maximus

It was supposed to be a simple op. A quick in and out, hit em' where it hurts, recover the intel, then get the fuck out of dodge. Of course, because he's James Buchanan Barnes, that means it has to go disastrously wrong in less than ten minutes. Of fucking course.

Bucky can't see his own hand in front of his face, much less the tree limbs that seem to have made it their job to whack him in the face as much as possible. The wind howls around him, blasting snow and ice against his already numb face. His body aches in various places, wounds from earlier only just now beginning to heal and if it weren't for the hand gripping his flesh arm he would be seriously freaking out. Okay maybe he's still seriously freaking out.

Steve's hand tightens on his arm, a reminder than no, he's not alone. But yes, the two of them are definitely lost. And cold. And possibly dying from hypothermia soon. Bucky has a thought, briefly, that he misses Wakanda. And goats.

The hand on his arm tugs him sideways, a different direction, and since he can only just make out Steve's shield on his back in the dark blizzard, Bucky is forced to trust the other man. He's been doing that a lot recently, the whole 'trust' thing. So far it's working out, but it's still early. Could go bad, probably will.

Focus.

Another branch hits him across the cheek. If he was a lesser man he would be throwing a fit, maybe plotting to burn down the forest. But since he's a very mature 100 year old, he settles from snapping the branch with his metal hand before continuing to follow Steve.

The man in question pulls him along, and Bucky is doing a very good job of ignoring the chattering of his teeth and the cold that settles into his bones in a frighteningly familiar way. he reckons if he pretends it's not happening, then there's no possible way he'll have a panic attack right now. Because that's how it works.

Shuri would be very disappointed in his emotional maturity right now.

Bucky notices the cabin at the same moment Steve does, the other man pulling him along with increased fervor. Bucky can't help but feel grateful that he's not alone, especially when he nearly cries in relief when the snow beneath his boots turns to wood. Their feet thunk loudly across the porch as they climb the stairs, finally able to see one another. Still, Steve's hand doesn't pull away from his arm. Bucky's stomach does not flip like a schoolgirl's, thank you very much.

"Hello?" Steve calls, knocking heavily, because he's a goddamn boy scout. Bucky rolls his eyes, shouldering the blonde out of the way before throwing his shoulder against the door. It gives in easily, frame cracking loudly as the door swings open with a loud squeak of it's hinges. "Bucky..." Steve sighs, sounding exasperated but not hesitating to follow his friend inside the dark cabin.

It's not much more than a couch and a small kitchenette, a bed pushed to one corner and a door leading to the bathroom in the other corner. Still, Bucky almost collapses in the doorway as the tension leaves his shoulders and he feel like he can breath. Already, his overactive metabolism is making quick work of heating him up. Steve steps past him, eyes surveying the cabin before he nods once, seemingly satisfied.

"it will work." He decides, pulling the shield off his shoulder and setting it on the ground beside the couch. His worried eyes turn on Bucky, roaming his figure from the top of his head to his feet, and Bucky does not shiver. He doesn't, and even if he did it would be because of the cold. No other reason. "You injured?" Steve asks, tone gentle but face set in hard line.

"Ribs are already healing," Bucky replies, voice gruff as he folds under Steve's intense gaze. Damn those baby blue eyes. "You?" He asks, because the alternative is ripping Steve's clothes off. Wait. What?

"Fine. My arm got grazed but I'm pretty sure it's already healed." He turns away then, thankfully, his attention on the small fireplace and the stack of wood beside it. "I can probably get this going if you want to go see if there's any food laying around." Steve offers, kneeling down. Grateful to have something to do, Bucky immediately turns to survey the small kitchen in silence.

It's not much more than a sink, counter, and hot plate. But there is a small cupboard that upon inspection reveals a box of expired granola bars that their super-soldier immune systems can probably stomach. Bucky reasons that he's definitely had worse, and considering what he remembers of military rations in the 40s so has Steve.

"Found something." Bucky rejoins Steve in front of the fireplace, where he's actually got it lit even with the slightly damp and sad looking wood. Bucky tosses him a granola bar, watching him catch it in one of his big hands.

Focus.

"so." Steve says, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed. It reminds Bucky of a skinny version of him, the kid who used to stuff newspapers in his socks and hog his bed. Bucky swallows, dropping to the floor to join him. "That went spectacularly well." Steve says dryly, around a mouthful of stale granola.

"Could have been worse." Bucky shrugs, face impassive as he watches the other man eat. "No one died this time." He reminds his friend, tipping his head. Steve laughs, nearly choking, before he shakes his head.

"What a miracle." The two lapse into a comfortable silence, neither apparently concerned about the lack of food, water, or communication with the outside world. Bucky figured Steve would be freaking out already, the control freak he is, but the guy seems perfectly content sitting on the dusty floor of an abandoned cabin. Bucky wonders if he should be panicking.

"I think the storms supposed to last at least through the night, according to whatever Natasha said before she dropped us off." Steve continues suddenly, breaking the silence. "My communicator is shot, literally." He snorts at his own joke, Bucky can't help the small grin that twitches on his lips.

"Yeah well, at least we have somewhere to stay." The dark haired man shrugs, muscles feeling heavy. His metal arm feels even stiffer than usual, shoulder and chest aching where it connects. It's better ever since Shuri got her hands on it, since it's less hack job and more intent design, but that doesn't mean the ache is gone. Sometimes he wakes up and sees tanned skin instead of dark metal. Those are the bad days.

"Tired?" Steve asks, brows furrowing as he watches the other man. "Arm bothering you?" Bucky remembers Steve was always observant, the little asshole. Still, he looks away to hide a flush at the attention, his dark hair covering most of his face.

"Nah." Bucky shrugs, going for nonchalance. "Just tired." He stands, yawning, before reaching for the buckles on the costume Natasha had made him start wearing.

"What are you doing?" Steve asks suddenly, voice pitched a bit higher than before. Bucky glances at him, one eyebrow raised as he finishes undoing the buckles on the front of his chest.

"I was hoping to get some sleep. What are you doing?" He asks back, not bothering to hide his small smile at the look on Steve's face. The blonde looks like he's clutching his pearls as Bucky pulls the shirt from his body, dropping it on the couch.

"Right." Steve says quickly, almost too quickly. Bucky just shakes his head, unbuttoning his pants as Steve stands so abruptly the floor creaks in protest. "You can have the bed," He offers, and Bucky tries to remember if Steve used to always be such a self-sacrificing idiot.

Peeling his slightly bloody pants off his legs, he doesn't look up at Steve. "We can share the bed, it'll be fine." He shrugs, ignoring the flip of excitement in his stomach. down, boy.

A beat of silence passes before Bucky looks up, wondering where his friend went, only to find Steve standing right where he was before. He's staring at Bucky with comically wide eyes, and the other man starts to feel a little uncomfortable with the attention. "Man, I'm not gonna kill you in your sleep. Do you want me to take the arm off or something?" He asks, feeling a little disapointed that Steve doesn't trust him yet.

"What?" The blonde asks, looking genuinely confused, before his eyes widen. "No, Buck, I'm not scared of you." He insists, back to the intense look on his face. Bucky suddenly misses his clean shaven look, at least that version of Steve didn't look like he could see straight into his soul. No, Bucky's convinced that the beard has psychological abilities that Steve isn't disclosing. That's the only explanation for it's effect on the former winter soldier.

I used to kill people. He thinks, when he flushes at Steve's admission. with my hands.

Nodding, Bucky peels his socks off, leaving himself in a pair of boxers. The cabin has warmed pleasantly, the small space well effected by the fireplace, so the brunette doesn't fill the chill. the two men stand there for a beat of silence, eyes flitting around the room and then back to eachother. "Are you sleeping in the uniform?" Bucky asks, his tone teasing as he looks over Steve.

"No." The man grumbles, but makes no move to undress. Finally, Bucky turns towards the bed.

"Are you seriously shy?" He asks, moving towards the suddenly tiny looking bed in the corner of the room. "I'm pretty sure we saw each other naked a hundred times during the war, Stevie." The nickname slips out before he can bite it back, and Bucky's shocked by how naturally it falls from his lips. Huh.

"Yeah well," Steve doesn't finish his comment, and Bucky can hear the rustling of clothes as he takes the uniform off. Not waiting, he slides beneath the dusty comforter, putting his back to the wall and attempting to leave as much room for Steve as he can. The other guy's gotten bigger since the went on the run, and Bucky's starting to wonder what Shuri and T'Challa are feeding him. Bucky, shockingly, has slimmed down a lot. No longer using his body as a weapon to protect himself.

He watches Steve, now dressed as minimally as him, check the lock on the door futiley, before the blonde turns his attention on the bed. Bucky can't read the range of emotions that seems to pass over his face all at once. He wonders if at one point he could read Steve better than himself, but the memory of that skill is long gone.

The other man approaches the bed, muttering an apology as he pulls back the covers and slides in beside Bucky. It's a tight fit, especially for two grown men, and Bucky's arm presses against Steve's even as he lays on his side.

"Sorry," Steve whispers in the quiet, and Bucky has to swallow. There's a strange lump in his throat, his heart pounding oddly fast from their proximity. It shouldn't matter, but it does. Bucky thinks maybe it always has, even before he remembered Steve completely.

"S'ok." Bucky whispers back, grateful for the darkness even when the two of them can see perfectly fine. He lets his hair cover his face. Steve props an arm behind his head, bicep flexing, staring up at the ceiling like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Bucky's too bust staring at Steve like he's the most interesting thing in the world to notice Steve notice him.

"What?" He whispers, eyes finding Bucky's. The brunette has a sudden thought that sharing a bed was a very very bad idea. "Something on my face?" Steve teases, relaxing.

"No." Bucky shakes his head, and his voice sounds almost breathless. He ignores the heat pressing into his side, the urge to scoot closer to his friend. No. Not going there.

"You look constipated." Steve points out, eyes narrowing on his face.

"Shut up, punk." The other man replies easily, looking away to hide the flush on his face. Steve snickers into the darkness of the room, making Bucky roll his eyes with a huff. Then, Steve can feel Bucky's eyes on his face, making him return the look with a raised eyebrow. "Now you look constipated," he says, feeling the way the air is charged around them, as if waiting. Bucky swallows as Steve's dark eyes roam his face. Then, they seem to narrow, and a sigh escapes his lips.

"Oh fuck it," Steve curses, surging forward to press his lips against Bucky's. The other man responds instantly, meeting him with just as much fervor as Steve seems to explore his mouth. Without breaking contact, the blonde rolls Bucky to his back, following him to loom over him with his knees on either side of the brunettes hips.

"Bucky," Steve whispers, voice dangerously low as he cups the side of the other man's face, thumb caressing his cheekbone. Bucky is helpless but to press against the touch, desperate for the contact in a way he hadn't been cognizant of before now. "Bucky tell me to stop." Steve begs, his other hand flexing on Bucky's hip.

"What If I don't want to?" The other man replies, almost a challenge, his eyes meeting Steve's dark gaze. There's an intensity there that terrifies Bucky, yet makes him want things he hasn't thought about in a long time. A sigh catches in his throat when the pad of Steve's thumb strokes over his lower lip, pulling it a bit.

"You want this?" He asks, voice almost a growl as he leans down. Bucky fights the urge to buck up against his heat, tongue darting out to lick his lips. The action makes Steve's eyes snap to his mouth, gaze darkening in desire.

"Yes." Bucky whispers, because it feels appropriate. And because he isn't capable of having an intelligent conversation with Steve when his cock feels so hard it might actually fall off if he doesn't get some relief soon. The word seems to be enough for Mr. Consent, who surges forward to press their lips together in a passionate kiss.

There's no fireworks, no mind-blowing revelation, just a feeling of familiarity, comfort, like Bucky was supposed to be doing this the whole time and his body's glad he's finally caught on. Steve's pace is almost frenzied, hand gripping Bucky's jaw and tilting his face how he wants to. The other man relaxing into the direction, lips parting softly when Steve's tongue swipes across them. Then Steve's licking into his mouth and it's perfect, and Bucky briefly wonders who the hell taught Steve Rogers to kiss like this but then said man is kissing Bucky too breathless to think much of anything.

When Steve finally pulls back, it's only because his chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath, Bucky is in a similar state as he stares up at the man above him with a look similar to wonder. Steve's eyes trail over his face, looking pained for a moment. "Fuck, Buck, your eyes." He groans, hand tightening on the other man's jaw like it physically pain him.

"Yeah?" He asks, smirking smugly like the little shit he used to be. Steve shakes his head, seemingly unperturbed by the other man's smugness, instead using the moment to gently grasp the back of Bucky's knee and spread his legs so he can settle between them. The move punches the air out of Bucky's chest, desire rolling over him like a wave and his blood rushing south so fast he gets light headed. "Steve," Is all the brunette is capable of as Steve's thumb strokes the back of his thigh, that little contact already driving him crazy.

With Steve settled between his thighs, Bucky can feel the other man's hardness pressing against his. He experimentally moves his hips, groaning when their cocks rub together through their boxers. Steves eyes widen at the contact, hand darting up to grip his hip to keep him still. "You keep doing that and this'll be over too quick, Buck."

"We got plenty a' time for romance later." The other man replies, trying to move again and feeling a slight thrill when Steve easily holds him still. "Don't make me wait on you, boy scout." He teases easily, not the least bit surprised when Steve leans down to capture his lips. He parts them, chin tilting the way Steve just showed him he likes. He relaxes into the kiss, even when his cock throbs between them.

Steve pulls back, peppering kisses over Bucky's face in a way that makes his stomach clench. He tips his chin back for Steve when his lips ghost over the other man's jaw, then down the front of his throat. "Stevie." Bucky sighs, an exhale more than a word, but Steve hears all the same. His hips roll, the friction making Bucky arch his back, pressing up into Steve's warmth.

Steve's hands slide up to his waist, gripping and pulling him up closer. Their chests press flush together at the same time Steve bites down on the skin just on the side of his neck. Bucky can't bite back the soft cry of pleasure, cock jumping at the sting of pain. Steve's tongue laves over the spot, sating the burn, before pulling back to watch Bucky's face as he rolls his hips again.

"If you don't get naked right now I'm going to lose it." Bucky bites out, lamenting the loss of Steve's hands when he pulls away.

"Whatever you say, buck." Steve says, almost sounding like he's laughing as he rolls slightly off the man to shuck his underwear. Bucky does the same, actions hurried and fumbling as he shoves his boxers down his legs before kicking them off. glancing up, he finds Steve watching him with a humored expression.

"Just c'mere." Bucky roll his eyes, reaching for the other man. Steve Acquiesces, rolling back into Bucky's arms like he belongs there. The brunette groans low in his throat when their bare cocks rub against one another, so hard it physically hurts. Steve's hand tips his chin up, and Bucky closes his eyes as Steve presses their lips together again.

His other hand reaches down between them, fingers closing around Bucky's cock smoothly, stroking once and nearly making his brain malfunction. He moans into their kiss, hips jerking, only held still when Steve's hand on his jaw drops to his hip to hold him still. "Hangon, Buck, lemme." Steve mumbles against his mouth, his hand jerking in a jilted rhythm.

"Yeah, okay," Bucky agrees breathlessly, trying to hold still as the blonde strokes him in a hand that suddenly seems so much bigger than Bucky's. Actually the man himself just seems to tower over Bucky's prone form, it sends a jolt of desire through him. Bucky can't help but let out a whine, back arching, as his stomach clenches. Steve's got a look of focus on his face that shouldn't be hot, but is. "Close," Bucky warns him, voice a whisper.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, and his voice hoarse with desire is nearly enough to send Bucky over the edge. Instead, the burnette whines when Steve releases him, only to exhale shakily when the other man wraps his hand around both of their erections at once.

"fuck," Bucky drags out the word as Steve strokes them together, their precum mixing to allow their cocks to slide easily against one another. Steve doesn't stop him when he rolls his hips, instead meeting him with a harried thrust of his own. "Steve," Bucky gasps, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes. Steve ducks down, pressing a kiss to the other man's exposed neck, almost sweetly. It's opposed by the dirty way Steve thrusts against him, twisting his wrist expertly.

"So pretty like this, Buck." Steve says, almost reverent, and Bucky blinks his eyes open to gaze at Steve with a shaky exhale. Steve's eyes are dark with desire as he looks down at Bucky, almost as if he's committing every part of this to memory. Bucky cries out when Steve's thumb swipes over his tip, pressing to his slit for a moment before returning to stroking their shafts together.

"Stevie," Bucky whines, hips trying to meet every one of Steve's thrusts against him.

"Hangon," the man whispers, and no matter what he says it sounds dirty, hot, like a command that washes over Bucky and makes him leak. Before he can respond, Steve's grabbing Bucky's wrist, guiding his hand down between them. "Wrap your hand around us, Buck." He commands, despite the soft tone. Nodding fervently, Bucky doesn't hesitate to do so. Steve grins down at him dirtily, before planting his hands on the bed on either side of Bucky's chest.

His hips snap forward, fucking into Bucky's hand and rubbing against his cock at the same time. A groan seems to rip from both of their throats, the slick slide of their cocks with every one of Steve's thrusts almost too much. Bucky bites his lip, looking up at Steve through hooded eyes as his stomach clenches in warning. "I'm so close, Stevie." Bucky whispers, voice hoarse as Steve's movements seem to speed up. It should be embarrassing, that this is enough to get him off, but he doesn't care. Steve's weight pressing down on him, his cock rubbing against Bucky's could be enough for the rest of his life.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's breathing is labored as he snaps his hips forward, a growl in his tone that makes Bucky shiver. "fuck, wanna see it. Show me." He leans down, his mouth claiming Bucky's in a kiss he seems to pour all of his passion into. Steve's hand grips Bucky's hip, hard enough to bruise, and that's all it takes to send Bucky over the edge. Their lips part when the brunette throws his head back when he cums, eyes clenching and mouth opening in a gasp as he paints both of their chests with it. Steve buries his face into Bucky's neck, biting him there again.

His movements increase in speed, each thrust jostling the bed and making it creak. Bucky bites back a whimper when he reopens his eyes, pleasure turning to overstimulation as Steve chases his orgasm. Still, Bucky tightens his grip and holds still, enjoying Steve's mouth against his neck. It only takes a few more moments for him to lose it, biting down hard on the skin of Bucky's neck and pressing all his body weight down onto the brunette as he comes. Bucky can feel it on his skin, the thought making his stomach clench with desire already.

Steve stays there a long while, pressed close, mouth against Bucky's neck. The other man almost falls asleep, more comfortable than he's been in a long while. He jolts awake when Steve sits up, pulling their lower halves away from one another. He gazes down at Bucky, before reaching up and gently caressing his jaw.

Bucky isn't sure what to say, so he settles for leaning into the touch and staying silent. Steve turns slightly, reaching for something, and when he turns back to Bucky he's holding an article of clothing.

Steve cleans both of them up messily, but it's better than dried cum in the morning. Then, he presses a soft kiss to Bucky's jaw before rolling over and settling against the bed. Bucky has a moment to wonder if Steve will pretend like nothing happened, but then the blonde closes his arms around the other man and pulls him in close.

2 Months After Thunderbolts

The day started out normal enough. Bob wakes up around noon, which is actually earlier than normal. A shocker, surely. He’s laying in bed contemplating the merits of getting up to eat and decidedly ignoring the voices at the back of his mind when the door to his room slams open with a bang. Light from the hallway momentarily blinds him, and he brings his hand up to shield his eyes while blinking to try and adjust his sight.

“Up! Up! Up!” Yelena’s accent is thick, and Bob knows she’s already in a cranky mood. “It’s team building day my little mouse!” She approaches the bed, yanking the comforter from his body before declaring the blinds to open.

“Oh god.” Bob groans as his eyes adjust, noting Yelena is dressed in her suit. A quick glance to the door confirms the sight of Ava smirking from the hallway, Bucky’s face appearing over her shoulder a moment later. “Please no.” Bob whines, trying to burrow into his pillows.

“No complaining.” She frowns down at him and Bob instantly feels bad for making her feel bad. Wow, shocker. A dark voice sounds louder, until he presses it down again. “It’s going to be fun! So get up and put your clothes on before my father makes you eat the pancakes he made this morning.” Bob grimaces at the insinuation, now eager to get out of bed.

“No suit right?” Bob begs, eyeing Yelena hopefully as she quirks a brow at him.

“Considering I have no interest in talking to Sentry or Void today— no.” She smiles, eyes perhaps sympathetic when they meet his again. Nodding wordlessly, Bob watches Yelena exit his room, door shutting behind her.

He makes quick work of getting ready, not wanting to irritate his blonde teammate further as he does. He dresses in a loose pair of khaki colored pants and a grey sweater that feels soft against his skin. His hair is a lost cause where it lays how it wants against his forehead and over his eyes. Today will likely consist of sitting and watching the other train, Bob strictly does not train with the others. He only recently got control of the whole touch thing, and last time he tried to train Sentry broke Walkers arm.

He still hasn’t lived that one down.

Checking the time on his watch, bob curses and hops on one foot to get his shoes on. Finally, he pockets his phone and hurries from his room. he finds the rest of the team in the ‘ready room’, a glorified living room with a conference table in the back. His beanbag, floor cluttered around it with sketch pads and books, sits in the sun.

“There he is!” Alexei shouts loud enough to make Bob wince, but he forces a grin anyways as the big man approaches him. He pauses, giving Bob enough time to dart away, before pulling the smaller man into a gratuitous hug. “We are so glad you have chosen sun over your depression, yeah?!” Alexei laughs loudly, and it’s impossible for Bob to not reciprocate. Glancing at Yelena over his shoulder, he watches her wince and shrug as if to say ‘what can ya’ do?’. Alexei finally sets Bob down, who inhales finally.

“Are we doing this sometime today?” Walker asks, sounding bored and impatient at the same time.

“You’re asking that after you spent thirty minutes styling your hair?” Ava scoffs, shaking her head while John glares.

“And you think I couldn’t hear you singing madonna in the shower this morning?” He asks sounding like a petulant child. Bob hides his laugh behind a cough, earning a glare from Ava that has no real heat behind it.

“Okay if you children are done we can leave.” Bucky, looking bored, motions to the helipad on the balcony where the jet already sits. Bob shoves his hands in his pockets as he waits to follow the group, eyes down. ‘And somehow these are earths mightiest heroes now?’

Gritting his teeth against the thought, he listens as bucky’s footsteps head towards the doors following the others closely behind as if they might leave him. Yelena, who he can tell because of her blue accented boots, walks beside him.

“Okay?” She asks, bumping his shoulder to draw his attention. Glancing up, Bob smiles quickly at her before looking away.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “What-ah- what are we doing?” His voice is low, as if he doesn’t want the others to hear. ‘There are literally three super soldiers in front of you-‘

“It’s going to be fun! You’ll love it!” Her words cut off the voice, and even Bob can see the stress on her face. Their team isn’t failing necessarily but they also don’t get along any better than they did two months ago when they defeated Void. And since then they’ve only had a handful of missions— only one being anything close to world ending. Maybe world ending is an exaggeration, it was just some genetically overgrown hamsters trying to destroy California.

“Okay.” He smiles, following her up the ramp into the jet before taking his seat against the walk. Thankfully he’s not a nervous flier, even though he probably should be with the way Bucky tears off the roof and into the air. Walker, who refuses to strap into his seat every-time, goes flying past him comically to slam into a box of something before landing on the floor as the jet levels out. Alexei laughs.

“Bucky!” He shouts from the floor. “Don’t make me come up there and kick your ass! I’ll use your arm as a bat!” The plane jerks just as he tries to get to his feet, sending him sprawling into Bob who does his best to catch him but only succeeds in kneeing the man in the face. “Dammit Bob.” He grouches, shooting up to his feet. Alexei howls with laughter from the front of the jet.

“Aweeee you’re like a kicked puppy.” Ava remarks beside him, smiling sweetly at the man. “As in your face makes me want to kick you.” John starts saying something then breaks off into an incoherent sentence before growling and making a motion with his hands as if strangling her.

“Can you guys behave for just a few hours?” Yelena asks, exasperated. “We’re supposed to be Team building! Not team bickering!” A series of ‘sorry yelena’s go up around Bob, who quickly adds his own before his eyes go back down to his feet. The rest of the flight passes in tense silence.

***

The training field is not Bob’s idea of a good time. Neither are the half-dozen dodgeballs lying ominously in the grass like colorful harbingers of doom.

“Team-building,” Yelena had said.

“Torture,” Bob mutters under his breath, already sweating despite standing completely still. His arms hang awkwardly at his sides, hoodie sleeves covering his hands like he is trying to disappear into cotton. The others appear just as excited as him, kicking the balls dejectedly.

“I’m making the teams,” Yelena declares, tossing a ball up and catching it like she was born to inflict violence recreationally. “Me, Ava, and Bob.”

“What?” Bob squeaks

Ava rolls her eyes like this is an inconvenience. “We’re gonna lose.”

“We’re gonna die,” Bob corrects, wrapping his arms around himself as he looks around the training field. It’s wide open, shielded from view by a heavy line of trees. Inside are various obstacles like hay bales, tree stumps, crates, and even structures for some of their more vigorous training.

Walker let out a short bark of laughter. “Good luck with that deadweight.” The words are his usual level of banter, and Bob has an easier time recognizing the lack of heat behind them than he used to.

“I—hey.” Bob blinks, mildly offended but mostly just tired. “That’s… fair.” With a shrug, he kicks some grass at his feet.

“Which leaves me, Bucky, and the big guy,” Walker continues, already cracking his knuckles like they’re about to brawl in a prison yard. Bob already knows Walker is going to have too much fun here.

“Perfect,” Bucky mutters, clearly meaning the opposite. The super soldier looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, and considering his old idea of a fun time was murder- Bob’s not surprised.

Alexei is stretching with intense effort off to the side, one leg up on a barrel as he grunts loudly. “I have not played dodgeball since Soviet gymnasium. I broke three ribs. Not mine.” Yelena looks up at the sky as if praying for patience.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Bob mutters.

“You know what else didn’t end well? The last time you trained with them.”

The voice slithers in, low and cold. Bob flinches and clenches his fists, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Nope. Not today. Shhhh,” he hisses under his breath, rubbing at his temple like he can physically shove the voices back where they belong.

“What?” Ava calls, across the field. “You having a stroke or just being yourself?”

“Same thing, really,” Walker says, moving to join her on the opposite side of the balls. Bob can already feel the way this is not going to end well.

“I am fine,” Bob lies, trudging toward the field where Ava and Yelena stand like he’s heading for a public execution.

Yelena clapps her hands once to get their attention. “Rules: no actual weapons, no ghost phasing, no metal arms used to launch the balls at terminal velocity. And Bob’s not allowed to die.”

“I’ll try,” Bob whispers, frowning.

“Try harder,” says the cold voice, uninvited.

“Let me out, weakling. I would cleanse this field in righteous fury.”

Bob smacked the side of his own head lightly, using the pain to block out the voices. “No, no, shut up.” It feels like the more he tries to wrangle them in the louder they get.

“What’s he doing?” Bucky asks, confusion on his face. The voices aren’t new, not since Bob became himself again- but they seem to get louder when he’s fearing for his life. Like right now.

“Talking to his imaginary friends,” Ava replies helpfully, an edge to her voice that irks Bob.

“They’re not—shut up,” Bob mutters, feeling anger not entirely his own bubble up. The game begins with exactly the amount of grace you’d expect.

Alexei immediately throws a dodgeball so hard it explodes against a tree. Bob jumps with fear and begs to whoever still listens that he makes it out of this with all his limbs.

“That was the LAST orange one!” Yelena snaps. “You don’t just explode them, you maniac!”

“Orange ones are weak. Like Bob,” Alexei announces proudly. Bob’s confused on how that makes any sort of sense and why exactly the big man makes it sound like a compliment. Then he gives up and shrugs.

“Thanks, I guess?” Bob said, somehow both confused and grateful for the non-compliment.

Walker flings a ball at Ava, who phases through it, despite the rule. “You cheated!” He shouts, like a child, practically stomping his foot. Yelena shouts in agreement from their side of the field.

“I don’t follow rules made by children,” Ava shoots back at the two, starting another argument. Bob shifts his weight from foot to foot anxiously while he watches.

“You are a child,” Walker growls, advancing with another ball in hand. Yelena’s shouts of ‘team work’ and ‘follow the rules’ are left unheard as the two face off with one another.

“You’re a frat boy with a superiority complex!” Ava throws a ball hard, watching in satisfaction as it hits Walker in the gut hard enough he slides back a step and leans over in pain.

“Alright, time-out!” Yelena yells, throwing her hands up. “This is not dodgeball, this is passive-aggressive war.” Her face is twisted into exasperation and somehow Bob feels bad.

“We are not passive,” Alexei adds helpfully. Yelena turns red.

Bob, meanwhile, had dropped his ball and was trying to figure out if he can fake an asthma attack despite never having had asthma. Then he looks up—and sees Bucky (who apparently missed the time out) charging straight for him with a ball in hand.

“Ohgodohgodshesaidtimeoutshesaid—“

Bob scrambles backwards as he shouts at Bucky who apparently cant hear through his winter soldier dodge ball rage, trips over his own feet, falls into another ball, then somehow kicks it upward in a flailing panic. It soars in an awkward arc.

And smacks Bucky square in the face.

Dead silence.

“Did—did I just—” Bob blinks. “Did I hit him?” He asks no-one

Bucky slowly picks up the ball, stares at Bob like he’s contemplating homicide, then tosses it aside.

“Bucky’s out!” Yelena shouts, equal parts shocked and gleeful as she runs over to Bob to congratulate him. Ava seems pleased while Walker seems equally as shocked as Bob.

“I tripped,” He explains to no one. “I tripped and kicked a ball with my shin. My body accidentally succeeded.”

“You are a joke carved from failure,” Void whispers coldly.

“No. You are a legend. Perhaps even a god,” Sentry adds, smug.

“SHUT UP,” Bob shouts, finally. Everyone turns to stare making him wince before turning his head away from their eyes on him.

“I mean—uh—great game,” he says quickly. “Sports! Go team.” He adds unenthusiastically.

Yelena sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay,” she says. “New goal: don’t kill each other. And maybe… actually act like a team?”

“Not unless she apologizes for calling me a child,” Walker mutters, pouting.

“Not unless he apologizes for being one,” Ava snaps back immediately, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Maybe if everyone just shuts up for five seconds we could—” Bucky starts.

Alexei lets out a loud, long burp before laughing and patting his stomach. Words are said in Russian which Yelena replies to in exasperation. Even Bucky starts arguing now.

Bob, who’s still on the ground, just lays back in the grass and stares at the sky as if it can answer why the hell he’s here.

“This is my life now,” he says. “This is fine.”

Yelena flops down beside him, breathing hard. “Fun, huh?” she asks with a crooked grin.

Bob closes his eyes. “I got publicly bullied, yelled at by the voices in my head, tripped into a personal victory, and might have sprained my dignity.”

She nudges his shoulder. “That’s a yes.”

Bob cracks a tiny smile. “…Yeah,” he said. “Kind of.”

****

The compound is quiet. The team lounging around in their pajamas and decidedly ignoring one another. Yelena sharpens a knife, John flips through tv channels, Ava argues with him about what to watch, Alexie devours some leftover pancakes, Bucky cleans a gun, and Bob sits curled in his chair sketching a dark figure.

It’s too quiet.

Yelena’s the first to feel it—an itch between her shoulder blades, that deep, gut-level unease she’s learned to trust. She glances up from her spot on the couch where she’s polishing a combat knife, eyes narrowing.

“Something’s off.”

From the kitchen, Ava peeks around the fridge door, a spoon halfway to her mouth. “Like, off like John’s breath after protein shakes or off like—”

A flickers of bulbs cuts of her next words. One second the lights are steady overhead. The next, the bulbs pulse—just once—before returning to normal.

Yelena notices. She sits up straighter on the couch. “Did anyone else—?”

A concussive blast shakes the building, rattling the foundation. Books crash from shelves. The eastern wall erupts in fire and smoke, sending shrapnel and dust through the common room like a shotgun blast. Ava vanishes mid-step. Bucky’s on his feet before the dust even settles, yanking his sidearm free with a curse.

Bob stumbles back from the blast radius, coughing, ears ringing and struggling to gain his bearing. He sees movement—black-clad silhouettes emerging through the smoke like phantoms. Fear grips his heart like a vice.

“Contact!” Bucky roars. “We’ve got company!”

The compound erupts into violence.

Yelena rolls into motion, tossing a knife with pinpoint precision into the first attacker’s shoulder. The man crumples, twitching. Another rushes her—she ducks under the strike and flips him over her shoulder like a rag doll, finishing it with a heel to the throat.

John slams his retrieved shield into two invaders, using brute force to drive them through a wall. “Who the hell are these guys?!” He shouts, coughing through the dust as he goes for another mercenary.

“Not randoms,” Ava says, appearing beside him, slashing a ghosting blade across the merc’s throat before blinking across the room. “They came prepared— watch for cuffs!” She evades another pair of enhanced handcuffs by blinking across the room.

Alexei barrels into the fray like a tank, intercepting a barrage of energy blasts with his bare fists. He laughs. “Ha! Your lasers are pathetic!” He grabs one of the attackers and throws him—bodily—through the kitchen counter. Another receives a plate of half eaten pancakes to the head.

Bucky fights like a machine. Precise, lethal, unrelenting. He catches a metal staff aimed at his head with his metal arm, twists it with an audible groan of metal, and drives his boot into the attacker’s gut. Another charges—he spins and decks the guy hard enough to send him flying into the wall with a crack of concrete.

But they just keep coming, spilling out of the hole in the wall like ants.

Bob presses himself into the corner behind the overturned conference table, heart pounding. He watches the chaos unfold like a nightmare in fast-forward. His hands shake uncontrollably. A voice presses at the back of his mind, insistent.

“Let go. Let me handle this,” a voice urges in his mind, calm but sharp. “You’re wasting time.”

“And kill everyone?” The other voice snarls, venomous. “Go on, Bob. Be a monster again.”

“No,” Bob whispers. “Not again. Not again.”

A stray blast shatters the floor lamp next to him, and he yelps, scrambling farther back. Yelena sees him—just for a second—and her face flashes with alarm as she breaks the neck of a man trying to get cuffs on her.

“Bob! Move! Get out of here!” Her face is filled with worry as she attempts to fight towards him. At her words the others move their attention on him as well, shifting their focus to getting to Bob.

But he’s frozen.

Then they come—through the haze of smoke—six soldiers in heavier gear, moving in formation. They cut through the others, ignoring the fight, eyes locked on one person.

Bob.

He barely gets to his feet when a figure appears beside him in a haze of orange shimmer, and something clamps around his wrist—a magnetic cuff that lights up blue on contact, sending shocks straight to his nerves. He cries out, collapsing again.

“Target neutralized,” one says into a comm as the others reach them through the fray. “Engage extraction.”

“No—wait—” Bob struggles, but they grab him roughly, yanking his arm behind his back and lifting him off the ground. He kicks feebly. “Don’t—don’t do this—”

Yelena screams his name, quickly followed by John telling him to “hold on” and “wait”. She lunges through the chaos, knives flashing, cutting down one attacker—but not fast enough. Ava tries to blink between Bob and the mercs, but one of them deploys a shimmering field that distorts her phase-out. She reappears too far away, clutching her head.

“Bob, fight back!” Bucky growls, trying to reach him through the smoke—but he’s blocked, forced into a grapple with two enhanced soldiers.

Bob doesn’t.

He won’t.

He’s terrified.

The air warps with a high-pitched whine—tech-based teleportation. A ring of shimmering orange forms around the squad.

Yelena throws a blade—it skims past Bob’s cheek but hits nothing. Ava screams in frustration.

John hurls his shield with a snarl. Too late.

Bob’s eyes meet Yelena’s.

He’s sorry.

Then he’s gone.

The shimmer collapses, leaving behind only broken furniture, cracked walls, and silence.

A moment passes—one beat, then another—as the team stands amidst the wreckage, catching their breath. Bob is gone.

The room is left in ruin. Rubble smolders. Blood drips. The team stands, breathing hard, surrounded by groaning bodies—but without Bob.

Yelena’s shoulders are heaving, hands clenched at her sides. “They took him because he wouldn’t fight,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Because he was afraid to lose control,” Bucky mutters, correcting her before slamming his metal fist into the wall beside him.

Alexei’s voice, uncharacteristically quiet, speaks what they’re all thinking:

“And now they have him.”

****

They always keep the lights too bright.

A hum in his teeth. A headache blooming just behind his right eye—no, left—no, both. Hard to tell anymore.

The door groans open.

New footsteps. Not boots. Lighter.

Then—thud.

They’ve brought someone else. He doesn’t look. Not at first. Doesn’t care. But the breathing is wrong. Too fast. Too loud.

Alive.

He turns his head slowly, eyes adjusting to the blur of motion and limbs on the floor.

Small. Shaking.

They’ve brought him someone breakable. The boy struggles to his feet, cuffs scraping the ground. He’s chained to the wall, wrists rubbed raw from his cuffs— it’s been a long time since they’ve allowed him that kind of freedom. Shifting, the chains clink and scare the boy.

“H-hello?” He asks, shrinking in on himself. “Who’s there?”

He waits a breath. Two. Doesn’t see the need to answer but wonders if thats how he looked when they first threw him in this cell all that time ago. His headache pounds behind both eyes.

“Don’t let them hear you scream.” He says before he can think better of it. His voice rasps from disuse.

“What?” The boy asks, fear in his tone. He won’t last long.

“Even when it hurts.” The cell quiets as the lights turn off with an audible bang. Familiar darkness fills the cell and hall beyond. He watches, eyes already adjusted, as the boy curls up in the opposite corner.

No, he won’t last long at all.

⚡️⚡️⚡️