#steve returned

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader summary: After Endgame, Steve returned, married, and had a baby. Time passes, things happen, and you get invited to the baby's second birthday, two years after Bucky disappeared. tags/warnings: angst, pre-established relationship, some mentions of anxiety, slightly canon compliant, mentions of ghosting, not beta read word  count: 4.2k note:  helloooo !! this is my first fic, thus i had to start strong because i love writing angst, and Bucky sounds like Ethel Cain in my head. i wrote this wayy before that first doomsday teaser, so i like to think i predicted Steve and mystery baby lol. this takes place roughly after tfatws, but there are a few scenes that take place before. please let me know your thoughts, i want to pick your #brain

—

Their home looked like it was plucked off a movie set: picket fence, almost-fake lawn, yellow walls, red mailbox in a quiet neighborhood. Under regular circumstances, you felt peace in their home. You could disconnect completely from the world. Nevertheless, there were no regular circumstances, and all you felt while you looked at the house was total dread. 

A week ago, Adelaide, your friend, and Steve Rogers’s wife, texted you. Hey, wondering if you’re coming to Parker’s second birthday. He’s your godson after all… 

You were sitting on your beaten-down brown loveseat, phone resting on your thigh. You ate the chip in your hand, cracking a smile and quickly typing out, Of course I'll be there. You almost forgot about the weight crushing you down into the couch. Almost. The feeling doubled, growing larger and threatening to swallow you whole. 

You sighed, and a gray little cloud appeared as if from thin air to curl up in your lap and purr loudly. Berlioz, your cat, always seemed to know when you needed him the most. 

Bucky had been gone for a little over two years. You didn’t know that the talk you had over coffee on a Monday morning would be your last conversation. The most plausible theory your brain had conceived was that he just wanted to be alone. You’d accepted that, but his absence was contaminated every moment. Especially in the mornings or late at night.

As you felt a chill rush through your body, you fixed your hair behind your ear. You stood in front of the perron as the midday sun beat down on your head, contrasting with the cold on your back. Your fingers curled around the handle of a six-pack and the gift. You closed your eyes, pleading to the universe or whoever would listen to let you get through with this without worrying about a certain someone showing up.

Willing your stomach to stop churning, you shook your free arm and walked up the steps to knock on the wooden door. The giddy screams of toddlers running around drifted through the air. The chatter and the music brought you back to your own childhood birthdays. Time passes, things change, and you never notice until you do.

Once, when you were over, late one night, you, Adelaide, and Steve talked about the daycare Baby Parker had started. She was so excited, recounting all the conversations she shared with the other parents and all the things Parker began to learn. On the other hand, Steve panicked. Running background checks on everyone and borderline abusing his access to government databases.

He'd defended himself, muttering, “To be fair, you can never be too sure.”

Adelaide smiled at him, enchanted by her husband, “I'm sure they run pretty thorough checks before accepting anyone.”

The door swung open, flooding your ears with the screams of the babies in the yard. Adelaide stood with a bowl on her hip, beaming so wide she could light up the whole entryway. “Finally! Me extrañaba que no hubieras llegado todavía. There’s only so much parent talk I can put up with.” She pulled you into a hug, squeezing out a chuckle and hurting your ribs.

“I missed you, too.”

“Come in! Come in!  You can put the six-pack in the fridge.” She smiled again, pushing her caramel colored hair behind her shoulder and leading you towards the kitchen. The inside of the house was as perfect as the outside: lived in, familiar, and full of laughter. You pushed the door closed, which clicked softly as you dropped the gift bag on a side table. The living room was to the right, Parker’s toys scattered across the floor. To the left, there was the kitchen, turned upside down from the day's preparations.

Adelaide placed the bowl back on the island and began pouring trail mix into it. You walked up and rested your hands on the edge of a chair. She glanced at you for a split second and went back to fill a plate with tiny sandwiches. “What?”

“What?” You froze.

“You look, like, really stressed, babe.”

You brushed your hair back with your fingers, another chill tormenting your body. “Do I really?”

“Yes. You look pale.” She looked back at you, genuine worry flashing through her features. “I don't know if you're worried about it, but he's not here yet.”

You pushed your lips together, nodding at her failed attempt at reassurance. “Yep, thank you for that.” 

“Hey, I'm just trying to calm you down.”

A smile sneaked up your lips, regardless of that terrible feeling resting in your belly. You took a beer out of the cardboard carrier, passed behind Ada, and threw her a “Love you” over your shoulder.

You put the rest of the bottles into the fridge, staring at the colorful scribbly papers stuck to the door. There was a magnet with Steve's shield; you can't remember if that was a gift you'd gotten him during a vacation. There was another with their wedding picture, etched in cursive below the date were their vows: ‘forever and always’. “I'm fine. I came here for you, Parker, and Steve. I have to get over it sooner or later.”

She kept quiet, pouring a bag of pretzels into another bowl. She wasn't looking at you, but her eyebrow quirked, and her mouth was half open. “I don't want you to feel like this, is all.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything is tainted. I know it's only been a few months since you decided you’re moving on, but you know you still have us.”

“I know.” You opened the bottle in your hand, taking a cold swig. You truly didn't want to push them away when it happened. But everything had been touched by his hand. His prints were hard to wash away. 

You looked out the kitchen window into the yard, watching a toddler attempt to stand up on his own. His hands were planted flat on the ground, and he bent his knees a few times, testing them out. He finally pushed himself up, unsteadily straightening his little back and walking towards the mess of kids running around. “We can talk about it later, I promise.”

“'Kay. Love you.”

“Let me go say hi to the birthday boy.” You squeezed her bicep as you walked away.

You pushed open the sliding doors and stepped onto the grass in their backyard. String lights stretched across the tall fence, powered off but glinting in the sunlight. A smoking barbecue away from the children, a large speaker playing softly, and a colorful jungle gym in the middle of it all, overrun by screaming toddlers. You spotted the little blond kid chasing the others around the playground. As he came closer, you set the beer on the grass and scooped Parker into your arms.

A fit of tiny giggles erupted from his belly. “Hi, baby!” You chirped, hugging him close to your chest. He said your name, in his own little way, smiling up at you with big, round hazel eyes. He started to kick his stubby legs against you, sliding down your chest with the effort. He kept laughing, but he was one kick away from whining.  “Alright, alright. I'll come back later for another hug. Be warned, tiny Rogers.”

You watched him take off running after a kiss to his forehead, picking up your beer to take another sip.

“Oh, so we’re threatening my son on the day of his second birthday?” Steve joked. He stood by your side and hugged you tightly.

“I had to. He almost threw himself off of me.” 

“Where’ve you been? It's been a while since we've seen you.” You followed him to the barbecue, where he flipped some burgers. 

“Yeah, work’s been piling up.” You lied. “I’ve been trying to find the time, but I’m here now. I can’t believe Parker’s turning two already. He's so big.” 

“Yeah, he’s missed you a lot. Asks about you sometimes.” He said, still smiling. You looked around. Being a superhero might have its ups and downs, even more so if that supe has children. So when you spot the red and blue decorations, you think Parker chose correctly. Instead, New York City’s own supe, Spider-Man, was the star of the party.

The backdrop behind the cake table was made up of a cartoon cityscape, cut-out webs, and a large number two balloon. The cupcakes had black webs with Spider-Man sugar paper. There were party hats, masks, and bags with favors. You grabbed a party hat and slid the elastic string under your chin.

Adelaide approached you and Steve, sneaking a hand on his back and kissing his cheek. “I feel like I'm missing something. Am I missing something?” 

“Nothing, doll. Everything's perfect.” 

The swig you took from the beer went down the wrong pipe, and you choked. Eyes watering and suffocating, you coughed up a fit. Adelaide's eyes widened, and she came up to you, harshly patting your back. 

You swallowed a few times before finally regaining your bearings and dignity.

He called you that once. You were walking through a park at night after drinks. He took you out after work, bouquet in hand, wearing an apologetic look on his face. Like the simple act of bringing you flowers might be cause for embarrassment. The name had slipped out, he said. You laughed stupidly when you heard his defense, blushing up to the tips of your ears. He did too, but he tried to hide it. He asked you if it was all right if he called you that. 

“I'm—” you coughed again, “Nothing, it went down the wrong pipe.” You played it off with a chuckle, wiping the beer off your bottom lip. Adelaide rubbed your back, still staring at your face like she could decipher your thoughts. “I'm fine, Mom.” You mocked. “Is Mr. Captain America coming?”

“Sam’s in Louisiana, helping Sarah with the boys and all.” Steve scooped up a handful of trail mix and popped a pretzel into his mouth. “I think he's flying in next week, though. We could plan a little something. Get together.” He said, eyes lingering on yours. You stared back, furrowing your brows skeptically. Sometimes he tried to be subtle, but you could tell he knew something.

“Ay, that would be so nice.” Ada stole some of Steve's raisins and turned to watch her kid from a distance. Parker grabbed a small pebble and presented it to one of his tiny friends.

The sun had begun to set, covered by silky clouds. The children started to wind down, sweaty hair and red-faced, drinking juice in different colored kiddie cups. Steve changed the music to jazz, and Adelaide began to round up the guests to sing to the birthday boy. Parker, cheeks flushed and giddy, stood on a stool, towering over the red and blue cupcakes. Steve held his tiny waist as he blabbered about the desserts in front of him. He pointed at one and looked back at his father. Steve listened intently and offered an answer to his question while smiling.

You were halfway through your second beer, clutching your arms as the chill of late afternoon began to take hold. You eyed Ada, adjusting the little guests around Parker. Then, the parents approached the table; some held their spent children in their arms. Ada finished talking to a little girl, and suddenly glanced up towards the sliding doors. “Buck, you made it just in time.”

You looked backwards as a gust of wind prickled your skin. He smiled at Ada, closing the door behind him, beer clutched by his gloved hand. His eyes met yours, and you quickly turned around to join in on the chorus, “— birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” 

He walked up to you and continued the song. His voice sounded foreign to you. His leather jacket rustled softly as he brought the bottle to his lips. The gust of wind had left, but your skin remained tingling. You looked down, feeling the air come out of your lungs in short bursts. Despite your pleading, you're clearly not getting through this.

The tune ended with cheers, and the children waited excitedly for their turn to eat the cupcakes. The parents grabbed the goodie bags, a few starting to say goodbye. Steve lowered Parker, who'd spotted his Uncle Buck and begged to go say hi. Parker ran as fast as he could, screaming too, and crashed into Bucky's ready arms. “Uncle Buck!” He shouted, mouth covered with red frosting. “‘Piderman birthday!” Parker squealed.

“Hey, bud! Did you know your Uncle Buck fought Spider-Man once?”

Bucky looked back at you when you laughed. Parker just stared at him because, of course, he's two and he doesn't understand.

“‘Piderman birthday!” Parker restarted his chirping, moving his hands like Ada does while talking. Bucky looked at him like he hung the moon, amusedly following his movements and kissing his cheek. You were transfixed. Bucky looked almost weightless. A lightness in his eyes, like his smile reached them. It was contagious, so as the world revolved around only him and Parker, you laughed along with them. 

Suddenly, Parker seemed to notice you were there too and extended an arm towards you while hooking his other around Bucky's neck. You opened your hands, offering to pick him up, but he shook his head wildly. "Hug Uncle Buck!” He whined.

You looked at Bucky for a split second as you walked towards Parker's arm. You slid a hand on his small back, pressing your cheek to his stomach. 

Having Bucky so close was frying your nerves, so you tried to keep your distance. Parker curled his arm, squeezing your neck and almost cutting off the air flowing into your lungs. This family was fucking strong; maybe the serum did pass onto the kid. Now it was Bucky's turn to be transfixed, gazing at your face with a smile like nothing had happened between you. 

“Buck,” You whispered.

He averted his gaze abruptly, and Parker let go, rubbing his little tired eyes.

“Someone's getting sleepy,” Bucky said, crashing you down into reality. You stepped back and squeezed your eyelids shut. There was no denying it, you missed him so much it was debilitating. Parker extended both his arms towards you. You picked him up by the armpits and laid his head on the crook of your neck. Instinctively, you began to bounce him, stroking his face to wind him down.

“Hey, babe?” Adelaide piped up, picking up the bowls and bits of cupcakes left behind by the gaggle of kids. “Can you get him ready for bed?” Steve was talking to the last guests by the back door, and you could feel Bucky's eyes boring into you. “Uh, yeah. Let me know if you need help.”  You turned around towards the door. You expected Bucky to have left already, but you almost hit him with your shoulder. He placed a warm hand on your bicep, stared straight into your eyes, and just said, “Hey.”

Hey? Just hey? Every time you think you have him figured out, he gets even more confusing.

“Hi,” You replied, furrowing your brows. You brushed past him and walked into the house with a grimace.

—

You rocked Parker in your arms as he began to settle down after his shower. He snored, barely audible over the white noise machine in the corner of the window. It was comfortably dark inside the room, save for a few glow-in-the-dark stars lighting up the back wall. His name was painted over the crib in chunky letters, along with some rockets. The stuffed animals in the corner of the room stared at you with stitched smiles.

Your eyes kept wandering around the room, finding a rocking chair and a shelf full of clothes he was still too small to wear. The baby slumped across your chest and sighed heavily. His big day was probably playing back in his brain while he slept. A smile graced your lips. 

Having moved back and forth for 15 minutes already, you carefully placed him in the crib. His little fists were on either side of his head, belly poking out of his shirt. You changed him into tiny pajamas and then rested your head on the border to watch Parker sleep.

You traced your finger over his chubby cheeks, his nose, one you've seen before in sepia-colored photographs, and his chin, the same as Ada's. The door creaked open, and heavy, padded boots stepped into the room. He had tried his hardest to be silent, like always, but this house was so old that the floorboards creaked under the slightest pressure. You could sense the tension in his gait.

Straightening your back, you glanced over your shoulder to look him in the eyes. Blatant even in the low light, he was a man of little phrases, but his eyes had a lifetime of passages he never spoke.

“Can we talk?”

“You never answered the phone.” You said, turning back to stare at the wall.

“I know.”

“I had to convince myself you died.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched, only bothered by the crackle of the machine and the whispers of Parker's sleepy breaths. You turned around to face him entirely, and then sat down on the rocking chair, bunching up your hands in your lap as you struggled to think of what else to say. You'd promised Ada that if and when you ever crossed paths with Bucky again, you'd try your best to avoid being “difficult”. So you were going to try.

Bucky still watched you, his hand tapping and clenching at his side. He was working through the words and what he should say first, you could tell. “I wanted to talk to you,” he sighed, “because I wanted to apologize for ignoring your calls. I read all your messages every night. I didn't mean to disappear for so long.”

Parker shifted again in the silence. The room felt colder, so you approached the crib again and placed a blanket over him. Your fist clenched around the rail. “I just want to understand why you would leave. I thought we were good. I mean, it felt good. It felt real. I was so sure I wasn't making it up. But you left. For two years.”

“I know it wasn’t the best way to go about the situation—“

“No. It really wasn’t, Bucky. Were you at least here for Parker?”

“Yes, of course. Steve told me when you left—“

“Wow.” You said. Your words rushed out of you, some sounding louder than you intended. “I mean, I figured he did because he stopped sharing more than 10 words each time I came.”

“Sorry, that came out wrong.” He sighed again, staring down at his boots.

The first morning, you woke up to find your stomach in shambles. Tension rose through your spine and rested on your shoulders. You instinctively checked your phone after turning off the alarm. 7:00 am. 5 new emails. 

You tried to shake off the feeling. Bucky didn't show up at your usual bar the night before. Sometimes he'd get back to you later in the day, but the sensation persisted.

You took a quick shower, got dressed, and walked to the coffee place down the street. You ordered your drink, eyes drifting around the regulars. Every time the door chimed, your eyes would bounce to the person's face. Sometimes you would meet here in the morning, before work, and talk for a few minutes.

3:00 PM. No new notifications. The pit in your stomach grew, taking over your lungs so you were perpetually struggling to fill them. You opened the news app, searching for his name in the article titles. GRC votes, Walker, the stolen shield, and a prison riot in Berlin.

8:49 PM. 1 new message from Ada. Berlioz snuggled up to your chin, vibrating your chest with his purrs. Bucky’s contact stared back at you. You pressed the call button and pressed the speaker button. The phone rang once and hung up. He never got around to setting up his voicemail when he got a phone. 

Three weeks later, baby Parker was born. 7 pounds and 3 ounces, and when you held him, your first meeting with Bucky drifted into your mind. 

He walked into your office, looking for notaries to sign some government paperwork. You had worked there three years and two months prior, and had never seen a superhero pass through. 

You glanced at the man at the front of the office over your desk divider. He looked handsome, wearing a black leather jacket and buzzed hair, a shy smile on his lips. Janie pointed towards your desk while speaking, his gaze following her tan arm and landing on your eyes. You darted your eyes back down to your keyboard and dipped your head instinctively. You could've been a little bit more obvious.

“You could've been a little bit more obvious, by the way.” Adelaide chimed in, a sneaky look playing in her eyes. When you glanced at her, huffing, she was back to typing on her computer.

Heavy, padded boots approached your desk. “Hello, ma’am,”

You glanced up from your keyboard to find his eyes again and straightened your back. He extended his right hand towards you, gloved and hidden. 

“Bucky Barnes.” He nodded.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes. Pleasure to meet you.” You smiled at him, taking his hand in yours and shaking it. “What can I help you with today?” 

“Bucky,”

"Sorry?”

“You can call me Bucky. Pleasure's all mine.” He smiled at you, all lovely and nice.

He stepped into the room, arms dropped at his sides, still keeping space like he was scared you would take off running. “After the pardon, I never fully recovered. I wanted to believe I could do it on my own. Steve did. But it seemed like I couldn't. And then I met you, and I felt like this weight shifted.” You turned around to rest on the crib, arms crossed over your chest. You wanted to seem cold, distant. But seeing him here, like this, gave you a little bit of hope. Bucky took off his leather gloves and pushed them into the back pocket of his jeans.

“I just thought, this girl could turn my life around. I didn't want to lose you, so I went to the court-mandated therapy.” He raked his metal hand through his hair. It's longer than when you last saw him. You approached him because you couldn't stop your feet from moving towards him. He was just an arm's length away. “But I just got worse. After the whole Morgenthau affair started, I spiraled deeper, and I threw away the phone. I went back to sleeping in my living room.” 

The time you spent with him marked you in ways you could never fully articulate. He was caring, handsome, smart, but most of all, hopeful. He was always taking care of you, always keeping an eye on you. “Did you ever think about talking to me? Or to Steve or Adelaide?” You said. The words almost blended into the white noise.

“I did. When Parker was born, I came to see him. Ada handed him to me, and I just couldn't stop thinking about you. And us, and everything.” A watery chuckle escaped you. His features formed a sad smile. Bucky looked away to watch the baby from afar. “After that, I went to another shrink. She told me I was wrong for disappearing on you, but we took it as an opportunity to actually get better. I needed to be sure I was going to be alright.”

“The same thing happened to me. I held Parker in my arms and thought about you.” You closed the space, the warmth radiating from his body heavily imbuing into yours. The discomfort in your belly slowly withered away. Instead, it was replaced by pressure building in your chest, a sobering need to touch him. Your hand reached up until your fingertips caressed his stubble. Bucky's eyes fluttered at the contact, his breath emptying from his lungs. You danced your fingers across his skin, your eyes tracing every line that made him. He smelled like leather and bar soap. Your palms rested against his cheekbones, slowly inching his nose towards yours. 

“I came here late because I couldn't bear watching you with Parker. I knew it would wreck me.” He whispered against your face like a confession meant for a saint. He flicked his head upwards.

Touching your cheek with his flesh hand, it sent a constellation of sparks across your skin. “I would've helped you, Buck.” You murmured against him.

“I know you would've.” His lips slotted with yours as he spoke, kisses finding their way between his words. “I'm sorry.”

You hummed.

He slacked into your body, enveloping you completely. A whimper escaped both of you at the contact, him trembling between your arms. The world began to muffle, and the pressure exploded, pulsing throughout your body in waves. All around you was Bucky. “I'm sorry. I'm all yours.”

—

“Alpine misses you, too. Almost as much as I do.”

“Berlioz asked about you.”

“Last I checked, cats don't talk, doll.”