ARCHIVED | MOVED

⚔️  - He still wasn’ sure this was the best idea he’d ever had. Clint had plenty of people wantin’ to celebrate, saying happy birthday, keeping his attention. The day’d slip by real fast without him, so there was no real need to even bother comin’ by. 

Bucky was supposed to be on a mission anyway, far gone an’ takin’ a hit to help out someone elses life, sure he’d maybe consider Barton a friend now but it’d just be plain weird for a friend to catch a small jet back an’ turn up just to celebrate some guy being born, right?

Who the hell even knew anymore, he’d still done it. Checked his watch the night before an’ clambered into the seat before he could stop himself. Silent an’ not really looking at the undoubtedly judgin’ gaze of the other SHIELD agent. 

Jobs for these fellas were shit anyway, what’s the big deal if he’s done quicker then normal? It’s not a big flashy show to be made, he misses the small gatherin’ anyhow so the reason is completely irrelevant. He’s just checkin’ in after a job well done.

Bucky picks the lock on the window instead of usin’ the door like he can convince himself he’s just deliberately being annoying, well into the night when he finally reaches the crappy little apartment, drops silently down from the window ledge before perchin’ back against it. 

Clint doesn’t look shocked to see him, it’s better he doesn’t read into that, instead he distracts from any jokes or looks by thrustin’ out the box in his hand, duckin’ his head slightly like avoiding direct eye contact can stop any sorta information getting out of his mouth. 

“I was in the neighbourhood.” 

A go to lie an’ they both know it but it’s a buffer all the same, a pink tongue flickin’ out nervously before he drops the box into Clint’s hand. No goin’ back, it’s just a gift for a friend on his birthday yet it still feels like admitting somethin’ that makes his eyes narrow, shifting like he can’t stand still for once.

It’s a key, nothin’ fancy. He figured Barton came by so often now that it was gettin’ costy keeping up with security all the time. It’s more a gift to Bucky than Clint, he can let himself in to Bucky’s house an’ Bucky can stop having to try and change those ridiculous security codes all the fuckin’ time.

He got it in bright eye pain purple just to be obnoxious. 

Bucky feels like he’s climbin’ out of his own skin waitin’ for a reaction, half tempted to just see if this serum is still as good and drop outta the window fast but at the same time he’d missed the party, gotten all the way here -- he could at least steal some cake. 

Maybe a movie or somethin’ only for birthday leeway. 

Bucky runs a hand through his hair before huffing a small sound, gesturing to the key and shrugging his backpack to the floor beside him. Cake would definitely be good, coffee maybe. He moved for the plane so fast he forgot to eat, typical. 

Ex shield, forced hydra kids, ex avengers -- anyone who passed the empathy test was given one chance to live normally like Bucky always wanted?

WANDA WATCHED HIS HESITANCE AT TAKING A SEAT AT THE ISLAND, HIS EYES SHIFTING ABOUT THE ROOM FOR ANY POTENTIAL THREATS. She only smiled and waited patiently, not putting too much pressure on him to join her. She knew well the feeling of being watched, untrusting of the eyes on the back of your neck, waiting for the inevitable. She would have his back if he needed it; he might not know that in that moment, but she was sure of it. 

“ You give me too many compliments, “ she replied bashfully, keeping her eyes down as she lulled the ladle through the stew. Regardless, she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “ Perhaps the intent waz to poison you after all,  “ she teased as she watched him finally settle into his seat before her. 

She noticed then how sharp his blue eyes were, & how tired they seemed.

Wanda stopped her stirring at the mention of his mother. A softer smile graced her face, a comfortable one. He squirmed in his seat, seeming to be less comfortable than she was with sharing this personal information. Slowly, her hand began to move in concentric circles again, her eyes drifting casually back down at the dish. 

She decided it couldn’t hurt to open up. Pietro had always tried to prevent her from sharing too much with new people & in the past it proved to be correct - maybe she was a bit naive… but she didn’t see the harm in trying in this setting. She could provide an opportunity for him to be closer to someone in the facility besides Steve and Sam. She knew how much she needed Clint’s extended hand when she felt isolated from the rest of the group. She’d love to be that extended hand for James if she could. Maybe do something good for a change…

“ Steve mentioned that you were raised togetherr, in the city. Pietro and I were much of the same. Our Mother made us many traditional dishes, from not a lot ohf wealth. It waz… difficult, to find whaat she needed in the markets, but I appreciate it now. “ She smiled at the memory of her mother in the kitchen, she and her brother running through the markets in Sokovia looking for just the right ingredients. It was a warm memory.

“ You know… I am trying to remember… the dishes of our people. Maybe you would like to help ?? “ she looked up at him hopefully. “ I would very much appreciate a tongue familiarr with the flavors. “

And to make her point ever the more prominent, he shed light on the fact that the orange peels were supposed to be grated, & the witch looked down at the simmering large pieces of orange peel already dispersed in her creation.  

“ You see ?? I am in desperate need of assistance from you !! “ she laughed as she pressed her hand into her forehead in mild embarrassment. 

“ I am grateful you like the aroma, for you will smell this Krupnik for weeks; the curse I will bringg upon the facility is that I will neverr finish the perfect pot !! “

⚔️ - "Do I?” 

Bucky blinks for a moment, finally grounding himself in the chair at the island. It isn’t his most comfortable, too open spaced, back to a wide door and even wider complex but Wanda is at his front and he appreciates notin’ the look she gives about, patient and watchin’ she does have his back. One of the few he’d believe the sentiment from. 

After all, they both understood. Ain’t often you get that sort of bond, even if they might not make it to more than acquaintances forced together it’s not somethin’ you dismiss. Bucky offers a small, half bashful smile of his own, lookin’ down at the counter with a rough sound in his throat.

“Well if I’m givin’ so many then they’re deserved. I don’ bother with untrue flattery anymore.” 

For half a second he tenses at the mention of poisonin’ just instinctive until the realisation she was teasin’ him broke through the wary look. Raisin’ an eyebrow and doin’ his best to hide the small laugh into a shift of position. It’s strange he doesn’ get teased often. Sam did it plenty but there was always a bite too it like he isn’ sure he means it an’ Barton had been gone a while so the fact she’s unafraid, comfortable enough to do it? 

Bucky’s muscles go lax and he relaxes into the seat, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his hair with a shrug. 

“I’d be alright with it. Poisonin’ with good food is less insultin’ than any other way of goin’, at least I’d go down full.” 

His head tilts as Wanda start talkin’, straightenin’ his back so that he could listen to her politely, watchin’ her hands move over the dish. It was startin’ to smell right now. More like what he remembered and what he knew, taking a deep inhale before followin’ it with a content sound, eyes turning back up to her at the mention of her mother.

“Oh, I ain’t no expert my ma she used to run a diner. I don’t get a lot but I know she fed who she could, had a lot of refugee’s an’ helped a lot of others who were bein’ hunted. It was risky business but it meant a lot of new foods. She brought a lot of recipes over from Romania so she had the best kinda stews that kept us fed in the war. When I got out -- I been tryin’ to learn again, like you are. Lived in Romania until Steve... found me. Picked up a few things.” 

It sat in his chest though that Wanda didn’ remember much of her family either. He was slowly gettin’ more, at least he thinks so, flashes and dreams. Written hastily down in his journals, he knew what it was to try an’ piece your past together through smells and tastes, tryin’ to jog somethin’ you could keep. 

Pink peeks over his lower lip as Bucky wets it before noddin’, shifting to step out of the chair. Edging around the counter to stand beside her. It was almost done, orange rinds would kick out the bite from too much flavorin’, could do with a little somethin’ though. 

“So I don’t know how you like it but I liked ta put a bit of lemon in there when I could steal some from the market. Just squeeze in the juice, gives a little kick. If you don’ like it, we can leave it out next time.” 

Bucky looks about for a second, getting his baring to cross to the fridge, grinning when he finds a small’n tucked in the back. It’d do, you shouldn’t add too much after all, makes it bitter and wet. 

“That’s a curse ‘m willin’ to take. We might not find perfect but we can find somethin’ right. Here you go.” 

Bucky holds out the fruit as he study’s the spoon that he swears turns on it’s own when she’s not lookin’, biting his tongue before glancing to her curiously. It’s nothin’ bad. Bucky’d be the worst kinda person to judge her for what she could do after everythin’ his hands had done, but it is given a little teasin’ like she had done to him. 

“TOO LATE. Hulk already called dibs on that one to use as a toothpick.” fucking asshole. the deadpan glare briefly offered soon turns into the trademark dipshit little smirk however, and Clint is fine. Bucky, after all, doesn’t mean it either. if there’s one thing he’s learned by now about their very own 40′s version of dumb and dumber, it’s that Bucky’s the one who barks but rarely bites, while it’s the other way round with Rogers.

the fun fact remains however that even Clint doesn’t quite know what he’s doing here. been in the neighborhood          eh, sure. in a way. couple blocks off his original destination, but that’s already been shot to shits by the time he got there. not by Barnes, most likely. the man still refuses to get involved after all.

he’s made sure to check about a good dozen times that nobody has been following him. no aliens or mad scientists, none of Fury’s little lapdogs either. bunch of creeps ain’t all that wrong after all, no matter if he used to be one of them. one of Fury’s best; irreplaceable they’d called him. and then everything had gone to hell, half of SHIELD had died, and any of these fine fellas had been all too happy to let him rot in hero supermax.

“look at you bein’ hilarious.” the smirk grows.

it’s bad that he somehow gets the man. the deadass sarcasm turned defense, all walls up, sick and tired of being watched and monitored. Clint technically is still a fugitive from the government. prison break and resisting arrest don’t look so great on a CV, and from the amounts of time he’s spent looking over his shoulder, he’s strained his neck thrice already.

even worse, he’s all too familiar with the sensation of someone else living in your brain. of sitting on the passenger seat while someone strange plays ghost driver, and you can scream and step on the invisible breaks as hard as you want, it doesn’t do shit. and he, too, has killed people that way. good people. colleagues and friends.

maybe that’s why he’s trying. maybe that’s why he felt a sudden urge to come by. because that kind of check-up might actually be something heartfelt for a change, and he hasn’t had one of those moments in a while.

“what, so takin’ the train to this rundown neighborhood counts as effort now? wanna give me that in writin’, so everyone knows I’m not half as lazy as they say I am.” he sidesteps Barnes; one small, single step that brings just enough space between them so the man can get to his counter. have him snarl a little more. like Clint gives a damn.

“Fury doesn’t run my missions anymore.” a look inside the fridge should probably shock him to death, but truth be told: his own looks no different. almost barren with the exception of a few snacks, some drinks, a ton of cold packs. and he hands the milk over, leaning against the counter while he curiously watches.

“it’s Sam’s call now. which, y’know, would be more fun if he only used the word motherfucker half as much as Fury did. but no, I got no lonesome death mission for a change. just lil’ ol’ me havin’ some spare time is all.” it’s weird to see Barnes so domestic. fun though, something new every day. “and since I’m known to regularly force my presence on others          tough shit.” 

Clint casually scratches his chin. “how you holdin’ up?”

⚔️  - “Damn it, he would.” 

Bucky can feel the faint twitch of a smile at the bounce back. Hulk might make him wary at times -- nothin’ personal, he just respects the guys ability to snap him like an afore mentioned toothpick -- but he’s got good taste, good enough to call dibs first. 

Would probably let Bucky have a look at it first though, if he brings some sweet cakes? 

It’s strange this, movin’ in tandem around the kitchen. Brushing past Barton to grab the coffee, accepting the milk, leaving it to stew whilst he leans down to dig in the small freezer. Lendin’ half an ear as the guy keeps on harpin’ at him. Snorting just faintly at the dismissal of his humour. 

“I am funny you know, you just ain’t got good taste. And you can’t hear it half the time, I see you turnin’ off when I’m talking.” 

That’s offered alongside the smallest upturn of expression and a lack of heat which is as close to friendly as he’s getting with someone who breaks into his house at ridiculous hours to check on him. 

Bucky pushes to stand, holdin’ a few things in hand that might work. He’s not got a five star menu but he lives comfortable enough, his hits pay well an’ he doesn’t fail them. This time they matter, this time they’re his choice an’ that’s weirdly motivating for someone used to having it all taken away. 

He raises his hands enough for Clint’s line of sight, juggling packets in them, tilting his head as he does.

“You want mac ‘n cheese or sausage sandwiches? If you don’t pick fast I‘m making you nothin’.”

He lapses into silence at the explanation of Fury’s loss of rank and Sam climbing to fill it. Admittedly he hadn’t really been keeping up, watching, caring. He probably should, Sam had been nice enough to him after all but Bucky just.. didn’ wanna know. He didn’t care for who ran the show, who called the shots to kill people and who hunted him down. It was all the same to him, it always ended the same anyhow. 

SHIELD lost it’s rep a long time ago, too many holes, too many ways in. Hydra’d climb back out of the ashes and slip right back in sam as every time so unless it’s a personal request or an off the book mission he isn’t puttin’ his name on that record. 

Call him crazy but it’s hard to trust a place that keeps openin’ the doors for the people that want to use him to murder them, you know? 

Bucky’s eyebrows go up a little though, glancing to Clint before turnin’ back to finish up and hold out a mug for him, placin’ the food on the counter until he had an answer. So he really had just stopped by to ask how he was and get company. Half the universe gone and back, shouldn’t be so surprising that Bartons digging into the dirt for friends now. It’s weird but not entirely terrible. 

Not that he can let it go easy, what kinda antagonistic friend would he be then? 

“Aww, Clint darlin’, almost sounds like you care about me! I’m touched.” 

Bucky follows up the dig with a hand on his chest and his best bat of lashes, finalising with a curl of a smirk as he shakes his head. He’s not one for heart to hearts but honesty for honesty is the way you don’t end up dead later so the teasing falls slowly, slackin’ shoulder and a small hum of thought. 

“‘m doin’ alright. Work has been comin’ in less lately with everything but I had a stash saved just incase so I’m not going south anytime soon. Dinah’s thinkin’ about sellin’ this complex and I might buy it, would be easier if this place was an entire safe house, stops more civilians bein’ put in the line of fire since visitors are cropping up out of the blue lately.” 

Bucky gives a deliberate side eye before he clears his throat and downs some of his own drink, starting up again to ready the stove. It’s easier to have somethin’ to do, feels less like a moment and more like a domestic normality. 

FOR ONCE CLINT ISN’T BLEEDING. the small miracles of life that keep on surprising him, too. in fact he feels strangely fine. chipper almost, and in a chatty mood, which perhaps to Barnes is far worse than a whiny archer bleeding out on his hardwood floor, but he can’t be arsed to care. “I haven’t even touched your fridge. yet.” how he manages to sound almost offended is another one of those miracles, but part of his brain is beginning to whisper that if he egged him on a little more, he might find Bucky throwing a knife at him in a hot second.

man’s got a fuse about as short as Stark.

leaning in the doorway, arms crossed before the chest does he wait for the inevitable kick out         and instead finds said ex-soviet assassin rush past him without a care in the world, leaving Clint blinking like an ox. the fuck.

“man, you really gotta bag that paranoia. nobody’s pissed off. again, yet.” except maybe for Barnes edging closer and closer to that point where Clint’s beginning to worry that the guy who’ll be taken out from three roofs away in fact is him. “that really somethin’ that never happens to you? people comin’ by to just check on how you’re doin’?” people probably do, but people don’t include Clint Barton. start’s been rocky, Clint isn’t moronic enough to pretend it went down otherwise, but hey, what other way to improve a situation than to relentlessly bug the guy who clearly doesn’t like you?

cue a couple of seconds passing in silence in which Clint merely seizes Bucky up and waits. for something. anything. some kind of actual invitation maybe, who knows. a sign from god that something about that guy is actually human and sociable. hope dies last, the whole shebang.

“so. coffee?”

⚔️  - “The yet is so promisin’ there. Really comforting. If someone kills you I want your bow. the fancy one with all the purple edgin’. I’m goin’ to make it into a coat hanger.”

It’s a deliberate choice to gloss over the paranoia comment because despite it all he knows full well Clint’s got eyes just as big as his in the bag of his head. You can act carefree all you want but you aren’t gonna survive this life if you ain’t takin’ at least a few precautions, checking the odd corner and doin’ the odd bug sweep.

Besides Clint doesn’t mean it. At least, not usually. Bucky does give him a hard look though, for appearances sake. Slowly relaxing the grip on his fun but he doesn’ make a move to unbolt the door, or open the curtains again. It’s just better ta be safe, even if Clint isn’t in trouble there’s no sayin’ who SHIELD has watchin’ them.

Bunch of creeps. Or should he say spies? Same difference, Bucky’s known enough of ‘em to be able to say that bluntly.

Fingers work quickly, flicking on the safety and tucking the gun into his thigh holster with a roll of his eyes as Barton settles into being more -- Barton. No surprise there though the comment does pull him up short, gaze turnin’ sharp and suspicious.

It feels like a pitfall edge, coaxing and interrogatin’ and Bucky waits for the inevitable joke or slight on him to follow yet it doesn’t come and he blinks for a second, owlishly if anyone ever dared to comment on it.  They didn’ often dare.

“If by coming by to check on me you actually mean makin’ sure I haven’t gone all hail hydra and killed all of my contacts in the last week then sure, this is the number one spot in town.”

There’s a heavy dose of sarcasm in the answer but it’s not all that wrong. Steve tries with him, he does but it just ain’t the same anymore. When they’re not fightin’ together the rifts there, a big gap to leap where he’s not the guy Steve wants to remember and Steve isn’t the little fella he needs to protect. One day he thinks maybe they’ll bridge it if Steve can get off his ass about his job, ‘til then Bucky’s just...

Not botherin’ to think about it because he’d rather be free on his own than bobbin’ and bowing to SHIELD or Hydra or any of the big shits who claim to be different but really aren’t. Besides if Clint’s here then he ain’t exactly got a party goin’ either.

Bucky’s attention turns to the coffee on the stove and the I don’t have any get out dies fast when he notes the little offerin’. Like a truce or maybe a branch, whatever dopey metaphor you need for tryin’ to make friends.

Why in the hell Clint’s tryin’ to be his friend he has no idea but it’s late an’ Clint looks like he’ll start wailing if he’s kicked out onto the street again. It’s probably not safe to go out at this time lookin’ like a bad club worker anyhow.

He probably has some mac ‘n cheese he can make, at least he picked up more milk yesterday.

“... Pass me the milk. Only ‘cause I know what you get like when you go through a lot of effort and don’t get your daily treat.” He’s moving over to the counter before he can change his mind, lettin’ silence fall for a second before biting his tongue isn’t doing the job anymore.

@notcompliant YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE GETTING THIS

▊▊▊-[❇]-▊▊▊—;

Metal being struck was all that anyone heard while the young Asgardian inside worked. There was always something to do while he was the only one fully capable to tinker and work on weaponry. Seeing he had taken over basically all clients the former blacksmith had. He was getting on in years and wasn’t as quick as his younger apprentice was. But there was enough time for him to tinker with his own creations. 

There was nothing quite like the smell of a forge and the fresh smell of struck metal. Sweat stuck to his brow as he worked on reforging a weapon that had been shattered in training. It seemed his uncle was getting harder on the new trainees at his command. They were coming to him three times a week now. Not that he minded. It kept him busy and he did get to see the one he had given his heart to much more. Though he was sure at this point he was breaking Eret’s weapon on purpose so he would come see him. He liked listening about his day while he worked on his sword. 

Always giving it the same treatment he would something he would personally make for himself. The blade was fresh and sharpened as he ran a gloved hand down the side. Watching it gently slice through the first layer as he smiled. Hoping down from his stool he went to the window as he lay the weapon on the counter. His love leaning over and pressing a kiss to his freckled cheek as he hummed. “Just make sure you don’t break it too fast this time. I’m running low on the metal yours is made from.” He told the young warrior as he looked over his shoulder seeing something catch his eye. Eret’s chuckle brought him back to him as he pressed another kiss to him. “I don’t make promises.” Eret’s voice sounding so sure and smug. Hiccup merely shook his head as he waved the other off. 

The stranger that had caught his eye having seen the entire interaction as he looked at him. He had not seen him before but then again his uncle had been known to bringing the other Avengers back to Asgard. Despite the King of Asgard’s warning to not do such a thing. 

Like Thor listened. 

This one though was different. He squinted seeing he was still at a distance and sure enough his large uncle was the one walking with him. There was metal on him. That much he could see. Placing down his hammer he pulled his apron off and hung it up. Going to the barrel of water he kept on hand to clean himself as he used it to wash his hands and face off. Grabbing at the towel nearby and wiping his face off afterwords. He limped out of the smith as he threw the towel back inside. Emerald hues looking up as his boisterous uncle stops before him. 

“Afternoon uncle.” His voice was playful and gentle as he looks away from the other and onto the stranger upon him. His eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on his after all. He stopped leaning against the doorway almost immediately when his eyes were placed upon the metal arm attached to the other. 

He was missing a limb. Just like he was. 

His mind was only half paying attention to him as eyes began to linger on the metallic arm. He wanted to get his hands on it already. Already interested in how it worked and how it moved. What made it so intricate? But the metal it looked heavy and could possibly burn another with direct sunlight. He could see that the benefit of using it to blind a foe from far away. But the arm could pose potential harm to its wearer. How many times had this poor man burned himself with his own arm? 

These were all valid questions. 

The younger Asgardian caught the other’s name from his uncle’s continuous chatter. His name was Bucky. Now he knew he couldn’t judge names seeing his was Hiccup but still. He had hoped that was a nickname as he looked to the other. He almost looked uncomfortable being here. 

It was like Thor had brought him here against his will. Or maybe he just didn’t like the endless chatter. He hadn’t been entirely paying attention has he held his hand out to the other. It was customary for Midgardians last he knew to shake one another’s hand. “Welcome to Asgard, Bucky. Though I’m sure you got that whole thing from Da getting here. Would you like to come in?” He gestured to his work area. Surely he would feel more comfortable in there. 

Thor said something else but he didn’t catch it as he watched the older warrior disappear. Red cape flaring about behind him as he looked at him. Did he agree to something he didn’t know about again? “Yeah no plenty of time to entertain. Yeah no that’s not an issue…” He grumbled as Thor disappeared into the crowds. Leaving him with this Bucky person. 

                                                    ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥

⚔️  - Bucky weren’t so sure about this. Gods an’ golden cities... it all seemed a bit far fetched or just plain not somewhere he should be. He was already out gettin’ judged by his own species, upsetting literal Gods? Kinda a quick way to die if you’re lookin’ for it. 

But his arm was bust and Tony was outta town, Wakanda was so busy helpin’ everyone now that he didn’t want to bother the princess so when Thor had wondered by an’ saw him tinkerin’ he’d suggested their blacksmith. 

At first he’d been a little sceptical, what with the old God metal and such, but Thor said the kid had his own prosthetic and Hulk vouched for him too so he’d bitten the bullet, thanked the weirdly-retriever-like God for his help an’ the next think he knows he’s being yanked through a rainbow portal and standing in a big ol’ hunk of gears. 

The funny thing is it isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen to him this week. That’s just the kinda life he lives.

So far Asgard had been... nice. Which lead him ta believe the Gods weren’t as all-seeing as they liked to think. The guy who’d said hello first was real sweet, Bucky liked him best. He wasn’t so keen on the king, got a sorta vibe from him that just screamed homocidal with the right excuse. In his line of work you learned to trust that feelin’. 

Still the place is aweinspirin’ how could it not be? For all the aesthetic was a little outdated the technology was pretty incredible and it all swept you away onto alien foods, soft music an’ falling silks. Blue eyes wide and blinking as Thor gripping his arm lightly and steered him through a busy crowd.

The smithin’ station would be hard to miss and as they draw closer Bucky tugs his arm outta Thor’s grip, givin’ a small smile he hopes is enough to stave the guy who bounds ahead of him like the world never knew any evil. Bucky liked Thor, he does, he’s sweet an’ feel good but sometimes there’s such a thing as too much optimism. Didn’t he ever take time ta rest?

The question is answered in how Thor bounces up to the kid at the shop, pushes Bucky before him and chatters about “Having to go and deal with father, take care of him wont you?” leaving Bucky turning fast to follow a disappearin’ red cloak into the crowd. 

“Hey woah! You didn’t say anythin’ about leavin’ me-”

It’s a lost cause, he can already tell. Sighing somethin’ close to fond as he drops his hands and shakes his head. Hopefully the guys dad is a little nicer than he thinks he’ll be an’ Thor wont get in too much trouble for helping him out. 

“Yeah. Hi.” 

Bucky gives a bashful little wave of his flesh hand since his metal arm is still doin’ that hissing thing it does when it’s annoyed and broken. He thinks it might be something to do with a gear near the join of the elbow but fixin’ it up one handed isn’t as easy as it looks. He needs two sets to crack it open, steady it an’ move inside but his apartment isn’t kitted out enough to handle that. 

Maybe his next big pay would go on a mini lab? Probably a good idea. Then again... Bucky’s gaze dart down to an interestin’ looking prosthetic leg and he runs his hand through his hair uncertainly. The kid clearly knew his stuff.

Hopefully his fella wasn’t leavin’ because of them, ruining a guys date wasn’t the best impression to give.

supernatural prompts. ¬ accepting.1

“BEDTIME STORY     huh, yeah. sure. can do. this is gonna be a good one.” Clint clears his throat, takes a second to sort through whatever bullshit will inevitably follow. ask and you shall receive, little more to add to that, and Barnes, by now, knows better than to give him that kind of flawless assist. anything coming now is on him. and Clint smiles. bright, sunshine-y; the kind of smile that would send braver men rushing from the room in a panic. gloss over the fact that he probably shouldn’t be here in the first place. the visit is spontaneous, announced through a simple call stating he’s at the door, and Barnes hadn’t been happy with him. the overall guess is that the man feels monitored, but it’s not that. for once, it really is just a simple case of ‘I was in the neighborhood’. which so happens to be a couple of miles away, almost in another city. such coincidence.

“once upon a time, there was an ex-soviet shithead assassin who just blew his chance of having a late-night coffee in the pigsty he calls a kitchen. the end.” arms folded before the broad chest does the smile grow a little wider for a moment, and Clint chirps a happy “sleep well!” that drips with sarcasm.

⚔️  - He hadn’ been expecting Barton. Why would he, now he thinks about it, it’s not like the guy likes him an’ he sure as hell isn’t the stop by for a sunshine chat with tea on the porch kinda friend to have. When people stop by unplanned they’re normally bleedin’ or about to be bleedin’ that’s just the day ins and outs of his life.

So coming into his kitchen to a rummaging archer has him frownin’, the gun in his grip remaining raised for half a beat until Clint actually turned around and all Bucky could do was sigh. How’d he always manage to look like a lost kinda roughed up puppy seeking food? No super powers his ass. Power to be more grating than anyone and still get what he wanted from it.

Not that he’d admit that outloud, Barton’d love to have that kind of advantage in their dynamic an’ he ain’t giving it to him without damn good reason. Speaking of, he better have a good one for interruptin’ at this hour on a day off. That’s for sure.

“Oh hah, cute. Did you come up with that one whilst picking the locks or stealin’ my food? What the hell are you even doing here? Don’t you dare put another hand near my fridge I will shoot you don’t think I wont.”

Bucky pauses with narrowed eyes when his mind clicks over the previous two reasons, draggin’ his gaze quick and calculated over the other’s body. No blood, no visible wounds. No work clothes. So he wasn’t injured, wasn’t working, which beg the question to jus’ what was going on. 

Unless someone had caught him by surprise? Not the first time Bucky was used as a safe house by the small and hopefully-to-get-smaller group of people who knew where he lived. If someone was after Barton he was going to be pissed, the guy got damn whiney when he was being shot at. 

He’s across the room in a second, checking the windows are still reinforced and locked, knocking the door shut with a quiet bump of his hip and turning the lock after. It wouldn’t do much, granted, but it still brought a few seconds of time an’ that made all the difference in their line of work. 

Not friendly reminder that Bucky didn’t show any form of animosity towards Tony, even after the fight, and still doesn’t. That in the comics Tony and Bucky are friends to the point he’s one of the people Bucky trusts most. 

                   “ Tear me, break me. Bend and reshape me. You can try and stop me.                                                         But I’m not going back. “

                                                           *******

⁕—-» Tony found himself relaxing, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Bucky seemed to pick up on social cues rather well, processed knowing that his personal space needed to be respected and likely hyper aware of needing some for himself as well. Bucky hadn’t been hostile to him at all and the longer the former Hydra asset stayed with him, the more Tony realized that his issues with Bucky had been more about Steve and how much, in that moment, Tony hated the soldier.

Sure, Bucky had technically been responsible for the death of his parents–his mom–but that wasn’t Bucky. That was an order that had been instilled in him by Hydra, one that he couldn’t disobey, and at the end of the day, Tony couldn’t hold that against him. He’d done horrible things for less of a reason, but that didn’t change the upset, didn’t ease the ache of watching his parents die on the video, and the sting of knowing that Steve had known for so long and decided not to say a damned thing.

His relationship with Cap had always been difficult, always strenuous to a certain extent, but that had been a breaking point, and Tony still felt as if he would rather have nothing to do with Steve at all.

God, the only reason he even attempted to talk to him at all was because he felt like the issue with Hydra’s newest plan was worth putting aside their differences for. Steve didn’t agree, but Tony never expected Bucky, of all people, to step in and say that he believed him and that he wanted to help and his clarification that Steve didn’t own him.

“What?” he mumbled, blinking back his surprise as chocolate eyes finally turned from the files in his hands to the man before him.

“Of course Steve doesn’t own you. I didn’t mean it like that, I just–” He frowned, suddenly unsure of what to say because damn, he was doing just that, wasn’t he? Tip-toeing around Steve’s best friend, unsure of how to proceed or interact with him. Sure, part of it was because of the video he’d seen and the fight that transpired afterward that literally had Tony ripping Bucky’s mechanical arm off of his body, but it went a lot deeper than that and he hadn’t even realized it, how he glossed over Bucky as more of an extension of Steve than an actual person, how he felt the need to be gentle and simple with Bucky because he didn’t know what the man could endure after everything…

And he realized, much to his horror, that he treated Bucky much the same way as everyone treated him. His ideas were talked over, his voice wasn’t heard, he turned out to be more of a catalyst than a person capable of action, and he was an easy target to place guilt on at the end of the day. The similarities between how the others treated Tony and how they treated Bucky were… eerily identical and that line of thought made his blood run cold.

“I mean, you’re right, I definitely need better friends,” he finally forced out. “I mean, people seem to think Cap is supposed to be my ‘best friend’. That’s what people keep telling me, but with friends like him, why would I ever need any enemies?” 

They weren’t friends, despite what the public believed before the whole Accords thing happened. Tony wanted to believe, at some point, that they were, but were they truly? All Tony ever did was give and help Steve and all Steve ever seemed to do was–

Ah, it didn’t matter, did it? This was about Hydra rounding up a bunch of supers, not about Captain America. He just never thought Bucky, of all people, would be the one in his corner, telling him that he should trust his gut and investigate, insisting he wanted to come along for the ride. In truth, that last detail made him a bit squeamish. As much as Tony tried to help him, he wasn’t entirely sure of Bucky’s stability and if taking him would be a risk or not, but then again, letting Tony do superhero work was much the same, wasn’t it?

He was as unstable as the day is long, so…

“I’m sorry,” he added after a moment’s contemplation. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were some sort of extension of your friend. We–you and I–just don’t have the greatest history, you know? So I didn’t really think you’d want to take my side on this. Or anything, really.”

It didn’t even cross his mind to think that Bucky might feel indebted to him in any sort of way. No, he didn’t ask to come here, but Tony did take care of him in more ways than one, as he often did for the Avengers and their friends and families. He was just so used to giving and giving that never getting anything in turn seemed like a common expectation. It’s what he typically got from everyone around him, so why would Bucky feel any differently? Especially since it hadn’t been his decision to live under the Avenger’s roof–under Tony’s roof.

And Bucky wasn’t backing down, either, staring him hard in the eye and while he maintained a respectful distance and tone, he was damned sure that Tony would hear him.

Tony did. He hardly even blinked staring back at the other man, like a human desperately attempting not to blink in a stare-off between themselves and a cat despite cats not needing to blink at all. Not that Tony would know what that was like. He never really had any pets. Allergies as a child ensured that and even though he’d grown out of them, he didn’t…

No one should trust him to take care of an animal. He hardly took care of himself while trying to look after so many people who somehow found themselves in his care.

The sliding of metal over metal–not at all unlike the sound that his Iron Man suits sometimes made–finally forced him to blink and relax his posture a bit, his gaze momentarily flickering towards Bucky’s arm before forcing them back to his face. Whether or not Bucky was subconscious about his missing arm, he truly didn’t know, but Tony knew such a gesture was rude. People did that all the time with his arc reactor and for a long time after implanting it into his chest, he hated having people look at it.

More similarities…

And Bucky wasn’t oblivious to them, it seemed. He even went out of his way to emphasize that he wasn’t the only one constantly glossed over, as he witnessed it happen to his host time and time again. How was Tony just now noticing these things?

“All right,” he agreed, slowly reaching out to grip Bucky’s hand in a firm but not too firm handshake. “Truce. I wanna give you a chance to do what you want and if that’s saving people, then you’re the best person for me to bring along.” And going in alone was probably not the brightest idea, not when dealing with Hydra. 

“Meet me back here in the morning, all right? I’ll make sure we’ve got supplies and everything. We’ll leave tomorrow before breakfast. I’ll make sure we’ve got some sort of excuse set in place, though Steve’s not going to be happy about you disappearing without him trailing on your heels. He follows you like a lovesick puppy and honestly? It’s kind of disturbing. We’re gonna have to deter him from trying to follow us. He could royally mess up our plans by being all Captain America about things… That’s really the last thing either of us want. Or need.”

If everyone chalked Bucky up to being nothing more than Steve’s best friend, Steve was the worst one about it. He never even tried to correct any of them or stand up for Bucky at all…

And they definitely didn’t need him turning up halfway through their sneaking around Hydra.

⚔️  - He isn’t so used to being listened to anymore. There was a time he ran his own team, gave his own orders. Another time when he had people Bucky thinks he cared about, in some way. A landlord, a friendly shop keeper, neighbours. Back in that time before this but out of Hydra. Now he just gets the kid gloves, the Steve filter. People talkin’ about Steve like he’s a safe topic or dodging anything serious like he might snap at a pinsound. 

He weren’ a kid, Bucky hadn’t survived a shit storm to come out cryin’ about a few mean words. He didn’t know why people looked at him like he might break if they tapped too hard all he knew was he had had enough of it. It was goddamn annoying and as Tony lies to his face about it Bucky’s eyes narrow, a minute shift of metal as he adjusts his arms. Folds ‘em tight so fists can’t be taken as aggression more than just the tired anger they were.

“Yeah you did. People always do an’ it’s fine. I know you don’t mean to think it, just keep it in mind. He ain’t my handler, I ain’t his pet and I don’t say how high when he says jump, last time I jumped for him I ended up with this.”

Bucky wiggles the fingers of his prosthetic before realising that’s probably a bit darker than most people think is okay and Bucky winces, softenin’ his shoulders and forcing himself to let go of the next breath. Giving a little glance of apology before turnin’ his face away. It wasn’t on Tony, none of it was. He hadn’t exactly made any more effort to connect than Tony had, what right did he get to that? To callin’ him a friend or accepting a reached out hand? He’d killed his mom. Taken away Tony’s family, his childhood. He’d been the monster in his closet, didn’ matter if he hadn’t been in his right mind. 

He’d still done it. Tony had to live with that and so did he. 

Bucky isn’t so sure what to expect after his little outburst. Tony tellin’ him to piss off is a first one, refusing his help or even bouncing back with worse but instead he just carries on. Offers the confession of best friend like it’s his own version of a truce, his own truth and Bucky gives a little snort as the tension snaps, offering a small half smile, sarcasm tight in his throat.

“You two are friends? Anyone tell Stevie that? ‘Cause he treats you like shit. Technically you’re more like his boss. I mean you pay for everythin’ right?” 

Bucky’s brows pull down tight for a second on that thought. Topic of quite a few arguments between he and Stevie lately. They lived in this big ol’ place, suped up with all of the latest and sweetest stuff for free. No one questioned where the food came from, no one questioned where the technology assistance in battle came from. They all just seemed ta feel like... like they deserved it. No matter who fueled it and Steve didn’t like that Bucky wouldn’t take it. Brought his own food with his own money, kept to a small room, refused new furnishing. 

He didn’t deserve that kindness from someone he’d wronged. Steve didn’ need to know he got his money from workin’ still. Taking hits that did good, hits on abusive partners and parents, hits on bad people. fully vetted, personal. Any mistakes were on his own head now. 

Steve didn’t know a lot of things, come to think of it. They’d drifted a lot since the newspapers in shoes and days past that left his head achin’ to try and remember more. There’d been a time they’d been closer than anyone, he knows that from the affection that still lingers in his chest.

But the Steve he remembers is little an’ kind. The Steve he woke up to is just - 

Not his Steve. The same person who’d gone and forgotten why he was fighting. Too tired to fight for the right thing but too stubborn to sit it out. Maybe they had more in common than he wanted to look at.

Bucky blinks when words finally cut through the echo of silent contemplation, reelin’ back for a second wide eyed in disbelief. What the hell did he need a sorry for? Tony had just reacted with what information he had, done as he could ta get by. He’d been nicer about it than he shoulda been, given everything. He didn’t owe Bucky an apology. 

“Don’t it’s - you don’t gotta say sorry.” 

Feet shift uncomfortable as Bucky looks down. Tucks the sleeve down over his arm out of habit and rolls the ache in his shoulder away. He didn’t want this to feel owed, like Tony had to take him to prove he didn’ think like that. That wasn’t the point of being honest, it wasn’t the point of this and he shakes his head a little at the mention of Steve again, feelin’ like this’d be something they’d have to unlearn. 

Guy took over enough of Bucky’s life without being the centre of every interaction. 

“Doin’ what’s right isn’t personal. Even if Natalia came up to me with this I’d have agreed to help. I don’t believe in helpin’ just ‘cause you like someone, I believe in helpin’ where help should be given. It’s what my ma taught me.” 

One of the few memories he’d been able to get back. Candle lit dinner, his sister and father playing in the background and he’d asked why she let people into the diner after hours, why it was worth the risk to their family as the world got darker around them. She’d been good, his ma. He thinks so anyway. 

Not like he’d know from the public information and it’s not like he’d go to those left alive an’ ask. They had enough without him coming back like an old ghost dripping blood on the walls. 

Tony’s hand in his is strange. Warm against his skin and though he doesn’t sly on the grip Bucky can tell he’s makin’ the conscious choice not to do harm. Truce’s and trusts. He’s still new to that now but he thinks this is a good start. Glancing up through his hair before giving a little grin of relief that turns quickly bitter at the ever lingering mention of his own personal shadow.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be pissed. Leave it to me, I’ll dig out an old photo, it’ll keep him love sick on someone else for a few days, ain’t the sweetest thing I’ll ever do but it’s the quickest. I’ll get what I have as well, we should meet when sunbreaks, Steve get’s up for a mornin’ jog when it hits full and I wanna be gone before he’s up. Less risk that way.” 

Bucky thinks that when they can prove they’re right, when this comes out on top Steve’ll calm down on them both. He’s not a bad person, stuck up his own ass as he was, he cared. He cared about Bucky and he cared about the team, about Tony real deep down at least. 

He’d come around, maybe those two might even end up friends as well one day. Wouldn’t that be a real surprise.

Until then they had Hydra to focus on and clues to follow. He didn’ sleep much but through the night Bucky could go through his notebooks, see if any of Tony’s evidence matched up with pre-existing, known, inner groups. Might be a jump start somewhere on the pages that could help this smooth along. 

“Do you need me to bring anythin’? I could... make breakfast for the journey.” 

It didn’t seem like much but if Tony was providing means of transport and assistance he wanted to do something more than hold the map and be the physical muscle. The other didn’t seem to have a regular eatin’ time anyway and he should really be at full strength for this. Hydra wouldn’t play games, there’d be no encore if this went south.