Bucky Barnes is a good person. Okay, maybe not, but he isn't a bad person, either. He recycles and pays taxes and he may not help every old woman cross every busy road but he doesn't toot his horn when they go too slow.
Once, he almost stopped his car for one. He didn't, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Anyway, Bucky Barnes is a nice person and he doesn't go out of his way to be a dick. So it's really just down to bad luck that as soon as Clint gives Bucky the leash and disappears inside the coffee shop, Lucky's taking a large shit on the path. And Bucky doesn't have a bag. Clint's got them, and he's inside the damn shop.
There's not actually anything Bucky can do about the dog shit until Clint comes back out, so he decides he'll just sit at a table and wait. But of course, of fucking course, that's when he's spotted.
"Hey, asshole." And yeah, Bucky winces at the fact he turns to that, registers 'Asshole' as his name.
"You just gonna leave that there?" The guy is small and for a second Bucky doesn't realise the deep authoritive voice from moments ago belongs to such a tiny frame. He just stares at the guy in confusion.
"What?"
"I said," the guy growls, moving forward until he's right up in Bucky's space. Suddenly, Bucky thinks, his scary-deep voice matches his scrawny little body in a strange way that has Bucky leaning back slightly. "Are you just gonna leave that there? Let your dog do its business where it pleases and leave it for the rest of New York to deal with?"
Okay so Bucky Barnes might be a nice guy, but there's a definite reason he responds so easily to "Asshole".
"Pal, this ain't even my dog." He drawls, scratching behind Lucky's ears. "So his business is none of my business."
"Clean it up." Short, Blond, and Furious all but snarls at him, the angry gleam in his eyes reminding Bucky of that time he accidently locked Nat's evil Devil Cat outside in the rain.
"With what?" Bucky asks with a dramatic eye roll added to wind his companian up even more. It works.
"What kind of irresponsible dog-walker doesn't bring plastic bags with them, huh?" And then he's rummaging around in his pockets for something. A neatly folded napkin which he thrusts at Bucky.
Bucky stares at the napkin, because, no.
"You're shitting me." He says. But no. Short, Blond, and Furious waves the white tissue in Bucky's face.
"I'm not using a fucking napkin to clean up dog shit. And I'm not a goddamn dog-walker. I didn't know I'd be walking 'round the city with a dog when I left my apartment this morning. So forgive me, darling, for my lack of plastic bags." Where the hell is Clint, anyway? Coffee doesn't take this long to get.
Short, Blond, and Furious falters in his waving the napkin around. His eyes narrow and Bucky's stomach plummets. He doesn't like the look in the little guy's eyes.
"So it's not your dog, you don't walk dogs... Did you steal it? You stole a dog and now you're leaving its feaces all over town. This is ridiculous."
Bucky can't help but laugh at the jump to that conclusion. Because that wasn't so much of a jump, more like a flailing leap. And thank God for Clint fucking Barton who chooses this moment to step out of the shop with two coffees and a plastic bag.
"Friend Clint." Bucky calls, waving Clint over. "Come pick up your dog's shit and let's get going." He walks off, leaving Clint to catch up.
"What was all that about?" Clint asks when they're side by side again. Bucky just shrugs and sips his coffee.
The only thing more exhausting than Tony Stark is Tony Stark playing with Bucky's arm like it's made soley for his entertainment. Which, now that Bucky thinks about it, could very possibly be true.
He's grateful for Stark, he really is. It will never be the one he's lost, but the arm Stark's designing is so much better than Bucky could've ever have dared hope for. He's been going to the Stark Tower every Wednesday for months now, and he knows his new arm isn't far off. At this stage, Bucky isn't even sure if he's more excited at the thought of having two hands again or having his weekly appointments reduced to fortnightly, then monthly.
He's exhausted, and all he wants is his bed and to sleep for twelve solid hours.
Bucky's left shoulder hurts, his head's throbbing, and it's still early enough in autumn for the air to be uncomfortably hot.
Bucky does not want to walk home, not like this. He steps out into the blaring hot sun and whistles. "Taxi!"
Except his voice is hoarse and it comes out all wrong. No one seems to notice him. No one, except of course the angry guy from the coffee shop on Saturday. Bucky groans and scrubs his hand down his face because his miserable day just got a hundred times worse.
"You think you can get away with that, huh? Because you're a white male and it's your right?" Short, Blond, and Furious spits. "Well I have news for you, buddy, it's not. You owe me an apology."
Bucky blinks, not even knowing what he's being yelled at. He just wants to go home to his bed and not have to think for a few hours.
"I've got nothing to apologise for, least of all to you. Clint picked up the dog shit his dog left. Can't you just let it go?" Bucky sighs, because this is ridiculous and stupid and he's way too tired for this shit.
Short, Blond, and Furious lets out a strangled sort of sound Bucky belatedly realises is a form of laughter.
"You think that's what I'm upset about? I don't care about that anymore. Can you honestly not see what's wrong with what you've just done?"
"Sweetheart," Bucky drawls and wow, that was not the thing to say because the guy's somehow gone even more red in the face and if he wasn't chewing Bucky's head of, Bucky might've felt a bit worried for him. But no, because this is not Bucky's fault in any way, shape or form. "I haven't done a damned thing wrong. Let me just go home."
Bucky whistles again and actually manages to catch at cabbie's attention.
"You- you're calling a taxi." The guy splutters and he looks so lost it almost makes Bucky laugh. Instead he leans out the window as the taxi pulls away from the curb.
"I hope I never see you again, jerk!"
"Hey, you!"
Bucky knows that voice, it haunts him. He clenches his fist and evens out his breathing before turning around.
"I thought I said I never wanted to see you again." Bucky growls, crowding over Short, Blond, and Furious. He's met with defiant blue eyes and (admittedly) one of the best scowls he's ever seen.
"Back off." Bucky's always been fast. It's something he's immensly thankful for as he weaves his way through the crowd before the little firecracker can get another word in.
It's on days like these when Bucky most wishes Stark would hurry up with his fancy new prosthetic. It's way too cold for this time of year and his arm hurts but he can't stay inside because he needs toilet paper. If it was soap or milk or even toothpaste he was out of, he'd wait a day til the weather wasn't offensively bitter, but no. Fucking toilet paper.
Bucky's got his hood up and favourite beat-up leather jacket on as he trudges through the street. It's not raining but that doesn't stop Bucky from scowling at everyone. He'd considered asking Nat to pick some up for him but she's away with Clint for the weekend. Which also means he can't text Clint to pick some up for him either. He considered Sam from the VA, but he doesn't think they're actually friends.
So here Bucky is, hunched in on himself with a bag of toilet rolls in his hand as he makes the six minute walk back from the shop to his apartment. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, three short pips. Nat's sent him a text. He ignores it- he's four minutes from home and it's probably just a picture of Clint or Lucky. If he had two hands then maybe he'd get it out, but he doesn't. Bucky only has one hand so he can't really get his phone out to check it.
But it's buzzing again. Bucky groans and sets down his shopping bag to fish around his pocket for the damn thing. If Nat's sent more than one text he should probably check it.
"Don't just stop in the middle of the path to check your phone, other people use the sidewalk too." Bucky groans, actually groans and rolls his eyes like a twelve year old hearing a parent tell them they love them in public.
"Well, so-rry for not having two hands to be able to do it while walking." Bucky wants to strangle the guy because how on earth does he always happen to show up at the worst possible times? Maybe he planted a tracker on Bucky and is out to torture him with his high standards- No, stop that.
"This is not about your arm and you know that. You could have easily stopped at a bench or just waited until you were not in the middle of a crowded street to-" Bucky stops listening because his phone's ringing, but he maintains eye contact and smiles at Short, Blond, and Furious. He slowly brings the phone to his ear, holding the little punk's gaze and nodding condescendingly.
"Hi Nat!" He greets in his best happy-go-lucky voice. The guy glares at him and Bucky smirks back.
"James- did you get my messages? Clint broke his ankle, we're at the hospital now." Nat doesn't sound too distressed, Clint breaks something all the time.
"-rude jerk who picks up the phone halfway through a conversation-"
"Of course he did. How'd it happen this time?" Bucky sighs, simultaneously staring at the riled up Chihuahua and ignoring every word from his loud mouth.
"Fell up the stairs. Up. He didn't even have the decency to fall down them, like a normal human being." Nat raises her voice as she speaks and Bucky can hear Clint's muffled protests of 'It's a talent, Nat'.
"-are you honestly pretending you can't hear me? I know you can hear me-"
"Jesus. Well, send my love or whatever, and thanks for letting me know. I'm gonna go though, because it's cold as balls and I think my nipples are going to fall off now." Bucky hangs up the phone and puts it in his pocket. His eyes still haven't left Short, Blond, and Furious's.
"Do you even know how to act decently in public?"
"Oh that's rich, coming from you. Every time you see me you come up and start yelling at me! I'm not even that much of an asshole."
They've moved off to the side of the path by now but they're still both in the way of busy New Yorkers. They're both still assholes.
"Well you've definitely got room for improvement because you sure come across as one." Short, Blond, and Furious folds his bony arms over his chest. His foot's drumming on the concrete and Bucky notices he needs to re-tie the laces on his left foot.
"What can I say, honey? You bring out the worst in me."
"I'm glad to hear you don't get worse than this. Because that would just be insufferable." He all but spits at Bucky. Bucky honestly doesn't know what this guy's problem is. Sure, he catches Bucky doing shitty things, but it's New York. Everyone does shitty things. If this guy picks fights with everyone like he picks fights with Bucky, it's a miracle he's still alive.
It's just started to rain and Bucky's waiting for the traffic lights to change when a taxi horn blares right in his ears. He flinches and spins around, his heart racing because it's too loud and it's too close and there's a bright light that Bucky knows does not belong in Brooklyn but-
But there's a familiar voice spitting out a "Watch it!" And Bucky's eyes snap open, and well. There's the little punk he sees everywhere (that sees him everywhere, more like), glaring at the taxi driver who's glaring right back at him. And Bucky may or may not take joy in the fact he's caught the guy out on something for once. (He does.) (Oh God, how he does.)
"Hey asshole." Bucky says, because this is too good. He's pathetically proud of how his voice does not tremble, despite his frantic heartbeat trying to calm itself. Short, Blond, and Furious whips around to face Bucky.
Bucky's glad to realise he must also get called asshole enough to turn to it on instinct.
"Didn't anyone ever tell ya not to jaywalk?"
"Oh, don't pretend you're some sort of saint! You steal dogs and leave their shit on the sidewalk, and stop in the middle of crowded streets to talk on the phone." He snaps back. The rain's flattened his hair and it flops into his eyes. It's almost long enough to reach the tips of his lower eyelashes and Bucky really doesn't know what to do with this information.
The buzzer at the intersection goes off and Bucky starts to cross, only hesitating to shout back, "At least I obey the Road-Code! It's there for a reason."
Bucky's new arm is wonderful. It's magic. He can lean on the door frame, he can pick things up, he can feel Lucky's fur. Stark's grinning at him and Nat's rubbing his back and Bucky actually has two arms again. He almost wants to hug Stark.
"Don't." The man says, as if he can read Bucky's mind. "You're very welcome, Barnes, but don't hug me."
Bucky nods, and he's not even ashamed to admit he's crying, because he has two fucking arms and maybe he's not as broken as he thought he was.
"Stop that." Nat murmurs in his ear and he realises he was thinking out loud. "James, you were no less of a person yesterday as you are today. You're a good person, nothing can change that."
Bucky just finds himself crying harder.
Bucky's over the moon. It's the first time he's worn a t-shirt since he got back. He's got two arms now! He doesn't even have anywhere to be, he's just too happy to be stuck up in his apartment, because he has two arms. The whole world should be singing.
The clouds are too thick and Bucky's a little bit cold because it's dark now, but he doesn't want to put on his jersey because he's just so damn proud of his arm.
"Hey Cyborg. You a robot with that freak arm?"
Bucky flinches. The arm's cool. It is. It certainly beats the empty sleeve and hollow pit in his stomach. He takes a deep breath and thinks of Sam's calm voice to steady himself. He turns around.
There are three of them, donned in black clothes and herding Bucky into a side alley. He wants to put his feet down, stand his ground and fight back, but he's suddenly so tired. His hands are shaking, twice as bad as usual now there are two of them. He doesn't want this, he doesn't deserve it.
"Leave him the fuck alone." And God, Bucky never thought he'd actually be pleased to hear that deep commanding voice. Short, Blond, and Furious is standing by his side, slightly in front of Bucky as if he can shield him from the men with his tiny frail body.
Reality hits because yeah, Bucky might not be alone, but his partner is barely 90 pounds. This isn't looking too good.
"Oh how cute, you brought your pet." The first guy sneers.
In a completely unsurprising turn of events to Bucky, Short, Blond, and Furious throws the first punch. The guy on the receiving end is surprised, though, and he stumbles back slightly. His two goons, however, are quick and big. The saunter over to Bucky and the guy whose name Bucky still doesn't know. One slams Bucky against the brick wall of the alleyway, the other taking on Bucky's scrappy ally. A fist is connects with the kid's face and Bucky sees red. His metal arm whirs, coming to life fueled with rage. He shoves his attacker off, kicking him to the ground. His head hits the concrete with a frightening smack, but Bucky hardly notices. The first guy, the bastard who started the whole damn thing, is on Bucky. Except he's not, because Bucky has his military training and a metal arm made by Tony Fucking Stark.
It's just Bucky and his angry defender left with the third guy. Except It's pretty much just Bucky and the third guy because Short, Blond, and Furious is trying to haul his limp and bleeding body to his feet while his attacker unscathed, ready to fire again. So Bucky whips him around and punches him, hard, right in the face with his metal arm.
Bucky's little blond punk beams up at him with bloodied teeth and a swollen closed eye.
Bucky drags the kid back to his apartment because he stubbornly insists he doesn't need a hospital.
"M'name's Steve." He says, throat raw and fingers steady.
"Bucky," he replies. "Thank you. For standing up for me."
Steve grins up at Bucky. It's a mildly terrifying sight with the blood dripping out from between his teeth. "I always stand up for what I think is right. Believe it or not."
Bucky scoffs, because if there's one thing he knows about Steve, that's it. "I figured, pal."
"Y'know, that time with the taxi?" Steve starts, and yes. Bucky does remember that time because that was the one time Steve came to him unprovoked. "I didn't hear you properly. My hearing aid's battery was dying, and you were quite quiet. I thought you said sexy, I thought you were catcalling." Steve's eyes are fixed on his fingers in his lap, a light blush gracing his cheeks. Bucky laughs.
"That makes so much sense." Bucky sits back on his heels. He's finished wiping down Steve's face and putting Arnica on the bruises blossoming on his face and arms. Apart from the bloody mouth thing, there's nothing else to be done. Bucky stands up to get him a glass of water. "I'm glad you had a reason, you almost had me doubting your sanity."
Steve follows him through to the kitchen and drinks the water before responding.
"I was going to apologise and explain myself, but you were off before I kinda realised what was happening." He shrugs his little shoulders.
Bucky doesn't know what to say so he smiles at Steve. Steve smiles back and that's all that really matters.
"Here's my number, text me when you're home safe." They're standing awkwardly at Bucky's door. It's probably not that awkward for Steve, but Bucky doesn't want him to go. Steve gives him another one of his small smiles, almost shy, and God Bucky doesn't know if he's seen anything so beautiful before. There's a beauty in the riled up passion of Steve ready to fight, but when he smiles like this Bucky can feel his chest warming, filling up with sunshine. Steve turns to go.
"Steve- wait." Bucky steps into the hall. Steve turns around.
"Thanks- again. Look, I know we got off to a rough start. But, we'll see each other again, yeah?" Bucky's heart is racing but it's good, Steve is grinning at him. His blush is back.
"Of course," Steve says. "How else would I ask you on a date?"
Bucky Barnes is on cloud fucking nine.