of the line where he placed the basket on the counter of the security desk and resumed his place at the front of the line.

"Now, first up on our tour is the Avengers museum. There are all of the first, fails, and worthy achievements of the Avengers. Everything from suits to fun facts can be found there. You will have 45 minutes to wander around before we head up to the intern labs so no dilly-dallying. However, first you're going to have to go through these scanners and scan your badge. For example..." Mars walks to the metal archway and scans his lanyard on the scanner before stepping through. The voice of FRIDAY spooks everyone except for Mars, Peter, MJ, and Ned, "Mars Bars, level 4, access limited."

"What the heck was that?" Cindy asks.

"That was FRIDAY. She's an AI that Tony built, she basically runs this building. But, back on track. Who's next?"

"Me!" Flash shouts, pushing his way to the front and scanning his lanyard before walking through, smug and confident that he was first.

"Eugene Thompson, Level 1, access very limited."

Flash smirks at his name being said by something that Tony Stark created. He walks forward to stand next to Mars while his next classmate goes. One by one, each of the students scan and walk through for Friday to announce their name and the same level and access type. Up until it was MJ's turn. She did the same as all of her other classmates, scanning her lanyard and then stepping through the metal archway but this time FRIDAY announces, "Michelle Jones, "Boss Girl" level 9, full access. Should I alert Scary Girl or Ms. Potts of your arrival?"

"No, that's okay FRIDAY. I'm on a field trip."

"Okay, have a good time." FRIDAY responds, causing everyone to stare at MJ in surprise. She just smirked before returning to her normal glare and stepped into the cluster of kids. Next was Ned, "Ned Leeds, "that one annoying hacker kid" level 9, full access. Shall I alert Science Bro #2 of your arrival?"

"No, FRIDAY. Bruce knows I'm on a field trip. Thanks though."

"Enjoy your time." FRIDAY answers.

Same procedure. The entire class stares at Ned in wonder and confusion. He blushes in response to the sudden attention and takes his spot in the cluster next to MJ. Last in line was Peter. He had been fearing this moment, knowing that he had the highest level in the tower, next to the other Avengers. Plus his nickname from Tony and Clint was sure to cause some questions to arise. However, dutifully, he stepped up and scanned his lanyard and stepped through. "Peter Parker, "Mini-Stark" level 10, full access. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark of your arrival?"

"No! I mean... no that's alright FRIDAY. He probably knows I'm here anyways."

"Enjoy your trip, Peter."

He inwardly groans at the fact that she called him Mini-Stark, but was happy she had called him Peter Parker, rather than Peter Parker-Stark-Rogers. Tony must have cared somewhat of Peter's confidentiality if he changed that. He ignores the stares from his classmates and the smirk from Mars as he joins MJ and Ned in the middle of the group. "Alright, continuing with the tour if you will all join me in this elevator we will go up to the Avengers museum,"

While they all walk over to the elevator and begin piling into the cramped space. When Peter's in, Mars asks FRIDAY to take them up to the 12th floor where the Avengers museum was. Flash leans over and whispers into Peter's ear, "hey, Penis, how'd you manage to hack the AI to make it seem like you and your nerd friends have such a high access? We all know you're lying so just give up." Peter sighs and doesn't say anything, opting to move out of reach of Flash so that MJ is blocking them.

A/N:

For the sake of my sanity let's assume it's a big and strong elevator that holds all like 25-30 of his class okay? Thanks y'all

The door opens to the museum and the class spills out and begins exploring all of the corners of the museum. Each section was dedicated to a specific Avenger. The kids who wanted a more in depth explanation of things stayed by Mars who was walking around and giving his little "tour guide spiel" about the museum. Peter, MJ, and Ned, who had already explored the museum many times, walked around leisurely to explore different things that appeared to have been updated since the last time they were here.

At one point, Ned dragged Peter excitedly to a new section where Tony had added in a Spider-Man section. Peter observed the information happily...

" 1. Spider-Man prefers hanging from the wall than standing on the floor

2. Spider-Man's favorite snack is gummies.

3. Spider-Man is deathly afraid of spiders. "

"Dude, you're afraid of spiders? How?"

"First of all, shut it. Second, just because I have spider-like powers doesn't mean I like the creature. They're freaky."

Ned just laughs and continues to explore the exhibit. Peter looks over the things and makes a mental note to thank his dads later. The things included in it were incredible, a plaque with the phrase, "with great power comes great responsibility." And referencing his Uncle Ben. His first suit was also in a display case along with some of his old web fluid and a physical design of his webs that wouldn't disintegrate.

Suddenly, he felt an eerie presence provided by his Spidey Sense. He looked around the room, trying to detect where the threat warning could be coming from. Flash and his goons were all in a different section so it definitely wasn't them. And no one else was really around that could be threatening. Just then, he got a warning that someone was going to be coming out of the vents in 3... 2... 1... he stepped out of the way just in time to watch Clint fall out of the vents and crumple onto the ground. Then he jumps right up as if nothing had happened and smiles at Peter. (A/N: Clint was the imposter)

"Clint what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to embarrass you. But also Bucky made cookies this morning and Morgan threatened to take away my venting privileges if I didn't bring any to you."

"And you got scared of a 6 year old because... why?"

"She's scary. Also she has Wanda and Pepper on her side."

"Ooh, yeah. You'd better watch out for that. But, Bucky made cookies? Gimme."

Clint grins and reaches into his pocket to grab a cookie that's wrapped in a plastic bag. It's a triple chocolate cookie with extra chocolate chunks. The cookie is still warm so Peter can only assume it came out of the oven moments before. He takes a bite into it and it almost melts in his mouth. He lets out a sigh of comfort and tucks the cookie, in the plastic bag, into his pocket.

By this time someone had noticed that The Hawkeye was here and had shouted to the rest of the group. A crowd had gathered around him and were all shouting questions.

"What's your favorite thing about being an Avenger?"

"Whos' the scariest Avenger?"

"How do you know Pen- Peter?"

Peter cringes at the last one. He's sure Clint hears it and his suspicions are only confirmed when Clint's casual smile disappears and he turns to glare at Flash. "What did you call Peter?"

"I- uh.. I called him Peter, sir."

"Is that right? Mmh... you better watch yourself kid. And you'll have time to ask questions at the Q & A at the end of the tour with some of the other Avengers."

"Uh... Q & A? That's not on the list of things to do." Mars comments, having migrated over to where the crowd of kids had formed.

"One of your co-workers will inform you of the change in schedule during lunch. Don't worry, it was pre-approved by Tony."

"Mr. Stark? Oh, well... okay cool. Anyways, I think it's time Mr. Barton has to go. After all, we have to continue on with our tour as our 45 minutes are up. Everyone say bye to him."

A majority of goodbyes are shouted out, along with quite a few phone numbers. Clint gives them a mock salute before jumping back in the vents and crawling off to who knows where. Peter only calms down when his heightened senses are no-longer able to hear Clint clambering through the vents. Mars leads them all into the elevator and the doors slide shut, taking them up to their next destination, the intern labs. 

[elizabear]

my home is your body, how can I stay away?

I WROTE MY FIRST FIC. And I was brave enough to post it. So, if you want to read a fake-friends-to-real-lovers Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes post-Endgame AU where we pretend that Steve and Natasha are still alive and well in the 21st century, you can check it out below or read it on AO3.

Title: my home is your body, how can i stay away?

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: it’s like fake/pretend relationship, but it’s actually fake best friendship, fake friends to real lovers, post-Avengers Endgame, Epilogue What Epilogue, Natasha Romanoff Lives, Steve Rogers Stays, is everyone bi?, ambiguous barbershop quarter, bisexual Sam Wilson, bisexual Bucky Barnes, bisexual Steve Rogers, bisexual Natasha Romanoff, Captain America Sam Wilson

Words: 30,367

Link to AO3 here

Summary: "Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave. 

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

After they save the world, after Steve leaves and returns again with a smiling Natasha tucked tenderly underneath his arm, after all the happy and tearful reunions, after Tony Stark’s funeral, Sam Wilson takes a minute to sit his ass underneath a tree and freak the fuck out about the fact that he’s just been dead for the last five years.

He’s listening to a robot tell him for the fifth time that his mother’s number is “no longer in service,” his hand shaking as he presses redial on Steve’s borrowed cell phone. He wants to call his sister, wants to find out what happened to his niece, but he can’t remember his sister’s number and the only thing he can think of to do is just to keep calling his mom over and over again. He’s starting to really settle into the panic attack, gulping for air as his heart pounds wildly in his chest, when Bucky Barnes squats down beside him, perfectly balanced on those lean and powerful thighs.

“You OK?” Bucky asks quietly. Sam shakes his head silently, too overwhelmed to even begin to answer that question.

Like people are just OK after waking up five years in the future. Like people are just OK after turning to ash and then reforming into a human being. What is he even made of right now? Is he made of the same atoms and cells he was made of before he turned to dust? Is he even the same person? Did Sam Wilson die? Is he just a new Sam Wilson that Bruce Banner created out of thin air, a brand new body with the same memories as the first Sam Wilson? God, what is this Ship of Theseus nonsense, everything about this is so fucked up—

“OK, I need you to breathe,” Bucky says gently, interrupting Sam’s spiral into actual fucking madness. Bucky grabs Sam’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “Can you feel my chest moving? Feel me breathing in and out? Stop thinking, close your eyes, and match your breaths to mine.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of Bucky’s chest rising and falling underneath his hand. Bucky’s sternum is flat and bony underneath Sam’s palm, but he can feel the gentle rise of Bucky’s strong pectoral muscles underneath his fingers. Bucky’s skin is warm through his shirt, and Sam focuses on the solid feel of him as he follows Bucky’s slow and deep breathing. Bucky’s thumb presses firmly against the inside of Sam’s wrist. There’s an anxious tingling all over Sam’s skin, washing over him from head to toe, making Sam afraid that he’s going to buzz right out of his skin.

But Bucky is breathing deep and slow, and Sam lets himself relax into it, feels himself fall in sync with this not-quite-stranger, his best friend’s best friend, who is very considerately trying to keep Sam from falling apart.

“You’re doing great, Sam,” Bucky praises gently. “Just keep breathing, you’re doing great.”

“I hate this,” Sam mutters.

Bucky strokes his thumb over the sensitive skin of Sam’s wrist and leans closer, hesitating briefly before resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“Just breathe, Sam. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs softly.

Sam feels a warmth uncurling deep in his belly, reacting to Bucky’s closeness and his quiet praise. Is Bucky the most instinctually effective peer counselor in the world or is he actually seducing Sam right out of a panic attack? Sam absolutely cannot think about this now, he needs to focus on the original source of his practical and existential terror.

“I hate every part of this,” Sam admits, frustrated. “I hate that I can’t get in touch with my mom. I hate that I don’t know if my niece is OK. Bucky, who has been taking care of my niece?”

“Hey, it’s OK, Sam.” Bucky says, his tone gentle and reassuring. “We’ll find your niece. If she survived the Snap, Steve and Natalia would have kept track of her. They wouldn’t have just let her disappear into the system. You have friends.”

“Right,” Sam says, feeling that glacier sitting atop his chest begin to recede a little. “OK. Friends. Steve and Natasha will know how to find Michelle. I just need to ask Steve and Natasha how to find Sarah and Michelle.”

“Great! See, you have a plan now and everything,” Bucky says encouragingly. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, Sam.” Bucky leans back onto his heels, and Sam breathes a little deeper as the world comes into sharper focus.

Sam nods. This is all going to be fine. He’s alive, he’s breathing, and he has his hand on Bucky Barnes’s warm, firm chest. Bucky’s eyes are kind, and Sam can almost understand, maybe for the first time, why Steve cared so much about bringing Bucky home. Maybe Bucky isn’t so bad. Maybe everything is going to be fine. Sam can just about manage, now, to stuff all this panic inside his chest where it can’t hurt him. If he just stuffs it in there forever, he will never have to deal with it.

Sam takes a moment to congratulate himself on his healthy coping strategies.

“You’re not too bad at this, man,” Sam says. “Where did you learn to handle a panic attack like that?”

“Well, I mean, I had a lot of them after realizing that I was responsible for literally dozens of grisly murders,” Bucky replies dryly. “But also I spent like fifteen years obsessing over the state of Steve Rogers’s lungs and trying to keep him from dying of asthma so he could grow up and be Captain America.”

Right. Captain America. That’s the other thing he’s panicking about.

“Hey, what just happened?” Bucky asks gently. Bucky strokes his thumb over Sam’s wrist. “Your blood pressure just shot way up again.”

“Tell me you’re not some kind of human sphygmomanometer,” Sam says. “I don’t have the patience for that level of weird right now. Stop monitoring my blood pressure. That’s creepy.”

“OK,” Bucky says slowly. “Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Steve asked me to be Captain America. Says he’s not retiring, but he’s needed off-world for a while, and he thinks I should be the one to carry the shield.”

Suddenly, just like that, the strange, tentative peace between them shatters. Bucky’s face turns white, then flushes a deep red.

“Steve asked you to be Captain America,” Bucky repeats coldly. All traces of warmth are gone from Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Excuse me a moment.”

Sam sighs as Bucky stalks off in Steve’s general direction.

Bucky returns a few moments later, Steve in tow, the two of them having some kind of whisper fight that Sam can’t really hear.

“Can’t believe you would do this—”

“—you know he’s a good choice—”

“—supposed to be your best friend—”

“—c’mon, Buck, you know I wouldn’t—”

Bucky yanks on Steve’s wrist as they approach Sam.

“OK, first of all, Steve, where the fuck is Sam’s family?” Bucky demands.

Steve pales, then looks genuinely contrite. “Oh, God, Sam, I’m sorry. I should have told you right away. Sarah and Michelle, they survived. They both survived the Snap. They’re living in your mom’s apartment in New York.” Steve hesitates for a moment, then adds, “Your mom was one of the ones who disappeared. She was at home watching Michelle when it happened. She should be safe. We’ll get a phone to her right away.”

Sam feels his stomach plunge at the knowledge that Michelle is five years older. He already missed two years of her life on the run with Steve after the Accords. Would she even remember him?

“Nat has your old phone stashed away. It should still have all your contacts in it. Natasha—she paid the bill. Every month you were gone. She never gave up hope we’d get you back,” Steve says, looking proud and a little teary-eyed.

While Sam works on processing the fact that his six-year-old niece is now his eleven-year-old niece, Steve rambles on about Natasha, and how brave she was, and what a rock she was, and how she kept everyone together, and how she sacrificed her life to save everyone, for kind of a while. Sam’s honestly kind of surprised. Steve and Natasha have always been close, but Sam’s never seen Steve as openly effusive about anyone other than James Buchanan Barnes Before The War, Steve’s most favorite person ever.

“OK, that’s great, Steve,” Bucky interrupts in a frosty tone. “But what’s this about Sam being the new Captain America?”

“Oh! Carol wants Natasha and me to go with her to a couple of planets that are struggling to organize after their populations suddenly doubled. Actually, I thought maybe you could come with us, Buck?” Steve offers. “I know how much you love space and—”

“No, Steve, I think I’ll stay here with Sam,” Bucky says stonily, glaring at Steve. Sam is a little stunned.

“What? Why?” Steve asks. He looks a bit like a confused golden retriever. “I thought you’d jump at this opportunity, Bucky, you really—”

“I really think I should stay here. Since I’m Captain America’s right hand man and all. And since Sam is Captain America now.”

Sam doesn’t really know what to do with all of this, because it seems like there’s really a lot going on here between Steve and Bucky that he doesn’t want to get involved with. And honestly, he’s not one hundred percent sold on the idea of working with Bucky at all, since they hardly even know each other. Today is the first time they’ve really interacted in a way that isn’t hostile or at the very least kind of pissy, and to be honest the uncomfortable sexual tension Sam felt earlier wasn’t exactly welcome.

But then a thought occurs to him, and Sam is instantly filled with delight. “So wait. What you’re saying is that you’re going to be my sidekick!”

“What, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick, I’m going to be your partner,” Bucky argues.

“Nuh uh, nope. It’s right there in the comics. Bucky Barnes was Captain America’s sidekick,” Sam says with a smirk. “Are you gonna wear the outfit?”

“What outfit?” asks Bucky, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh! The outfit with the little booty shorts?” Steve asks.

“I’m not wearing an outfit with little booty shorts,” Bucky says scornfully. “I’ll wear my regular outfit.”

“Leather bondage gear it is, then!” Sam replies. He feels more cheerful already.

***

“So what else did we miss?” Sam asks later, when they’re all settled in at one of the cabins on Tony’s property.

Steve and Natasha are tangled up together on the sofa, Natasha’s legs slung over Steve’s lap and her head resting against his chest. Steve and Nat have been trading inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences all night, and it kind of seems like Sam and Bucky must have really missed a lot, because Sam doesn’t remember Steve and Nat being so telepathically linked before he got dusted.

Bucky is sitting alone, tense and uncomfortable-looking, in a chair near the fire. He must still be pretty pissed at Steve for choosing Sam over him as the next Captain America, because he keeps shooting murder glares at Steve through narrowed eyes. When Steve’s not gazing adoringly at Natasha, he’s busy having a silent argument with Bucky through a complicated series of expressions that include rolled eyes, pleading looks, clenched jaws, and prissy, pursed lips. Sam is honestly feeling pretty left out right now, because there’s a lot of unspoken communication going on here between basically everyone but him.

Steve heaves a frustrated sigh, tears his gaze away from Bucky, and responds, “Well, they built a giant wall between the United States and Mexico. It was a pretty big deal, lots of people were really unhappy.”

“Seriously? Half of the entire United States population disappears, and Americans are still freaking out about immigration from Mexico?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Oh, no, we didn’t build the wall. Mexico actually built the wall,” Natasha says. The wicked look in her eye suggests that this is going to be a good story.

“Wait, what? That stupid promise actually came true?” Bucky asks.

“Well, kind of?” Natasha says, giving a little so-so motion with her hand. “Mexico didn’t actually build the wall because of illegal immigration, though. They built it after a bunch of riots and border skirmishes in late 2020.”

“So, what? Gang violence? Drug cartels?” Sam asks.

“Nope. It was the season finale of a television show on the CW called Supernatural,” Steve explains, as if this doesn’t make the whole thing somehow even more confusing.

“You’re telling me that we were gone for five years and now CW shows are a source of tension between the United States and Mexico and they built an entire wall about it,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows.

Sam is dubious as hell about this new foolishness—he’s starting to feel a lot more sympathetic towards Steve’s frustration with all the impenetrable pop culture references people expected him to grasp—but Bucky visibly perks up at the mention of Supernatural. “Oh, how did that go? Is Destiel canon yet?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve responds at the same time that Natasha replies, “Si.” Then they both cackle wildly, as if this is some seriously comedic shit, and honestly, Sam’s getting a little annoyed with all their inside jokes. He sneaks a look over at Bucky to see how he’s responding to all this, and Sam is relieved to feel slightly less like an asshole when he sees that Bucky doesn’t look any more charmed by Steve and Natasha’s Abbott and Costello routine than Sam feels.

“OK,” Sam says slowly, really drawing the word out. “So I guess if I want to understand all of that”—here, Sam gestures broadly at Steve and Natasha, attempting to convey his incredulity at their unnecessary dramatics—“that you just did, and apparently also current U.S. foreign policy, I’m going to have to watch a TV show on the CW.”

“It’s fifteen seasons, it makes for great depression watching,” says Natasha, shrugging. Bucky nods in agreement. “And Steve was pretty genuinely moved by the relationship between the two brothers.”

Steve confirms this with a solemn nod. “They were brothers, but they were also best friends.”

“Anyway it was better than a lot of the junk we watched while you were gone,” Natasha continues. “Half the time Steve and I spent in bed together we were just binge watching trash tv and getting overly invested in the love lives of twenty-five year olds pretending to be teenagers pretending to be detectives.”

Bucky shoots Sam a significant glance at this, somehow communicating half the time they spent in bed together? with the tense raising of his eyebrows alone, and says, “Sam and I will watch Supernatural together. I’ll get him caught up.”

And yeah, maybe fifteen seasons sounds like an awful lot of time to commit to spite-watching a television show with Bucky just to handle how weird he feels about Steve and Natasha’s whole new bed sharing thing together, but then Bucky stretches his arms over his head and reveals a pale sliver of belly, little trail of hair drawing Sam’s eyes pleasingly downward.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam says. After all, this Supernatural show does sound pretty important to this sketchy new future Sam didn’t ask to find himself in.

Bucky turns to Steve. “So when do you and Natalia have to head out?”

“Probably in a week or two. We want to make sure everything’s settled here before we head out.”

“A week or two, Steve, really? You think Sam’s going to be ready to be Captain America in a week or two,” Bucky says flatly.

Sam thinks Bucky sort of has a point, but out of loyalty to Steve and his own sense of competence he keeps his mouth shut.

Steve’s shoulders hunch defensively. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to do a great job supporting Sam.”

“I shouldn’t have to support Sam, Steve—”

“Bucky, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t have—”

“Not even a supersoldier, Steve—”

“Sam doesn’t have to be—”

Natasha is listening to this argument with a fond look on her face, like she actually missed this shit while they were gone.

“OK, listen,” Sam interrupts before Steve and Bucky get too distracted by their bullshit. “The Captain America thing is huge, yeah. But I feel like maybe we also need to be concerned about the world’s population suddenly doubling instantaneously? That’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh!” Steve lights up. “Natasha’s had a plan set up for that since like a week after you guys disappeared. She’s spent the last five years preparing for every contingency, basically every scientific or magical possibility that might bring you guys back. In fact, phase one has already started, getting lines of communication open to reconnect families and arranging emergency housing.”

Steve beams down at Natasha, and then—Sam can’t even fucking believe this—Natasha actually blushes in response. Steve and Natasha are, respectively, the most repressed and tightly controlled people Sam knows, and now they’re acting like emotionally healthy people who express their feelings in front of other people? Sam is suspicious as hell, and when he looks over at Bucky, Bucky is bug-eyed, looking frantically and significantly at Sam with that unmistakable are you seeing this too, what the fuck expression on his face. Sam hates the fact that things are so weird now that he’s bonding with Bucky over this.

“Pepper Potts is coordinating everything through the Avengers Foundation,” Natasha says. “She needs something to do right now, and she’s basically the most frighteningly efficient person I know, so. Your only job right now is figuring out how to work together without killing each other.”

Natasha eyes them both a bit skeptically, and Sam is instantly offended at this implied slight to his professionalism.

“Bucky and I are going to do great,” Sam says. “We are definitely going to be absolutely fine at working together.” He shoots Bucky a hard look, daring him to disagree.

“Absolutely fine,” Bucky repeats dutifully, then hesitates. “You’re sure, though, right, Sam? You really want to do the Captain America thing?”

“Definitely,” Sam confirms. Bucky searches his eyes for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever he finds.

“Great!” Natasha says with a pleased smile, and shares a satisfied look with Steve.

“Anyway,” Sam says, changing the subject, before they can figure out Sam has no fucking clue how to be Captain America and definitely doesn’t feel certain about working with Bucky Barnes. “What else did we miss while we were gone? How did Brexit go?”

“Oh, God,” Steve says.

***

The next morning, Sam walks down to the cabin’s kitchen for breakfast and finds a disaster.

“Is this a murder board?” he asks, aghast.

The wall next to the kitchen table is absolutely covered in papers that have been hastily pinned up, and there are at least eleven different colors of string stretched together in a complicated web over top of them, forming a bizarre rainbow of crazy. Where did Bucky even find that many different colors of string in the middle of the night? Did he break into a Joann Fabrics?

The kitchen table is littered with papers as well, and Sam counts six different green tea bags sitting on a napkin next to Bucky’s mug. “Have you been up all night?”

“No! And yes!” Bucky answers, his eyes red rimmed and wild, looking simultaneously exhausted and absolutely frantic with energy. He cards his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how much money Stark was spending on the Avengers Initiative after you guys blew up SHIELD? The litigation team! The insurance premiums! The property damage settlements! Weapons and technology! Research and development! Sam, the cost was astronomical!”

“Wait, this is all financial stuff? I thought this was more of, like, a traditional murder board situation here.” Sam pauses, then struck with sudden uncertainty, he asks, “Is financial stuff part of Captain America stuff?”

“Well, I mean, kind of, yeah,” Bucky responds. He stands up and restlessly paces the tiny kitchen. “You didn’t think you were going to just run off with the shield and, like, live off the kindness of strangers or something, did you?”

“Obviously, no,” Sam says, offended. Actually, though—not that Sam is going to admit it—Sam hasn’t had a real job in so long that he sort of forgot that this was going to be an issue. “Wait, did you get all this stuff by hacking Stark Industries?”

“Well, yeah,” says Bucky, defensive now. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask Ms. Potts in the middle of the night. Also I killed her daughter’s grandparents.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he says. “So what about the funding we had before? Is that gone?”

“It’s not gone, but there’s no way the money in Steve’s and my bank account will be enough.”

“Wait, you and Steve share a bank account?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Well, yeah, of course. Why would Steve and I need separate bank accounts?” he asks, looking puzzled.

“Why would you...” Sam repeats faintly. “OK. Moving on from that codependent nonsense, you and Steve were the ones funding us while we were on the run? Steve never said.”

“Well, I mean, I did steal a bunch of money from HYDRA, and Steve had some backpay saved up. But there’s no way Steve and I have Captain America money. Stark barely had Captain America money. Sam, he was spending down his entire fortune on the Avengers Initiative. Did you guys know he was doing that?”

Sam closes his eyes, shaking off the waves of guilt and grief he felt at the mention of Tony’s generosity. “No, I didn’t,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says grimly. “It’s bad. Like, really, really bad. You aren’t an international fugitive anymore. If you want to be Captain America, you won’t be able to just save people, destroy a few buildings, then dash off to the next country before the police catch up to you. You have to actually deal with the fallout afterward. And, most importantly, and I cannot stress this enough, you need actual income. Was Stark seriously the only one of you with a real job?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Of course he was,” Bucky says, deflating and leaning back against the counter with a thud. “God, you’re all idiots. I went off to war in the 1940s and I left one Steve back at home. Then I fell off a train, woke up seventy years later, and found out that Steve managed to find an entire team full of Steves, and each one of you is just as beautiful and heroic and stupid and utterly impractical as he is.” Bucky raises his metal hand to massage his temples, apparently fighting a headache so powerful that even his serum-enhanced regular arm isn’t strong enough to deal with it.

Sam carefully ignores Bucky’s insinuation that he finds Sam beautiful and heroic. Instead he pours Bucky a glass of water and slides it over to him. “OK, so what do we do?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not, huh? Just tell me.”

“We have to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky states firmly. “We have to get in touch with Nick Fury.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam says.

“Sam, it’s the only reasonable choice. We can’t afford to privately fund your career as a superhero, OK? I mean, the insurance? The legal team? I’ve drafted fifteen different budgets and there’s no way we can get this off the ground. But if we rebuild SHIELD, there’ll be funding and qualified immunity. You won’t even have to work directly for SHIELD. You could be an independent contractor.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. But it’s the only way.”

“Is Fury even going to listen to us, though?” Sam asks skeptically. “Like, will he even hire you? You shot him, like, five times.”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, that wasn’t great. But listen, the man’s probably been waiting for this moment for years. If he can get Steve and Natalia’s public support behind SHIELD 2.0? He’ll seize the chance.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

***

When Steve and Natasha come downstairs, sleepy and happy looking, casually emerging from the same bedroom that Sam knows only has one queen size bed, like bed sharing is just a regular part of their regular lives now, Bucky introduces them to the financial murder board.

“So if you really want to do this, if you want Sam to be Captain America, we need to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky concludes.

“SHIELD?” Natasha perks up. “We’re getting the old gang back together?”

“Natasha, like, 40% of the old gang were secret Nazis,” Steve says reproachfully. “And more importantly, Nick Fury didn’t notice they were secret Nazis.”

“He definitely started to suspect something was wrong near the end there, though,” says Natasha.

“Well, he’s our best shot at getting government funding, so unless you want to ask Tony Stark’s grieving widow for money, I think this is the best we can do.” Bucky turns to Natasha. “Natalia, you know how to get in touch with him, right?” he asks.

“I do. Pepper sent out working satellite phones via courier last night. They should have arrived by this morning. I’ll give him a call,” Natasha says. “He’s going to love this.”

“Your mom should have gotten a phone too, Sam,” Steve says. “I’ll text you her number so you can give her a call.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, relieved. While Steve works on sending Sam his mom’s contact info—does Steve’s phone have a holographic display? Does Old Man Steve know how to work a phone with a holographic display?—Sam asks Bucky, “How did you even pull all these records together, by the way? Are you like a secret accountant?”

“Bucky worked as an actuary before the war,” Steve responds absently, thumbing at some buttons on his phone screen. “He was getting his degree in mathematics before he dropped out to enlist.”

“An actuary?” Natasha asks thoughtfully. “I can see that. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“It paid the bills,” Bucky allows.

When Sam receives Steve’s text with his mom’s contact info, he steps outside for a bit of privacy. Sam watches Steve and Natasha leaning together through the sliding glass window as he waits for his mom to answer the phone. Sam feels a pit growing deep in his belly, a black hole that’s been sucking in everything Sam could have lived and built and experienced in the past five years, leaving him empty and lonely and lost, missing parts of himself that he should have been gaining. Inside, Bucky is standing alone in front of murder board, his shoulders tense, while Steve and Natasha talk and smile and touch each other’s forearms.

“Sam? Sam, baby, are you OK?”

“Mom!” Sam exclaims. “Mom, I’m OK. I’m OK.”

“Thank God,” she says in relief. “We’re OK too. Sarah and Michelle, they’ve been living in my apartment. Michelle’s eleven years old now, Sam. We missed five years of her life. How did this happen?”

And Sam tells her how it happened. He tells her about the battle, and then the second battle, and then realizing that he had died and was resurrected by magical stones. He tells her about Bucky Barnes, standing there in disgruntled disbelief when Steve and Natasha explained that they’d woken up five years into the future, his only reaction to state flatly, “I was told that this wouldn’t happen to me again.”

When he tells her that Steve’s asked him to be the new Captain America, Sam’s mom gasps in surprise. “Captain America? Sam, are you sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I am sure. I think I could really do some good,” Sam says softly.

“Do you have good people around you? Do you have people who will take care of you?”

Sam thinks of Steve and Natasha leaving for space in a few weeks, moving on to bigger and more complicated catastrophes, superheroes who’ve grown so powerful and competent and amazing that they’re needed elsewhere, on worlds larger than their own. And then he thinks of Bucky Barnes staying up all night to do superhero math so Sam can be Captain America, even though Bucky is apparently pissed that Steve chose Sam for the honor instead of him.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I have people who will take care of me.”

***

That evening, Sam and Bucky sit at the table and watch Steve and Natasha put together the most disgusting struggle dinner Sam has ever seen. Steve is piling gross stacks of bologna onto bread and seems to think condiments are optional, while Natasha has dumped a bag of iceberg lettuce into a bowl and poured an entire bottle of ranch dressing on top of it. This, she insists, is a “salad.” Steve and Natasha move expertly around each other in the kitchen like they’re performing a choreographed dance, casually touching each other’s shoulders and hips as they slide past each other. Obviously they’ve created this sort of repulsive dinner situation more than once. What have these two been eating for the last five years? Sam can’t resist glancing up at Bucky to catch a look of horror on Bucky’s face, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

When Steve sets their plates of dry bologna sandwiches and the soggy bowl of lettuce onto the table onto the table, Bucky suddenly announces that he’s vegan.

“You are?” Steve asks suspiciously. “Since when?”

Sensing an opportunity, Sam rushes to support Bucky’s desperate ploy to avoid this dinner. “Bucky and I are both vegan, actually. It’s new.”

“Really,” Natasha says. “You and Bucky do stuff together now. Stuff like going vegan.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says staunchly.

The best way to handle Natasha is just to brazen it out. She’ll suspect that you’re lying, but she won’t actually say anything until she has proof. Unfortunately, she’ll stoop to any and all means—however invasive or conniving—to catch you out. Sam guesses he and Bucky are both vegan forever now.

“Go ahead and eat your dinner,” Bucky says. “I’ll just make Sam and me something while you guys eat.”

While Steve and Natasha eat and trade inside jokes and talk about a bunch of political events Sam does not understand—did Michigan actually successfully secede from the Union?—Sam watches in astonishment as Bucky prepares the most incredible looking burrito bowls Sam’s ever seen in his life. In like twenty minutes, the dude whips up some chipotle lime black beans, diced tomatoes, corn, fajita veggies, and quinoa, then proceeds to make pineapple mango salsa from scratch using a mortar and pestle. Where did Bucky even get these ingredients? The last time Sam checked, the fridge was almost empty.

Bucky looks relaxed and capable, and Sam watches the muscles in Bucky’s back shift and move as he chops and grinds and sautés. Bucky’s got a kitchen towel slung casually over his shoulder, and a few strands of hair at his temples curl a bit in the steam coming off the stove top.

“So what else did y’all get up to in the last five years?” Sam asks.

“Oh! Should we tell them about the—” Natasha begins, her eyes lighting up.

“You mean the dude with the—”

“With the plastic fangs!” Natasha finishes, wheezing with laughter. “What was that guy’s name? Oh, God—”

“—Baron Blood!” they exclaim in unison, cackling.

Sam can’t help but feel a little annoyed by how easily Steve and Natasha finish each other’s sentences. Sam knows, intellectually, that Steve and Natasha lived each one of the five years that went by in seconds for him and Bucky. He knows that Steve and Natasha have always been close and that it makes sense for them to, like, trauma bond after everything they’ve gone through together. But he’s never felt so left out by his own best friends before. He looks over at Bucky, relieved when he sees his own feelings of frustration and isolation mirrored on Bucky’s face.

“Wait, you fought the Bloody Baron from Harry Potter?” Bucky asks.

“No, it was Baron Blood, not the Bloody Baron.”

“Was the guy an actual baron, or were his parents just rich and tacky? Was his first name Baron?” Sam asks, fascinated despite himself.

“I think it was, like, a self-appointed title?” Natasha says. “I don’t think he was a real baron. Anyway, Steve decapitated him with his shield.”

“He was a Nazi vampire,” Steve explains.

“Like an actual vampire? Are we fighting actual vampires now?” Sam asks.

“I think so,” Natasha says doubtfully. “Steve had to soak his shield in holy water blessed by the pope first. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, are you guys talking about Todd?” Bucky asks. “Brown hair, red eyes, ranted a lot about what an important superpower echolocation was?”

“Yes! Did you know this guy?” Steve asks.

“Eh, we weren’t close or anything. But there were some weird ass HYDRA experiments in the eighties and nineties. Most people these days think the Satanic Panic was a myth, but actually HYDRA really did have agents trying to indoctrinate daycare kids into supernatural cults. Todd was one of the evil brainwashed HYDRA daycare kids, volunteered to get some really hinky stuff done to him to try to create a master race of genetically pure vampires. Oh, and he was super obsessed with you, Steve.”

“Oh, God, was he ever,” Natasha says. “Let me tell you what he did when he got Steve tied up in his gross dungeon—”

***

While Natasha says goodbye to Bucky, squeezing Bucky and muttering something in Russian in Bucky’s ear, Sam is startled to feel Steve grab him tightly and pull him into an aggressive hug. Sam takes a minute to breathe in Steve’s familiar, comforting smell—still wearing Bay Rum even after all this time—and rests his chin on Steve’s strong shoulder.

“We love you,” Steve says, then hands him off to Natasha.

Natasha gives him a sweet kiss on the mouth. “We’ll miss you,” she says.

When Steve and Natasha disappear into the distance, Sam looks over at Bucky. “We, we, we,” Bucky says wryly.

***

Six weeks later, Sam and Bucky have formed a pretty solid partnership. They’re still living in one of the cabins on Tony Stark’s property in upstate New York for now, but they’re scheduled to report for duty at the new SHIELD headquarters in New York City on Monday.

Steve and Natasha are coming back to Earth this evening, scheduled for security briefings and press events promoting the resurrection of SHIELD, promising the public that Sam is going to make a great Captain America and that there definitely aren’t any more secret Nazis in the upper echelons of power at SHIELD.

As far as Sam can tell, Bucky’s still pretty pissed at Steve for asking Sam to be Captain America instead of him, but fortunately that grudge doesn’t seem to be carrying over to Sam. Instead, Bucky is perfectly pleasant and helpful as hell, which is pretty terrific considering the fact that Sam could use all the help he can get right now. Learning how to use the shield—especially while flying—is complicated as fuck and Sam probably would have lost patience pretty quickly without Bucky reassuring him that Steve was shit at math and definitely was not doing trigonometric calculations in his head while he fought.

“Does Steve seem like the kind of guy who’s doing a lot of thinking while he’s fighting? No, this is all practice and muscle memory,” says Bucky, clapping Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, Steve and Natalia are scheduled to get here in like an hour. Let’s take showers and get ready to meet them for dinner.”

It’s humid as fuck outside and Bucky’s shirt is drenched in sweat, clinging so tightly to his skin that Sam can count each one of his abdominal muscles individually. Bucky raises a water bottle to his mouth and takes a long pull. Sam watches a drip of sweat slide down Bucky’s throat.

“Yeah, good plan,” Sam says. A cool shower sounds really refreshing right now.

***

When they meet Steve and Natasha for dinner, Sam nearly forgets that he and Bucky are pretending to be vegan until Bucky orders a wheatberry salad and then kicks Sam underneath the table. Sam grimaces and reaches down to rub his shin, looking regretfully at the shiny picture of the giant burger and fries that Steve ordered on his menu.

“I’ll have the wheatberry salad too,” Sam says, trying not to sound too sad about it.

Steve and Natasha are bursting with stories about space. They’re happy and full of excitement, and if anything, they’re somehow even closer than when they left. They have very strong feelings about Kree politics, and they tell a lot of stories about famous people from space that Sam does not know. They touch each other constantly.

The wheatberry salad is amazing.

“So what else happened while we were gone?” Bucky asks, mercifully changing the subject from the boring Kree legislative process. “How did the last season of Game of Thrones go?”

“Oh, it was incredible,” Natasha raves, her eyes lighting up. “David Benioff and D. B. Weiss were taken in the Snap, so they had to hire this fantasy author named Brandon Sanderson to write it. Everyone was really skeptical about how it would go—especially with half of the cast gone—but he did an amazing job. It’s now considered one of the strongest finales of any show in history.”

“You know, I never could get into Game of Thrones,” Sam remarks. “All those big-budget fantasy dynastic political dramas are just so unrealistic.”

“See, that’s what Shuri said when I told her I was watching it to research living in a monarchy after I moved to Wakanda,” Bucky says. “But then her secret illegitimate cousin traveled from across the sea to claim her brother’s throne in a trial by combat. And then her supposedly slain brother dramatically returned from the dead with the help of a magical herb in order to defeat the usurper in battle, so.” Bucky lifts his shoulders and raises his hands in a sort of smug, so who turned out to be right there? kind of shrug.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point.

“It’s crazy that we’ll never know how much better it could have been with Benioff and Weiss at the helm, though,” Steve says, and Sam’s stomach drops a bit as he’s hit by another wave of wrongness, that same ears-ringing, tunnel-vision-forming wrongness he’s been feeling since he dramatically returned from the dead. Because what’s the deal with Steve being so literate in pop culture that he not only watches hit prestige dramas but actually knows the names of the writers? To Sam, it was just a few weeks ago that Steve declared Star Trek: The Next Generation “a bit too flashy” for his taste.

“Hey, did George R. R. Martin ever finish the books?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“No, he died,” Steve says.

***

Later that night, after Steve and Natasha have conspicuously gone to bed together, Bucky grabs Sam’s hand, puts a finger to his lips, quirks an eyebrow, and leads Sam silently into a small closet on the first floor of the house. The closet is full of thick winter coats that push Sam and Bucky right up against a wall, their bodies pressed tightly together. Bucky turns on the flashlight app from his phone to give them some light.

“What are we doing in here?” Sam whispers.

“It’s the only place in the house where Steve won’t be able to hear us. Just keep your voice down,” Bucky explains.

“Oh, shit. We’re not plotting to overthrow SHIELD again, are we?”

“No!” Bucky says. “It’s been like six weeks. HYDRA won’t have a secret majority interest in SHIELD for another twenty years at least. Look, have you noticed how Steve and Natalia are, like, obsessed with each other now?”

“Yes! What is with that? I thought I was Steve’s best friend!” Sam hisses.

“Well, you and Steve are definitely close friends,” Bucky says skeptically. “But best friendship is an exclusive relationship. It’s the closest and most intimate connection you can have with someone. And you can only have one of them. Your best friend is someone you would kill for, someone that you would die for, someone you would come back from seventy years of brainwashing for. Someone you would drop the very symbol of everything you believe in for. So, I think we can all agree that I was Steve’s best friend.”

Bucky looks pretty self-satisfied after that whole speech.

“I don’t think we can all agree that you were Steve’s best friend,” Sam says, tilting his head skeptically.

“Well, I was, but the point is that I don’t think I am anymore. I think Natalia might be Steve’s best friend now,” Bucky whispers, irritated.

“I know! I hate it,” Sam confesses. “Steve and Nat and I used to all be best friends. Now they have all these inside jokes and I feel left out all the time.”

“Again, Sam, you can’t have two best friends,” Bucky corrects. “Anyway, I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, and maybe some of us have made mistakes like kicking people off helicarriers or wrecking their cars, but I think if we want Steve back, we might be able to work together on this.”

“I’m listening,” Sam says.

“OK, so I think we need to try to make them jealous.”

“I don’t think Nat gets jealous. Does Steve get jealous?” Sam says doubtfully.

“Oh, Steve gets jealous,” Bucky confirms. “Did you know that like five seconds after I admitted that I remembered growing up with Steve, he immediately started getting passive aggressive about some redhead named Dot that I spent three dollars on back in 1937? It was like the very first thing he brought up.”

“Oh, God, was Dot short for Dolores?” Sam asks. “Steve complained about her all the time while we were out searching for you.”

“That was her!” Bucky says. “Steve was so jealous of Dolores. Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave.

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

***

The next day, while Steve and Natasha are busy in meetings with Rhodey and Fury, Sam moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn. It’s not actually so much his new apartment so much as it is Steve’s old apartment, but apparently Steve doesn’t need it anymore since he’s spending so much time out in space with Natasha and he “can always just stay with Nat while I’m in town, it’s no trouble, Sam, Natasha and I are used to bunking together.”

Sam actually has a lot of questions about how used to bunking together Steve and Natasha are.

Sam’s unpacking his clothes when he hears the doorbell ring. His spine stiffens and his fingers twitch for a weapon. Steve and Natasha are both scheduled to be out for hours still, and Steve’s a pretty private guy. Sam doubts many people know about his apartment.

He grabs a gun from his safe, loads it, and walks silently toward the front door.

“Sam, I know you’re in there.”

The muffled voice on the other side of the door is thankfully familiar. Sam feels the tension in his chest release and he lowers his gun. It’s just Bucky.

Unfortunately, all that tension in Sam’s chest immediately returns when Sam opens the door to discover that Bucky is, for some reason, carrying a duffel bag and surrounded by cardboard boxes. Sam’s stomach sinks.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Bucky complains, shoving past him into the entryway and setting down his bag. “You didn’t even look through the peephole to make sure no one was holding me at gunpoint? If we’re going to live together you’re going to have to be a lot more careful about security. I have a lot of enemies.”

“I’m sorry, if we’re going to live together?” Sam repeats, horrified. He puts the safety back on his gun and sets it down onto the counter.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Um, yes? Remember our whole fake-best-friends plan? You literally just agreed to it last night. Here, help me with these boxes.”

Bucky goes back into the hallway, where he bends over to lift a box labeled “pots and pans,” his skinny jeans stretching obscenely over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, and follows him out into the hallway.

***

“OK, so, explain this to me again: why does being fake best friends mean that we have to be actual roommates?” Sam asks later, passing Bucky a beer.

They’re sitting on Sam’s couch now, surrounded by fifteen boxes labeled, variously: “favorite grenade launchers,” “crossbows,” “guns (1 of 10),” “scopes and silencers,” “marijuana,” and “warm sweaters.”

“Is this beer vegan?” Bucky asks, checking the label. “Hold on, I’m gonna need to look this up.”

“Wait, are you actually vegan?” Sam asks, watching in astonishment as Bucky pulls up an app on his phone, types in the name of the beer Steve left in the fridge, frowns, and then gets up to put the beer back into the fridge. “I thought we were just pretending to be vegan to avoid Steve’s bologna sandwiches and that gross salad.”

“We were! But then I looked it up afterward to make sure I could pull this off in front of Natalia and I actually read a lot of really harrowing and kind of horrifying stuff about animal agriculture,” Bucky says, grimacing. “Anyway, if we want Steve and Natalia to believe that we’re best friends, we’re going to have to live together. Steve and I always lived together, and Steve moved in with you like five seconds after he met you.”

“To be fair to Steve, he did make it two very sad years living alone in the most depressing apartment I have ever seen, and he didn’t move in with me until you shot a man through his walls,” Sam says.

“That was just an excuse,” Bucky says, waving his hand airily. “Steve and I spent the entire winter of 1937 living in an uninsulated attic apartment with a broken window. If Steve didn’t want to live with you, he would have just slapped some duct tape over those bullet holes and gotten an extra blanket.”

Sam considers this and then reluctantly concedes the point. He’s seen Steve look unnervingly comfortable in some pretty horrific living situations over the past couple of years.

“All right, fine. But do we really need every gun ever made in our living room? I feel like surrounding yourself with this amount of weaponry has got to be an unhealthy coping strategy.”

Sam feels pretty confident about this—he’d been like three-quarters of the way through his Master’s coursework to become a licensed professional counselor when Steve Rogers bulldozed his way into his life.

“And what are we going to do if we need to take down SHIELD again, Sam?” Bucky demands. “How much do we really trust Nick Fury? Anyway, we aren’t storing these in the living room, Sam, that would be tacky.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, his stomach sinking. “And where are we storing them?” He has a bad feeling about this.

“In the spare bedroom, of course.”

“What spare bedroom.”

“The spare bedroom-slash-armory! We only really need one bedroom, Sam. Steve and I always shared a bedroom.”

“Did you,” Sam says. “And I suppose you shared a bed too.”

“Of course we did. Why would Steve and I need separate beds? We were best friends.”

Bucky gives Sam an odd look, like he thinks Sam in the one being strange about this. As if indefinitely sharing a bed is just normal best friend stuff. Sam wants to believe that this is some kind of Depression era, growing-up-in-poverty sort of thing, but honestly Steve and Bucky are just so intensely weird about each other that Sam is pretty sure that it’s actually a Steve-and-Bucky thing.

Sam thinks about sharing a bed with Bucky every night. He wonders if Bucky wears a shirt to bed, or if Bucky slides into bed bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts or maybe even just some tightly fitted boxer briefs.

“All right,” Sam says, sighing.

***

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed catching up on Supernatural—he has got to know how this show somehow became relevant to international geopolitics—Bucky leans over to pull a huge bag of weed out of the nightstand. Then he slowly, carefully rolls the fattest joint Sam has ever seen. It’s somehow absolutely massive but still structurally sound and perfectly balanced. Sam puts the show on pause because he has a lot of questions about this.

“Where did you learn how to do that? Does marijuana even work on you?” Sam asks. “Did you learn how to do this as part of that whole Eat Pray Love thing you did while Steve and I were looking for you?”

“What? No. Steve taught me how to do this back in the thirties.”

“Excuse me, Steve Rogers taught you how to roll a joint in the thirties? Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers knows how to roll a joint?” Sam asks, scandalized.

“Yes? I didn’t have any other friends named Steve—actually, Steve was always my only friend,” Bucky says offhandedly. “Anyway, Stevie started rolling his own asthma cigarettes when he was like twelve, had those perfect long-fingered artist hands even when he was little. Then when he started art school he started bringing home marijuana after class. He’d roll us a joint and we’d sit out on the fire escape and smoke before bed every night.”

“Steve Rogers,” Sam says, wonderingly. “What a little punk.”

“Right? I’m always saying that but no one ever believes me. Here,” Bucky says, passing the joint over to Sam. Sam hesitates for a moment—he hasn’t smoked pot since before he joined the Air Force—but then he gives a mental shrug, figuring that SHIELD probably isn’t going to drug test him. Yeah, Nick Fury is kind of a dick, but Sam doubts that he’d give a shit about a little recreational marijuana use.

Sam feels a little thrill when he raises Bucky’s joint to his lips, the paper still slightly damp from Bucky’s saliva. He seals his mouth around the end of the joint and sucks in deeply, sharing this wet vicarious kiss with Bucky, who watches Sam’s mouth with interest. Sam feels the sharp burn in his lungs as he holds in the smoke, then coughs violently when he exhales, passing the joint back to Bucky.

“Damn,” he says. “This stuff still works for you?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “HYDRA wanted to make sure they’d still be able to drug the shit out of me when they were experimenting with their own version of the serum, so unlike some reckless assholes who actually volunteered to get the bona fide serum, I can still get stoned. Which is I guess some small consolation for spending seventy years on some pretty intense amphetamines and weird psychosis-inducing experimental drug cocktails.”

“Yikes. Well, that makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky pauses. “Well, it’s not fine fine. But I’m fine. Now.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says, and he realizes he means it.

***

The first time Sam fucks up as Captain America, he finds out the answer to a great personal mystery: why Steve Rogers was considered “the greatest tactician in American military history.”

It’s not because Steve is actually a great tactician—in fact, Steve is an instinctive fighter, brash and brave and most of all impulsive.

Apparently, the real reason Steve was considered the greatest tactician in American military history is because Peggy Carter was the greatest tactician in American military history, and Bucky Barnes was the greatest bullshitter in American military history.

When Maria Hill orders them to Fury’s office for debriefing after that disastrous mission, Bucky grabs Sam’s arm and digs his nails into the tender skin on the underside of Sam’s forearm.

“Whatever you do, do not say anything,” Bucky hisses. “Just shut the fuck up, and let me handle this. I mean it.”

“I need to take responsibility for this, Bucky. Steve would take responsibility for this.”

“Steve would absolutely not take responsibility for this,” Bucky states firmly. “Trust me, I’ve been bailing that little punk out of trouble for one hundred years. Do not say anything.”

When they get to Fury’s office, Sam witnesses an actual miracle. Fury begins by asking them a series of terse questions in a clipped tone that slowly grows more and more agreeable as Bucky’s answers—calm, thoughtful, and pleasant—make Sam’s actions sound both necessary and entirely reasonable. The tone shifts from an interrogation to a more customary debrief, and by the end Fury’s countenance is less thunderous and more just his sort of standard expression of grim disapproval.

The truly bewildering part is that Bucky’s explanations for Sam’s behavior are so convincing that Sam himself is now questioning whether he even fucked up at all. Nothing Bucky says is a lie, and Sam’s not even sure he would characterize anything as misleading, but nevertheless Sam slowly moves from the distinct impression that both he and Fury considered the mission a failure, to the cautious notion that maybe he’d actually made the best of a bad job after all.

When Fury dismisses them, he offers them a gruff, “Excellent work, gentlemen,” and then he actually claps Sam on the shoulder as Sam walks out the door.

What the fuck.

***

“Excuse me, are you some kind of hypnotist or sorcerer?” Sam hisses when they return to their office. “What the fuck was all that?”

“Should we get Thai food for lunch? I’m thinking pad see ew,” Bucky muses, scrolling through the menu on his phone. “What about you?”

“Get me the tofu pad thai,” Sam says. It turns out Bucky wasn’t wrong about the environmental impact of animal agriculture—that’s actually some deeply sobering shit, and Sam feels like he should probably try to be a good role model now that he’s Captain America. “Seriously, though, I did fuck up that mission, right? I wasn’t imagining that?”

Bucky sighs. “Sam, you made the right call. Maybe Fury wouldn’t have agreed immediately, but I didn’t spend my entire life justifying Steve’s aggressive self-sacrificing bullshit to people in positions of authority for no reason. Steve knew when to step up and do what was right, sure, but he also knew when to shut up and let me do the talking afterward.”

Everything about Steve’s career in the Army makes so much more sense now.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, awkwardly. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “You really think Steve would have made the same decision today?”

Bucky gives Sam a long, considering look. His gaze is solemn and sympathetic, and his lips press together in a sad smile. “Sam, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to Steve.”

***

Sam misses a lot about Steve, but he very specifically does not miss running with Steve. That’s because Steve is an asshole, and while Sam may enjoy the view from behind when Steve laps him for the fiftieth time, he definitely does not feel like Steve deserves to act as smug about it as he does when Steve is quite famously the recipient of performance enhancing drugs.

Sam and Bucky are running their usual route in Prospect Park, feet pounding together in rhythm as they listen to the dope ass Carly Rae Jepsen playlist Bucky made for them on their headphones. It turns out that Sam’s been putting up with a lot of shit from Steve that wasn’t actually necessary, because despite being a full year older than Steve—or is it four years younger, now, after the Snap?—Bucky has managed to develop some pretty cool taste in music. More importantly, Bucky seems mercifully content to run at a speed that is completely normal for unenhanced people who are still in fantastic shape and also have great legs.

Speaking of great legs, Sam’s having kind of a hard time handling the length of Bucky’s running shorts today. Bucky’s legs are long and strong, lightly muscled and flexing attractively as his steady stride eats up the pavement, and his thighs—

“So how come Steve won’t run like a regular person?” Sam asks, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from those lean, golden thighs.

“Did he try to give you some shit about how he has to run that fast to stay in shape as a supersoldier?” scoffs Bucky. “No, Steve runs that fast because Steve has anger issues and a high sex drive. Otherwise he’d be starting fights and jerking off four times a day.”

Sam’s breath catches a bit in his chest and he tries very hard not to stumble at that. “Oh?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual. “And you? You’re not jerking off four times a day?”

“Living with you, sweetheart?” Bucky says with a wink. “Of course I am.”

***

This isn’t actually Sam’s first time living with a Russian assassin, because he spent two years on the run with Natasha, so he’s used to a lot of weird ass habits. But one thing that confounds the shit out of him is why Bucky insists on navigating Brooklyn solely through a maze of gross alleyways that smell absolutely foul.

Steve and Natasha are finally home from their peacekeeping or worldbuilding or diplomatic journey through the stars—whatever the hell they’ve been doing for the past few months—and Sam and Bucky are on their way to meet them at a café for lunch.

“Man, are you sure we’re not going in circles? I could swear we’ve passed that blue dumpster at least twice already. Is this some kind of spy thing where we’re doubling back to lose a tail or something?” Sam asks.

“No. And this blue dumpster is the blue dumpster behind the hipster café with the oat milk latte that you hate, the one with too much cinnamon,” Bucky explains patiently. “The other two blue dumpsters are behind the artisanal pickle shop and the thrift store where the secondhand clothes actually cost more than they do when you buy them new.”

“Right,” Sam says with a heavy sigh. Then he perks up when he sees their favorite stray cat. “Oh, hey, it’s Steve the cat!”

“Aw! Hi, Steve!” Bucky coos. He reaches into his pocket to toss a few treats toward the skinny, ill-tempered cat, who eyes them suspiciously before hissing viciously, his scraggly hackles raising. Steve the cat ignores their treats, presumably offended by their insulting attempts at charity, and Sam and Bucky positively melt at this pointless and self-destructive display of spitefulness.

“He’s so cute!” Bucky says.

“I love him so much,” Sam agrees. “C’mon, let’s leave the treats here and keep going. Maybe he’ll eat them after we leave.”

“We should stop at the pet store on the way home and pick up a different brand. Maybe Steve has allergies,” Bucky suggests.

“Good idea,” Sam says, nodding.

As they head toward their lunch with Steve and Natasha, Sam’s surprised to realize that he feels pretty relaxed and confident about their whole fake-best-friends plan. Usually he’d be having some kind of heart palpitations at the thought of trying to pull one over on Natasha, an actual spy who actually lied to the actual God of Lies and actually succeeded at it, but instead Sam thinks that he and Bucky might really get away with this whole fake-best-friends thing. It helps that Bucky looks so cool and self-assured walking beside him, hips loose and easy and confident as those long legs lead them toward their whole best friends debut.

Eventually they weave their way out of Bucky’s trash labyrinth and make it to the café, where Steve and Natasha are waiting at a table along the sidewalk. Steve and Nat look happy, laughing and chatting animatedly, their body language intimate and relaxed. Sam feels a brief moment of apprehension, but Steve smiles broadly when he sees Sam and Bucky approach, and Steve and Nat both stand to offer hugs and kisses in greeting.

“We’re so glad to be home,” Natasha says, sitting back down with a sigh. “Do you know that after spending the past few months trying to navigate alien bureaucracy, I’ve actually missed filling out post-mission paperwork at SHIELD? Do not repeat that to Fury.”

“Fury’s already trying to convince Natasha to train as his replacement when he retires,” Steve brags, putting his arm around Natasha’s shoulders. The flash of envy Sam feels at Steve’s obvious pride in Natasha is swiftly overwhelmed by Sam’s genuine happiness for her. He can’t think of anyone he’d trust more than Natasha to be the next Director of SHIELD. Probably she wouldn’t let in any secret Nazis or mad scientist artificial intelligences at all.

“That’s great, Natalia,” Bucky says warmly. “How soon can you start? I already hate working for Fury.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Fury has like three decoy replacements lined up and at least another decade of weird mind games in him before he’ll seriously consider retirement,” Natasha says, nodding her head approvingly. “And to be fair to Fury, he’s probably still pretty pissed about that time you nearly killed him.”

“Actually, Fury really likes Bucky,” says Sam defensively. “Just last week Fury even thanked him for giving him the chance to fake his own death—said he’d been looking for just the right opportunity for years.”

Bucky smirks and nudges his knee against Sam’s underneath the table. Sam deliberately doesn’t move his leg away, warmth spreading through him from the point of contact.

“I feel like I should be surprised that Bucky won Fury over that quickly, but honestly it makes sense. The nuns loved Bucky,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Fury does have kind of a weird nun energy, doesn’t he,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “I’ve never really thought about it before but now I’m kind of obsessed with the idea.”

When they’ve finished ordering—bacon cheeseburgers for Steve and Natasha, falafel salads for Sam and Bucky—Natasha asks them how they’re enjoying their new vegan lifestyle.

“Have you been eating a lot of aquafaba?” Natasha asks, too innocent by half.

A surge of triumph wells up in Sam’s chest. He knows that Natasha is testing them, and he knows that they’re going to pass this test.

“Aquafaba’s actually more of a baking thing, sort of an egg white replacement,” Sam explains, biting his lip to resist shooting Bucky a smug grin. “And Bucky doesn’t eat anything with added sugar, so we don’t do a whole lot of baking.”

“And since when is Bucky such a healthy eater?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Some of us got hasty Nazi knockoff serums, Steve,” Bucky replies. “I’m like a hundred years old. How do I know if I can just eat whatever I want and still have perfect blood pressure and cholesterol like you? Also, do you know how much we’ve learned about nutrition since you and I were in school? When was the last time you even got a physical, Steve? Natalia ought to be making sure you take better care of yourself. I make sure Sam exercises and eats a sensible diet.”

“I stay fit,” Sam agrees.

Bucky smirks and lets his eyes travel along Sam’s biceps and shoulders. “Yeah, you do, sweetheart.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to get a physical, OK? But my primary care physician was taken in the Snap,” Steve says defensively. “I didn’t have time to find a new one. I’ve been very busy.”

“I’m actually finding this all very interesting,” Natasha says, her chin propped on her hand and her voice low and amused. “Has Bucky always been this fussy and meddlesome?”

“Only when it comes to my best friend,” Bucky explains with great apparent sincerity.

Steve chokes on his soda, coughing and sputtering violently, and Sam looks up from his salad to grin and catch Bucky’s eye. Natasha gives Steve a few strong thumps on the back.

When Steve recovers from his coughing fit, he narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, your best friend? Is Sam your best friend? Because I thought Sam was more like your best friend’s best friend.”

“We’ve gotten really close since we moved in together,” Sam says earnestly, slinging a friendly arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

It’s not even a lie, really. They’ve got a pretty great routine going, and Bucky’s an easy roommate. They wake up every morning and drag themselves out of their shared bed, sleepy and warm, and head out for an early run, letting Bucky’s bomb ass running playlist and the exertion of their run build up the physical and emotional energy they need for the day. They take Bucky’s weird secret assassin route through the alleys to and from the subway every day, and when they come home in the evenings they catch up on all the movies and music and weird political news they’ve missed in the past five years. They smoke a joint together in bed every night before they go to sleep, and they laugh and swap stories and usually make fun of Steve. It’s all very comfortable and cozy. It’s actually, Sam is startled to realize, the closest thing to home he’s felt in the past two-slash-seven years.

“So you moved in together,” Steve says, his voice awkward and high pitched. “That’s—so great!”

“Speaking of moving in together,” Bucky says innocently. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live? We can move the weapons out of the spare room at our place if you want to move in with us.”

“I’m sorry, the spare room? It’s only a two bedroom apartment, Bucky!”

***

Sam is happy to be back in the field with Steve and Natasha, but he can’t shake the slight uneasiness that comes from thinking he’ll be able to predict their actions, that he’ll be able follow the rhythm of their fight together, only for the two of them to do something totally different than what he expects at the worst possible moment. It turns out that five years was just long enough for Steve and Natasha to fall perfectly in sync with one another and out of sync with Sam.

It’s Sam and Bucky’s first official SHIELD mission with Steve and Natasha, and everything is going mostly fine except for the fact that instead of turning into nice, clean piles of dust like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, these gross ass vampires are exploding like giant bags of blood every time you slay them. It’s super nasty and definitely unhygienic.

The vampires are feral, mostly mindless leech-like creatures that don’t seem to have a lot going on in their probably decaying brains. So on top of dying in a rather revolting sort of fashion, they’re not even sexy or sophisticated or even European the way pop culture has promised him. The whole experience is a real letdown, and it isn’t even really dangerous so much as it is messy and tedious.

“Last one!” Bucky calls out, firing his crossbow straight into the heart of a vampire standing in front of Steve. The vampire explodes in a disgusting spray of borrowed blood, drenching Steve from head to toe in its recycled bodily fluids. Sam stifles a laugh.

“God damn it, Bucky,” Steve complains, his face twisting in distaste. “Just for that I’m taking first shower on the Quinjet.”

Sam gives Bucky a discreet fist bump when they climb aboard, whispering, “Nice shot, man.” Bucky snickers.

Steve is always so funny when he gets all prim and fussy, like some kind of stuffy Victorian schoolmarm. It’s kind of adorable.

In order to fit a full decontamination chamber and shower into the Quinjet, there’s only one of them, so they have to take turns showering. Sam and Bucky have a sort of medium amount of blood on them, while Natasha has somehow managed to escape the whole gory ordeal without a single drop of blood—or even sweat? Literally how is she so pristine?—anywhere on her. Since they’re only in New Jersey, not too far from home, Natasha decides she can wait until they get back to SHIELD headquarters to shower.

“So what’s the deal with all the vampires?” Sam asks. “I thought you and Steve killed that Bloody Baron guy.”

“We did,” Natasha replies, frowning. “It must have been a nest he left behind. Usually new vampires are too stupid or underdeveloped to feed themselves—they’re sort of like human babies that way—but I guess after their vampire dad guy died they must have gotten hungry enough to try to find something to eat on their own. I would have thought that they’d have all starved to death by now, though.”

When Steve finally exits the shower a thousand years later, he shoots them a smug smile. “Good luck fighting over who goes next, guys,” Steve taunts, in an irritating, self-satisfied sort of way. “There’s probably not enough hot water left for both of you.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Bucky says casually. “Sam and I always shower together anyway. We can share. C’mon, Sam.”

Bucky grabs Sam’s wrist and tugs him along toward the shower, and Sam uses every ounce of energy he has left in his body to keep his facial muscles firmly under control, refusing to offer any kind of reaction whatsoever to that frankly shocking claim. What the fuck, Bucky? On the plus side, though, Sam has the pleasure of watching Steve’s eyes widen and his stupid smirk fade as horror slowly sets in.

Natasha’s face, of course, lights up in surprise and then sheer fucking delight at this unexpected turn of events, because Natasha loves drama.

“What,” Steve says weakly.

“Yeah, it’s no big,” Sam says, nonchalant as hell. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Steve and Natasha whisper furiously at each other as Bucky pulls him out of the room.

When Bucky shuts the door to the decontamination chamber behind them, Sam falls back against it, running an open hand down his face and groaning. “Bucky, man, what are you doing?”

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes wide and guileless. He’s unbuckling the chest fasteners on his uniform, and Sam decides to take a moment to indulge his purely intellectual curiosity about how exactly Bucky straps himself into all that tactical fetish gear.

“Steve and I always used to take baths together,” Bucky says. “Do you know how long it took to heat up buckets full of water on the stove just to take one bath? And by the time one person was finished, the bath water would be dirty and cold! And Stevie was so little, it was just easier to bathe together so we’d both stay warm, especially in the winter—”

While Bucky prattles on about Depression-era plumbing, filthy shared tenement showers, cold water apartments, the potential dangers of cold baths for people with weak lungs, and how extremely normal it is for best friends to shower together, Sam watches Bucky methodically strip down to bare, sweaty skin.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, amusement in his voice.

“What,” Sam says absently. His eyes are intently following the path of a bead of sweat that’s sliding slowly down the hills and valleys of Bucky’s well-defined abs.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. I mean no! I don’t need help.”

As Bucky turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, Sam undresses hurriedly, tossing his bloody uniform into the laundry container marked “BIOHAZARD” and stepping into the shower with Bucky.

“Now, Sam, I just want to say: it’s OK if you get hard,” Bucky says sincerely, clearly trying but then utterly failing to hold back a grin. He looks directly into Sam’s eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “You know, Steve and I always—”

“Don’t say it,” Sam interrupts. “Do not say it or I will kill you, I swear to God.” Literally the last thing Sam needs, as he desperately tries to redirect the flow of blood running to his cock, is to think about Steve and Bucky showering together with erections. Jesus Christ. Sam is not made of fucking stone.

“I’m just saying, it’s perfectly normal—”

“I will kill you, Barnes,” Sam warns.

“It’s the beauty of nature!” Bucky proclaims with a shit-eating grin, then easily dodges Sam’s half-hearted blow to the face. “And if it makes you feel better, I will be making literally no effort to avoid ogling you, so.”

Sam rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile. “Whatever, man. Help me wash my back.”

***

After they shower together on the Quinjet, Bucky apparently decides that there’s no reason for them to stop showering together now that they’ve started. So every morning when they finish their run, Bucky follows Sam into the bathroom, stripping off his sweaty clothes and just stepping right into the shower, waiting for Sam to join him. And at this point it feels like maybe it would be weird if Sam said something, like maybe he should have said something the first time Bucky decided they were the kind of friends who took showers together, but quite frankly the first time Sam was so distracted by the shift and pull of Bucky’s muscles as he tugged off his shirt that Sam didn’t think to protest.

So now they shower together every morning, and they share the same body wash and shampoo too, because Bucky says that they already smell just like each other from spending so much time together that it doesn’t really make sense for them to use different products. Plus, Bucky explains, with two full grown men in the shower at the same time, there’s just not enough room to clutter up the space with a bunch of different bottles.

Sam is pretty sure that Bucky just likes it that Sam smells like him, though. Bucky’s weirdly possessive that way, and it turns out that maybe Steve is too, because every time Sam gets up close in Steve’s space during training, Steve’s nostrils flare, the briefest look of jealousy crossing his face.

So, on the plus side, their plan is definitely working.

On the down side, however, Sam has exactly zero opportunities to jerk off now, and he’s about to spontaneously fucking combust out of what is probably fatal sexual tension. Because every morning, Sam wakes up to a soft, sleepy Bucky pressed against his back, hips grinding gently against Sam’s ass. And every morning, Sam watches Bucky get sweaty and breathless on their run, thin t-shirt growing slowly more transparent, clinging to those perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. And then, after all that, Sam has to actually get naked and shower with the guy, who is not at all shy about the way his erection springs up out of his running shorts as he pulls them down his hips.

And all of this—this whole fucking blue balls-inducing, brain-melting, sexually frustrating journey into madness—happens before Sam can even get a goddamn cup of coffee. It is eight in the fucking morning and Sam is about to die from his boner.

“Hey, Sam?” Bucky asks, giving himself a critical look in the bathroom mirror. “Can you cut my hair?”

“Do I look like a barber,” Sam replies flatly.

“No, but I feel like if we’re going to your mom’s today, I should probably look sharp, right? And I just don’t feel like the long hair goes with a suit.” Bucky frowns. “There are probably plenty of videos about hair cutting on Youtube, right? I’ll bet you could figure it out.”

Sam does not remember inviting Bucky to his mom’s house with him today, and he has no idea why Bucky is planning on wearing a suit, but he does remember how Bucky Barnes had looked in those old photos, with that classic haircut highlighting his sharp cheekbones and that perfect fucking jawline. He’d looked like an old movie actor, like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, and Sam has always had a weakness for handsome men who look like they could take you to church and then take you straight to bed so you’ll have something to confess about next week.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam agrees.

It turns out there are actually a bunch of tutorials on how to cut hair on Youtube—apparently there was a whole thing that happened in 2020 where everyone had to cut their own hair for a while?—and after two or three videos Sam feels reasonably prepared for this potential disaster.

He sits Bucky down on a chair in the kitchen, because Bucky’s hair is thick and long, and Sam wants to make sure he can sweep everything up nice and easy when they’re done. When Sam runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair to start trimming the length, Bucky groans softly, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Forgot how much I like having my hair touched,” Bucky murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, biting his lip. He wonders if Bucky also likes to have his hair pulled, and for a moment he regrets ever letting Bucky talk him into this hair cut, because he thinks he’d like to see Bucky’s long hair twisted around his fist as he guides Bucky’s mouth down onto his cock.

“I never had a professional haircut before the Army,” Bucky confesses. “My mom always cut it for me when I was a kid, and then when I moved in with Steve we’d do it for each other. We always needed money back then, couldn’t afford a barber.”

“Hold still for a moment,” Sam says, touching Bucky’s jaw and gently guiding his head into the right position. He runs the clippers over the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers pressing lightly against Bucky’s temples to move him where he needs him. Heat blooms deep in Sam’s belly at the way Bucky shivers under his touch. When Sam finishes trimming the sides and back of Bucky’s head, he leans down to softly blow the excess hair off the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky moans quietly, biting his lip and arching his back almost imperceptibly. Pretty little goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

“Take a look,” Sam says quietly, handing Bucky a mirror.

Bucky turns his head left and right, preening a bit as he admires the tidy cut Sam gave him. He looks gorgeous, hair neatly trimmed in a way that draws focus to that devastating bone structure.

“Not too bad for your first try, sweetheart,” Bucky says, grinning. “Think your mom will like it?”

“Oh, I think she will.”

***

When Sam’s mom opens her door to see that Sam has brought a friend to visit, she looks delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam, baby! It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!” she exclaims, pulling Sam in for a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before leading them into the living room. “And who is this handsome young man?”

“This is Bucky,” Sam replies, shooting his mom a warning glare. Do not embarrass me, he communicates silently. She widens her eyes in response, giving Sam an overly innocent look and covering her heart a touch dramatically with her hands. Moi? her body language says. Sam is not fooled. “Bucky is my co-worker. And my roommate. And my friend.”

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling like a goddamn choir boy. “It’s so nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that Sam invited me along today.”

Sam most definitely did not invite Bucky along today, but he feels like it would be rude to point that out in front of his mom, who looks very impressed by Bucky’s whole general existence. She looks even more impressed when Bucky presents her with the vase of lilacs he insisted upon buying along the way.

“These are lovely, Bucky! I’m always happy to meet one of Sam’s co-workers slash roommates slash friends,” she says teasingly. “And don’t you look nice! Sam, doesn’t he look nice?”

“You didn’t have to wear a suit to meet my mom,” Sam says with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

They already had this whole argument before they left, but Bucky was adamant about wearing the suit, and honestly Sam didn’t work that hard to try to talk him out of it. Sam didn’t even know that Bucky owned a suit, let alone one that was so perfectly tailored to those shoulders and those slim hips and those long legs. Once Bucky actually put on the suit, Sam suddenly felt like all of his objections were a bit trivial and unnecessary. So now, like an idiot, Sam is also dressed up, wearing a button-down shirt and a navy blue blazer to visit his own mother.

“It’s a Sunday, Sam,” Bucky says reprovingly, in a tone that suggests that the day of the week is somehow relevant to his sartorial choices. Sam’s mom nods approvingly at this, so maybe it’s some kind of weird older generation thing that Sam is too young to understand.

Sam feels a bit ill at the unwelcome realization that Bucky is technically older than Sam’s mother.

Sam’s mom serves them tea and cookies while they catch up, and Bucky is unfailingly polite, charming in a sincere sort of way that Sam should have expected from all of Steve’s stories about growing up together in the neighborhood. It occurs to Sam that Bucky probably developed this skill as a self-defense mechanism against the inevitable havoc that Steve wreaked in their lives, using it to keep the two of them out of trouble with mothers and teachers and, eventually, commanding officers.

When the subject of Captain America comes up, Sam’s mother frowns disapprovingly and says, “I just don’t know why that boy asked you to take on this kind of burden. Is he even retired? Why couldn’t he be Captain America?”

Sam’s mother always refers to Steve as that boy.

“That’s what I said!” Bucky exclaims. “I was furious when Steve said he wanted to pass the shield on to Sam. Why did Sam need to be Captain America? Sam was already a superhero. I mean, he was the Falcon! He could actually fly. How cool is that? Steve could never fly—Steve just fell, usually without a parachute. Being Captain America just meant doing the same thing Sam was already doing, but with an unfamiliar weapon and a lot more attention from bad guys. It seemed so risky and unnecessary.”

Sam is a little stunned at this revelation. He thought the reason Bucky was mad at Steve about the whole Captain America thing was because Steve hadn’t chosen him to be Captain America, not because Bucky was worried about Sam.

Sam’s heart thumps a bit in his chest, warmth flowing through his veins to thaw out a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been just a tiny bit frozen, an icy chunk he’s been carrying around inside of him ever since he’d accepted Steve’s offer to be the new Captain America. Bucky looks soft and sincere, and Sam didn’t know how much he needed to hear that someone believed in him just as he was—that there was someone who didn’t just think that he’d make a good Captain America but that he was already a pretty great superhero all on his own.

Sam’s mom nods enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she says, then turns to Sam. “I like this one, Sam. He seems so much more sensible than that other boy. That one was always getting you into trouble.”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, Steve is good at getting people into trouble. But the thing about Steve is that Steve attracts people who are just like him, people who are good and brave and ready to stand up for what’s right no matter what the cost. Sam was fighting for what he believed in long before Steve ever came along. You raised a good man, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling softly at Sam.

And Sam’s heart breaks a little in his chest at this, because he doesn’t think that Bucky realizes that Bucky is the very first person Steve attracted who shared his innate goodness and integrity, because Bucky doesn’t think he’s a hero like Steve and Sam.

Sam’s mom is clearly pleased by Bucky’s compliment, and she looks proudly over at Sam. “Sam is the best man I know,” she says, her voice strong, full of conviction. “I’m glad he has a partner who understands that his heart is just as valuable as his training.”

“Sam’s heart is exactly why Steve chose him as Captain America,” Bucky says. And then he tells her stories about Sam’s new job, stories that are carefully edited to minimize the danger they had faced and to maximize Sam’s capability and competence in dispatching various minor villains. He tells her about all of the countries they’ve traveled to, all the little boys and girls who’ve looked at Sam with stars in their eyes. Bucky makes sure to include Steve in these stories too, subtly but effectively touting Steve’s unflagging loyalty and care and dependability.

Sam remembers Steve telling him that Bucky was the first to shout “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” when they returned from Kreischberg, successfully distracting Colonel Phillips from any disciplinary action he might have been contemplating against Steve for going MIA. It’s hard to throw the book at someone who’s actively being celebrated by hundreds of grateful, cheering soldiers.

Bucky, Sam is beginning to realize, is the greatest hype man Sam has ever seen.

“Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with a kind smile. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Come back next weekend!” Sam’s mom replies enthusiastically, giving Bucky a warm hug. “You can meet Sam’s sister Sarah and his niece Michelle. They’ll be sorry they missed you this week. Sam, dear, come give your mother a hug.”

When Sam pulls his mother in for a hug, she whispers, “I’m so proud of you” in his ear. Sam flushes a bit, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says.

***

That night when they’re lying in bed, passing a joint back and forth, Sam makes a long overdue confession.

“I was mad at you, you know,” Sam says apologetically. “When you ran away. And when you didn’t come back after Peggy died. I thought you weren’t being a good friend to Steve. I don’t think—I don’t think I was being very fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Steve had told Sam a lot of stories about Bucky, about how charming and funny Bucky was, what a good friend he was, what a good sergeant he was. In Steve’s stories, Bucky was a giant, a larger-than-life sort of figure, a man who never gave up and never let anyone down.

And maybe Sam bought into all of that mythologizing, because when Bucky didn’t come back to Steve, Sam felt betrayed on Steve’s behalf. And he realizes now, with a sharp pang of regret, that this reaction was deeply unfair to Bucky, based on the legend of Bucky Barnes rather than the man. Because Bucky was supposed to be the loyal Howling Commando from Steve’s stories, Captain America’s Sergeant and Steve Rogers’s Best Friend, the hero who always rescued Steve when he needed it, even when Steve didn’t think he needed rescuing.

And Steve had so desperately, desperately needed rescuing, especially after Peggy’s death. Sam would never forget the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America, tired and small and so very fragile, dipping under the weight of Peggy’s coffin as he carried her down the aisle.

When Bucky turns to face Sam, there are lines of grief in the corners of his eyes. “I was sorry about Peggy,” Bucky says quietly. “She was my friend too.”

Sam reaches out to brush his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, cupping Bucky’s face in his hand. Bucky raises his hand to cover Sam’s, cool metal against Sam’s skin, and Bucky shivers a little under his touch.

“You’re a good friend, Bucky. I’m sorry I thought you weren’t.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a tired smile.

***

When Steve knocks on their open office door, he looks with surprise at the sign on the doorway. “Sam Wilson and James Barnes?” Steve reads aloud, looking concerned. “Sam, they didn’t give you your own office? I feel like Captain America should get his own office. Do you want me to talk to Fury? Because you shouldn’t have to share with Bucky.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Sam says casually. “Fury gave us two offices, but we just figured it was easier to share since we’re always together anyway. Bucky’s office is our murder board room.”

Steve looks disconcerted by this. “OK,” he says, frowning. “Well, I just came by to let you know that Nat picked up another HYDRA facility on her radar, right near where we found those vampires in New Jersey. She sent you an e-mail with the details.”

Sam doesn’t know why Steve needs to stop by to tell him something that Natasha already sent him in an e-mail, but whatever. There’s something a little bit hesitant in Steve’s expression, a little bit lonely, and maybe Steve just came by because he wanted an excuse to see them.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a warm smile. “C’mon, let’s go over to the spare office to tell Bucky to put it on our murder board. Make sure you tell him how great it looks, by the way. We spent like thirty minutes at Joann Fabrics picking out just the right shades of yarn to tie everything together. He actually has a whole color-coded system for it, with a key in an Excel spreadsheet and everything.”

While they walk down to go see the murder board, Steve tells Sam all about Bucky’s job as an actuary before the war. Apparently all those years doing informal risk assessment calculations to try to keep Steve from killing himself while they were growing up led to an actual career. “He was actually in college for mathematics when he dropped out to enlist.”

“I wonder if he put that on his resume when he applied for the job,” Sam says. “Actually now that I’m thinking about it I wonder how Bucky fit like 80 years of experience as an actuary, a commando, a brainwashed assassin, an international fugitive, and then a goat farmer on a one-page resume.”

“Wait, Fury actually made you two submit resumes?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Nah, just Bucky,” Sam replies, grinning. “I think Fury just wanted to give him a bit of a hard time after he shot him. Bucky actually wrote one up for him too. Wouldn’t let me see it, but if Natasha just so happens to find it anywhere on SHIELD’s servers at some point…”

“I’ll let you know,” Steve says, chuckling.

When they get to the spare office and see Bucky tacking up some new papers on the vampire murder board, Steve’s laughter catches abruptly in his throat. Bucky’s newly short hair is styled today in an appealing combination of his old, neatly parted look and a more modern fashion.

“Bucky?” Steve says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Bucky replies awkwardly, raising his hand to his newly cut hair a bit self-consciously. “How does it look?”

“Great!” Steve says fervently, eyes shining. “You look—God, you look so great, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, biting his lip shyly. “Sam cut it for me. Had to look respectable if I was going to meet his mom.”

Steve looks unexpectedly stricken for a moment, but then recovers quickly. “Well, it looks great,” he says. “And you met Sam’s mom! That’s—great. That’s also great.”

“She loved him, of course,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “He wore a suit. And he brought her flowers.”

“Bucky always did bring my mom a flower when he came to visit, even if he had to steal it from someone else,” Steve says wistfully. “That’s—that’s so great that he still does that.” Steve looks dreadfully, deeply jealous right now, although Sam honestly can’t tell if Steve is jealous of him, jealous of Bucky, or jealous of Sam’s mom. Probably a weird combination of all three.

“Well, it turns out Bucky is great with moms. Even put in a good word for your sorry ass while he was there,” Sam says cheerfully.

“Wow! Good! That’s—that’s so good,” Steve says, his voice a little weak now. “Wait, does your mom not like me? Actually never mind. We can talk about it later. I’ll just—I’ll just be going now. I can see that you two have a lot of work to do, so I’ll just—go.”

When Steve leaves, Bucky raises an eyebrow at Sam. “You think maybe the whole make-Steve-jealous plan is actually working?” Bucky says wryly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a crooked smile.

Sam stifles a laugh. “Yeah, just a bit.”

***

Sam and Bucky are just getting out of the shower after their run on Saturday when they hear an unexpected knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, pulling on a t-shirt and a hoodie. Bucky’s still standing in front of the closet, clad only in a gratifyingly small towel as he takes his time deciding what to wear today.

When Sam gets to the door and opens it, he’s surprised to find Steve and Natasha standing in front of him. Steve looks a bit sheepish, but Natasha appears utterly relaxed, at ease in the way that she always is no matter what’s going on or how weird Steve is.

“Surprise!” Steve says awkwardly. He raises his hands briefly like he might be attempting some sort of jazz hands or something, then clearly thinks better of it and sticks his hands in his pockets where they can’t get him into trouble. “We’re here to take you guys out!”

“Sam, sweetheart, where’s our blue sweater?” Bucky calls out from the bedroom.

“Sweetheart?” Steve repeats thinly.

“Our blue sweater?” Natasha repeats gleefully.

Bucky emerges from the bedroom, hands smoothing out a few wrinkles in the aforementioned sweater as he tugs it into place. “Never mind, I found it,” Bucky announces. “Hey, guys.”

“Well, hello, Bucky. So you two share clothes now,” Natasha observes, the corner of her mouth curving blithely upward. “Isn’t that interesting?”

What’s particularly interesting, Sam thinks, is that he is ninety-nine percent certain that he saw Steve wearing that same white t-shirt Natasha has tied neatly at her waist just the other day.

“Of course we share clothes. Why would Sam and I need separate clothes? We wear basically the same size, even if Sam’s shoulders are a bit nicer than mine,” Bucky says, winking at Sam.

“Your waist is trimmer, though. You’ve got that nice lean look going on, it’s really working for you.”

“OK!” Steve interrupts, sounding a bit frantic. He and Natasha trade a few weird, indecipherable looks back and forth and Natasha rolls her eyes. “So we were thinking we would take you guys out this morning, have some best friend time.” Steve says this last part with particular emphasis.

“Great, where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“Actually,” Steve says, “we were thinking about splitting up. Sam, how do you feel about going to a ball game with me?”

“Sure,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What are Natasha and Bucky going to do?”

Natasha and Bucky have a brief conversation in Russian, gesturing back and forth a bit before Natasha flatly states, “Bucky and I are gonna go to yoga and then get mani pedis.”

“OK,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Honestly he probably doesn’t want to know whatever it is they’re really planning to do, if only for the sake of plausible deniability. Sam wonders if he and Bucky should think about getting married at some point so they don’t ever have to testify against each other. He should bring it up later, probably not in front of Steve.

***

Steve and Sam are sitting in the sun, relaxing at a Mets game, and Sam has missed this so much. It’s spring, still a bit chilly, but the sun is out and the day’s warming up quickly. Steve looks happy and relaxed, golden hair shining in the sunlight and a little bit of pink on his cheeks and forehead that will fade away before they’re even home from the game tonight.

“So you and Bucky are getting along well,” Steve says, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eyes.

Sam hums noncommittally, taking a sip of his water. He’d checked the app on his phone to see if any of the beers they had on tap were vegan, but unfortunately none of them were. Which is fine, really, because Bucky’s been nagging him to drink more water lately. In fact Bucky’ll probably ask Sam about it when he gets home, so now Sam will be able to tell Bucky yes, he had a bottle of water today, he’s staying hydrated.

“You don’t think Bucky’s a bit—much?” Steve asks uncertainly. “Some people used to think he was a bit overbearing.”

“Nah, he’s cool,” Sam says mildly, then hesitates. “But, well, he doesn’t have much use for privacy, does he? I mean, he’s always so—around. And so attractive! And sometimes a man needs some time to himself, for personal, intimate things. You know what I’m saying?”

“You’re dying of sexual frustration, aren’t you.” Steve smirks, with a knowing little glint in his eye.

“God, yes.”

“Old Bucky Barnacle. So that’s still his move, huh?” Steve says, his voice wry. “Well, good luck with that. If history repeats itself, I’m sure the situation will eventually come to a head one way or another.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do with that ominous remark, but since it’s such a nice day he decides to let it slide.

“Bucky did say something to me once, kind of struck me as odd. He said that you were his only friend growing up. Which—that’s not true, right? I mean, he’s so handsome and charming and—surprisingly sweet. I feel like a guy like that would have a lot of friends.”

Steve laughs ruefully. “You’d think so, right? But Bucky never really seemed to want other friends, and honestly a lot of people thought there was something a bit—funny, about him. And about me.”

“Funny like maybe you two were a little too close?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “We were always together. God, Bucky used to get so jealous when I’d make other friends. But he loved me, wanted me to be happy. I think he was happiest when we were a part of the Howling Commandos. He just wanted me to be around people who valued me and appreciated me, I think.”

“He liked Peggy a lot,” Sam says mildly, carefully.

“He talked to you about Peggy?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“We talk,” Sam says, careful to keep his tone guarded. Sam doesn’t know how much Steve and Bucky have really had a chance to connect after Bucky came back from Wakanda, doesn’t know how much Bucky is comfortable with Sam revealing. He gets the feeling that Steve and Bucky have been dancing around a lot of things for about eighty-five years now. “He likes Natasha too.”

“Does he,” Steve says, with a small, speculative smile.

***

They’re sitting on the sofa, catching up on Riverdale, and Sam can’t believe how much better the show has gotten since the Decimation forced them to write out Archie Andrews. They’ve just finished the episode where Betty Cooper reveals that the murdered Jason Blossom was actually just a clone of the real Jason Blossom—who apparently was in the witness protection program the whole time—when Bucky suddenly announces, “I think we should practice kissing.”

“Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent,” Sam agrees immediately, then pauses. “Wait, why?”

“Well, Steve and I used to practice kissing all the time, so it’s obviously a pretty normal best friend thing to do,” Bucky reasons, gazing earnestly at Sam with wide, too-innocent eyes. “I feel like it would be suspicious if Steve found out I haven’t kissed anyone in almost eighty years and my so-called best friend didn’t help me get back into practice.”

Then Bucky pulls his right arm across his chest, casually stretching the strong muscle in his shoulder, the thin material of his t-shirt straining over his firm bicep. And wow, Bucky really should have been a lawyer or a politician or something, because Sam always finds his arguments extremely convincing. He’s honestly the most persuasive guy Sam has ever met.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says. “C’mere.”

Bucky leans toward him, hand coming up to touch Sam’s face gently. Bucky’s so close that Sam can feel Bucky’s soft breath against his mouth, and Sam leans forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

“OK?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam hums in response, leaning forward to touch his lips softly to Bucky’s. Bucky’s hand trembles a little on Sam’s face, nerves or anticipation, but then Bucky’s grip tightens and he pulls Sam closer, opening his mouth to capture Sam’s lips between his.

The kiss starts out soft and sweet, tentative, and then slowly grows more passionate. Sam gasps when Bucky’s teeth pull gently at his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open so Bucky can slip his tongue inside. Sam moans and strokes his tongue against Bucky’s, heating burning through his veins as their tongues slide wetly against each other. Sam can feel Bucky’s heart beating right against his own, through their shirts and their skin and their sternums, a pounding, frantic rhythm that matches the pulse of blood traveling directly to Sam’s cock.

Sam tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gripping the short strands in his fist and tugging gently, pulling Bucky’s head right where he needs him. Bucky pitches forward a bit, off-balance, bracing his hands on Sam’s thighs before climbing eagerly up onto Sam’s lap. Bucky is making sweet, urgent little sounds that send a shiver of want down Sam’s spine, and Sam has to pull back for a moment, take a minute to breathe and let his racing heart settle in his chest.

“Sam,” Bucky says, pupils dilated and dark. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, panting and fighting to keep his hips still, trying to keep from shifting them up against Bucky’s. “That was—.”

“Good?” Bucky asks, lips curving into a crooked, cocky grin.

“It was all right,” Sam replies casually, feigning nonchalance. “I think you still need more practice. C’mere.”

***

They practice kissing a lot after that, which is great, and also lucky, because when Bucky hisses “kiss me” to Sam in the middle of a HYDRA raid, Sam doesn’t even hesitate.

They’re sneaking into that New Jersey HYDRA facility Natasha found near the gross vampire lair, and Steve and Nat are breaking into one end of the facility while Sam and Bucky creep through the other. They’re trying to be quiet, don’t want to be caught before Steve and Natasha have a chance to get the data off HYDRA’s servers, so when a HYDRA goon stumbles into the hallway with them, Bucky hauls Sam right up against him and kisses him fiercely.

The HYDRA goon makes a noise of surprise and confusion, clearly baffled by the two heavily armed men making out in the middle of a research facility, but Sam’s having a hard time paying attention to him over the feel of Bucky’s lips, which are spit-slick and firm and insistent against Sam’s. When Bucky starts grinding his hips against him—wow, Bucky is really selling this—Sam lets out a low moan that Steve and Natasha will almost certainly hear over the comms.

“What’s going on here? You’re not supposed to be here!” the goon says.

Bucky releases Sam’s lower lip from between his teeth with a loud pop. “Huh? Oh, sorry, guess we got carried away,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“That’s OK, just—hey, wait! You’re the Winter Soldier!” the goon exclaims, apparently catching sight of Bucky’s metal arm.

Steve and Natasha burst into the hallway at that moment, and when the goon turns back around to face them Sam pulls his shield from its harness and throws it at the man, who falls to the floor like a sack of bricks. Sam catches the rebound.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Bucky says with a grin, casually reaching down to readjust the lines of his uniform from where Sam’s fists had wrinkled it during their makeout session. “You didn’t have to come help out. We had everything under control here.”

“Had everything under control here,” Steve repeats. “We saw you on the security cams necking right in front of a guard!”

“Well, sure, but the guy caught us red-handed sneaking down the corridors. Thank God Bucky’s such a quick thinker or that guard would have thought something was suspicious going on,” Sam says, shooting Bucky a grateful smile. Bucky grins back at him. “Using the old pretend-to-be-a-couple-making-out scam was a great call.”

“A great call?” Natasha says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re dressed as Captain America and the Winter Soldier and you’re right in the middle of their facility. In what way did you appear to be two passionate lovers out for an innocent stroll?”

“To be fair, that guard would have no idea if Captain America and the Winter Soldier had a more than professional relationship,” Bucky points out.

“And are you questioning Bucky’s professional judgment as a master of covert operations, Natasha?” Sam says reproachfully, shaking his head in disappointment. “Bucky was a ghost for over fifty years. I think the man knows how to keep from blowing a cover.”

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Look, let’s just do a quick sweep through the basement, OK? It’s the only place left that we haven’t checked out.”

When they make it down to the basement, Sam is surprised to find that the whole thing has a very distinct incel-with-a-sex-dungeon vibe to it. Which is not really an aesthetic that he thought HYDRA would be embracing, but he’s learned to roll with it when it comes to the weird shit that HYDRA gets up to. The room looks moldy and kind of wet, with a clammy cement wall that has an actual, albeit cheap-looking, coffin propped up against it, right next to some rusted metal chains that look like a serious tetanus hazard. There’s also a microwave and a pretty expensive gaming PC down here, screen turned on to one of those gryphons and gargoyles MMORPGs.

“Is someone living down here?” Bucky asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Or, even worse, is someone living in that coffin?”

There’s only one way to find out. Steve walks over to the coffin and yanks it open, jumping back in horror when a man wearing a neck brace and plastic fangs pops out and cries, “Steve! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for me and my vampire babies. And you’ve found my new dungeon!”

His creepy red eyes are on fire with ecstasy.

“Ew, it’s Todd,” Bucky says, making a sour face. “I thought you killed that guy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve says with a frown.

“My name isn’t Todd,” Todd says peevishly. “It’s Baron Blood. How would you like it if everyone called you Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier?”

“Everyone does call me Bucky.”

When Todd has the nerve to look judgmental at this, Sam narrows his eyes and snaps, “Bucky is a great nickname.”

“It’s very cute,” Natasha agrees.

“I gave it to him,” Steve says, nodding proudly.

“Did you,” Todd says, eyes widening in alarm. “I didn’t mean to imply that Bucky was a bad nickname! Not at all! In fact, I love it. I was just—pointing out that it might be a tad unprofessional to use someone’s regular name in this kind of formal confrontation between a superhero and his archnemesis. I mean, this is really more like a work meeting, so I think it’s best if we just stick to titles, right, Captain America?”

“You called him Steve, earlier,” Natasha says.

“Well, the relationship between a superhero and his archnemesis really is such an intimate connection,” Todd purrs.

“Gross,” Bucky says.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly, “Sam is Captain America now, I’m just a regular SHIELD agent. And I’m actually kind of in between call signs right now, so you can just—just call me Steve, I guess.” Steve looks a bit queasy at this.

“Wonderful, Steve,” Todd says smugly, his smile sharp and unnerving underneath those plastic fangs. Then he turns to Sam, looking him critically up and down before disdainfully stating, “I certainly won’t be calling him Captain America, though.”

“Why not? That’s pretty rude, Todd. We’re having a work meeting.” Natasha’s tone is disapproving.

“Well, for one, I’m racist,” Todd explains. “But also there will only ever be one Captain America, and that’s Steve Rogers. This guy’s just the Falcon.”

He says it scornfully, and Sam honestly might have felt a little insulted, but instead he remembers what Bucky said to his mother, that the Falcon was cool, that he could fly, that Sam was a superhero before he ever met Steve Rogers. And so Sam stands tall, raises his head high, and does his fucking job because he is a hero and a professional.

“Whatever, Todd,” Sam says. “I’m going to have to arrest you now.”

Unfortunately, Todd chooses this moment to reveal that he has the ability to transform into a swarm of bats, each of them wearing a tiny neck brace and plastic fangs as they form a small cluster and fly right out of the room and presumably away into the night.

Sam sighs in frustration. “You’re out there somewhere, Blood Baron, and I’ll find you!” he calls out after Todd.

“No, you won’t!” Todd shouts from a distance.

Sam puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I will.”

“Nope!”

Bucky looks around the room, sighing in disgust as he takes in the mess and chaos from dozens of vampire bats flying about, leaving bat fur and guano everywhere.

“Great, now we’re all going to have to get rabies shots,” Bucky complains.

 ***

Sam and Bucky’s whole fake-best-friends plan is working phenomenally well, because ever since that Saturday Steve and Natasha had showed up unexpectedly to take them out, they’ve been regularly scheduling what Steve insists upon calling “best friend dates.” So long as they’re all in the same city, every Saturday they get together in pairs or as a foursome so that no one ever feels left out and everybody gets some quality time with each other.

When Steve and Sam hang out, they usually go to a game or to the gym—not to do any serious training, just to spar, getting sweaty and screwing around trying out new moves on each other. The best part is that for whatever reason the other SHIELD agents seem super reluctant to work out at the same time as them, so Sam and Steve always have plenty of room to wrestle and grapple around on the mats, pinning and taunting each other until someone gets frustrated enough to really slam the other one around a bit.

Sam has no idea what Bucky and Natasha do on their mysterious outings—they claim they’re going to drag brunches or yoga or spin class, but Sam can only guess what kind of sketchy shit a pair of formerly Russian former assassins might get up to together. Thankfully they’re always careful to mastermind their operations in Russian, presumably so that Sam will never be forced to reveal anything incriminating about them if he’s questioned. Bucky takes care of him like that.

Sam’s dates with Natasha are always super weird and fun—they usually end up going to see some kind of crazy conceptual art exhibit or avant-garde foreign film, then get coffee afterward and pretend to be fancy art critics. Or they’ll wander around old flea markets and antique stores and look for insensitive gifts for Steve and Bucky.

Sam is pretty sure that Steve spends his dates with Bucky doing something really homoerotic and intense like drawing semi-nude portraits of Bucky in 1940s military uniforms.

Actually, if they’re not already doing that, Sam should suggest it. He could probably try to pass it off as “healing” or “cathartic” or something, and maybe Steve will even show him the drawings afterward now that Sam has so much experience critiquing art with Natasha.

Today Sam and Natasha had planned on going to an outdoor art fair for their best friend date, because it’s funny to buy Steve tacky cat art and then watch him fumble for an appropriately gracious response, but this morning dawned with the sound of thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. By noon it’s pouring rain, a thick wall of icy water erupting from angry gray clouds, and Natasha is soaking wet when Sam answers the door.

“Jesus, Nat!” Sam says, ushering her into the apartment. “Let me grab you a towel for your hair. Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Sure, but don’t worry about the towel,” Natasha says with a careless wave of her hand. She opens the duffel bag she’s brought with her to reveal a barber’s cape and a pair of shears. “You’re going to cut my hair!”

“Oh, I’m going to cut your hair,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m a barber?”

Sam leads Natasha into the kitchen and pulls out a chair for her before heading into the bedroom to try to find a pair of sweats that might fit. Natasha’s tiny, petite even when she wears heels, and it’s easy to forget that about her when she always stands so tall and confident. Sam wonders sometimes if that’s how Steve looked before he got the serum, all tiny and full of courage and swagger. Sam definitely does not think about how he and Bucky might have a type, and instead he grabs a t-shirt and the smallest pair of joggers they own, the ones that pull nice and tight over Bucky’s thighs and ass, before heading back into the kitchen.

Instead of waiting in the chair, Natasha’s standing in the nude, unselfconscious, wringing her clothes out over the sink. Her skin is pale and damp, glistening even in the dim, stormy light of the kitchen. Sam swallows and allows his eyes to trace the path of a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck only until it hits her collarbone, then looks away.

Sam clears his throat and tosses her the bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on,” he says, keeping his gaze averted while he grabs her wet clothes out of the sink. “I’ll put yours in the dryer.”

“Leave the bra out! If you put it in the dryer you’ll ruin it!” Natasha calls after him.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I have a sister, you know!”

Sam hangs Natasha’s bra up above the dryer, and damn, he can see why she doesn’t want him to ruin it. It’s gorgeous, black and lacy and expensive-looking—sexier than the three no-nonsense cotton bras that Natasha rotated between during those two years on the run. Sam smiles as he fingers the lace along the band, a gentle wave of happiness cresting over him at the thought of Natasha finally allowing herself to wear something beautiful.

When Sam returns to the kitchen, Natasha’s dressed, cozy and comfortable in Sam’s favorite t-shirt, joggers rolled up around her waist in an attempt to keep them from hanging onto the floor. Sam tries very hard not to feel any sort of way about how Natasha looks in Sam and Bucky’s clothing.

“So what am I doing here?” Sam asks. He flicks on the light and wraps the barber’s cape around Natasha, snapping it carefully at the back of her neck. Natasha’s hair is already damp, and Sam combs it straight, parting it just above her left eyebrow the way she likes. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s watched her straighten and style her hair this way over the years. “Do you want to keep any of the blonde?”

Natasha shrugs. “Nope, just lop it all off.”

“You’re lucky Bucky’s hair was long enough that I had to watch a bunch of videos on how to cut women’s hair too,” Sam says. He uses the comb to pull her hair taut and then trims off the bleached ends. “Actually, you’re lucky you’re beautiful enough that you can pull off an at-home hair cut from a dude with exactly one professional reference.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches back to pinch Sam’s leg in response.

“Careful!” Sam warns, jerking back to dodge her unnecessarily strong fingers. “If I slip with these scissors, you’re gonna end up with the same haircut I gave Bucky. Do you want to be matching Russian murder twins? Steve and I won’t even be able to tell you two apart anymore.”

Natasha gives him a sly look from beneath her lashes. “Are you saying you and Steve would mind if Bucky and I switched places on you once in a while?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and ignores the massive trap Natasha has laid for him, all giant wooden spikes sticking out of a hole in the ground that Natasha’s barely even bothered to camouflage with leaves.

“You and Steve are nasty,” Sam says. “Don’t get me and Bucky involved in your business.”

“Sam,” Natasha teases in a sing-song voice.

Sam ignores her and focuses on trimming her hair, watching the blonde strands drift down to the tile floor. The kitchen is silent around them, quiet enough that Sam can hear the hum of the refrigerator over the soft sounds of the rain pitter-pattering outside, finally beginning to slow.

“Sam, ” Natasha says.

“I’m almost done,” Sam interrupts. He trims one last stray hair that’s escaped from the rest. “You like it just below your shoulders here? If you part it in the middle you’ll look just like you did when I met you.”

“Sam—”

“Here, take a look,” Sam says, handing over the mirror.

He unsnaps Natasha’s cape and busies himself with cleaning up, bringing Natasha’s scissors over to the sink to wash them. Sam soaps up the scissors and watches the storm move off into the distance through the kitchen window. There’s a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds off to the west, just beginning to hint at the promise of a pretty day ahead.

When he’s done cleaning the scissors, he turns back to face Natasha and catches her smiling at herself in the mirror. “Sam!” she says, her eyes bright and sparkling. “I do look just like I did when you met me.”

“Yeah, Nat, you do,” Sam says with a fond smile, tugging on a lock of Natasha’s hair. “You look just like yourself again.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips tugs up in a wicked grin. “You think I’ve still got what it takes to bring down an entire secret government agency?”

“Nat, you don’t need to bring down an entire secret government agency. You’re gonna run one someday.”

***

The next Saturday Sam and Bucky are making their way through the alleys of Brooklyn on their way to lunch with Steve and Nat, and Sam can’t honestly say that the smell of dumpsters is really doing a lot for his appetite. He’s hopeful that they might run into Steve the cat, but otherwise it would really be nice to just go the regular way for once.

“Man, I don’t think we’re being followed,” Sam says. “Do we really have to go through the whole trash maze today? Can’t we just walk on the streets like regular people?”

Bucky looks concerned. “Wait, what do you mean being followed? Do you think we’re being followed?” Bucky’s spine stiffens and he looks alert, eyes darting back and forth to check the alley entrances for suspicious characters.

“No? But isn’t that why we walk through all these alleys every time we go somewhere?”

Bucky looks shifty for a moment, then embarrassed. “No? It’s really more like—OK, so the truth is—I don’t actually know my way around Brooklyn through the streets,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, you just said what now,” Sam says flatly. “Bucky, you grew up here.”

“I know, OK?” Bucky lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously. “But do you know how many fights Steve got into in these alleys? We didn’t have cell phones back then, Sam! The only way to make sure Steve was safe was just to take the alleys everywhere and hope I’d run across him before he got himself killed.”

“Oh my God, you really are the world’s best best friend,” Sam marvels. “No wonder Steve wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes and trying to hide a pleased grin. “All right, sweetheart, show me how to get there the fancy way. Lead on.”

So Sam leads Bucky out of his weird little warren full of dumpsters and feral cats and into the sunny streets of Brooklyn. Their shoulders and hands bump a bit as they walk along, and Sam’s heart beats a little faster when Bucky briefly tangles their pinky fingers together and gives him a little squeeze.

When they get to the restaurant they find Steve and Nat sitting close together, grinning and laughing and looking fondly at one another, and Sam is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel even the slightest burn of envy at their casual display of intimacy. Instead his heart swells with affection for them, his best friends, and Sam feels thankful that whatever trauma and heartache they’ve suffered over the last five years, at least they’ve finally learned how to express all those emotions they’d been keeping locked so tightly inside of them.

Steve and Nat seem lighter, happier, quicker to offer smiles and physical affection and verbal assurances of love. It’s kind of sweet really, Sam thinks.

Steve and Natasha look happy when they see Sam and Bucky arrive, standing up to give them big hugs and quick kisses on the cheek or the lips. The four of them chat for a while about what else Sam and Bucky have missed over the last five years—they’re still catching up, working their way now through the four legendary albums Taylor Swift released after her boyfriend was lost in the Decimation. She dropped all four albums at the same time, received massive public and critical acclaim, then disappeared for the next four years. Sam is profoundly unsurprised by the revelation that he and Bucky share an appreciation for hot, artistic blonds.

When the subject turns to work and thus to Todd, Sam groans. “So what’s the deal with that guy anyway? I thought you literally beheaded him.”

“I did,” Steve says with a grimace. “But he had that whole neck brace situation going on? So I guess he’s using it to just sort of—hold everything together.” Steve looks a little nauseated at the idea.

“Todd is so gross,” Bucky complains.

“You soaked the shield in holy water blessed by the pope, though, right?” Sam asks, frowning. “Todd’s Catholic, so it should have worked.”

“We did,” Natasha confirms. “Steve took a trip to Rome and went to a special mass and everything.”

Steve turns to Bucky, looking displeased. “Oh! Did you know that they do the mass with the priest facing you now? So now he can see if you’re goofing off in church. And they don’t do it in Latin anymore, so they expect you to actually listen too.”

“Remember when Father O’Connell caught us sneaking comic books into our hymnals and Ma wouldn’t let me see you for a month?” Bucky says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. “She always did think you were a bad influence.”

“I honestly thought you were going to die every single night when you snuck up that death trap of a fire escape to my bedroom in the pitch darkness.”

“Well, c’mon, like I was really going to go an entire month without seeing my best friend?” Bucky says, scoffing. “Plus that was like the same month we discovered masturbation so forgive me for being willing to risk death to come see you every night.”

Natasha snorts a little at that, and Sam makes sure to look directly in front of him at Steve so that he does not catch Natasha’s eye.

“Anyway,” Natasha says loudly, clearing her throat. “I think our mistake was in getting holy water blessed by the wrong pope.”

“The wrong pope?” Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “There’s only one pope, Natalia.”

“Not anymore!” Natasha says cheerfully. “After the Snap, there was a huge schism in the Catholic Church between the ‘faithful’ and a group of people who thought that what we actually experienced was the Rapture. There was this whole conspiracy theory that the old pope and a group of cardinals—who were all taken in the Decimation—deliberately suppressed information about the Rapture because it conflicted with Catholic teachings. So the remaining ‘faithful’ cardinals elected one pope, but then another group of cardinals broke off and elected a different pope.”

“What,” Sam says.

“Yup!” Natasha says, eyes alight with amusement. “So the schismatics moved their Holy See back to Avignon in France, but before they did, they—get this—collected the old pope’s ashes and put them on trial.”

“What,” Sam repeats, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

“It was the most batshit insane Medieval farce of a trial I have ever seen, and I grew up in the Soviet Union.” Natasha tips her head in reluctant approval at this lunacy. “So anyway, now there are two popes, and they’ve each ex-communicated the other.”

“So if Todd is a follower of the schismatic pope, then I guess we need to go get some holy water blessed by that guy instead?” Sam says.

“Natasha and I can go,” Steve offers.

Bucky narrows his eyes at this and bumps Sam’s knee under the table. “Nah, Sam and I can go. The last time I was in Avignon, I was in the infantry and it was being bombed by the Germans,” Bucky laments. He knows how guilty Steve feels about the horrors Bucky witnessed in the war before Steve rescued him from Kreischberg. “Plus Avignon is really beautiful this time of year.”

“It will be a healing trip,” Sam says earnestly.

***

One of Bucky’s many mysterious superpowers is that no matter where they are in the world, no matter what part of any city, no matter what language everybody is speaking and whether Bucky can speak it too, Bucky can disappear for fifteen minutes and magically return with the best weed Sam has ever smoked.

They’re at their hotel in Avignon, relaxing after a pretty tense dinner with Pope Stephen X—known apparently to “regular” Catholics as the Antipope of Avignon—and his loony band of schismatics. Sam has already expended the majority of today’s allotted emotional energy pretending that everything this guy did wasn’t deeply weird.

“Do you think he’s actually going to release a papal bull against Destiel?” Bucky asks. He sucks on the end of their joint, cheeks hollowing out attractively as he inhales, before he exhales and passes it back over to Sam.

They’re on the roof of the hotel, where they’re probably not technically allowed to be, but Sam used his wings to get them up here anyway and he’s sure they have some sort of diplomatic immunity or something, right? Probably. They have a gorgeous view of the Rhone, painted dark purple in the setting sun, and the Palais des Papes looks Gothic and romantic as hell surrounded by Medieval ramparts.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says, shrugging. He feels warm and lazy. “I tried to tell him it’d be political or religious suicide or whatever if he did. Like 40% of the world’s Catholics live in Latin America and they’re all Destiel believers down there.”

They lapse into silence for a moment, and then Bucky says, “Hey, Sam? Do you ever think about submarines?”

“I mean, occasionally, I guess,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Bucky replies, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “It’s just so funny thinking about all the submarines floating out there, hiding from each other. Like, what a ridiculous thing we all decided to do. We just send people out for months at a time and tell them to find other submarines but not to let other submarines find them. And like every major superpower does this, and it costs billions of dollars.”

“That’s a good point, but also you’re high as fuck,” Sam replies, stifling a grin. “Where did you even get this weed?”

“French Mafia,” Bucky responds blithely.

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, wondering when that became a thing. He pours another glass of wine from the picnic basket they brought up with them and takes a sip. “This is a nice ass spread, by the way. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky grins in response, and oh, Sam knows that grin.

“C’mere, baby,” Sam says. “Let’s make out.”

***

It takes a while for Natasha to track Todd to his new lair, but eventually she finds it in the Free State of Michigan. Like everything else about the world after the Snap, everything about that situation is confusing as hell too, because when Michigan seceded from the Union, the Upper and Lower Peninsulas actually split apart from each other. It wasn’t even because one peninsula wanted to leave and the other wanted to stay either—they both wanted to leave, but the Lower Peninsula refused to let the Upper Peninsula tag along with them, arguing that they didn’t contribute enough to their tax base.

So now the Lower Peninsula is an independent country known as the Free State of Michigan, while the Upper Peninsula is still a part of the United States of America and is known simply as Michigan. They fought a lot over which peninsula got to keep the name Michigan, and the Upper Peninsula only narrowly won that battle after Ohio got its trashy ass involved.

Finally, after the Battle of Toledo and the total shit show that was the Second Michigan-Ohio War, the United States government finally agreed to let the Free State of Michigan leave so long as they got to keep the Upper Peninsula and call it Michigan. So now the Lower Peninsula is a libertarian hellhole called the Free State of Michigan and Sam has to use his passport to get there.

“Do you even need a passport?” Bucky asks. They’re in the middle of fighting Todd, who’s not actually that good at fighting but is very good at exploding into a group of bats every time they try to land a punch. “You’re Captain America. I feel like this is a situation like the Queen of England, where she doesn’t need a passport because all passports are issued by her.”

“I don’t think that all American passports are issued by me,” Sam says doubtfully. He should probably check with Nick Fury or maybe the President about that, though.

Todd re-forms back into a person just to be a dick and tell Sam he’ll never be the real Captain America.

“You’re an asshole, Todd,” Sam informs him. Then, before Todd can become bats again, Sam slings his shield, already coated in holy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon, directly at Todd’s neck, busting through his brace and re-severing his head.

 “Nice hit,” Bucky says, whistling in admiration.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to do the trick, because Todd just stands up, gropes blindly for his head, and once he finds it, he poofs into a swarm of bats, each one cradling its little head in its right wing, flying off into the night at a distinctly wonky angle.

“Damn it, Todd!” Sam calls after him. “What the fuck do you even believe in, man?”

***

They don’t stay at a hotel in the Free State of Michigan because it’s a dystopian nightmare where every hotel room is a smoking room and Sam is genuinely concerned about being hunted for sport, so they take the Quinjet back to New York.

They get in late, showering perfunctorily and climbing into bed nude together, too tired to bother pulling on pajamas. When Sam wakes up in the morning, he can see that it’s really more like mid-afternoon, the sun streaming in through their curtains, filling the bedroom with soft, diffused light. Bucky is pressed up against his back, too hot and just a tiny bit sweaty, his hard cock nestled up against Sam’s ass.

When Sam shifts a bit against him, reluctantly considering the prospect of getting up and starting the day, Bucky makes a discontented little noise and wraps his arm around Sam’s chest to pull him back.

“No, come back here,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough with sleep. He throws his leg over Sam’s, trapping him into place, and drops a warm kiss onto the back of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers at the feel of Bucky’s lips against the sensitive skin at his nape, and Bucky’s hand wanders down Sam’s chest and along his flank as he subtly grinds his cock into Sam’s ass.

Sam lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, that’s what you want?” he asks with amusement.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes. “That’s what I want.”

Sam turns over to face him, capturing Bucky’s lips in a slow and dirty kiss. Bucky moans softly, and his hand slides down to blatantly grope Sam’s ass, fingers kneading into the hard muscle. Bucky’s cock is pressed against his, and Sam can’t resist grinding a bit against him.

When Sam pulls back from the kiss, he asks, “You sure about this? Sex changes things.”

“Sure I’m sure,” Bucky says, grinning. “I mean, it’s been awhile, but Steve and I always—”

“Do not tell me you and Steve used to fuck back in the day.” Sam groans, willing his brain not to indulge those mental images.

“Wait, did you and Steve not—”

“No!” Sam says defensively. “Steve and I were best friends, not boyfriends.”

“Sam, first of all, it’s totally normal to fuck your best friend, it’s called friends with benefits. I looked it up, and it’s a thing.” Bucky sounds placid, relaxed, his tone entirely too reasonable, his expression even and unbothered. “And second of all, you and I are only pretending to be best friends, so it’ll be even more fine for us.”

Bucky shifts his hips against Sam again, and Sam stifles a low moan. Sam is absolutely going to go along with this nonsense. God, all of his relationships with all of his friends have gotten so deeply weird ever since Steve came into his life. Steve’s boundary issues with Bucky are infecting the entire rest of the team.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam agrees, then gasps as Bucky leans down to lick and then gently bite Sam’s nipple. The sensation goes straight to Sam’s cock and he can’t resist thrusting his pelvis up against Bucky’s hard abs. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky says, licking his way down Sam’s chest, mouthing and sucking at the skin on Sam’s lower belly and thighs, soft and gentle and careful, like maybe he doesn’t want to leave any bruises. Sam wonders if that’s a leftover habit from fucking Steve, if Bucky hadn’t wanted to leave marks on Steve’s pale, delicate skin, still so quick to bloom purple even now that his bruises fade in a matter of hours. As Sam pictures Bucky’s mouth on Steve, licking and sucking at him the same way that he’s torturing Sam now, heat spreads through his entire body, his skin on fire.

Bucky spends an excruciatingly long time just teasing and kissing around Sam’s cock before he finally, finally runs his tongue slowly up Sam’s hard length.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, fighting to keep his hips still. Bucky looks up at him from beneath those long lashes, and Sam feels a sharp tug in his lower belly at the sight of those gorgeous gray eyes. “Fuck, please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Bucky says soothingly.

He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock and then wraps his pretty lips around him and slides down, maintaining eye contact as he takes Sam deep into his mouth. Sam gasps at all that wet heat surrounding him, shocked by the fire racing down his spine as he feels Bucky swallow him down.

“Bucky,” Sam says helplessly, reaching down to put his hands in Bucky’s thick hair, soft and still messy from sleep.

Sam shifts restlessly, trying not to fuck Bucky’s mouth as Bucky leisurely drags his mouth up and down Sam’s cock, his pace maddeningly, frustratingly slow. When Bucky slides all the way down to the base of Sam’s cock, taking his entire length into his mouth, Sam’s hips jerk involuntarily and his fists clench in Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck, baby, I need—I need—”

Bucky pulls his mouth off Sam’s cock and Sam moans at the loss of that tight heat. Bucky’s eyes are knowing, his lips spit-slick and pink, so pretty and swollen.

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says sympathetically, wickedly, his voice rough from Sam’s cock down his throat. “You gonna let me fuck you, Sam?”

“Yeah, God, yeah,” Sam says. Sam’s pulse leaps at the thought, and he takes a deep breath to try to force his racing heart to calm down, to steady his shaking hands.

Bucky kisses his way back up Sam’s chest, leaning over Sam to whisper in his ear, “So gorgeous, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good, Sam.”

Bucky reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a condom and a bottle of lube. Sam starts to turn over, to bring himself up onto all fours, when Bucky stops him and says, “No, stay there, sweetheart. I wanna see you while I fuck you.”

Bucky grabs a pillow and slides it under Sam’s ass, pulling Sam’s knees up and spreading his legs apart so he can look at him. Sam trembles under Bucky’s gaze, his skin prickling as Bucky’s eyes roam greedily over Sam’s body.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky says reverently. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, arching his back when he feels the slick press of Bucky’s finger at his hole.

He tries not to clench up, tries to relax his muscles as Bucky slides a finger smoothly inside him. Bucky is sweet and soothing, praising Sam as he works his finger in and out of him, telling Sam how beautiful he is, how good he feels, how much Bucky can’t wait to be inside of him. Sam’s poor, neglected cock is dripping precome onto his lower belly, and Sam reaches down to take himself in hand, giving his cock a gentle stroke.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his eyes hot and admiring as they watch Sam’s fist moving over his cock.

Sam keeps at it, leisurely jerking himself off while Bucky works a second and then a third finger into him. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry, and Sam feels aroused and exposed and needy, desperate for more, ready for Bucky’s cock to fuck him open and fill him up. He’s panting and gasping, chanting, “Please, please, please” as Bucky’s fingers stretch and pull at his loosening rim.

“You want it?” Bucky says, ripping open the condom package, pulling out the condom and sliding it down the thick, flushed length of his cock.

“Please, yes, I need it,” Sam begs.

And Sam’s embarrassed by his eagerness, how desperate he is for it, but the humiliation only makes him more aroused, his cock hardening further under his hand. He’s always so quick to say yes to Bucky, so quick to be tempted even against his own common sense, and Jesus fuck is he grateful for that now because that is Bucky’s cock sliding into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at Sam’s entrance and filling him up.

Bucky grabs Sam’s legs and hitches them up around his waist, sliding another inch of his thick cock deep inside Sam, who’s gasping and panting beneath him. Sam’s knees tighten around Bucky’s sides, gripping him tight and using his leverage to pull Bucky deeper into him. Sweat begins to form at the small of Sam’s back and behind his knees, prickling at his overheated skin.

“Sam,” Bucky moans. “God, Sam, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Bucky bends down to steal a wet, filthy kiss as he slides his cock deeper, pushing that last, final inch all the way into Sam. Bucky’s hips are flush against him, and Sam feels so connected to Bucky, with Bucky’s tongue sliding slickly into Sam’s mouth and Bucky’s cock thrusting deep into Sam’s ass, and Sam swears Bucky’s heart is beating in time with his, twin rhythms pounding faster and faster until Sam feels like they’ll both burst into flames.

“C’mon,” Sam urges. “I need it. Please, baby.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, leaning down to give Sam one last kiss before he braces himself on his arms and starts moving, slow and deep and dirty, into Sam. Sam’s head falls back as his back arches, and Bucky’s teeth nip gently at the exposed skin of Sam’s neck. Sam reaches down to grab Bucky’s ass, and Bucky inhales sharply when Sam pulls him, hard, so far inside him that Sam feels like he’ll choke on Bucky’s cock.

“Sam—Sam, you—”

“Yeah, baby, please—”

“God, Sam—”

Bucky fucks him so slowly, so sweetly, that Sam feels like he’s going to float off into space, lost in the feel of Bucky’s cock hitting that sensitive spot before dragging back out against his tender rim. Sam moans every time Bucky hits his prostate, feeling his balls begin to tighten and draw up against his body. Bucky’s pace slowly shifts from controlled and relentless to wild and irregular.

“Sam, Sam, look at me,” Bucky groans. Sam opens his eyes to find Bucky looking wrecked, his lips swollen, eyes dark and dazed, looking beautiful and so utterly focused on Sam. Their eyes meet and Bucky holds the contact, biting his lip and moaning. “Sam, Sam, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, c’mon, do it—”

Bucky comes with a choked cry, shuddering and thrusting his hips erratically against Sam. His body shakes and shivers, breath coming in heavy gasps against Sam’s mouth.

Sam groans and focuses his attention back to stroking his cock, his hand moving faster and faster as Bucky pants and recovers above him. Sam’s almost there, so close, when Bucky leans down to kiss him, teeth biting gently at Sam’s bottom lip, and stars explode behind Sam’s eyes as he spills over his fist.

Bucky is slow to pull out of Sam, kissing him lazily before removing the condom and then collapsing on top of him. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky as they breathe and let their hearts settle, pressed tightly against one another.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, voice muffled by Sam’s neck, sounding happy and exhausted and overwhelmed.

Sam lets Bucky rest on top of him for a while until he begins to feel suffocated by the weight of an entire supersoldier resting on him. He nudges Bucky to the side a little, and Bucky rolls onto his back, pulling Sam over to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Sam wonders if Bucky understands that “friends with benefits” usually don’t make love to each other the way that Bucky just made love to him.

“Good, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Yeah.” The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up in a grin. “You did all right.”

“You were pretty good yourself,” Bucky says appreciatively. “Thought I was going to die when I got inside you. Christ, sweetheart.”

They lapse into blissful silence for a moment, and Bucky reaches over to grab Sam’s hand and pull it onto his chest. He plays with Sam’s fingers idly, intertwining their fingers and then pulling back to stroke his thumb over Sam’s palm. Bucky seems utterly relaxed and content, and Sam hates to break the comfortable silence but he just has to ask.

“So,” Sam says casually, “is that always how you fuck? All slow and romantic and full of eye contact?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with Steve, so I guess so?” Bucky says, frowning. Sam is a little stunned at this revelation, eyebrows shooting upward in shock, because Bucky is one of the most attractive men Sam has ever met and Sam now knows for a fact that Bucky knows how to seduce someone if he wants it. “I guess I’m not really sure how I’d fuck someone other than you or Steve. I mean, maybe Natalia—”

Sam decides to interrupt Bucky before he finishes that interesting thought. “Rumor has it that you were a real smooth operator back in the day, though, taking ladies out on the town and double dating with Steve and going out dancing all night. You’re saying you never seriously tried it on with anybody else?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, there were girls,” Bucky says slowly. “But I sorta got the feeling that they didn’t really take me seriously? Like, they were happy to go dancing with me, and they’d give me a sweet kiss at the end of the night, but if I tried for anything more they’d just pat me on the cheek and tell me to say hi to Steve for them and I really should take out their friend Betty next week.”

Bucky shrugs, obviously baffled by this behavior, but Sam suddenly understands exactly why Bucky wasn’t very successful with the ladies, and Sam really should have been way less surprised by the fact that even the sheltered Catholic girls of 1940s Brooklyn could tell that Bucky and Steve were deeply weird about each other and Bucky wasn’t exactly available.

“Did you ever want to get married and have a family?”

“Sure, someday,” Bucky says carelessly. “But Steve and I were still young when the war hit. I thought we’d have more time together. And then we didn’t, and Steve met Peggy, and you know how everything went after that.”

“It didn’t bother you when Steve found Peggy?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky says, his eyes shining and earnest. “Peggy was a doll. And I’ve been in love with Steve my whole life. I knew we’d always be best friends. It never even occurred to me that I could ever really lose Steve, not in a way that mattered. After all, who can ever really come between someone and their best friend?”

And that—explains a lot about Bucky’s near fanatical devotion to the very concept of best friendship. Sam shakes his head at this, knowing that there’s probably no point in trying to shake Steve and Bucky out of the wacky coping mechanisms they’ve developed for 1940s homophobia. After over a hundred years that shit has got to be way too deeply entrenched in their psyches.

Sam resigns himself to embracing their crazy on this particular issue. At least Bucky is hot.

***

Sam and Bucky are visiting Sam’s mom, and Sam doesn’t know how his mom knows, but somehow she definitely does know that something is different between Sam and Bucky, and boy does she look thrilled about it.

“Thank you so much for the lovely flowers, Bucky!” Sam’s mom gushes. “And you thought to bring a dish for dinner! Sam never used to bring a dish with him to dinner.” She beams at Bucky, so clearly approving of all of the changes Bucky has brought to Sam’s life, then looks meaningfully over at Sarah and Michelle. “And don’t they look handsome!”

Michelle simply nods obediently at this, because she’s eleven and not particularly impressed by Sam’s too-formal attire, but Sarah gives him a quick once over and then raises her eyebrows in mild surprise at his tailored blazer.

Sam and Sarah have a quick conversation through facial expressions, communicating “What’s all this then, Sam?” and “Don’t make a big thing about it, Sarah,” and “Is he your boyfriend?” and “Shut up, Sarah!” through a series of suggestively waggled eyebrows and narrowed eyes and teasing smirks.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to plan a meal without meat, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with concern. “If it’s too much or you don’t want the hassle of meal planning, you’re all more than welcome to come to our apartment for dinner on Sunday nights.”

And the thing is, Bucky’s not being smarmy or insincere about it at all. He would be genuinely happy to have Sam’s family over for dinner every Sunday night, because Bucky likes cooking and he likes Sam and he likes families, and maybe Sam’s starting to feel some kind of way about all of Bucky’s effortless charm and openhanded generosity and muscular thighs.

“So you and Sam are living together,” Sarah says with interest. Even Michelle perks up at this, finally glancing up from her phone, where she’s been texting rapidly or possibly live tweeting this entire embarrassing conversation.

Bucky puts a casual arm around Sam’s shoulders, and come on, Bucky has to know how this looks to Sam’s family, right? “Yep, for probably around six months now, right, sweetheart?” Bucky says, smiling at Sam.

And suddenly Sam realizes that maybe Bucky doesn’t know how this looks to Sam’s family, because Bucky has such an extreme lack of awareness regarding normal friendship boundaries, and also because they’re so far deep into this whole fake-best-friends thing that this is just the way that the two of them act now, all the time.

And, really, Sam has to blame Steve and Natasha for this too, because the two of them are only encouraging this madness with all the “best friends dates” and the excessive physical affection and their own overly invested relationship. Literally no one in Bucky’s life is modeling basic relationship boundaries for him, no wonder he slipped through the cracks of normal human friendship behavior.

And Sam must be crazy too, because he just smiles back at Bucky and says, “Yep, that sounds about right, baby.” Because Sam isn’t really all that concerned about normal human friendship behavior when Bucky looks at him like that, gray eyes all warm and soft and pleased, like Sam’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Sam’s heart beats a little faster in his chest, warmth traveling through his veins, and oh, this is a thing.

“You know, when you and Steve were living together, he never invited us over to your place,” Sam’s mother points out. Thanks to all of Bucky’s hard work rehabbing Steve’s tarnished image in Sam’s mother’s eyes, Steve has been upgraded from that boy to Steve, always stated with a faint moue of distaste.

“Steve and I were international fugitives, Mom,” Sam replies, his tone patient. “We didn’t have a stable place to invite you to.”

“And whose fault was that!” Sam’s mom says triumphantly.

“Mom, I made my own choices when it came to the Accords.”

“Sam’s not a follower,” Bucky agrees, and it’s sweet that Bucky thinks so but Sam realizes now that that is a complete lie, because Sam has done nothing but follow Bucky along in this foolishness ever since he felt Bucky’s body pressed up against him in a closet. “And if anything it’s probably my fault how everything went down. I was the one they blamed for that bombing—Steve and Sam were just trying to help me. They really are the best friends I could ever ask for, and I’m still not sure I was worth everything they went through for it.’”

And maybe it’s just a fluke of the phrasing, maybe Bucky didn’t really mean it, but Sam can’t help but notice that this is the first time Bucky has ever used the plural form of the term best friend.

“Oh, dear, that wasn’t your fault!” Sam’s mother protests. “You were framed for that bombing!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Steve’s fault either, Mom.”

Sam’s mother sniffs. “Well, I still think Steve could have made more of an effort to get to know your family.”

“I’m still friends with Steve, Mom,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Our friendship is not past tense, we’re not, like, broken up or something.”

“Then why isn’t Steve here for Sunday dinner with the rest of the family?” Sam’s mother gestures around the table at the five of them, and Sam’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that his mother is including Bucky in the family.

Sarah and Michelle are observing this conversation with ill-concealed glee, unabashedly enjoying Sam’s friendship-slash-relationship-slash-familial drama. Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around Sam, his thumb rubbing absent little circles on Sam’s shoulder, and Michelle is tapping away on her phone as she watches. Sam doesn’t have high hopes for this staying off the internet when he catches Michelle snapping a surreptitious photo of Sam tucked in snugly under Bucky’s arm.

It’s Bucky’s metal arm, too, so no chance of passing Bucky off as some random dude.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thinks. He leans over and gives Bucky a soft kiss on the mouth right in front of his family.

***

Sam and Bucky are fooling around on the sofa after finishing season one of The Mandalorian—apparently Pedro Pascal’s bedroom voice really does it for both of them—and Sam is finally getting the chance to trace Bucky’s abs with his tongue the way he imagined every single time he jerked off in the shower back before Bucky started taking showers with him.

Sam shifts down to suck a bruise into the sharp jut of Bucky’s hip bone, and Bucky moans underneath him. Bruises don’t last any longer on Bucky than they do on Steve, but Sam still likes seeing Bucky’s fair skin mottled with fresh marks, likes the possessive little thrill it sends through him to see Bucky’s perfect flesh marred by Sam’s mouth and teeth.

“Sam, please, suck me, sweetheart,” Bucky begs.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling Bucky’s boxer-briefs down his hips and watching in satisfaction when Bucky’s hard cock springs forward, flushed and thick and perfect. Sam is impatient tonight, wants Bucky’s cock in his mouth now, and he leans forward to swallow Bucky down in one long, slick slide.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky moans.

Sam grabs Bucky’s hips as he bobs his head up and down, fingers digging in tight, bruising, to keep Bucky from thrusting into Sam’s mouth. Bucky is strong enough that he could easily break Sam’s hold but he doesn’t, squirming restlessly underneath Sam, frustrated and needy and desperate.

Sam pulls off Bucky’s cock long enough to take in a big gulp of air before he slides back down, taking Bucky as far back into his throat as he can, and Bucky moans brokenly when Sam tightens his mouth and lips around him. Sam sets a steady rhythm, swirling his tongue around the head of Bucky’s cock and then sucking him back down again, spit slicking up the way. Sam reaches up to roll Bucky’s balls between his fingers, squeezing and tugging gently, admiring the heft of them in his hand.

“God, Sam, Sam,” Bucky chants, hands fisting in the sheets to keep from grabbing Sam’s head and fucking his face. “Sam, sweetheart, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Sam moans around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cries out, tapping Sam’s shoulder in a desperate warning before he breaks Sam’s hold on his hips and thrusts forward, flooding Sam’s mouth with come. Sam swallows him down, bitter and salty, and then leans forward to rest his head against Bucky’s pelvis and catch his breath.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, panting. He looks flushed and beautiful, and Sam’s heart feels like it’s going to explode in his chest.

“I love you too,” Sam says helplessly.

Bucky looks awestruck for a moment, then says, “C’mere,” in a rough voice.

He pulls Sam up and gives him a quick, hard kiss, then reaches down to unbutton Sam’s jeans and slide his hand around Sam’s cock. He strokes Sam firmly, a brutal pace that drives Sam half out of his mind. Sam’s already so hard from sucking Bucky’s cock, can still taste Bucky’s come in his mouth, and he won’t need much to get there.

“Baby, please, I need—”

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says comfortingly. He buries his head in Sam’s neck, biting down on the thick cord of muscle that leads to Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s back arches in pleasure. Bucky strokes him just a little faster, almost enough, thumb rubbing at that sensitive spot right beneath Sam’s glans. “C’mon, sweetheart, come for me.”

And Sam does, come splattering over his lower belly, mind going blissfully blank and toes curling in pleasure. While Sam comes down from his high, Bucky reaches up to cup Sam’s face in his hand, stroking his thumb tenderly over Sam’s cheek. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Sam leans forward to kiss him, losing himself in the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth, their lips moving in a slow, gentle slide against each other. They make out lazily for a while, hands roaming appreciatively over each other’s bodies, until Sam reluctantly pulls away to clean up.

When Sam returns to the living room, Bucky is sitting in the dim light of the television, chewing anxiously at his lower lip. Sam plops down next to him, turning on his side to face him and putting his feet in Bucky’s lap.

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asks uncertainly. “It wasn’t just, like, a heat of the moment thing?”

“I did,” Sam confirms, his voice sure and steady. “Did you mean it?”

“God, yes, Sam. I love you.”

They look at each other dopily for a while, then Bucky tugs at Sam’s legs to urge him further down the sofa, closer to Bucky. They curl up together and enjoy the comfortable silence until Bucky says, “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Sam thinks for a moment, then groans. He covers his face with his hands, peeking embarrassedly through his fingers, and says, “OK, so I went through a phase, when I first got out of high school, where I told everybody to call me Snap Wilson.”

Bucky laughs incredulously, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it, mostly unsuccessfully. “I’m sorry, you told them to call you what now?” he asks gleefully.

“I told them to call me Snap Wilson,” Sam grits out. He is already regretting this, but Bucky looks so fucking elated that Sam can’t bring himself to care too much about the inevitable teasing he’s going to receive. And it’s Bucky, not Steve or Natasha, so Sam knows that the ribbing won’t be too savage.

Bucky is already trying to suppress his wild grin, pressing his lips together until they turn almost white. “So was this like a rough time you were going through, like trouble at home or something, or did you just think Snap Wilson sounded cool?” His voice is a mixture of genuine concern and barely concealed amusement.

“I just thought it sounded cool,” Sam confesses.

Bucky laughs in delight, and Sam gives him a sour look, poking him in the side. “Yeah, yeah, your turn now, buddy,” Sam says. “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Bucky sobers up, clears his throat and says, “I didn’t enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I let Steve think that I enlisted, because I didn’t want him to know that I had to drop out of college to pay for his medical bills when he got sick the winter of ’41. Got called up shortly after, told him that I enlisted.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at that, for Bucky, because he would have done anything to take care of Steve, and for Steve, who never would have forgiven himself if Bucky had gotten drafted and sent home in a body bag on his account. To this day Steve still feels guilty about leaving Bucky behind in that ravine, even though he had no reason to believe that Bucky could have survived the fall, and anyway Steve drove a plane straight into the Arctic like a week later and couldn’t have rescued Bucky anyway.

“So wait, how does Steve think you paid for his medical bills?”

“I told him I got paid to pose for some dirty pictures,” Bucky says with a saucy grin. “Then he asked to see them and I had to beg one of his photographer friends to take some for me to try to sell the whole embarrassing lie. Honestly I was a little flattered that Steve had exactly zero questions about the whole thing, like of course someone would pay to see me jerking off wearing a pair of women’s stockings.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at that. “Any chance those pictures are still around somewhere?”

“I’m pretty sure Steve burned them all before he headed out on the bond circuit,” Bucky says with regret, then brightens. “But on the plus side, I think I just came up with a great idea for the erotic portrait series Steve’s been working on during all of our best friend dates.”

Sam grins cheerfully at this. “Nice.”

***

A month later, they’re in Eastern Washington with Steve and Natasha, fighting off a horde of formerly human white nationalist cult members who are now a group of largely mindless but probably still racist vampires.

The vampires aren’t much of a threat, but there are a bunch of them and they’re good at causing enough chaos that it’s hard to get close to Todd, who’s in a neck brace again and back on his bullshit.

Sam’s done a ton of research on Catholicism since the last time they met and he’s still not sure how to finally kill this guy. The holy water blessed by the Roman pope didn’t work, and the holy or possibly unholy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon didn’t work, and Sam’s pretty much run out of popes to get holy water from. Out of a commitment to preparedness Sam’s brought along vials of leftover holy water from each pope, but he’s honestly not sure if they’ll be much help to them if neither of them even works.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve are all covered in blood from the vampires they’ve slain so far, but as usual Natasha still looks perfectly pristine as she lectures Todd on his many sins and hypocrisies. God, she even had the audacity to wear a white uniform to this. Sam’s heart swells with affection for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be Catholic, Todd. It’s not very pro-life of you to create all these vampires,” Natasha says, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I’m just trying to make humanity great again,” Todd snaps defensively through his ridiculous plastic fangs. “Society works best when there are a few strong leaders and many weak, dependent followers. HYDRA believes in order. The Catholic Church used to believe in order too—it used to understand the value of an authoritarian system of governing its followers.”

And just like that, Sam understands Todd’s belief system. “He’s a Sedevacant!” Sam announces, pointing a finger in triumph.

“What?” Bucky asks, firing a crossbow into a vampire trying to latch its fangs into Steve’s calf. The vampire explodes in a shower of red, and Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust but keeps fighting. At this point there’s not very much of Steve that isn’t covered in blood, and Sam hopes they aren’t all going to have to worry about bloodborne diseases from this whole gross situation.

“Remember all those changes in the Catholic Church since you and Steve were kids? Those all came about after the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. Sedevacants believe that the church lost its way and fell into heresy when it embraced modernism. So according to them there is no valid pope—the seat of the pope is actually vacant,” Sam explains, tossing his shield off to behead a vampire looming over Bucky.

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Bucky calls, blowing him a kiss.

“Great,” Natasha says, irritated. “And how are we supposed to get holy water blessed by no one? Wouldn’t that just be regular water?”

Sam frowns in dismay at this terrible, zany loophole Todd has apparently discovered.

Todd cackles triumphantly. “You can’t! You’ll never be able to kill me—there’s no holy water on earth that’s been blessed by no one,” Todd boasts. “I’m invincible!”

“Not so fast,” Bucky says, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Sam, do you still have both vials of holy water?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Mix them together!” Bucky says. “Holy water blessed by the pope plus holy water blessed by the antipope will cancel each other out.”

Todd’s eyes widen in horror. “No, that won’t work!”

“It’s simple math, Todd,” Bucky says smugly. “Sam, do it, I’ll cover you!”

Sam’s hands are steady as he unscrews the tops of the bottles, sure in the knowledge that Bucky will have his back if any vampires try to latch onto him while he’s busy. He coats the shield in holy water from each of the vials, making sure to cover every square inch. Then, with a mighty throw, he launches the shield toward Todd, nailing him directly in the throat.

When Todd’s head is blown back off his body, he explodes into a bloody, disgusting mess.

“Gross,” Steve says.

The baby vampires stumble around, confused and lost without their leader, and it only takes about twenty minutes for Sam and the others to slay the rest of them now that Todd’s dead.

 Sam makes a mental note to use all of his influence as Captain America to get Bucky an honorary doctorate in mathematics from Harvard or Yale or something after all this.

***

Sam and Bucky spend forty-five long minutes showering off all the blood after their showdown with Todd and his racist vampire gang, the last fifteen of which are spent with Bucky pressed up against the shower wall with Sam’s tongue in his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please,” Bucky begs. He’s trembling and squirming, spreading his legs shamelessly for Sam. “Fuck me, Sam, please.”

Sam reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, liquid heat pooling in his belly at the thought of sliding his cock into that tight hole he’s been eagerly, methodically loosening. Bucky’s hands are pulling at his own ass, spreading his cheeks so sweetly, so obediently for Sam’s mouth. Sam traces a finger around Bucky’s wet rim, poking in just a bit to test him out, and Bucky’s thighs twitch and shake around Sam’s face.

“You think you can take it standing up?” Sam asks, giving Bucky an assessing look.

Bucky bites his lip and sobs a bit, panting and gasping, his face pressed up against the shower wall. Bucky looks wrecked already, so pretty, and Sam decides to take pity on him.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to the bedroom,” Sam says, standing up and shutting off the shower.

He wraps Bucky in a towel and leads him to the hotel bedroom, and Bucky shivers prettily in the cool air, goosebumps rising on his clean, damp skin. Sam crowds Bucky against the mattress to warm him up, leaning his head down to dip into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Bucky’s in a dirty kiss that leaves them both moaning.

Sam grabs the lube and Bucky spreads his legs eagerly, obscenely, and the sight is so erotic that Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless with desire and desperate to plunge his cock into all that tight, willing heat. His hands shake a bit as he fumbles with the lube, and he coats his fingers until they’re nice and slick, ready to slide right in with just the slightest amount of pressure.

Bucky gasps when Sam slips one long finger into him, biting his lip and arching his back. “Sam, more—I need—”

“I got you, baby,” Sam says, sliding another finger in next to the first. Bucky’s mouth gapes open, his throat emitting a choked off little cry, and Sam’s cock is achingly hard at the sound, weeping messily against Sam’s belly, dripping little trails of precome. Bucky’s a quivering mess underneath him, and Sam presses wet kisses between Bucky’s thighs as he ruthlessly opens him up. “God, look at you, baby.”

Sam gives him another finger, and Bucky takes it, keening and begging. “More—please—Sam, I want your cock.”

“Oh, you think you’re ready for it, baby?”

“Yes, please, Sam,” Bucky whines, and Sam reluctantly removes his fingers, climbing up to settle his body over Bucky’s, letting gravity pull him down so they’re pressed tightly together. Bucky may be sweet and pliant underneath him now, but Sam knows how strong he really is, how easily he can bear Sam’s weight.

When Sam starts pushing his cock inside of him, Bucky gasps, mouth opening in a small o of pleasure. Sam fucks Bucky shallowly until he grows impatient, needs to go deeper, grabbing Bucky’s thighs to pull them up so he can bend Bucky in half underneath him. Bucky’s limbs are long and flexible, moving easily as Sam moves him right where he needs him. Sam bites his own lip, hard, as Bucky’s hole pulls him in, clutching greedily at Sam’s throbbing cock.

When Sam slides all the way home, Bucky gasps and says, “Sam, Sam, wait—”

Sam pauses, his cock buried fully inside Bucky, panting harshly at the effort of keeping his hips still.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam says, voice straining. “What do you need?”

“Sam,” Bucky says, and he sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes and visibly working to control himself. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

Sam looks down at Bucky and waits, letting Bucky take the time he needs to settle. Sam’s hips are flush against Bucky’s ass, his cock seated fully inside of him, and he feels so connected to Bucky, like they’re two parts of the same whole.

Bucky pants raggedly for a few moments, squirming and restless under Sam, until he calms again, opening his eyes to look at Sam. Bucky’s lashes are long and gorgeous and damp, his pupils dark and dilated.

“Sam, I have to tell you,” Bucky says, flushing prettily, his wide eyes so earnest and sweet. “I—somewhere along the way, I want you to know, everything became real for me. You—you really are my best friend.”

Sam closes his eyes, heart so achingly full in his chest.

“You’re my best friend too,” Sam says softly, seriously, because he knows this is important to Bucky. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bucky’s eyes are wet and shining.

Sam grinds his hips against Bucky’s ass, his lips curving up in a dirty grin. “You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sam asks. Bucky gasps, hands coming up to grip Sam’s back, fingers digging in bruisingly hard.

“Yeah, Sam, yeah, fuck me,” Bucky breathes.

Sam pulls out and then slams his hips back into Bucky, who gasps in surprise, spine arching in pleasure. Sam sets a hard and deep rhythm, letting loose all of the leftover tension and stress from the fight earlier, taking all that frustrated energy out on Bucky’s willing body. When Sam nails Bucky’s prostate, Bucky’s hands scrabble over Sam’s back, clutching and pulling at him frantically. “Yes, there, there,” Bucky says, voice desperate and breathy.

Sam drives his cock into Bucky faster, pounding harder as he feels his balls tighten and heat race up his spine. He’s close, so close, and he leans down to brace himself on one elbow so he can reach down to grab Bucky’s hard cock. He can tell from the noises Bucky’s making, those sweet, high whimpers, that Bucky isn’t far behind him. When he strokes Bucky hard, his fist sliding brutally up and down Bucky’s cock, Bucky arches his back and comes, spilling all over his sweaty chest.

The sight of Bucky’s come, pearly and glistening over his taut abs, sends Sam over the edge. Sam’s hips jerk and stutter, his thrusts erratic, shuddering as he feels his balls empty into Bucky’s tight hole. He wants to collapse, wants to let go and fall onto Bucky, let Bucky catch him and hold him, but instead he pulls out. Bucky whines quietly at the loss, and Sam can’t resist reaching down to rub his fingers against Bucky’s wet, puffy hole, admiring the slow trickle of Sam’s come dripping out of him. Bucky shivers at the touch of Sam’s fingers to his abused hole, probably raw and oversensitive, and Sam reluctantly drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he says, kissing Bucky’s knee in apology.

“S’ok,” Bucky slurs. “Like it when you get all vulgar and possessive on me.”

“Speaking of possessive,” Sam says, heaving out a heavy sigh and collapsing back onto the bed next to Bucky, hooking his ankle over Bucky’s. “Can we talk about the whole fake-best-friends thing? Like, where are we with that and what was our endgame there?”

“Well, I guess I was wrong about only having one best friend,” Bucky admits, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye and grinning bashfully. “And I guess the plan was just—make Steve jealous.”

“And?” Sam prompts.

“And—I think that was it? I’m not really sure where I saw it all working out,” Bucky confesses.

“I feel like maybe you’re not all that great at planning without a murder board.”

“I’m a visual planner,” Bucky says defensively. “And it seemed kind of disrespectful to make a murder board about Steve given the fact that I did, in fact, try to murder him several times as the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s fair,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point. “But we’re good now, right? I mean, we’re best friends with each other, we’re best friends with Steve and Natasha, Steve and Natasha are also best friends—and I’m kind of crazy in love with you.”

“What I’m hearing you say here is that my crazy plan worked.”

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, hiding a smile. “Maybe it did.”

***

It’s a Saturday, and Sam and Steve are on their best friend date, and Steve is kicking Sam’s ass in the gym. Sam knows, intellectually, that he’s in fantastic shape and that there’s no shame in being beaten by a scientifically enhanced human being. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt his pride—and his back, motherfucker—when Steve manages to take him down hard without even having the decency to break a sweat.

“I think that’s about enough for today. I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job wearing you out,” Steve says, smirking like an asshole, because he is an asshole. “Let’s hit the showers.”

When they get to the SHIELD locker room, it’s nearly empty, the way it usually is on Saturdays. There are still a few particularly dedicated SHIELD employees roaming about, mostly new guys. For whatever reason most of the seasoned employees stay away from the gym locker room on Saturday afternoons when Sam and Steve work out. Today, when people catch sight of Sam and Steve walking in, they blanch and immediately speed up with whatever they’re doing, hustling out of the locker room like it’s on fire or something. In under two minutes, Sam and Steve are the only ones left.

“It’s weird how everybody always leaves when they see us coming in to shower together,” Sam remarks, stripping off his sweaty shirt and tossing it in his locker.

“I wonder if they’re intimidated by us,” Steve muses, then takes a moment to admire Sam’s bare chest. Steve’s eyes are hot and appreciative as they travel lazily up and down Sam’s torso.

Sam shrugs in response, then winces as he feels a muscle tighten up in his back. “Ouch,” Sam hisses. “Man, I know I’m not twenty-five anymore, but damn, I really don’t need the reminder, you know?”

Steve’s brow furrows in concern. “Here, let me take a look at that when we get in the shower.”

They finish undressing and then get into the shower together. They share a stall, because Steve read an article about water conservation that he apparently found very inspiring, and also because sometimes it’s nice having a buddy with you. Sam lathers himself up, and then out of habit he reaches over to spin Steve around so he can wash Steve’s back too.

“God, that feels good,” Steve moans, the sound of it echoing in the strangely empty locker room. Sam spends a good few minutes really working Steve over as he scrubs Steve’s back, groping and kneading at Steve’s lats and traps while Steve moans and arches his back in pleasure.

When Sam finishes, he gives Steve a little pat and says, “OK, you do me.” Obligingly, Steve turns around to rub Sam’s back, massaging the tight muscles, his hands sliding easily over Sam’s skin with the slick of Sam’s body wash.

“This where it hurts?” Steve murmurs, digging his fingers into Sam’s lower back. “God, you’re really tight here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, groaning at the pleasure-pain of Steve working at the sore point in his lower back. He huffs a frustrated, petulant sigh. “You know, sometimes I feel like the more I lift, the tighter I get.”

“Maybe you should start going to yoga with Bucky and Natasha,” Steve suggests. “Actually, they’re starting a class in about twenty minutes. If we hurry up in here, we could probably meet them there if you want.”

“Wait, Bucky and Natasha are at yoga today?” Sam asks in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Bucky and Natasha go to yoga? That’s what they’re doing on their best friend dates?”

Suddenly, Steve looks very anxious and very guilty.

“Wait,” Steve says slowly, apprehensively, “Bucky does tell you what he does on his best friend dates, right? He—I mean, you do know—”

“Yeah, Steve, I know,” Sam says, his tone dry. “I just thought yoga was, like, a cover for something. I didn’t think they were actually going to yoga.”

“Oh!” Steve brightens. “Yeah, it’s doing some really amazing things for Bucky’s flexibility. And for Natasha’s ass.”

Sam shrugs. “All right, then, let’s head over.”

Sam and Steve finish up in the shower, moving more quickly than their usual leisurely Saturday afternoon locker room shower pace. Sam’s skin is still a bit damp under his fresh gym clothes, but the air outside is warm, and he’ll be sweating again soon anyway once he starts working out in the humid yoga studio.

When Bucky and Natasha see Sam and Steve, their faces light up with big smiles.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Bucky says, coming over to give Sam a hug and a kiss while Natasha does the same to Steve. “You and Steve are done earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, he whooped my ass,” Sam admits, scratching his jaw.

Sam and Steve switch hugging partners, and Nat’s body feels small and strong in Sam’s arms when she goes up onto her tiptoes to give him a warm hug and a kiss on the lips. And when Sam sneaks a look downward, he notices that Steve was not lying about all the great things yoga’s been doing for Natasha’s ass.

Sam lets go of Natasha and turns back to Bucky. “So you and Nat really do yoga,” Sam says, shaking his head ruefully. “You know, all this time, I thought you two were doing some secret spy shit that you were trying to keep me from having to answer questions about? I was half-convinced that we should be thinking about getting married just so we wouldn’t have to testify against each other.”

Steve and Natasha raise their eyebrows in surprise, but Bucky looks pleased at that. “Well,” Bucky says, lips curving up in a crooked grin, “let’s not take that marriage idea off the table just yet.”

Natasha clearly aims for a sober expression, but the corner of her lip twitches and her eyes sparkle with mirth. “You know, I can’t say that we’ll definitely never get up to any secret spy shit, Sam. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to keep that in your back pocket.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully. “Plus, do we even know if Bucky’s still considered an American citizen?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Bucky admits. “But being married to Captain American should grant me automatic citizenship, probably.”

Sam shrugs placidly and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

After all, Sam’s mom always did say that happiness was being married to your best friend.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 128

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,500ish

Summary: Tony works to save Dr. Strange and Y/N. The fugitive Avengers find their way to the compound. (gifs aren’t mine)

As the alien started guiding the piece of pavement towards the giant circular ship, the cloak that was around Strange tore itself free and flew the piece of pavement away.

“No!” The alien yelled, following after it.

Iron Man and Spider-Man were both fighting off the large alien in the nearby park Tony had crashed into, when the pavement piece flew passed. All Tony could see was the cloak and the alien following, so he knew it was Strange and that he was in trouble.

“Kid, that’s wizard,” Tony told Peter, blocking an attack. “Get on it.”

“On it!” Peter replied, quickly swinging in that direction.

Spider-Man chased after the skinny alien, who was floating speedily and upright on a small platform of burbling debris. Swinging in between the pavement and the alien, Peter tried to tie up the alien. The alien attacked back, throwing a billboard at Spider-Man.

“Not cool!” Peter responded.

The alien bent all the utility poles in the path of the feeing clock, finally snagging the garment and ripping it loose of the pavement. Spider-Man re-arrived on the scene, finally noticing something.

“Uh, Mr. Stark? We have a problem,” Peter’s nervous voice rang over the comms.

“What is is kid?” Tony replied, still fighting off the larger alien. “I’m kinda in the middle—“

“Both the wizard and Miss Rogers are unconscious on the floating piece of road.”

“What?! I’ll be right there!”

Peter swung down to the pavement and stood on it, careful to not step on Strange or Y/N. Bending down, he went to break Y/N free when a cone of blue light began to pull the group upwards. Spider-Man jumped off, grabbing onto the nearest light post while using his webbing to try and keep the piece of pavement in place. The alien quickly uprooted the light post, sending Dr. Strange, the cloak, Y/N, and Peter on their way to the circular ship.

“Uhhh, Mr. Stark?” Peter called again. “I’m being beamed up!”

“Hang on, kid!” Tony responded.

Before Tony could fly over there, the giant alien he was fighting pinned Tony to the ground by his hammer that doubled as a claw. As the giant jumped towards Iron Man, blades ready to end the fight, he was sent through a portal instead. The alien turned and leaped  to return back through the portal, but Wong rapidly closed it and only the giant’s severed hand made its way back to the park. Bruce kicked the hand way with a noise of disgust. Iron Man then shook himself free of the weapon.

“Wong, you’re invited to my future wedding!” Tony exclaimed before beginning to fly towards the large ship. “Give me a little juice, FRIDAY.”

Iron Man’s foot thrusters suddenly morphed together into a single larger thruster, increasing his speed considerably. 

Peter, not being able to keep hold of the pavement piece, was hanging onto the ship as it flew up into space. The alien and the piece of pavement with Strange and Y/N on it, had disappeared into the ship. Tony knew that Peter wasn’t going to be able to hold on or breathe for much longer.

“Unlock 17-A,” Tony ordered FRIDAY. “Pete, you gotta let go. I’m gonna catch you.”

“But you said save the wizard!” Peter responded. Gasping from lack of oxygen, Peter ripped off his mask. “I can’t breathe!”

“You’re too high up. You’re running out of air.”

“Yeah! That makes sense.”

Quickly, Peter passed out, free-falling, but not before the pod Tony had set out reached him. It attached itself to him, becoming a new suit. Now being able to breathe, Spider-Man landed on the bottom part of the ship.

“Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!” Peter commented.

“Happy trails, kid,” Tony replied. “FRIDAY, send him home.”

“Yep,” FRIDAY answered.

A large parachute extended from the new Spider-Man suit, spending him back towards earth.

“Oh, come on!” Peter shouted.

Iron Man latched onto the hull and cut a hole to board the ship, looking for wherever Strange and Y/N were taken.

“Boss, I have lifeforms detected in the ship,” FRIDAY informed. “One of them is most likely Agent Rogers.”

“Can you tell me if she’s breathing?”

A pause. “It appears she is.”

“Okay… I need you to—“

“I’m sorry, Boss, but we seem to be losing connection. We’re too far away from—“ Then FRIDAY”s line cut.

~~~

“Still no word from Vision?” The holographic image of Secretary Ross asked Rhodey. Rhodey was at the compound, dealing with the red tape.

“Satellites lost him somewhere over Edinburgh,” Rhodey replied.

“On a stolen Quinjet with four of the world's most wanted criminals.”

“You know they're only criminals because you've chosen to call them that, right, sir?”

“My God, Rhodes, your talent for horseshit rivals my own.”

“If it weren't for those Accords, Vision would've been right here.”

“I remember your signature on those papers, Colonel.”

“That's right. And I'm pretty sure I've paid for that.”

“You have second thoughts?”

“Not anymore.”

Suddenly, the fugitive Avengers (Sam, Wanda, Nat, and Steve) entered the room. Vision was being supported by Sam.

“Mr. Secretary,” Steve greeted, firmly.

“You got some nerve,” Ross said, hologram walking up to the Captain. “I’ll give you that.”

“You could use some of that right now,” Natasha replied.

“The world's on fire. And you think, all is forgiven?”

“I'm not looking for forgiveness. And I'm way past asking for permission,” Steve stated. “Earth just lost her best defender. So we're here to fight.” He took a step towards the hologram. “And if you wanna stand in our way… we’ll fight you too.” 

Ross turned to Rhodes. “Arrest them.”

“All over it,” Rhodey responded before swiping off the hologram. “That’s a court-martial. It’s great to see you, Cap.”

The two men hugged. “You too, Rhodey,” Steve responded before Natasha went to hug Rhodey.

“Well. You guys really look like crap. Must've been a rough couple of years.”

“Yeah, well, the hotels weren’t exactly five star,” Sam commented.

“Uh, I think you look great,” Bruce nervously walked in from the opposite end of the room. “Uh… heh… Yeah. I’m back.”

“Hi, Bruce,” Nat greeted softly.

“Nat.”

“This is awkward,” Sam whispered.

Steve looked around. “Has anyone heard from Y/N?” He asked. “She’d want to know—“

“She’s missing too, Steve,” Bruce interrupted. “When I found Tony to get his help, Y/N was with him.”

“She was… she was with him? But Y/N’s a fugitive as well. How—“

“Mr. Stark and Miss Rogers have been sneaking around,” Vision cut Steve off.

“What?!” Steve and Rhodey exclaimed.

“It’s been happening for about a year now.”

“Miss Rogers has been seeing Boss and Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY clarified. “Trying to work through her feelings.”

“Thats… and she never…” Steve was at a loss for words.

“You didn’t try to reach out to her either, Cap,” Sam said. “You even knew she was staying in Wakanda. T’Challa told you. And you refused to reach out.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, looking at Bruce.

“She got captured,” Bruce explained. “Tony went after the ship to protect her and the Time Stone.”

“Why don’t we take this into the other room?” Rhodey suggested. “Perhaps get you guys something to drink.”

They went into the next room over, each standing or sitting around the room. Bruce explained more of what happened and the other group explained what happened to them.

“So we gotta assume they’re coming back, right?” Rhodey questioned.

“And they can clearly find us,” Wanda added.

“We need all hands on deck,” Bruce stated. “Where’s Clint?”

“After the whole Accords situation, he and Scott took a deal,” Nat answered. “It was too tough on their families, they're on house arrest.”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Ant-Man,” Steve replied.

“There's an Ant-Man and a Spider-Man? Okay, look… Thanos has the biggest army in the universe. And he is not gonna stop until he... he gets... Vision's Stone.”

“Well then, we have to protect it,” Nat stated.

“No, we have to destroy it,” Vision said. "I've been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head, about its nature. But also, its composition. I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something, very similar to its own signature, perhaps… its molecular integrity could fail.”

“And you, with it,” Wanda said. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can't get it.”

“That’s too high a price.”

Vision took Wanda’s face gently with both hands. “With Y/N off world, only you have the power to pay it.” Wanda walked away, distressed. “Thanos threatens half the Universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him.”

“But it should,” Steve said, looking at Vision. “We don’t trade lives, Vision.”

“Captain, 70 years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people. Tell me, why is this any different?”

“Because you might have a choice,” Bruce suggested. “Your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays. JARVIS, Ultron, Tony, me, the Stone. All of them mixed together. All of them learning from one another.”

“You’re saying Vision isn’t just the Stone?” Wanda asked.

“I'm saying that if we take out the Stone, there's still a whole lot of Vision left. Perhaps the best parts.”

“Can we do that?” Nat wondered.

“Not me. Not here.”

“You better find someone, and somewhere fast,” Rhodey said. “Ross isn't exactly just gonna let you guys have your old rooms back.”

“I know somewhere,” Steve stated. “Wakanda. But someone first has to explain how Y/N has anything to do with the Stone.”

“70 years ago, the Tesseract chose her to be the protector of the Stones,” Vision explained, knowing the story due to housing the Mind Stone in his head. “That’s how she survived the fall. The Tesseract holds the Space Stone. Her powers come for each of the Stones, so she has the power to destroy the Stones, by channeling them. Y/N is able to wield and control the all the Stones.”

“What I showed her…” Wanda said quietly. “It was the Stone… Y/N’s the key to stopping Thanos.”

~~~

T’Challa already knew Y/N was missing before Steve had contacted him. With Okoye and two other guards, he made his way to Bucky’s place. Bucky was throwing bags onto a partly-filled car, being watched by two village children.

“You’ll have the Kingsgaurd, and the Dora Milaje have been alerted,” Okoye told T’Challa as they made their way towards Bucky’s small hut. 

“And the Border Tribe?” T’Challa wondered.

“Those that are left.”

“Send word to the Jabari as well. M’Baku likes a good fight.”

“And what of this one?” Okoye looked at Bucky, just down the hill.

“This one may be tired of war. But the White Wolf has rested long enough.”

They made their way to Bucky. The guards set an elaborate and high-tech looking case down on the cart. They opened the lid to reveal the black and gold vibranium arm that Bucky had worn on Valentine’s Day.

Bucky sighed. “Where’s the fight?” He asked.

“On its way,” T’Challa answered. “And, Barnes…” The King glanced over at Okoye. “There’s something else. It’s about Y/N.”

Bucky was immediately alert. “What is it?”

“She’s missing.”

~~~

Dr. Strange was floating horizontally, face down, surrounded by dozens of long, glassy needles, as the alien interrogated him. Y/N was still unconscious, tied to the pavement off to the side.

“In all the time I’ve served Thanos, I’ve never failed him,” the alien told Dr. Strange. “If I were to reach our rendezvous on Titan with the Time Stone still attached to your vaguely irritating person, there would be... judgement.” The needles began to contact Dr. Strange’s face, causing pain. “Give me… the Stone.”

Tony was watching, hiding from above. After receiving a tap on the arm, Tony turned around, hand up and ready to shoot. Tony stood stand after seeing that it was the cloak.

“Wow, you’re a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?” Tony commented.

“Yeah, un speaking of loyalty…”

Tony and the cloak turn, completely shocked, to see Peter dropping down from above.

“What the—“

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Peter interrupted, holding his hands out.

“You should not be here,” Tony stated.

“I was gonna go home—“

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But it was such a long way down and I just thought about you and Y/N on the way—”

“And now I gotta hear it.”

“—and I kinda stuck to the side of the ship. And this suit is ridiculously intuitive, by the way. So if anything, it’s kinda your fault that I’m here.”

Both the cloak and Tony looked shocked, again. “What did you just say?”

“I take that back. And now I’m here in space.”

“Yeah.” Tony went to stand right in front of Peter. “Right where I don’t want you to be. This isn’t Coney Island. This isn't a field trip. It's a one-way ticket. You hear me? Don't pretend like you thought this through. You could not have possibly thought this through.”

"No. I did think this through.”

“You could not have possibly thought this through.”

“It's just .. you can't be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there's no neighborhood.” Peter waited to get something from Tony, but nothing. “Okay. That didn't really make any sense, but you know what I'm trying to say.”

Tony let out a shaky breath. “Come on. We got a situation.” 

Tony led Peter over to where they could see Dr. Strange, Y/N, and the alien. Peter crouched down to study the situation and the cloak leaned over his shoulder.

“See him down there?” Tony pointed to Dr. Strange. “He’s in trouble. And Y/N laying over there as well. What’s your plan? Go.”

“Um. Okay, okay… uh…” Peter stuttered, trying to think. He and the cloak popped back upright. “Okay. Did you ever see this really old movie, Aliens?”

~~~

Meanwhile, the Stones were talking to an unconscious Y/N.

“You can’t stop what’s coming… it will come, no matter what. You are being saved for the final battle… we will stop you from doing anything to prevent what needs to happen. What’s supposed to happen… someday, you will understand. There are things meant to be learned, things meant to happen, that we will not let you stop… use your powers wisely.”

She gasped quietly, waking up. Y/N quickly studied her surroundings. She could feel the Time Stone close before she noticed the predicament Dr. Strange was in. The glass spikes were pressing into Strange’s skin, causing him to let out a groan.

“Painful, aren’t they?” The alien taunted. Ebony Maw, the name was, Y/N finally getting inside his head. “They were originally designed for microsurgery. And any one of them—“

There was a thump behind Maw, he turned to see Iron Man standing there. Tony’s hand repulsers were ready to fire. Y/N closed her eyes and focused on getting out of the utility ropes without making a big scene.

“—could end your friend’s life in an instant,” Maw continued.

“I gotta tell you, he’s not really my friend,” Tony responded. “Saving his life is more a professional courtesy.”

“Ah, yes. It’s the girl you’re really after.” Maw walked slowly towards Iron Man, beckoning very large metal objects to float behind him. “Too bad you’ve saved nothing. Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine.”

“Yeah, but the kid’s seen more movies.”

Iron Man fired a rocket from his shoulder which pierces the side of the ship to Maw’s right and began to suck everything out with depressurization, including Y/N. She quickly portaled herself to behind Tony, relieving herself from the binds. Maw was sucked out into space quickly. Dr. Strange was pulled loose of his bindings and the needles, also heading for the hole. The cloak quickly wrapped around Dr. Strange, trying to keep him inside. Strange and the cloak lost their grip, but Spider-Man shot a web strand, holding him in place. Or trying to. 

The web broke, sending both Strange and Peter towards space. Suddenly, Peter’s suit releases metal spider-like arms, keeping him from being sucked out. Y/N quickly portaled Strange behind her.

“Yes!” Peter shouted, looking at the metal arms. “Wait, what are those?!”

Using the metal arms, Peter leaped to get to a safer place. Tony quickly sprayed nano-particles onto the hole to plug it. Spider-Man landed on his new legs, quickly retracted them. He found the cloak hovering next to him. 

“Hey, we haven’t officially met,” Peter said, offering the cloak his hand. It ignored it, going straight to Strange. “Cool.”

Tony’s suit quickly disappeared back into the arc reactor as he rushed to Y/N. He grabbed onto her arms, examining her body for any injuries.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asked. Tony’s hands found a place on her cheeks. “Tell me you’re—“

“I’m fine, Tony,” she responded. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a kiss before pulling her in for a hug. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine.” She hugged him back, breathing him in. “I’m fine.”

“We’ve gotta turn this ship around,” Strange stated.

“Yeah. Now he wants to run,” Tony replied. “Great plan.”

“No, I want to protect the Stone.”

Tony walked towards the front window, showing that they were speeding. “And I want you to thank me now. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“For what? Nearly blasting me into space?”

“Who just saved your magical ass? Me.”

“Technically it was me,” Y/N added.

“I seriously don’t know how you fit your head into that helmet,” Strange scoffed.

“Admit it. You should have ducked out when I told you to,” Tony continued. “I tried to bench you. You refused.”

“I tried to bench your girlfriend, yet she refused as well. And, unlike everyone else in your life, I don’t work for you.”

“And due to that fact, we’re now in a flying doughnut billions of miles away from Earth with no backup.”

“I’m backup,” Peter said, raising his hand.

“No. You’re a stowaway.” Tony pointed his finger between himself and Strange. “The adults are talking.”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused as to the relationship here,” Strange said. “Wh—what is he, your ward?”

“No,” Peter responded. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

“Dr. Strange.”

“Oh, we're using our made-up names. Um... I'm Spider-Man, then."

“Peter,” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

“This ship is self-correcting its course,” Tony stated. “Thing’s on autopilot.”

“Can we control it?” Strange asked, walking closer to Tony. “Fly us home.”

Tony, looking out in space, was lost in bad memories. Of going through the portal, of what Wanda showed him. 

“Tony?” Y/N called softly, stepping towards him. She was concerned. 

“Yeah?” He responded. He met her gaze briefly, quickly looking away cause it was not the time for him to be freaking out or for her to be reading him.

“Can you get us home?” Strange asked.

“Yeah. I heard you. I’m thinking… I’m not so sure we should.”

“What?” Y/N questioned. “Why?”

“Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos,” Strange stated. “I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here.”

Tony talked over to Strange. “No. It's you who doesn't understand, that Thanos has been inside my head for six years since he sent an army to New York and now he's back! And I don't know what to do. Because I am not sacrificing Y/N for the sake of the universe, for whatever the Stones have told her is her destiny. So I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, what they can do. At least on his turf, he's not expecting it. So I say we take the fight to him. Doctor. Do you concur?”

Strange was silent for a moment. “Alright, Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand... if it comes to saving you or the kid or the Time Stone... I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can't, because the fate of the universe depends on it.”

“Nice. Good. Moral compass. We're straight.” Tony stepped over to Peter, formally tapping each of Peter’s shoulders. “Alright kid. You’re an Avenger now.”

“You skipped me,” Y/N said, walking up to Strange.

“Excuse me?” He questioned.

“You said that if it came between saving Tony, Peter, or the Time Stone, that you’d choose the Time Stone… but what about me?”

“You and I both know, Y/N, that the Stones will not let you die until you have completed what they need you for. No matter what that may be.”

next chapter >

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[blackberrydothings]

Duke Thomas vs the non-verbal vocabulary

Duke Week (but like a week later) of @duketectivecomics day 6: All in the Batfamily.

Summary: When Duke joined the family he knew he would have to learn lots of things, including survival skills and where Alfred hides the cookies. He never thought that he would need to master the unspoken language that lies under every action of the bats.

Or

Duke finds himself trying to understand his new family’s ways of communication, until he starts doing the same.

Notes: sorry for being late!  wanted to make this fic without dialogue but gave up at the first try. If u see any mistake, u can go ahead and tell me, my English is far from perfect. Well, that’s all, thanks for reading! (I don’t own any of these characters, they belong to dc comics and that stuff)

….

The sun is setting when Duke arrives at the cave after a long but quiet day, his body aching for a nap or one of Alfred’s meals, whatever comes first. 

If it weren’t for the blue light coming from the computer and the sound of typing he would have thought that the place was empty. But Duke can distinguish Bruce profile from where he stands, taking off his helmet. The older man is sitting without his cowl, his posture the one of someone who is trying not to fall asleep. The bags under his eyes a confirmation that Duke does not need. 

“Long day in Wayne Enterprises?” He tries as an attempt at small conversation. As usual, it does not work. Bruce gives him a side glance and murmurs something to himself, not bothering to clarify what it was. Even so, he notices the man relaxing a little in his presence, which Duke counts as a win. 

He knows that he can’t fool anyone (much less the Batman) but he takes longer to put his things aside, pretending that he has to stay in the cave a little more time than necessary. When there is not any excuse left, he heads towards the exit. Bruce has not spoken or abandoned his position in front of the computer yet, an open case in front of his eyes. 

“Have you ever thought about going on patrols during the day? You know, for a better sleep schedule.” Duke asks, fully aware of the answer and when Bruce gives him a grunt, he has to suppress a laugh.

He is too far away to listen when in a low voice, the man answers: “It would ruin the aesthetic.”

….

Alfred, as the omnipotent force that Duke has started to think that he is, is there when someone from the family needs him. But even so, he is always surprised to find the man in the kitchen making him breakfast. 

Duke is usually already on his senses at six in the morning, and a few minutes later he is going downstairs, more often than not passing by one of the other bats, still dressed up and yawning. When he arrives at his destination, Alfred is there with a relaxed pose, like waiting for him. 

“Morning, Alf” Duke says while offering his help, just for the man to deny it. It takes a few seconds to be ready but then Duke is drinking his hot chocolate with a smile on his face. 

“Did you sleep well, Master Duke?” Alfred asks while sitting down at his side. It is a rare sight, given the fact that the man is always doing something, and Duke is secretly proud to be able to see him like that, when there are no immediate worries or tasks. 

“As good as one can ask for.” Duke shrugs and then adds “Eight full hours tho.”

“Four more than the average in this house.” The man says, and Duke is not sure if it is the morning or the words itselves, but he laughs. 

The silence that follows is comfortable, and neither of them has a wish to interrupt it. They keep each other company until Duke finishes his breakfast, and when he has to go, Alfred stands up offering a warm smile, before he also starts with his day. 

….

Duke hates nightmares. 

Yes, he fights criminals on a daily basis, he knows pretty well how to manage Two-Face or the Penguin, but nightmares are another type of monster all together. And he hates them. 

They often start as good dreams, the kind of dreams that makes you want to stay asleep, but also the kind of ones where you do not want to realise it is not real. And that does not help Duke when they transform into madness and chaos. When the images of a happy childhood become the picture of a broken family, and the laughs coming from his parents stop fitting them. 

But there is something that Duke hates more than nightmares: waking up from them. Waking up, alone in a bed that is not the one from his home, is just a reminder that there is nothing untrue about his dreams. That he has his parents, but that their minds had gone far away. 

He adjusts in his bed while trying to suppress a sob when he realises that he is not alone this time. Duke should be surprised that Dick is laying on top of his mattress like it is his own, but he is not. In fact, it is more of a common occurrence around the Manor to find more than one bat sleeping in a single space (yes, that includes Bruce); but them appearing in the middle of the night to Duke’s, well, that’s not as common. 

“Couldn’t sleep, yours was closer, I hope you don’t mind” Dick’s eyes remain closed but he speaks in a voice that is too clear to be sleepy. Duke knows he is lying, his rooms are not even on the same floor, but decides not to comment on it. 

“Sure” he answers, and something in the back of his mind relaxes. He might not know if Dick really wanted company or if he has some older-brother-sense that warns him when someone needs him, but he is not complaining. 

Duke’s nightmares won’t go, but he has a family. He is not alone.  

….

Wayne Manor has a library big enough to entertain yourself for months, and Duke has spent several hours on its quietness. But there are days, just like this one, when he prefers to go to the public one, where the things do not seem so immaculate and he is not afraid of stepping on something. 

As almost everything in Gotham, the public library is old, with high ceilings and large corridors that Duke is pretty sure could lead to the underground if he gets too distracted. Dirt gathers on top of the shelves with books never touched, and the light coming from the large windows gives an ethereal aura to the place. 

Duke has been looking for something to read for the last hour, four books placed on one of the tables near his bag, but none of them caught his attention for more than a few minutes. He is already sitting down with a fifth on his hand when he notices a movement at his right. A figure that Duke recognizes appears with their own books and takes a place next to him. 

Jason looks extremely calm when he nods towards Duke as a greeting, like he belongs in the library and its silence more than anywhere else. It is an interesting sight to contrast with his usual booming and alert self.

They stay like that a few more moments, until Duke groans tiredly when the fifth book ends up being as boring as the other four. He is ready to get up once more when he hears a soft laugh coming from Jason. As soon as Duke looks at him he realises that his brother is offering him a book from his pile, a face that might say “I dare you”. Duke is not someone who would back out from an unspoken dare, so he takes it. 

It is apparently an old collection of poems, the cover is worn out and some of the pages have notes in a neat handwriting that must be Jason’s. If it weren’t because he was the one who offered it, Duke would feel like he is intruding. He starts reading. 

Duke spends the rest of the afternoon in the library, with a silent companion. 

….

It is three in the afternoon and the cave is empty. 

Duke has been looking at the ceiling for the last half an hour while trying to tie up the loose ends of a case that had gone cold a week ago. He got it yesterday morning when the Police Department desisted from keeping an investigation, probably remembering that they could send it to one of the bats. 

He has the feeling that helping in cold cases happened more often in the daytime than in the night, where the Police Department (and Gordon) were already used to having the extra help, or were already resigned to it. There are a limited number of times of the Batman appearing in the middle of a crime scene before you get used to it, after all. 

At least three other files were gathered beside him in the pile of “solved”, and its results were already sent to the Police Department (and to the batcomputer record). It was the fourth case that was starting to give him a headache. A young man had been found dead in his home by heart attack, no history of any heart disease in his family. The only clue is a combination of substances that were not part of any known drug. 

Duke hears the steps of someone coming down to the cave, and by the way they move he can bet it is Tim. He looks towards the sound and confirms his suspicions, he catches the grunt that comes from his brother as a greeting before he sits down in front of the computer. He is ready to focus again on his task when Tim speaks, on a tired yet alert voice. 

“Why did you upload this to the computer?” Tim is pointing at the list of substances that Duke looked for just a few minutes ago. Without result.

“A cold case.” 

Tim mutters something under his breath and starts typing with quick movements. The silence seems to be filled with it for the next minutes, while Duke keeps an interested eye on his file. Confusion is shown on his face when, with his powers help, he identifies something flying towards him. He catches the pencil that Tim sends his way with his right hand, and watches it intensely.  

“You know, if you wanted my attention you could have just said something.” Duke comments when he does not find any other reason why Tim would throw him a pencil. His brother, once more, mutters something while asking for Duke to get closer with a movement of his hand. 

When he does it, Duke notices that three files are open on the computer: Duke’s current case, the components of a pill that he does not identify and a new tab in which Tim seems to be working on. He also notes that some of the substances of his case appear on the other two. 

“Okay, I am getting it, but how did you…?”

“Last night patrol, some new drug in town. Apparently it is getting popular between university students that want to keep awake for finals.” Tim answers with a shrug, and before he gets to drink more of the coffee he has on the table, Duke takes it. “Hey, I am helping you.”

“Well, I am returning the favor. Go to sleep, Tim.”

Tim complains about betrayal and annoying members of his family. Duke does not care, he has time to insist, his case is solved after all. 

….

Duke likes Steph. 

When he joined the family, she was the easiest to get along. The majority of them acted nice, but they were also pretty much disinterested, not even batting an eye towards him. It took Duke a long time to realise that sometimes the bats were just like that: silent. Steph, on the other hand, always had something to say, and for Duke that was the little bit of normalcy that he needed. 

He might never admit it, but he suspects that the other reason they got along from the beginning was because neither of them was sure of their places in the family. Yes, for sure they belonged to it, but for completely different reasons they were at the edge of it. 

So, already gotten used to her randomness, it was not even weird when she offered to go on a daytime patrol with him. Duke liked the company, so he accepted, and every once in a while since then he finds himself with the voice of a purple vigilante on his coms. 

“No, don’t take the avenue. It is going to be crowded.” Duke warns when Steph informs him of an armed robbery on Gotham City Bank. 

“Crowded? Of what?” her voice comes muffled by her mask and the white noise. 

“Of people? And their vehicles?” Duke says in his most obvious voice, and then he realises. Without even trying to suppress the smile, he clarifies “You know, people are outside now, going to work and stuff, it is the middle of the day.” Steph does not answer. 

When the day is getting over they sit on a rooftop enjoying the view of a safer Gotham, even when they both know that the night will be as dangerous as always. Steph has been complaining about how impossible it is to hide in the daytime, and Duke has been trying to explain to her how that is kind of the point. 

Duke likes Steph, and loves listening to her speak, but as any other bat, the things that she does not fully say are the one that he appreciates the most. 

….

The sun has setted a few minutes ago and not many people are still in the Manor. Duke has been moving from doing his homework and watching the movie that is being played on the TV. Now that he thinks about it, he should turn off the thing.

He gets startled when Cass appears from the darkness itself and sits down next to him. He has been getting used to her sudden entrances since they started working together more often with the Outsiders, but he was pretty sure that she was not even in the house. 

“How…? Weren’t you on patrol?”

“Changed day with Tim” she says, without further explanation, looking at the papers in his hand and then at the movie, she keeps silent while the screen shows the image of a vast space “What is that?”

“Hmn, that’s Star Trek. This is my math homework.” 

“Star Trek?” she asks while spelling the words with her hands, then just using sign language adds “A space travel documentary?”

“No, no. It’s a movie, a really impressive one. It’s about a futuristic society where…” Duke starts explaining but thinks better of it “But not as impressive now that we have a Superman. You never watched it?”

Cass denies it with her head, and Duke starts telling her the basics while she gets comfortable by his side. She seems confused by some of the things he enthusiastically describes, but she listens nonetheless. A few minutes later they are both watching the movie, homework forgotten. At some given moment Cass nudges him. 

“Other day, you dance. With me.”

Duke smiles, he would like that. 

….

Silence fills his room and Duke is ready to turn off the light and call it a day when he hears the knocks on his door. Damian does not even wait for his response and opens it. 

“Thomas” he says, and his voice sounds mildly annoyed “I am in need of your assistance.”

Duke gives him a questioning look. Damian is not dressed for patrol, and if Duke is not wrong, this has to be his free night. So saying he is surprised by the request is an understatement. But the kid does not explain, instead he turns around and goes back to the corridor. Duke gets up and follows him.

Damian is already going downstairs when Duke gets to him. It must be a weird sight, he thinks, a child all formally dressed at ten in the evening, while the teenager is in his pajamas trying to suppress a yawn. But Duke does not have time to share his thoughts when they arrive at their destination. 

Damian opens the door to one of the many rooms of the Manor, and waits for Duke to enter. If it weren’t because he is pretty sure that the kid at least estimates him, he would be worried. The only two things in the room are an easel and a stool. Damian gets closer to them, and Duke once more follows. 

Now that he sees the easel better, he can discern a pencil drawing on a white canvas. It looks extremely similar to the outside of the Manor. Damian seems relaxed by his side but he can tell that the kid is nervous. Of what, Duke is not sure. 

“Did you draw it? Because it looks amazing.” Damian unsurprisingly does not answer, but he looks to truly relax this time, and Duke is tempted to assure him once more, even when he knows that the kid would dismiss him. Dick older brother’s vibes must be getting to him. 

“It is not finished. I still have to paint it.” Damian clarifies, then, like it hurts him like hell, adds “Your help with the lighting would be… appreciated.” 

It is not a request, more of an obligation, but Duke still acts surprised for a few seconds. He looks again at the painting, he is not sure of being able to tell how the lights actually work, but Damian still looks interested in his opinion. So he explains, he shows all the points where it can come, and how that would affect the whole picture. Duke must admit that he feels pretty dumb doing it, he might have light related powers but he has no idea how to paint, but still, he finishes his overview. 

Damian seems to be in deep thinking for a few seconds, then he nods towards Duke and gives a glance to the door. Of course.

“Your presence is not required anymore” the younger one says. 

“Yeah, almost didn’t notice” Duke murmurs while heading to the door, but thinks that he was able to catch the shadow of a smile on the kid’s face. That will have to be enough. 

….

It was half past six in the morning and Duke was tired. No, he was exhausted. 

Yesterday was a long day, without even counting the meta that has been trying to destroy the Gotham City Museum. Duke has been falling behind with his schoolwork, and the attack has not helped him. Besides, he did not remember about the delivery of an essay for his literature class until midnight, when he started to write it. Not being able to fall asleep before five in the morning was what Duke would put in the cons of being a vigilante. Having to wake up early on the morning was a con of being a daytime vigilante. Both of those things happening on the same day was what he would call a fucking bad day. 

Duke is yawning while he goes downstairs, already suited up and hoping that all of Gotham’s rogues had a night as long as his and won’t be going around the city. For the first time in weeks he is considering drinking coffee instead of his usual chocolate, maybe Alfred actually knows a way of making it tastier. 

He is arriving at the kitchen when he feels it, not because of some bat-sense, but because he hears the loud voices. He opens the door and knows it: Duke lied, the bats are not silent. They can be difficult to read, they might not be good at explaining their feelings, but silent can’t be a word to describe them when they are together. They are loud and dramatic. Duke loves it, but not when he had a long night. Just like today. 

They are all here, still suited up and with sleep deprived faces. Jason’s helmet is on the floor near the door, and the man himself has one arm up in the air grasping a mobile phone, the other holding Dick back, who seems to be trying to get his device again. Both of them are mocking the other with high pitched voices that do not really fit them. Duke is pretty sure that they would have tackled one another if it weren’t for Bruce, standing in the middle of the pair, each hand on their shoulders, but not really doing something to help any side. He has a small but genuine smile on his face. 

Cass is suppressing a yawn while she eats pancakes, she is listening attentively to Steph, who is doing wide gestures to tell a story about an old lady that tried to convince her to date  her nephew. Steph has bags under her eyes and a band-aid on her jaw that seems to be from last night, but still explains the story as it is the most interesting thing of the week. Duke makes a reminder of asking later. 

Damian is sitting in front of Cass with a similar expression. He has Alfred (the cat) on his lap, and Duke can see that he is still wearing his suit pants under a two sizes bigger hoodie that probably belongs to Jason. His cape and domino mask are on a pile at his feet painted with a weird substance that Duke prefers not to know. He looks half annoyed and half amused. 

Duke notices that for the first time Tim looks to be drinking an orange juice instead of a coffee, being the only one not suited nor ready to fall asleep. Tim, of all people. Behind him Alfred is making something (Duke bets that more pancakes), and seems to be the only one to spot him on the door. They exchange a smile (well, the old man gives a smile, Duke a panicked expression), before he resolves that he can get breakfast in some place in the city. Having had a long day and night means that he does not have to put up with all his family this early in the morning, he decides. Duke is going backwards when he hears Damian’s voice.

“Thomas is here” he announces. Damn kid. 

They all stop mid-action and look at him. Bruce clears his throat and gives a step back, probably wanting to come back to his professional persona and failing when he almost trips with his cape. That gets a snicker from all of them, except for Jason who laughs freely. Bruce, with his most poker face, pretends nothing happened. Duke is tempted to remind him that he already knows his not Batman self.  

“You must start your patrol on Gotham Harbor” he reports “We got information that a new drug shipment will arrive in less than an hour, Black Mask henchmen will be there. They will not expect someone in broad daylight.” 

“We found some clues leading to a recently abandoned Scarecrow’s hideout, he might attack before sunset.” Steph adds, pointing at her and Dick with her finger. 

“Poison Ivy is trying some new substance” Damian warns while giving a side glance to his cape. “Might want to prove it.”

Duke looks at them with his most deadpan expression, his body is aching for a rest that he will not get. Well, there it goes his quiet day without rogues. He groans in frustration. 

Everyone understands.