Only a Tiny Bit Crazy

Sam, it seemed, had some of the worst timing Bucky’d ever seen in one person.

But, Sam didn’t seem to care about his disgusting timing, just came straight into his apartment.

“Hey man, door’s unlocked, what’s up? I got pizza.”

Bucky pulled the gun from his temple but didn’t slide it into the waistband of his jeans.

Sam let himself in and dropped the two boxes of pizza on his coffee table, a paper bag with what must be chicken wings and utensils atop the boxes.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes Bucky.”

“Then stop looking,” he gestured to the still open door, hoping Sam would go.

“Not in the mood to talk feelings,” he complained after Steve’s friend shot him a look.

“Good ‘cause I’m not your therapist, but you should go see one.”

“I have one, don’t like ‘er.”

“Get a new one, and put that away.”

Bucky looked at the gun in his hand and put the safety on before sliding it into the waistband of his jeans.

Sam was an asshole, but something inside him was grateful for it.

Bucky, soldier, or James, looked down at the gun in his hand.

He’d been better, he’d felt good, in Wakanda, with the sun and the new arm, but something’d been wrong, was still wrong.

He didn’t even know if he was a he.

They’d called him it, but Steve had said that they’d been wrong, that his name was James Buchanon Barnes and he was human.

The others and the Wakandans had tried to help, but it’d been Steve that had made the name Bucky feel right on the ex-assassin’s tongue.

Then they’d had to fight again.

Steve had promised he’d never have to fight again, but he did, then something weird happened, then there was another fight he didn’t want. He’d been told him and the others had been gone for five years.

He didn’t want to fight the war in the 40s.

He looked at the gun in his hand again.

Bucky was so tired that he couldn’t even comprehend it, it’d sunk into his bones, his very soul.

He was so tired of fighting, and Steve had left him. Now he had to fight again with Sam.

Bucky put the gun to his temple.

Tony hurt, from his hairline down to the tips of his toes, even his hands.

And he was shaking, muscles spasming unbearably as he accepted the small, wailing pup into his arms.

“She’s beautiful,” Steve breathed and reached to stroke baby Morgan’s head. From scent alone, he guessed she was a beta.

“Clint, gonna need you to take Morgan from Tony for a bit,” Bruce called, hands feeling around Tony’s groin for something.

Steve looked at the betas with confused eyes, but Clint carefully approached the alpha and omega, and Tony gave over his pup willingly.

“Wha- what’s going on Bruce wha-”

“There’s another head, Tony,” Bruce soothed, at Tony’s side, Natasha let out some strong calming pheromones that never failed to soothe them.

With the pack’s help, Tony delivered another wailing baby, an omega boy. They named him Peter, after Natasha’s birth mother, Petra.

Tony thought that everything was over, but Bruce reached inside of him then laughed like a maniac.

Bruce helped him deliver his third pup, a quiet alpha boy they named Harley since Steve’s had saved him so many times.

“I wouldn’t give this up for the world omega,” Steve promised.