WINTER SOLDIER.

“Got it.” MJ turns to grab a cup and the coffee beans. “There’s not a typo up there, is there?” She nods towards the menu. “You were staring really hard.”

“I think I have a negative chance of ever being invited to a meeting like that. I most cavort with the other spider totems.” 

“I am.” Kara confirms with one nod of her head. “Which doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I think this reality is big enough for us all to co-exist.”

“You’re right, they did. And yet, ironically, they both walked away fine.” Emma had known about the explosion and had contingency plans in place. Carol just proved hard to kill. “I did,” Jean confirms. “It was more like combusted.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. We don’t need a dead Barnes on our hands as well.” That’s a lie. Sam wishes Bucky had blown up. It would have made life easier moving forward. He’ll be talking to the Council about getting Bucky added to the resurrection queue sooner rather than later. He’d like his friend to be able to grow as he has. “But yeah, someone attacked us. Did a pretty damn good of it. I’d be happier if we knew who that someone was.”

“Earth-616 has a long history of Thunderbolts.” Their past is pretty checkered, but that’s not something Monica is bringing up. “Your knockoff team is new and just came out of nowhere. Mayor Cage isn’t backing down.”

Brielle tells him anyway. “It’s a stupid young adult book where the blood suckers sparkle. People went totally nuts over it.” 

“Is Walker also getting a personalized house call?” Yelena doesn’t know why, but she hopes not. It’s a feeling she can quite articulate or fully realize. Bucky seems to care in a way that others do not. Alexei and Melina love her. Yelena knows that. If she up and disappeared (again), it’s been proven that someone would give a shit. But Bucky isn’t her parents. He’s her teammate, and — on a good day — her friend. His care is disconcerting to the woman who had grown up as an unloved girl. Yelena wants to thank him for checking in, but she doesn’t know how. Instead she just rises on short legs and drifts into the studio’s kitchen, leaving him in the living room.

Pulling two glasses out of  the cabinet, Yelena unscrews the lid to her vodka bottle and evenly pours two doses. She hates tequila. That’s one thing she’s learned while on her journey of self discovery post subjugation. It’s only really tolerable in a margarita, but the margarita must have a lot of salt around the rim and some fruity flavor to dull the liquor in it. Vodka goes down easier. Returning to the living room, Yelena grabs the coasters and pushes one towards Bucky. The circular piece of wood is painted to look like a tiny Captain America shield. She had seen a pack of Avengers themed coasters and gotten them for a laugh. Her own is the Iron Man arc reactor; the Black Widow one has been removed from the pack and rests inside a drawer instead. She was going to throw it out but couldn’t bring herself to.

When she takes a swallow, Yelena manages to not cough from the burn. She’s gotten good at drinking by this point. Setting it back down on the coaster, green eyes are trained on Bucky’s face. It’s familiar this point, be it clean shaven or lined with dark stubble. She knows him, Yelena likes to think, even if to a small extent. “Out of everyone, you don’t need to worry about me.” Much to her surprise, her tone is softer than expected. There’s no venom behind the words. “See, I land on my feet. Very hard to kill.” Easy to turn to ash, though. “But thank you. That… it’s nice of you to check in.”

Of course she’s heard of the explosion. Everyone has, even if they’re not in the game. Yelena says, “I was invited.” No one knows that except Yelena and the Avengers coordinators. “I think they wanted another Black Widow on their roster, like how She-Hulk fills Bruce’s shoes. I laughed at them, told them no. I am not a Natasha replacement. I guess I made a good choice.” She picks up her glass to occupy her hands. “I’m sorry to hear about Sam. Is he okay? Having people you love die is — well, it’s a special kind of pain.” It hurts more than a gunshot, that’s for sure.

The laughter was out of place, but Bucky couldn’t help but to give her a soft chuckle at that as he quickly shook his head. “Fuck no.” If he were being honest, he wouldn’t care if Walker ended up unexpectedly kicking the bucket on one of their future missions. He couldn’t stand the other man. But Yelena was a different story. He wasn’t really sure what he’d do if something happened to her. He didn’t even wanna think about it. And that definitely scared him.

There was another awkward silence as he sat there and sifted through those thoughts on his own, watching quietly as she made her way over to the kitchen. He was broken from his thoughts when he glanced down and saw that her coaster looked like a miniature Captain America shield, and he once again couldn’t help himself as he gave her a soft smirk. The longer he stared at it the more his smirk started to fade into a small, reminiscent smile until he finally just grabbed his glass and threw the liquor back in one swig. Of course it burned, but he didn’t flinch. Alcohol didn’t exactly sting the way it used to after years of never ending torture and the super soldier serum that still coursed through his veins.

He slowly set his glass back down and carefully watched her as she spoke. He wasn’t expecting her voice to sound so soft, and he got lost in that thought for a few more beats of silence before he finally responded. “I’d argue against that, actually. I know that what S.H.I.E.L.D. did had to be... difficult, for you. It would have been difficult for me.” They shared that trauma when it came to subjugation and mind control, and he was telling himself that that was why he cared so much. Because he knew gut-wrenching it must have been to lose control of herself like that all over again.

No other reason.

@barneswinters​

At this point, it almost seems appropriate to describe the relationship of Natasha and the Bucky Barnes of Earth-199999 as one that thrives in conflict. When they came together during Pleasant Hill, it had been out of necessity. Natasha was a dog with a scent and Bucky had a stake in the fate of the townspeople. Along with the small team she had compiled of her San Fransisco associates and Daisy Johnson, they had worked well together. Their relationship doesn’t rival the one she has with her James Barnes, but it’s good all the same. Natasha isn’t looking to cut another James sized hole in her life. 

Instead, she meets with this other Bucky under the cover of night. It’s a bit on the nose for an assassin to meet in the shadows, but Natasha’s had too many sleepless nights to give a damn about irony. Instead, she tucks her hands into the black leather pockets of her coat. “I need the fresh air,” she explains. Without thinking is, Natasha rolls her left shoulder back and flexes the fingers. It’s been a while since her once severed arm was returned to her body, but the unconscious tic remains. 

“As a rule of thumb, I’ve never classified you and I as lucky ones.” That’s what they are, though. They avoided the carnage that was the Avengers Mansion explosion. “But one of my best friends died, and I’m worried about him. I think you’re in the same boat. Once again, we have something in common.”

Bucky didn’t mind being outside for this conversation. It got him out of his apartment and away from his own spiraling thoughts. The feeling of the pavement underneath his feet and the cool air grounded him as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway and nodded softly. 

Sam had died. Except, he wasn’t dead anymore. It was surprising, to hear that the mutants wanted to extend the generous offer to resurrect those who had fallen at the Mansion, and Bucky definitely had his suspicions. There wasn’t much he could place quite yet, but he knew something was off about all of this. Sam was off. They’d known each other for years at this point, and while their relationship was tumultuous at times, there was an understanding of each other that Bucky had come to know well over time. 

Every time he spoke to Sam post-resurrection, it seemed like his friend was taking the death with a sense of casualness that didn’t seem very Sam-like. Sam was strong-minded, that was for sure, but he wasn’t as rattled about all of this as he should’ve been. 

“You make us look good. Yes, you used to kill people for Russia. That’s true. But there’s that nice exhibit at the Smithsonian for you. America’s longest standing prisoner of war. You were Captain America’s best friend. I guess that is enough to make up for the killing.” Yelena’s been to the Smithsonian exhibit. She had gone on a trip to Washington D.C. to look at the Cherry Blossoms. Over time, Yelena’s come to realize she likes doing things on her own. Her solo trips have been peaceful; sitting in cafe’s, going to the museums, all of it. She works well alone. As he speaks, Yelena drums her fingers against the now carved up table. “I’m playing along. For now, at least. Until I get bored. I have to make income somehow. I have health insurance now. It could be worse.” She’s lived through worse.

“Wait, really? Bruce Banner? As in the Bruce Banner. Hulk. Wow.” She exhales. “I’ve kinda been waiting. For a call, I mean. I figure the more good I do in Jersey the more points I earn. Eventually, I get to try out for the Avengers.” And then she’d get in. It’s everything she’s been hoping for. “Not that I only help people for points,” Kamala rushes to clarify. “I totally phrased that wrong. I just — I’m waiting for my chance.”

“Wait, you’re not actually friends with rocks, are you? I didn’t think this reality had that kind of thing going.” There are some that do. Everyone being rocks isn’t a far stretch in America’s mind, but it sounds super boring. “If they’re coworkers, does that mean you have no actual friends?”