#ch; clint barton

[brw]

Hank Pym taught me that there are choices beyond programming! Janet Van Dyne, that there was beauty in the smallest of people. Pietro Maximoff, that if one's father is evil, it does not mean the child must be! Clint Barton, that there is no such thing as a powerless man! And Wanda, my dear Wanda... taught me that even an android can love!

Universe X #X by Alex Ross, written by Jim Krueger and drawn by Dougie Braithwaite

[arnieroth]

thunderbolts #75 | thunderbolts #109

i'm obsessed with whatever these two have going on

[jasperarsonaurelia]

Clint : what do you mean I’m the most annoying motherfucker on planet earth? How many times have you nearly got me killed?

Kayla : NOT ENOUGH

[the-boy-king-rp-multi]

The devil of Hell's Kitchen had been working in the shadows since his return from the dead.

Since the Hand had been finally taking out all the way- That left territory open for new criminals to move into the area. The Yakuza had caught wind of the Hand's demise and hadn't hesitated to take the opportunity to take over the areas that were now absent of their influence. Unfortunately for them.. the ghost of Hell's Kitchen was coming to haunt their entire foundation.

The devil would not tolerate the Yakuza moving back into Hell's Kitchen.

The fight that proceeded with the member he had been tracking down was intense, to say the least. A scream could be heard when he slapped a hand over their mouth to quiet them, and in the darkness he had dragged them in he found himself dodging cuts from a sword, club blocking the attempted slices before using his strength to knock it out of their hands. Finding himself dodging kicks and punches now, he found an opening where he threw a hard kick to their back, knocking them to the ground out of breath when he grabbed their arm, dragging it backwards with a sickening crack.

In the darkness, it wasn't obvious who was fighting them- The only thing being seen was the vigilante dragging them into an empty, nearby abandoned building, cloaked in darkness.

While they were unconscious, he tied them to a chair. When they awoke, he threw his billy club, wrapping it around their neck and pulling roughly, foot on the chair. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.. Where are the rest of your crew?" When he was met with silence, he tugged harder, voice dark when he spoke. "Dare mo anata no sakebigoe o kikimasen..”

(translation: Nobody will hear you scream.)

[mxrvelouscreations]

send me   “ you’re here…?”   for your muse to wake up in a hospital bed and find my muse holding their hand. TO ANDREW / FROM CLINT.

@reiignonme

Andrew had rushed to the hospital as soon as he had gotten word of Clint's injuries. Thankfully, his friend had covered for him at the pet store, having seen the state that Andrew was in. He had asked at the desk for Clint's room, making his way there and sitting down at his bedside, his hand slipping into his. He had held it up to his head, eyes closed as he prayed for the other to wake up and be ok. Upon hearing his voice, he peered up at him, eyes welling up when he realised he hadn't been imagining it. "Hey... hey yeah I'm here... how are you feeling?"

[illbringthechaosmagic]

@thenexusofsouls

Wanda moved to sit herself down on the couch beside Clint, pulling her knees up to her chest as she did so. Things had been rough as of late and she needed a moment to just take a deep breath. That was why she had asked Clint if she could sit with him, since it might be a moment of peace. "Just your company," she replied, looking at him. "I just... it's been a rough day, rough week. I can't stand the silence anymore."

"Hey Clint? Is it ok if I come sit with you for a little bit?"

"Yeah, Wanda, course you can," Clint replied. He knew things were rough for her since coming back after the Blip and being thrust suddenly into a battle... and then right into a funeral for Tony. That was enough to give anyone emotional whiplash. "You need anything?" he asked, more to let her know that he was there for her, and not so much that he thought there might be anything specific she would ask for. But if she did need something, well... he'd get that for her too. It was the least he could do.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Ch 1 Arachnophobia: Fear of Spiders

Series: Phobia series

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 997 WORDS

Summary: Clint gets a pet spider plays a prank thats not very funny. Wanda comforts you and Nat is there as well.

TW: spiders, panic attacks, getting locked in a room.

A/n new series

He just had to buy one didn’t he. Stupid idiot. I knew something was coming since i first reacted. It had been the morning of a perfectly fine Sunday. I had my regular bowl of cereal and a glass of juice. I was going to go sit where i sit every Sunday morning but when I entered the room and saw Clint holding the mother of all spiders i turned straight back around and went to my room instead. But not before I saw Clint shoot tony a sinister grin. That couldn’t be good.

It was a week later and the tower was quiet. Most people were sleeping in because for once there wasn’t much to do. Nat was training and Steve was out for his morning run. Tony was probably still in his lab and banner was probably with him.

Yawning you stretched out and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up you walked to the kitchen still in your Pjs. Putting on a pot of coffee you decided to have breakfast in your room so the sound of the living room TV didn’t wake anyone else up. When the coffee was done you poured yourself some and made a bowl of cereal. Picking it all up you made your way back to your room. It was almost nine am now so people would be getting up soon. As you passed the living room your brow furrowed as you spotted Clint and tony watching Tv. Those two never did anything good together. Hightailing it back to your room you shut the door with your foot and set the tray down the desk. Peeling back the sheets to get back into bed you froze. Sat on between the white sheets was a big hairy tarantula. Clints stupid spider. The scream you heard took you a minute to register as your own. Laughing broke out behind your door and you quickly crossed the room and jiggled the handle.

“Jarvis.” You said your breathing startling to speed up. “Jarvis open the door.”

“Im afraid Mr. Stark has initiated a code green lockdown of your quarters Ms L/n”

“Open the door now.” You said again. “Jarvis open the door.”

“Im afraid i cannot do that.” The AI responded. You began banging your fists on the door.

“Stark let me out. Let me out right now over your lab is gone by tomorrow.” You yelled.

“Calm down L/n jerry is great company. Give him a chance.” Clint said through the door. “We’ll give you two some alone time.”

“So help me Barton if you leave me here with that ball of fluff its gonna die.” You yelled.

“I cant hear you over all your bonding.” He called back and the footsteps retreated. You smacked your head against the door and let out a lounge frustrated scream sliding down the door. A moment later you heard hurried footsteps and a feminine voice call out.

“Y/n?! Are you ok?” It was Wanda. You cried in relief.

“Wanda please let me out.” You begged.

“Y/n/n the doors stuck. Hold on stand back I’m going to use my magic to break it down.” She said and you stepped away from the door and the bed at the same time. A moment later the door flew open and you threw yourself into Wanda’s arms. She grunted in response before wrapping her arms around you not expecting to be met with such force.

When she felt the collar of her pyjamas start to get soaked and small sobs wrack your body she carefully pulled you away her hands on your shoulders while she looked into your eyes.

“Y/n/n honey whats wrong?” She said softly. You shook your head and placed your forehead against hers signalling for her to read your mind before your buried your face in her collar again. Wanda wrapped her arms around you again and the two of you sunk to the floor of the hallway. Wandas back against the wall opposite your room.

“Do you want me to look in here?” She asked tapping your head and you nodded not removing yourself from her neck.

“Ok baby hold on to me and take some deep breathes it’ll be ok my sweet.” She said and began shifting through your memories of that morning. When she was done she was furious and held you even tighter. She knew how much you hated spiders and what Clint and tony had done wasn’t funny at all.

It was at this moment that the elevator dinged and you stiffened thinking it was the boys again. Wanda held you tighter and whispered in you ear.

“Its ok honey its just natty.” She said and Nat came over cautiously.

“Everything ok here wands?” She asked tentatively with an edge of concern.

“No. Not really.” Wanda said and you curled into her more. “Clint and tony thought it would be funny to put Clint’s spider in Y/n/n’s bed because she’s afraid of them.”

“Damn it Barton.” She grumbled. “I’ll do you a favour if i see the spider I’ll throw it off the roof for you.” You giggled slightly still buried in Wanda’s arms.

“In the meantime would you settle for me giving them a solid lecture and maybe a smack or two?” Nat asked.

You smiled into Wanda’s neck and nodded and nat smiled.

“I’ll get on that right away agent L/n” she said with a mock salute and Wanda chuckled. After Nat left to go yell at the boys Wanda picked you up with your legs around her waist and face still buried in her chest. She held you and walked you back to her room where she set you down on the bed still in her lap and threw the sheets over the two of you. She picked up the remote and put one your favourite sit come and held you while your breathing evened out until you eventually fell asleep. Emotionally exhausted.

MASTERLIST

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Mjolnir’s Masterlist

🐻=fluff 🔪=angst 💚=smut 18+ ✔️=finished

Bucky Barnes

• Love In The Dark 🔪✔️

• Texture 💚✔️

• Scared 🔪💚✔️

• Silver Bullet 🔪💚

-Pt. One

• You’re The Reason I Smoke 🔪✔️

-Pt. One, Two

• Trying To Derail My One Track Mind 🔪💚✔️

-Pt. One, Two

• Just Another Notch 🐻🔪💚

-Pt. One, Two, Three, Four, Five

• Haunted 🐻🔪

-Pt. One, Two, Three, Four, Five

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻✔️

• It Was Never Gonna Happen, Doll | X-Men Au 🐻🔪💚 (coming soon)

Natasha Romanoff

• Executioner | Renaissance AU 💚✔️

Yelena Belova

• Pickpocket 🐻✔️

Clint Barton

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻✔️

Logan Howelett

• It Was Never Gonna Happen, Doll 🐻🔪💚 (coming soon)

Multicharacter

• I Know You Liked It Steve/Loki🔪💚 ✔️

• Not My Type Part 2 Bucky/Steve 🔪✔️

• Video Games Bucky/Steve 🔪💚

• The Neon Martini Wanda/Nat 🐻🔪💚

Rafe Cameron

• Home 🔪💚

- Pt. One

Aegon Targaryen II

• Aegon’s Shadow 🐻🔪 (on hold)

-Ch. One, Two, Three, Four

Daemon Targaryen

• Christmas Countdown Request 🔪✔️

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻 ✔️

Homelander

• Super Hearing ✔️

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Clint Barton/Roy Harper ship manifesto and recs for @dc-marvel-crossovers Pool Noodle Party!

At this point I think more than half the fics in this tag were written either by me or for me, so I might be biased, but god do I love this precious little pool noodle. These two are so perfect together.

Not just the archery, but the self-esteem (or lack thereof) and self-destructiveness and big soft scarred hearts, and the stubbornness to keep fighting no matter what. They both deserve the kind of care and loyalty they’re always trying to give to others. I love them.

Taking ship name suggestions because I cannot keep calling this ArseEye.

Here, have some fics!

Hope It Leaves A Mark ch. 2 by @thepartyresponsible - every line of this ficlet is jam-packed with perfect characterization and gorgeously precise language. Features one of my favorite Clint/Roy parallels: their tendency to be underestimated because they look like hot messes. The juxtaposition of chaotic disaster and breathtaking competence is perfect.

Maybe he really is Arsenal. Because he might seem to carry himself with all the strategic acumen of your average inebriated raccoon, but so far every move he’s made has been absolutely beautiful. Clint’s prepared to admit he’s a little charmed by that.

To Have (and to owe) by @sammialex - peak mopey sad-sack self-destructive boys throwing themselves into a fight because they don’t value their own lives. Gorgeous use of imagery. Very whumpy, but they bring each other a little sunshine and hope too. This sums the pair of them up all too well:

…it’d been so long since Roy had a mission he wanted to complete, instead of a mission he half hoped he’d die for.

Soft target by @bill-longbow - Ronin!Clint and a Roy who’s struggling with sobriety. Angsty but so sweet. Something about Roy seeing himself in Clint but taking better care of him/having more empathy for him than he ever would do/feel for himself — yeah, that hits me right in the feels. Also with podfic and art!

There's something familiar about him Roy can't catch, but it might as well be because Roy recognizes that look from the mirror. Try and hurt me, nothing you can throw at me is worse than what I do to myself.

The Beverage Comrade by @sishal01 - pure fluff and adorable awkward flirting. The cutest pair of dorks. Also with podfic!

Okay earth, he thinks, I’m ready now to be swallowed up, please. Any time would be good.

To Roy’s surprise the crinkles around the guy's eyes only grow deeper, his mouth falling into an easy lopsided smile.

disasterosity by @bittercape - could function as a primer on why these two are fucking perfect together. Spot-on banter and wit and chaotic humor with just enough self-deprecation to ring true to character. Funny as fuck.

“You fished me out of a dumpster like two hours ago, nobody’s into that.”

“Don’t diss the dumpster life,” Clint says reflexively, and Roy laughs, loud and surprised.

[mxrvelouscreations]

@iamthexweapon

Pietro was excited. Sure, car journeys weren't all that fun, but he was getting to spend the day with some of his favourite people and that was what mattered. He had jumped at the chance to go out with his sister, Nat and Clint, even if it was just to go shopping and get some coffee. It was a pleasant change from their usual workdays at least.

By the end of the day though, Pietro had used up most of his energy. The coffee had given him a second wind but on the drive back home, he had found himself unable to stay awake. Soon he was fast asleep, head resting on Clint's shoulder. He only stirred when he felt Clint shaking him awake.

"Mmmph but I was comfortable!"

slump (Pietro for Clint; @mxrvelouscreations )

@mxrvelouscreations

Spending all day in the backseat of a car was the last thing that Clint wanted to do that day. However, when Wanda and Natasha drag you out to do something, you can't really say no. Pietro was tagging along because Clint was and again, you don't say no to Wanda. So the two of them were shoved into the back seat while Natasha and Wanda took the front.

It had been a long day and Clint was worn out. Shopping, eating lunch, getting coffee, a random hour long walk at a park, and even more shopping was a lot to do in one day. He reclined back against the seat and Pietro followed, falling asleep on his shoulder. Clint laughed but allowed the action.

When Natasha pulled back into the Stark Mansion garage, Clint took the cue to wake up Pietro, "Kid, wakey wakey, time to go inside. I'm no longer your pillow." He laughed.

[arnieroth]

thunderbolts #38 (2000)

[jasperarsonaurelia]

Kayla : come on, guys, have I ever put you in a dangerous situation?

Kate : yes

Clint : almost constantly 

Kayla : then you should be used to it

[the-boy-king-rp-multi]

He had finally said his goodbyes to Karen and Foggy for the night after what was probably the first successful night out between the three of them in.. quite awhile. The tension was still there- But he was happy just to have them both in his life again. He had just exited the bar and walked down the street towards his apartment when he heard a loud, indistinguishable crash.. In a dumpster he was all too familiar with.

He hurried towards the sound,setting his cane aside momentarily to see who was there. He didn't recognize the heartbeat- But he could, however hear the strained, uneven breathing due to three cracked ribs, and said person being knocked out cold. He sighed, pushing his cane into a folded up position and hooking it to his belt loop, before slowly dragging the stranger out of the dumpster with a bit of strain; dead weight was harder to lift, and this was no light man, muscular arms and a toned body.. as he dragged him out, he hooked his arms under his legs and began to carry the unconscious man towards his apartment. If they ended up being bad news, then... well.

They'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

{ matt finding clint on the run from the UN; CACW era clintmatt/devilarcher }

[mxrvelouscreations]

@voluntadfuerte

Bucky's brow raised at the other's comment, having not expected to hear that from Clint. Not that he thought Clint wasn't smart, it was more that this kind of lingo was usually coming from Tony or Bruce. "I have no idea really. All I know is... it's far more comfortable than the arm that they originally gave me. It doesn't feel like it's digging into my chest..."

Bucky.

Bucky watched as the other reached out to touch his arm, his brow furrowing for a second before he relaxed. He was used to having others touch the old arm, the handlers always checking to see if there were any defects. They were rough however, so the gentleness that Clint seemed to have wasn’t something he was used to. “It’s not, most people just assume that it will be for some reason. And luckily, it doesn’t freeze,” he muttered, “the last one wasn’t a fan in the end of the cold.”

“The reason is that it’s metal and metal is a great heat conductor. It wouldn’t be the same if it was ceramic,” Clint said, showing more of the fact he wasn’t an imbicile that he usually did. People tended to overlook him and he let them. Being underestimated often worked in his advantage. “But i guess Vibranium is different.” Clint was no vibranium expert. But considering just how versatile he had seen it being used, heat resistance wouldn’t be out of left field. “The real question tho is if magnets get stuck on it.”

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Murder Mystery AU

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Doctor Strange (Movies) Relationship: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Clint Barton Additional Tags: 5 Sentence Fiction, Alternate Universe - Murder Mystery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dueling Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes References, BBC Sherlock References, References to Clue | Cluedo, Established Relationship, Friendship, Humor Language: English Series: Part 25 of 5 Sentence Prompts Published: 2024-07-17 Words:451 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Two of the sharpest detectives are on the job, working through the clues to solve the latest murder. Tony and Stephen are rarely ever bested…when the game is afoot.

Notes:

From AUgust 100 AU Prompts.

@scottxlogan #57 Murder Mystery AU (Scottxlogan; No chosen pair)

Title from The Sign of the Four, ch. 8 (1890), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[soulgazingwithbucky]

protect, ch. 1 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've spent your whole life protecting your younger brother, until an invitation from Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes turns everything on its head.

Warnings: mentions of parent death, swearing, mentions of food, mentions of blood

Word count: 5k

A/N: this is another short series y'all, probably only gonna be two or three parts! also realized this could also work as a mom!reader fic too...if anyone would be interested i would be more than happy to post a different version. divider credits to @lesbiacebian!!!

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

You used to find it difficult to grasp that you were the painfully mortal older sister of an enhanced individual.

Even when your mother stomped off school grounds with you two in tow, having received word that your five-year-old brother displayed an impossible amount of strength against an older bully.

Even when your tween brother returned early from his first hunting trip, his best friend’s dad barely able to sputter praise at his near-professional level of expertise.

Even when he was accused of sneaking into the teacher’s lounge to get test answers, only to find out he had overheard the answer key…from three rooms over.

For better or for worse, it finally clicked when your nineteen-year-old brother proudly arrived home, one hand on his hip, the other shoving a recruitment letter from Captain America and the Winter Soldier in your face.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. Steve Rogers passed his shield to Sam Wilson. Clint Barton was seen running around New York with a young archer. And you can’t forget when you turned on the TV to see the Hulk’s cousin, her emerald skin glowing from the bright camera flashes.

You’d be damned if your brother became some brooding stranger’s ticket to retirement.

But Tomas would be damned if you stopped him from working alongside his heroes. He was absolutely starstruck, having looked up to the captain’s predecessor his whole life. He would consume stories about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, wondering who would be his right hand man in life.

So, you planned to do what anyone would in your shoes: go up to these buff-ass, tough-as-nails men who've seen war and tell them there was no way they would even get to touch a hair on your brother’s head. After all, it was now your job to keep him safe, lest you be eternally haunted by your mother’s ghost for forsaking her youngest child.

So when Tomas leaves for his daily martial arts practice, you march your ass on over to these alleged “mighty heroes” to give them a piece of your mind.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

Sam Wilson has no choice but to be completely honest with you. He sits across from you, arms across his chest, shifting in his seat. His partner, Bucky Barnes, sits silently beside him. This entire time, the only change in his expression has been the slight squint of his eyes as he assesses you.

“I said no.” You cross your arms over your own chest, tilting your head and raising your eyebrows.

You say it with so much confidence that the captain almost hesitates to continue questioning you. But he presses on, anyway, asking, “To…?”

“You both seem perfectly capable of fighting evil on your own,” you say, making a show of raking your eyes over the both of them. You tap your fingers along your bicep, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. “Not sure why you need children to do your dirty work for you.”

Bucky has already decided that you irritate him. His patience is running thin, and your grating voice and superior attitude are only serving to make it worse. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out at this point, but the older hero chides, “Sorry–who are you?”

Though his display of hostility is less outright than yours, you still easily pick up on the insulting tone and judging stare. You give him your name, inflecting as much scorn into your voice as possible. They recognize Tomas’s shared surname right away, and you don’t miss the knowing glance they exchange.

“Listen, I understand your concern–,” Sam begins, but you quickly raise a hand to stop him. His eyebrows furrow at your abrupt response.

“Don’t get too excited to lecture me, Captain,” you inform him with a scowl. “I’m not one of those senators you have to bend over backwards for.”

Bucky grits his teeth, reading your ploy to get under their skin like a book. Sam Wilson’s first notable moment as Captain America was him standing up to politicians. Who bends over for whom, again?

The hero formerly known as Falcon has had his fair share of difficult conversations. In fact, he’s impressed at your stubborn determination, but he knows better than to tell you that. But he can feel his partner seething beside him, and Sam speaks up before Bucky gets a chance.

“He won’t be out on assignments with us for a long, long time. We’re just hoping to give him guidance, given his abilities,” Sam continues his attempt to explain their perspective.

You scoff. “He has enough guidance, thank you.”

It’s true. You pushed your grief aside to keep your brother’s life stable. You dropped out of university to work full-time, determined to continue your mother’s goal of cultivating his skills. Martial arts training, gymnastics teams, and language tutors were not cheap. Even if you didn’t fully agree with your mom’s vision of developing Tomas’s talents, you’d be damned if you let all of her efforts go to waste. In your own way, it was the only way your grief could manifest: continuing your mom’s version of parenthood, even if all you wanted to do was hide him away from the horrors of the world.

“Guidance from the right people, though?” Bucky says. You’re ready to snap at the perceived jab at your guardianship, but Sam’s hesitant expression makes you think Bucky’s question has a different motive.

Your smart-mouthed reply melts away, replaced with, “What does that mean?”

“Bucky–”

“No, you know what, she should know, Sam.”

“Know what?” you demand.

The heroes hear the vitriol, but they don’t see it. Your arms have dropped and you’re now leaned forward, eyebrows raising rather than scowling. Sam’s eyes flit between the both of you, trying to make the most informed decision in the next five seconds. Finally, he sighs with the slightest shake of his head.

“Trust us, we had no plans to bring Tomas into any of this,” Sam begins carefully, evenly. “But we received word that he was on a lot of radars.”

“Radars,” you huff. You’re not sure what’s worse: that you don’t know what he’s talking about, or that you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Your brother’s skill set is valuable,” Sam continues. He leans forward, resting his clasped hands on the table. “In the right hands, he could help a lotta people. And in the wrong hands, he could hurt even more.”

Lips pressed into a hard line, you say, “And which are you?”

Bucky’s response earns an astonished look from both you and his partner.

“Come find out.”

And so you find yourself at a training facility, your posture as stiff as the bench you’re sitting on as Tomas warms up on the punching bag. Beside him, Bucky absentmindedly throws punches at a speed bag, the object swiveling into a blur as its assailant mutters to Sam under his breath.

“Hot in here, no?” Tomas says, cutting off the heroes’ conversation. Sam furrows his eyebrows at the comment, but shakes his head in response.

“Oh right, it’s just the steam coming off my sister’s head,” he says, shooting you a cheeky grin.

You mockingly laugh before Sam tells him they should get started. You watch as the three make their way to the boxing ring, where they take your brother through a series of drills. Tomas is eager as ever to show his skills off to them, landing punches and kicks on Sam’s mitts with a huge smile. 

You stand abruptly when you think Bucky is aiming a punch at Tomas’s face.

“Hey! He’s just a kid!” you shout from the bench.

Tomas throws his hands up in frustration, but turns to show you his clearly unmarked face.

“I’m nineteen,” he tells his newfound coaches.

Bucky sighs at the way Tomas’s chest puffs slightly. “Elbows down, kid.”

Later, Bucky comes over to you–well, more like his duffel bag, which sits discarded on the floor beside you. He rifles through it, pulling out a new pair of hand wraps. He fiddles with the fabric, leaning against the water cooler. The awkward silence is pervasive as you both watch Sam run agility drills with your brother.

“He’s good,” Bucky says.

“I know,” you reply curtly, making a note to tell Tomas to stop hyperextending his elbow.

You both allow the silence to fall once again, amused by the way Sam rubs his temple when Tomas throws yet another unnecessary flip into a fight combination.

“You could be putting a bigger target on his back, doing all this,” you say.

“Could be,” he echoes. “But whoever’s coming for him won’t stop. Better to have backup.”

“Captain America is backup?”

Bucky cracks a smile, watching as Sam breaks and sets off on a lecture on why a back handspring doesn’t make a jab stronger.

“Something like that.”

And so you find yourself sitting next to Tomas, absorbing every one of Sam’s words. In front of you, an entire pile of Tomas’s…recruiters sit in a chaotic pile. Foreign government entities, underground crime organizations, maybe a fucking alien spaceship or something? You try to memorize every name, every detail, but they’re all blurring together. On top of that, you’re in a completely unfamiliar location. The meeting space could barely be considered an office, and you wonder how anyone could feel comfortable in the barren sterility.

When you shake yourself out of your thoughts, you’re surprised to find a glass of water waiting for you. You glance at Tomas, then at Sam, who are completely engrossed in their conversation. You look at Bucky, who meets your eye for a second before quickly turning his attention to Sam.

Swallowing a shaky breath, you bring the cup to your lips.

“So what do we do?” you finally say, eyes laser focused on the ripples in the water, thrumming your nervous fingers along the glass. You’re not even sure what they’ve been talking about. 

“We focus on what we can control,” Sam says firmly. “We can’t make them forget about your brother, or turn their attention to something else.”

Sam turns to your brother, aiming his next words at him.

“We can focus on making sure your mind and body are strong. Stick to our training sessions, and it’d be a good idea to set up some counseling, too. You can do it with me, if you want.”

Tomas scoffs at Sam’s earnest gaze.

“You guys, I’ve been training my whole life. I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t we be hunting them down, anyway? Making sure they can’t hurt other people?”

At this point, your voice should be breaching stadium crowd levels, chiding your younger brother for his foolish determination. Instead, you can’t focus on anything else but the panicked thoughts swimming in your brain. No matter how powerful your brother was, you never relinquished your self-appointed role as his protector. You would practically bark at anyone who even looked at him in the wrong way, even as he grew older, bigger, taller. No one was safe if you felt your kid brother was in danger–not the geometry teacher, not his first boss, and definitely not that sophomore that called him an orphan in front of you.

But how could you stop a powerful crime boss? A cruel dictator? An otherworldly being with abilities beyond your comprehension? They would kill you without a second thought, wiping your blood off of their boots before stepping over your body to get to Tomas. 

“You’re doing it,” you find yourself saying. At this point, you’re gripping the cup tightly with both hands, the tips of your fingers paling from the sheer force you’re exerting.

“What?!” Tomas cries, exasperated you’re not on his side.

“You’re doing it,” you repeat. “Chrissake, Tomas, these are heroes who have saved the world. You’d think they would know a thing or two.”

Tomas huffs at you, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. It kills you, bringing you back to moments in childhood where he would be told no to a shiny toy, or moments in adolescence where you told him he couldn’t stay out late. How small those moments feel now.

Your brother looks around the table, realizing he’s outnumbered. He mumbles his reluctant agreement as Bucky silently takes the cup from your vice grip. Feeling returns to your fingers, radiating throughout your body as you feel the slightest bit of relief. You’ll accept it, for now–you know it won’t last.

And so you find yourself straightening your back, trying to elongate your posture to match the two men in front of you.

“Absolutely not!” you tell them.

“Sis–,” Tomas begins, and you snap your hand up to quiet him.

“You’re training with Bucky nearly every damn day, and Sam, you’ve got him at your stupid therapy sessions–which you weren’t even in favor of, Tomas, need I remind you–this is so unnecessary–”

You slam your fork onto your plate, appetite gone.

“They’re not stupid,” mutters Sam, glancing at Bucky, who gives him an assuring shake of his head.

“He’s never been on a plane before,” you continue. “He’s barely even left the state–”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Sam insists. “I’ve never even seen Kamar-Taj before–”

“So what, my brother should feel so lucky?”

“I kinda do,” Tomas pipes up.

“Shut it,” you and Bucky pipe up. You shoot him a glare, and Bucky uses your theatrics as an opportunity to get a word in.

“He needs this,” he insists.

“And you know what’s best for him?” you spit, slamming your palms on the table and standing up.

“Apparently,” Bucky shoots back, lifting himself out of his seat. All your prior glowers have merely been practice for the look you give Bucky now. He seems completely unphased, meeting your eyes with an unnervingly calm stare. You’re ready to give him a piece of your mind, index finger pointed accusingly in his direction, but Tomas cuts in.

“I’m going,” he says. You laugh in disbelief, but he repeats himself in a tone you’ve never heard from him before.

“I’m going, sis,” he repeats sharply.

“And you don’t get to speak for me,” he continues, rising abruptly. “None of you do. None of you are my parents.

“And you never will be.”

Tomas’s final sentence hangs in the air. His face falters for a brief second, but he quickly regains his composure, stiffening up before stomping off to his room. You and the two heroes seem frozen until the door slams. Sam recovers first, shaking his head and glancing at the both of you with his eyebrows raised in sympathy, before heading in Tomas’s direction.

You and Bucky let the silence continue. It feels like the echo of Tomas’s slammed door is still bouncing within the walls of your mind. You step away from Bucky, turning your back to him.

“Hey–”

You flinch, though Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper. He reels at your fearful response.

“No. No,” you say, almost automatically, though you’re not sure exactly what you’re saying no to. Your hand is gripping the back of the couch, and Bucky thinks you’re about to inadvertently break off your own fingers. He wants to reach forward, peel your hand off, and shake some sense into you. Instead, he does the opposite, creating more distance between you and sinking back into the dining room chair.

“I was always in there,” he starts. He keeps his voice low. It sounds like gravel in your ears.

“I remember everything. I tried to stop. Every day for ninety years. I begged my body to listen, but it was like I was in the backseat. You know, even if your possessions burn up, even if the clothes off your back melt away, even if everyone you love leaves, you’ll always have you. But I didn’t even have me. It took nearly a century and almost killing my best friend to come back.”

He looks up at you, eyes searing with pain. 

“I look in the mirror, and I gotta be honest, sometimes I don’t know who it is staring back. So who was it that came back? And at what cost?”

He rips his gaze away from you, burning holes into his metal arm.

“I couldn’t stop my body. Because I didn’t have my mind.”

“Bucky–”

"Let him go to Kamar-Taj. Don’t take away that chance from him. The world doesn’t need another…me.”

You take a deep breath.

When Sam eventually coaxes Tomas out of his room, he’s surprised to hear lighthearted quips. Tomas looks sheepish, trying to shrink himself behind Sam.

You’re speaking to Bucky: “So I’m guessing this elusive Camatidge–”

“Kamar-Taj,” Bucky interrupts.

“–Kamar-Taj doesn’t have wifi? You can only communicate with some sort of spell?”

The relic looks to Sam, hoping to tap him in for the modern technology question.

“I actually hear their wifi is crazy fast,” Sam chuckles.

While Bucky and Sam step out to call Dr. Strange and confirm their attendance, you focus on tidying up the kitchen. Tomas joins you, rinsing grime off of the dishes so you can load them into the dishwasher.

“Mom will never be you,” he finally says. “In the same way that you’ll never be her. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He chuckles as he watches the water run down a plate. “You’re both insufferable in your own special ways.”

You shake your head, meeting his mirth with a laugh of your own.

“It’s true–imagine if I got mad at you for leaving the house without ironing your shirt,” you chuckle.

“Or imagine if Mom yelled at my lit teacher because I got a B instead of a B+,” he retorts.

“It’s not your fault he had a personal vendetta against the Oxford comma,” you say. “...She would be proud of us, wouldn’t she?”

He passes you a mug. He knows you better than he knows anyone, which means he fully understands that your choice to continue his training was for Mom, not for him or you. He sees the way you wince when his capoiera opponent lands a strike, how you’re instantly on your feet when he doesn’t land quite right off of the parallel bars. He’s grateful, knowing the alternative would be doing nothing at all, but he wonders how much you allow your mom’s perceived influence to affect your decisions.

“I think she would want us to be proud of ourselves, sis. That’s all she ever wanted.”

You stop to stare at your brother. Though the bar’s low, that is the wisest thing he has ever said. You take him in, his tall figure, his lean muscles, the nose that was always a dead giveaway that you two were related. For once, you don’t see the little kid in overalls with melted popsicle on his shirt. You don’t see a scraggly teen looking at you in disbelief as you hunch over a “How To Shave 101” YouTube video together. You see a powerful, strong man who has more ambition in his pinky finger than most people have in their whole bodies, who wants nothing more than to make the world a better place.

You and Tomas snap your heads towards the door, watching Captain America and the Winter Soldier re-enter your home.

“We’re all set,” Sam confirms. “Pack your bags, kid.”

You can feel Tomas’s excitement radiating beside you. He looks ready to take off before he realizes he has a sponge and bowl in his hands. You nod at him and he drops the items in the sink, running to his room and inadvertently splashing you with soapy water on the way.

Bucky takes his place, rinsing off the dish before handing it to you. Sam follows Tomas once more, realizing your brother probably doesn’t even know what to pack.

“You were wrong,” you say as he hands you the final piece of cutlery.

“Here we go,” he muses as he rinses off the sponge, completely unaware that your next words would take his breath away.

“The world could use a lot more of you.”

And so you find yourself biting the edge of your thumb, trying your best to focus on the book you had selected from your shelf without much thought. It was an ill attempt to escape from the reality that your brother was in a foreign country, in the hands of two people you had just met a couple of months prior.

“Stupid retreat,” you muttered, flipping the page as though you had any idea what you just read.

You pick up your phone for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours Tomas has been gone. It’s like you’re stuck in time, picking up your phone with the same hope of a notification, then feeling bitter disappointment when it’s only your bare lock screen. A few minutes of fruitless distraction later, and you lift your phone again, restarting the cycle.

The stupid novel is doing a terrible job at distracting you, so you think of Sam and Bucky’s advice. They’ve said it an infinite amount of times at this point, but it can’t seem to get through your thick skull.

Tomas is an adult, not a child. You can’t keep him sheltered, protected for the rest of his life. You can’t keep him from all the evils of the world, even if he was just a normal kid. The best way to protect him is to equip him with those tools and skills instead of expecting him to rely on you.

It’s great advice. Wise words, definitely. Just a lot easier in theory than in execution.

“Fuck!” you hiss, your nervous nibbling finally drawing blood. You quickly rush to clean and dress your thumb in the bathroom. You freeze. Is that–?

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

You run like you’re in the Olympics, damn near throwing yourself over the back of the couch to grab your device before the call goes to voicemail.

“Tomas! How is it? Did you get there okay?”

“It’s…Bucky,” he says. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Bucky,” you say, massaging your temples. “No, no, thanks for calling. How was the trip?”

“Great. Couldn’t have gone smoother. I tried to wrangle the kid to make this call, but he’s stupefied by the people making sparkles with their fingers.”

You find yourself laughing. “No, okay, that’s good. I’m glad he’s having fun.” You press your lips together, wondering if you believe yourself. “But if my brother comes back through a portal, Barnes, I’m coming to you first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles. You express your gratitude at his call and give your salutations.

Though you’re met with silence once again, it doesn’t hang as heavy.

And so you find yourself staring at the door. You sure as hell weren’t expecting company. With all the magic and supernatural in the world, maybe someone psychically divined that you really wanted a bowl of soup delivered to your doorstep. The past few days without Tomas have left you sleepless, and reprieve in the form of a comfort meal would be all too perfect.

Gingerly, you approach the door. Despite your hopes, you also acknowledge that the presence on the other side of your door could be dangerous. Fortunately, the brand new Stark security system can tell you who awaits beyond the wooden frame.

From the camera, Bucky adjusts the backpack clinging to his shoulder, waving a gloved hand at your camera. He’s back a few days early…without Sam or Tomas.

You fling the door open, and Bucky raises a hand to quell you before you’ve even started. You’ve never been on the receiving end of that before.

“He’s okay. I had to come back early to handle something.”

You stare at his muscular frame in your doorway. “Is that something me?” you question with a tilt of your head.

He furrows his eyebrows at your statement, then realizes the implication of his words.

“Oh, no–,” he begins, then pauses. “Just a quick check-in. Figured you were probably anxious and, I don’t know, rearranging the furniture for the seventh time.” He peeks over your shoulder jokingly, but you move to block him. His attempt at a jab was actually the truth, and you didn’t need him to know the dining table made a new home along the opposite wall.

You scratch your neck. “Even if it’s your mug I have to see,” you tell him, “I could use the company.” You step aside, beckoning him in.

He hesitates, and your eyes widen. He was expecting to make sure you were okay before retreating to his home across town.

You stammer, “Oh–sorry–you probably have places–”

“No–”

“–hero stuff–”

“I was just–”

“–shouldn’t have assumed–”

“Move,” he damn near barks. “Mug’s here to stay.”

You sit in silence for most of the night, save for your questions about Tomas, sitting on opposite ends of the couch and watching a silly slapstick comedy film. Though you can count on one hand how many words you speak to each other, you can’t deny the feeling of relief that washes over you.

In the morning, you wake up to sunlight filtering in from your living room window. You’re wrapped in a throw blanket, and you can feel the impressions your couch has left on your face. You’re groggy, and kind of confused.

But damn if that wasn’t the best sleep you’ve gotten all week.

As you pick up your phone to type out a mesasge, you wonder if it would be so bad to see if he could join you again.

Heyyy

Stop. Erase that now.

Free tonight?

What are you, a frat boy? Be serious.

I really appreciated you stopping by last night. I was wondering–

Is that bile rising in your throat? You would rather be the frat boy. You stare at the blinking cursor before opting to press the telephone icon in the corner instead.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hi.”

“I, um–”

“I was actually in the area. You hungry?”

Your teeth find your bottom lip.

“Starved.”

You and Bucky are hunched over the dining room table, picking at the array of food he has brought over. You’re not sure if he’s aware that he bought so much food that you can barely see the color of your dining table, but you don’t mind. You hum as you bring the cup of chicken noodle soup to your lips.

Eventually, you’re stuffed, and Bucky huffs in amusement.

“What?” you say, leaning back in the chair.

“You both do the same thing,” he comments, drawing a circle over his own face with his finger. “When you’re full.”

Your eyebrows flick upward in amusement before you absentmindedly start replacing the lids on the takeout containers. He tries to help, but you smack his hand away. Bucky scoffs, but relents, leaning back with his arms comfortably resting across his torso.

“So he’s doing okay?” you say.

This is probably the third time you’ve asked, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“More than okay,” he says. “Fantastic.”

“That’s good. You all haven’t suffocated him like I have.”

He lets out a long exhale.

“You’re just trying to protect him.”

Your nervous fingers trace the edge of the table, having lidded every container on the table.

“So you don’t disagree.”

There it is. That squint again, like he’s coming to conclusions about you that will forever be a mystery.

“I hope…,” he starts off slowly, “wherever my sister is…she has someone like you. The big sibling I couldn’t be.”

Your eyes widen at the confession.

“Dining table looks awful over here, by the way.”

And so Bucky has made your couch a temporary home for a few days, at your timid request. He has no issue honoring it, more than happy to keep you company. He's through ruining people's lives, but he realizes his and Sam's presence has only seemed to make things more difficult for you. He has been anxious knowing you were anxious, and staying over helps him just as much as it helps you. Though it does cause concern for your little brother, who is surprised to throw the door open and see Bucky stationed at the stove.

If Sam feels the same shock, he is much better at hiding it. He simply throws his bag at his feet as he settles on the couch with a plop, complaining, “Kid fell asleep on me for both flights.”

“Both?” Bucky humors him, shuffling a spatula underneath an egg.

“That’s, like, twenty hours each, man. Couldn’t even watch Cars in peace.”

“Your shoulder is surprisingly comfy.” Tomas can’t miss a chance to get a quip in, though he’s busy scanning the apartment you share. He approaches the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that he’s sure used to be buried in the back of the linen closet. Sam glares at him, feeling the tug underneath his bum. “You’d think with all those lateral raises you do…”

“I’m glad you think so,” Sam says wryly.

Come to think of it, isn’t that the pillow from your room that’s now under Sam’s elbow? Tomas reaches for it–is that a strand of Bucky’s hair that he’s seeing? Sam shoots daggers at the man invading his personal space yet again.

“Tomas, can I help you?” the hero demands, turning around to deliver yet another glower to the younger man.

“Did I hear twenty hours?” you say, stepping out of your room. “Tomas, do we need to make a doctor’s appointment?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never felt better in my life,” Tomas responds, eyeing Bucky. He looks real cozy, setting four plates of breakfast down on the dining table. “Thanks…Bucky.”

“Yeah, thanks…Bucky,” you echo slowly as Tomas's perplexed eyes turn to you.

Over breakfast, your barrage of questions about Kamar-Taj finally quells the possibilities floating around Tomas's mind. He tells you about Dr. Strange and Wong, the mindfulness training he engaged in, the sorcerer trainings he observed, what his room looked like, how Sam snuck out one night to find pizza, how irksome airport security is, Kamar-Taj’s extensive library, how Bucky wouldn’t help him get the girl in 14C’s number, the protection spell Dr. Strange cast on him…

You let him go on, even when everyone’s plate is clear of food and the feelings of over-satiation subside. When he concludes his recollection with a deep breath of air, you reach over to grab his hand.

“I’m glad you had fun,” you say.

And you mean it.

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

A/N: next chapter takes a sharp turn ngl lol. excited for you to read it, thanks for reading!!