Light Up The Night

A continuous shrieking sound from overhead grated at Bucky’s ears and yanked him back to consciousness. His mind struggled to identify where it came from and yet despite missing that piece of information, he knew on some level that he needed to act quickly.

Bucky moved before his eyes were even open and properly focused. Standing there, blinking, he stared straight at the door as though he expected to see something coming through there. Beside him, Winter stood, his body trembling with a low continuous growling as the shrieking alarm continued.

“Why the fuck is the fire alarm going off?” Steve slurred. He rolled out of bed, stopping only briefly enough to grab his glasses and shove them onto his face.

Before Steve finished speaking, Bucky smelled the acrid smoke. He slipped - the room faded away to sand and smoke and all around were the terrible odors of burning flesh, and scorched metal.

A shooting pain in his right palm yanked him back to the present. He jerked back to reality to see the metal fingers on his left hand sunk into the skin of his right one, hard enough to leave a bruise but not break the skin. A deep breath steadied him and he managed to stay present enough to focus on the situation at hand. He put the pieces together quickly; this wasn’t a drill or a short circuit in the wiring, something was on fire. He moved towards the door and pressed his hand to the doorknob.

Already warm. Not a good sign.

Neither were the tendrils of smoke snaking under the bottom of the door.

He was dimly aware of Steve saying something, asking something, but he didn’t have the time to figure out what. He ran over to the bathroom, grabbed a towel from the rack, and moved back to the door to shove it beneath it.

At least that was his intention.

What he found as he turned away from the bathroom was the door open, Steve standing halfway through it, and smoke billowing into the apartment. That was too much fire, too much smoke. It didn’t make sense. How could a fire have started and gotten this bad this quickly without them knowing? The only fire alarm going off was the one in the apartment but he’d seen Steve go through testing the smoke detectors and checking the sprinkler system downstairs. There was no way all of those securities could have failed.

To Bucky’s horror, despite the smoke filling the doorway and the heat becoming more and more intense, Steve made a move toward stairs. Immediately, Bucky ran and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist to drag him back into the apartment.

“No!” Steve snarled, struggling enough that Bucky nearly lost his grip when Steve’s elbow caught him in the stomach. “No, I have to get my sketchbooks! Everything’s down there! I can’t lose it!”

“Steve, it’s already gone!” Bucky kicked the door shut with one foot and nearly overbalanced as Steve continued to struggle against him. “I know it’s important to you but it’s not worth losing your life over. We need to get out of here.”

When Steve seemed willing to stay relatively put, Bucky kicked the towel into place, although it seemed a bit too late. In those few seconds the door had been opened, the smoke had already filled the room. Beside him, Steve coughed once, twice, and then seemed to be unable to stop. Given that, Bucky didn’t see going down through the front door to be an option they had at this point. Which meant that the only option left was to go through the window and to move fast.

He quickly ran through the scenarios in his head. With his metal arm, he could manage to lower himself down far enough that the risk of breaking a knee or ankle was minimal. Then Steve could follow suit and Bucky could catch him or at least try to break his fall. Potential injuries be damned. A broken bone was much better than burning to death.

The difficulty was going to be finding a way to get Winter that way. Bucky hoped against hope that the dog’s training would help him to stay calm, despite the instinctive panic he’d be experiencing. Maybe it would make more sense to lower Steve down rather than having him go last, then pass him Winter, and Bucky could lower himself down so that it wasn’t a long drop.

Steve pulled away at that point, trying to grab any and all sketchbooks he could find, as well as his laptop. Bucky hesitated but then determined that there was nothing in the apartment that he couldn’t live without.

Bucky went to the window, shoving it open and looking at the distance between the ledge and the ground. It wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant, but it was the best option they had. He looked back to Steve, his heart clenching when he saw the thicker smoke already filling the room. Steve now seemed to be unable to stop coughing.

They needed to move fast.

Bucky paused long enough to tug his boots onto his feet, wanting at least a level of protection if he was about to navigate a two-story drop. That was the only belonging of his that he grabbed. As far was he was concerned, everything else could be replaced.

“Steve, c’mere! No. No, leave that,” Bucky insisted, when Steve continued trying to sort through all of his belongings to grab anything else he didn’t want to lose. “C’mon. We need to get out of here now before the fire downstairs makes the floor up here cave in.”

“I’m not losing everything,” Steve choked out. “I’m not.”

Steve might have been intending to say more but he was caught in another coughing fit. His breathing grew more and more uneven. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him to the window. He fought to get Steve’s mouth covered with his shirt, just tugging it up enough that it might provide more of a barrier than it had been and then doing the same for himself.

Steve struggled against him each step of the way but Bucky didn’t relent. Situations with the high probability of death made his mind completely clear. Focusing quickly wasn’t difficult. He kept a tight hold of Steve, while testing each step to make certain that the boards wouldn’t give out beneath him.

Each breath rasped in Steve’s chest, in his lungs. That was where Bucky’s mind didn’t seem to be working quite right because there was something he should have been thinking of related to Steve’s breathing problems. That didn’t seem to be quite as important as getting out of the burning building.

Once they reached the window, while Steve was busy leaning his head out to take ragged gulps of the night air, Bucky whistled for Winter. A moment later the dog appeared, whining and nudging Bucky’s side. Now he just needed Steve to cooperate enough for Bucky to lower him down to the street. That seemed to be less of a problem now that Steve couldn’t seem to breathe properly. Hopefully Steve wouldn’t argue.

“Steve, look at me.” He waited for Steve to respond, despite the fact that looking at one another was difficult because the smoke had led to both of their eyes watering. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to hold onto my arm as tightly as you can and I’m going to lower you down as far as I can, so that you don’t have as far to drop. Then I’m going to pass Winter down to you. Alright?”

“Y-you shou… should… go… go first,” Steve argued, forcing out each of the words with effort.

“No, I need you on the ground to get Winter,” Bucky insisted, despite the fact that his reason for wanting Steve to go first only partially had anything to do with Winter. “Just hold on tight. I’ll lower you down, then I’ll pass Winter down to you.”

He was relieved that Steve didn’t ask him how he planned to get Winter down since he was still working on that part. With clear reluctance, Steve slipped his bag onto his shoulders and slid his legs out of the window. Rather than letting Steve hold onto him, after seeing Steve wipe his hands on his shirt several times, Bucky grabbed Steve’s forearm as tightly as he dared, hoping that he wouldn’t accidentally cause any harm. Then again, a broken arm or dislocated shoulder was still better than dying of smoke inhalation.

He leaned out of the window as far as he could, pushing himself as far as he felt was safe without risking the possibility of losing his balance and falling out after Steve. There were still a good 10 feet between Steve and the ground. Not optimal but also not likely to be fatal given that Steve was going down feet first.

“Ready?” he called out.

Steve nodded.

Bucky released his grip, watching as Steve dropped the rest of the way to the ground and ensuring that he hit feet first – he did, although both of his legs immediately buckled and he went down on the cement, only for a moment though, before he scrambled back up, clearly favoring his right leg.

He didn’t say anything, which worried Bucky, but he gestured in a way that Bucky guessed was meant as encouragement for Bucky to pass Winter down to him. That was going to be the tricky part, figuring out a way to safely get Winter a safe distance to where Steve could either reach him or catch him without causing either one of them injury. Bucky scanned the room as best he could through the smoke that seemed to be increasing by the moment, and then settled on the sheets. It was a tried and true tradition to attempt to lower people and who was he to mess with tradition when he had no other choice right now?

“Winter, stay,” he ordered, leaving his dog at the window.

The smoke burned his eyes all the more as he made his way back over to the bed, quickly stripped the sheets, and then wrapped them around Winter in a makeshift sling that would hopefully hold the dog’s weight and be long enough to lower him far enough down that Steve could reach.

“Winter, stay,” he repeated, as he lifted the dog up and moved him through the window.

There was an initial drop when Winter got through the window. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he waited to see if the bedsheets around Winter were secure enough or whether he’d slip through them and fall the rest of the way to the ground. Thankfully, they held. Bucky lowered the tied together sheets as Winter whined plaintively at being separated.

It became harder and harder to breathe in the apartment. The heat grew worse. Bucky could feel sweat breaking out all over his skin. There was a sensation of almost crisping, like he used to get when he spent far too many hours on the beach in direct sunlight. He tried not to think too hard about that as he leaned as far as he dared out the window, taking in gulps of somewhat clearer air.

Below him, Steve kept coughing. Something about his attempts to bring in air sounded wrong, as though he weren’t actually filling his lungs. When Bucky yelled down something stupid, like, “Are you okay?” Steve just gave him a thumbs up and didn’t respond, which also didn’t seem exactly right. But then Winter barked and attempted to shift around in the mass of bedding. Bucky turned his attention more to calming his dog down and continuing to lower him enough to where Steve could grab ahold of him and help him get untangled from the bedding.

Except that after Steve managed to lower Winter to the ground, he didn’t do that. He doubled over, grasping at his throat. Finally something clicked in Bucky’s mind.

Steve was asthmatic. Steve had just inhaled smoke. Steve was having an asthma attack and Steve didn’t have his inhaler or else he’d be using it.

“Steve, hang on! I’ll be right there!”

Steve managed to choke out something that was probably Bucky’s name, followed by no, but Bucky ignored it completely. After all, Steve couldn’t reach him or climb back into the apartment. While Bucky had no doubt that there was emergency personnel on the way, he wasn’t about to wait and see if it would be soon enough to get Steve breathing before something awful happened. He was still in the apartment. He could get the inhaler before he followed Steve out the window.

The smoke was even thicker and all at once, Bucky’s body seemed to be refusing to cooperate with him. Through the smoke he saw sand, heard the sounds of artillery fire. He fought the urge to duck and cover because it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. With his mind shifting uneasily around, he didn’t pay as much attention to his footing, which he realized the moment a board cracked under his feet and his boot-covered foot slipped through into the flames beneath. The leather around his foot heated up, his skin screaming in protest. Bucky yanked his foot back out and placed it on solid ground.

The smell of burned flesh sent his heart into overdrive and he could feel his body trying to shut down. He struggled against the instinctive urge to take a deep breath, as he’d been taught in therapy. A deep breath would only succeed in bringing in more smoke to his already aching lungs.

His leg nearly collapsed beneath him. He tried not to let his mind go in certain directions – like what it looked like when material like leather melted to skin – and forced himself to continue putting each foot in front of the other, being more mindful this time as to whether the floor could support his weight. A few more steps and he was in the bathroom, yanking the medicine cabinet open and scrabbling for the inhalers he knew were in there – the emergency one and the usual one.

He shoved each of them into his pocket, then paused long enough to dampen his t-shirt and pull it back over his nose and mouth. He took one step into the apartment before dropping to his knees and hands and crawling. The smoke was far too thick and increasing, now from the area surrounding the door and the hole Bucky had left in the floor. He remembered from somewhere – maybe his training, maybe something taught to him in childhood - that the air was always clearer closest to the ground.

Thankfully, he hadn’t lost any of his military training. Crawling on his hands and knees came second nature to him, as did do everything he could to use the clothing on him to create a barrier for his mouth, nose, and eyes in an attempt to decrease the effects of the smoke on his body. He just needed to make it to the window, where there would be clean air. Then he’d be fine, long-term effects of smoke inhalation be damned.

The floor grew less and less stable as time went on and his speed at getting back to the window was sharply diminished by his slow going. The last thing Bucky wanted was for one of his arms – particularly his one remaining one – to go through the floor and burn.

The smoke continued to scorch the inside of his throat, the heat leading him to wonder whether he would incur further burns without actually hitting any flames. Thinking that way didn’t help anything though. He needed to get out, he needed to escape and then maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.

Or at least as close to all right as it could be when everything in your life had gone up in flames. Literally.

Finally, he reached the window and took in several, deep breaths of air. That helped to clear his head. He dazedly took in the scene beneath him. Steve knelt, gasping and choking, not even noticing Bucky’s presence in the window. Winter sat beside him, gazing up at the window and whining when he saw Bucky silhouetted there.

“Steve,” Bucky rasped.

Steve didn’t even look up. Despite the heat around him, it made Bucky feel as though the blood rushing through his veins had gone cold.

Behind Bucky, there was a crash as part of the floor fell in. Somewhere between that and registering Steve’s condition, all rational thought fled. He hooked his hands on the sides of the window and pulled himself out. The cool air wrapped around his blistering skin. That helped to clear his head enough that he could hear Steve’s rasping breaths becoming fewer and further between.

In that moment, he didn’t think. He just dropped.

He had enough time to realize that he was falling horribly wrong and there was no way the trajectory he was going would allow for anything other than a compound fracture.

His last option was to throw up his left arm in the hopes that the reinforced metal would be enough to keep his injuries from being too severe. He must have hit his head – or the shock to his body had been too much. Either way, he didn’t remember the impact. One moment he was falling, the next he was on the ground, his left shoulder feeling torn and raw and open to the point that he fought the urge to throw up – or maybe that was the head injury causing that, he wasn’t quite certain. His entire body screamed with pain.

Then Steve’s hands were on him, trying to coax him upright. He forced himself to fight through the pain. There was something that he had that Steve needed. He could hear Steve’s uneven breathing continuing, with the pauses becoming increasingly longer and the breaths in and out coming more and more infrequently. He automatically reached for his pocket, tugging an odd L-shaped object out – an inhaler, his mind registered – and he handed that to Steve.

When Steve struggled to take it and didn’t immediately bring it to his lips, Bucky responded on autopilot. He tried to use his left arm – which sent stabbing waves of pain into his shoulder, though they didn’t radiate any further down his arm and that made his throat feel like it was going to close up - then struggled with his right arm to guide the inhaler. He found the words somehow, encouraging Steve to take in a deep breath and hold it before Bucky released the dose of meds with one push of a finger. Steve inhaled deeply. He repeated the process once, twice, three times, and by the third time, Steve’s breathing came a bit easier.

That must have been when his arm – or his body – decided that it couldn’t support him. Bucky dropped back to the pavement. He felt something warm and wet – cracking his eyes open clued him into the fact that it was Winter’s tongue, apparently – against his cheek.

“Good boy,” he murmured.

The ground was blissfully cool against his skin. He would have done anything a glass of water.

His left shoulder ached with each breath and his heart rate increased with each exhalation. Something was wrong and damaged. If he didn’t know better, his left arm would be gone entirely when he looked at it. Just for proof, he turned his head to the side, as much as he could without causing himself any unnecessary pain, and instead of the flesh-and-blood arm he expected to see, he saw something made of metal. The metal seemed a bit wrong, a bit dented or something to that effect. He couldn’t quite understand why, but there was something about a window and a drop and that must have been the reason because that was the only thing that made sense.

Except for the fact that he couldn’t remember why his left arm had changed to one made of metal. It wasn’t always that way, he knew that much. Trying to understand was more than he could comprehend right now. What he could register was that Steve’s breathing was evening out a bit, shifting from the rough, uneven gasps to ones that were a bit more consistent. That was a relief because Steve was what was important. He’d needed to protect Steve and he had.

He pressed his fingers into Winter’s fur and tried to focus on that. Sirens screamed in the distance. It wouldn’t be enough to save the shop and the apartment but the important thing was that the three of them were out. They would be all right.

He just needed to keep repeating that to himself. That would be enough. It had to be.

-~-

If Steve never saw a hospital again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

Which, of course, meant that he was spending yet another night in one, both for himself and for Bucky. His own issues hadn’t been particularly too hard to deal with – some oxygen and a nebulizer treatment had evened out his breathing and an x-ray revealed that his ankle wasn’t broken, just sprained, which meant he’d been good to go. However, Bucky had been admitted for the night and possibly – probably – longer.

Steve could vividly remember kneeling on the sidewalk, his chest and lungs aching with every breath, as Bucky lay in front of him, sprawled in a tangle of limbs on the pavement, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. While Winter nuzzled against Bucky’s side, trying to ground him, Steve had sat beside him, trying to get Bucky to talk to him, to say something. He didn’t want to panic, even if panicking was probably the appropriate response when Bucky’s left sleeve was slowly getting drenched to the point where the blood dripped down the arm onto the sidewalk.

A few hours later, the diagnoses had been laid down as what would have probably been a dislocated and badly broken arm if Bucky’s left arm had been flesh-and-blood. Instead, the metal prosthetic had attempted to detach and caused damage to the overall muscle and tissue. Steve tried not to think too much about the fact that between blood loss and shock, things could’ve gotten a whole lot worse than they did. Bucky also had some bruised ribs, second degree burns on his foot since his boots had thankfully provided some protection against the flames, and a concussion from when his head had most likely hit his left arm or simply his brain just snapped back against his skull at the moment of impact with the ground.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky had subsequently been admitted to the hospital for the night, based on the likelihood that he would need slightly less than emergency but slightly more than routine surgery on his arm. Particularly, there was a concern that if he destabilized further, there would be a bleeding risk that would require immediate and urgent medical attention.

Throughout it all, Bucky remained surprisingly calm, given everything, especially given how he had been the last time he’d been in the hospital. Last time, he’d been dissociating and panicking almost nonstop. This time, even before he’d been officially settled in his room for the night, he hadn’t even neared that point.

Maybe it was the heavy dose of Dilaudid the doctors were giving him or maybe it was just Bucky reaching an unnatural point of calmness after being completely overwhelmed. Steve guessed it was the latter, if only because Bucky sounded quite together and coherent when he talked, not drugged or generally out of it. It could have also helped that this time, unlike the previous one, Winter curled up against Bucky’s left side in the bed, mindful of his injured arm.

There had been a few objections from hospital staff regarding Winter’s presence beside Bucky when they were brought in because Bucky hadn’t exactly had time to put Winter’s service dog vest on. Plus, the paperwork identifying his dog’s status had been one of the many things destroyed that evening. Thankfully, one call from Tony had sorted everything out. After the tests had been completed and Bucky had been settled in his room, Winter was allowed to stay by his side.

The only time Steve noticed the panic enter Bucky’s eyes was when the doctors discussed the need for surgery with him. Otherwise, now that the pain was controlled and his arm stabilized in a sling that wrapped around his chest to keep it steady, he seemed to be remarkably content to just lay back, turn on the occasional movie, and let the drugs work their magic on him.

Which was the exact opposite state Steve was in. He wasn’t quite as drugged – Tylenol 3 didn’t have the same punch as Dilaudid, even when combined with the Xanax he’d taken several hours ago when he was brought in, although that had probably worn off by this point. Now he was completely awake and aware. Unlike Bucky who had been drifting in and out for the past two hours, Steve couldn’t shut off his mind.

By the time the fire truck had arrived, the rest of the ceiling from the apartment had gone down. Crouched outside on the sidewalk, he’d heard enough of the crashes and watched the flames spread through the building. While he and Bucky had been taken by ambulance before the firemen fully got to work on the building that used to contain Steve’s livelihood and his home, he’d seen enough to know that there was no chance of anything significant being saved. All he owned now was in his backpack, save of course for the belongings he’d left with his mom before he’d moved. Everything else was gone. While he might have the opportunity to re-buy them if they were covered by insurance money, replacing them wouldn’t be a full replacement, especially for things that had been gifts from his father or other people in his life.

At that moment, his phone – one of the few things he’d been able to grab before escaping the building – vibrated against his leg. With effort, he tugged it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Just as he’d thought, it was Tony, following up on the earlier call where Steve really hadn’t explained any of the fine details about what happened; just given him enough information to let him know what had gone down before Tony heard it on a police scanner. Not to mention asking him to pull the necessary strings to keep Winter with Bucky.

Steve exhaled slowly. He just wasn’t certain that he had it in him to take the call right now. On the other hand, Tony had already done more than Steve deserved asking him for tonight alone, despite the status of the last several interactions between the two of them. Besides, the doctors had made it clear that they wanted to consult with Tony regarding Bucky’s prosthetic before taking the steps to complete the surgery on him. While that wasn’t necessarily something that fell on Steve’s shoulders – he had no doubt that the surgeons were responsible for that process – Steve probably did need to talk to him at some point.

At this point, he didn’t think Tony would try to use this time to resolve their previous disagreements. Not after everything that had happened.

With a sigh, he answered and hoarsely said, “Hey, Tony. I guess it’s pretty bad, huh?”

“Holy shit, Rogers. Jesus fucking Christ, why didn’t you say more when you called? Why didn’t you tell me how bad things were? I knew that you and Barnes were still alive because of what you’d said when we were last on the phone but, seriously, when I saw the damage, I fucking panicked. I was afraid you both were still in there when the apartment collapsed, which was ridiculous since we’d talked, but I wasn’t expecting for things to be as bad as they are.”

“We weren’t inside when the roof went in,” Steve assured him. “We got out in time.”

“But you’re still at the hospital,” Tony stated more than asked. “How bad is it? You didn’t give me the full rundown of everything earlier.”

“Smoke inhalation and a sprained ankle for me.” Steve paused between the words to take a sip of water; that was the only thing that made the awful sensation of talking a bit more bearable when each word still felt like broken glass sliding across the inside of his throat. “Bucky’s got some burns and a concussion and his metal arm took some damage, so he’s been admitted to the hospital. They actually said they’d be contacting you to see if you had any idea for how to handle repairing the arm.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish up here,” Tony promised him.

Steve was quiet for a moment, in part because it was hard to form words still, in other part because these words were hard to say for another reason. “Tony… the shop…”

“The shop’s gone,” Tony said bluntly. “Whoever did this broke in, cut the sprinkler and smoke detector system, and then doused the floor in gasoline and threw a match in. They weren’t just looking to burn the shop down, Steve, they were looking to hurt you and Barnes. The gasoline was on the stairwell, too, designed to prevent the two of you from getting out of there, at least from that way. So I’ve been told, at least.”

Steve all but rocked back in the chair. “Are you saying they meant to kill us?”

“I’m saying that’s a strong possibility. I’m saying you were lucky as hell to make it out of there.”

While Steve hadn’t honestly thought that the fire was a matter of a loose electrical wire, given his obsessive checking on everything related to his shop, the idea that the fire had been intentionally set to cause his death was another matter entirely. He’d already put the pieces together that someone must have cut the sprinkler system and smoke detector downstairs for them not to be alerted until the fire was already spreading but this… this was something else.

“Shit,” Steve snapped. “Shit, Tony. I can’t believe this is fucking happening.”

“Agreed. Look, I’ll be at the hospital as soon as possible. I’m still at the shop now. I haven’t had the chance yet to look at the surveillance footage. There might be something on there that’ll help us, although it’s just as possible that they cut the wires on that too since they seem to have thought of everything else.”

Steve took a few deep breaths, as much as his lungs could manage at least, before taking that as his exit to escape the conversation and quickly saying, “Alright, sounds good. See you soon” before hanging up.

Maybe Tony wanted to say more, maybe he didn’t, but Steve didn’t see a point in continuing to talk. It was more than he could handle on his throat right now and he wanted to save his voice for talking to the doctors and Bucky. Still, this was one of the few times that Steve didn’t cut Tony off because he was fed up with him. The fact that Tony was at the shop and handling that side of things was something Steve was immensely grateful for. Almost as grateful as he was for the fact that Bucky had slept through Steve’s side of the conversation; for as calm as Bucky seemed at the moment, finding out about attempted murder would likely change that.

It still seemed impossible that this could have even happened. Sure, a lot of shit had gone down over the past few weeks, but Steve and Bucky weren’t responsible for that. Pietro had just ended up in the shop that night. They didn’t have anything to do with the mess the twins and the others were wrapped up in, aside from the fact that many of those involved worked at Shield, that Clint brought Pietro to Shield on the night he was shot, and, of course, the recent altercation inside the shop. Still, that didn’t seem to be enough of a reason for someone to want Steve and Bucky dead.

He figured it was possible those assholes didn’t know Bucky and Steve were the ones who lived up there. Not unless they’d watched for long enough, and maybe they had, Steve didn’t know. A few months back, it had seemed inconceivable to think of a reason for why some asshole would have jumped Steve. That had been bad enough. Now someone had actively tried to burn him to death in his own home and place of work.

Perhaps, Steve was jumping to conclusions. After all, those fuckers in the mob weren’t the only people who had stirred up trouble over the past few months. Tonight’s incident could have been related to the Rumlow and Loki situation as well, even if Steve struggled with the idea that either of them would have been willing to escalate things to arson and murder.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice, hoarse from smoke inhalation, startled Steve from his thoughts.

Steve glanced over at him, to find his eyes open and staring right at him. “Yeah, Buck?” he replied, reaching for Bucky’s right hand, careful not to dislodge the IV.

Focusing on that meant maybe keeping the rage burning through him at bay for that much longer. The last thing he needed was to increase Bucky’s stress.

“Were you on the phone?”

Steve could have said no but that seemed wrong, given everything. The familiar uncertainty and hesitancy in regards to disclosing that Tony had called returned, not that Bucky had asked for that piece of information. It would inevitably come out. He hoped that fear was just left over from those earlier days when Bucky seemed to get super defensive in response to Tony being involved in any way in Steve’s life and not related to figuring out how to phrase things in a way that wasn’t going to act as a trigger for Bucky.

“Yeah, it was Tony,” Steve said, with a bit of a sigh. “He was calling from the shop.”

“Yeah, I got bits and pieces of it. You were saying that it was… it was arson?” Steve hesitated and Bucky added, “I heard what you said to Stark. At least I think you said it. I don’t think I dreamed it. You said something about them wanting to have killed us. So that means arson, right?”

Great. Exactly the situation Steve had hoped to avoid, even if for the moment, Bucky sounded quite lucid and calm.

“I did say that and, yes, it was arson,” Steve reluctantly confirmed. “Someone apparently poured a fuckton of gasoline throughout the shop and on the stairs.”

“Awesome. Tony have any theories as to why or is it the obvious explanation that this has something to do with all of the recent shit that went down in and around the shop?”

Bucky’s voice remained calm. Steve did his best to match that tone despite the fact that his voice shook in an effort not to express everything he was really feeling.

“I think our only theories are what we’re all already thinking,” Steve said. “That this has something to do with what happened to Pietro and our recent visitors to Shield. I guess it could have been Loki or Rumlow but that seems like a stretch to me.”

“I mean, regardless of who it was, it sounds a bit overkill to try to burn us alive but I guess anyone who’s willing to shoot a kid probably isn’t overly concerned with morality.” He shifted position and gritted his teeth. “Is Stark coming here?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here in a bit to check in and consult with the doctors about your arm,” Steve said. “Speaking of that, you need more painkillers?”

“Is it time for that yet? What’s the board say?” Bucky tilted his head to look at the scrawl on the whiteboard by his bed. “Yeah, I guess it is almost time for that.” Then, before he could go further in that direction, he cursed. “Shit. I didn’t call Nat. I can bet anything she’s heard about this mess by now. I should let her know what’s going on.”

“I could handle that,” Steve offered. “While you’re waiting for the nurse to bring you your next dose, I could give her a call and then come back to let you talk to her as well?”

“That might be good. You can let her know what’s going on probably a little more coherently than I could.”

With that, Bucky pressed the call button. Steve pushed himself to his feet, rode the ensuing head rush, and limped his way into the hallway to dial Natasha’s number, ignoring Bucky’s reminder to use his crutches. He was admittedly surprised that his phone hadn’t already been blowing up with calls and messages from Natasha, Sam, or Clint, although it was possible that Natasha had attempted to call Bucky’s phone, which was now a burned piece of plastic in the rubble as far as Steve knew.

Natasha answered on the first ring. “Steve? What happened? Where is James? Is he alright?” Then, “Of course he’s not alright. If he were alright, he’d be the one calling me. Unless this is James?”

“It’s not,” Steve said. “You were right the first time, it’s me. I’m calling from the hospital. Before you start panicking, Bucky’s alright, kind of. He’s got a couple of injuries that are keeping him here at least through the night, maybe longer, since he’ll be getting surgery.”

“What happened?” Natasha asked, in an unnaturally calm voice that sent chills up and down Steve’s spine.

“I’m guessing you might have already heard that the shop caught on fire? Bucky sort of fell out the window during our escape. It’s a much longer story than that but we can tell you all of it later. He injured his arm in the fall, his left one, and that’s the reason they’re keeping him because they want to make sure that’s stabilized. Otherwise, he’s got a couple of minor fire related injuries, bruised ribs, and a concussion from the fall.”

“I’ll be over as soon as possible,” Natasha promised, and Steve tried not to reflect too much on the fact that the room was about to get quite crowded once Tony and Natasha arrived, especially since Natasha was likely to bring Sam or Clint along as well.

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” Steve said, instead of conveying any of those thoughts. “He actually wanted me to pass the phone back to him before I hang up. You good with that?”

“I can’t lie, as much as I trust you, Steve, it would be more of a relief to hear his voice.”

“No offense taken, Nat. Give me a sec.”

Steve covered the mouth of the phone as he headed back into the room to find the nurse in there, injecting a fresh dose of Dilaudid into the IV port. Steve could see the change in Bucky’s body language within seconds. The tension around his eyes decreased, his jaw went from being clenched to relaxed, and he all but sighed in relief as the medication took effect. He murmured thanks to the nurse – Steve glanced at the board to remind himself of which nurse was on duty, and found that her name was Claire Temple - who assured him that he didn’t need to mention it, to let her know if he needed anything else and that she’d be on call until the morning, and then hooked him back up to the saline drip.

Steve nodded to her as she left – she raised an eyebrow and gave him a thinly veiled threat about being up and about after what he’d been through and her thoughts regarding the effect of that on his body, especially since he seemed to be disinclined to use the crutches the doctor had given him – and then, once she was gone, he handed the phone over to Bucky and mouthed, Nat’s on the line.

Bucky took the phone. “Hey, Nat. Yeah, it’s me, who else would it be? I know I sound like shit. The smoke did a number on my throat. Yeah, I’m okay. A little messed up but I’m handling it. No, I wouldn’t say no to visitors. I don’t know what state I’ll be in when you arrive since I haven’t exactly gotten much sleep tonight but you’re always welcome to come on by. I also don’t know when the surgery might be but I’ll keep you updated through Steve’s phone as long as it stays charged. Seriously, don’t worry. I don’t know how much Steve told you but I’m really doing as fine as I can be.”

Bucky offered Steve a slight smile as he said that. Steve tried to believe Bucky’s words. Bucky was coping, maybe because he was too in shock at the moment to do anything other than keep functioning, but either way that was the important part. If he fell apart later, they’d deal with it then, but that wasn’t now. Steve was incredibly grateful for that because he didn’t think he could handle acting as emotional support for Bucky at this point.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’ll see you soon, Nat. Love you.” With that, Bucky ended the call and handed the phone back to Steve. “I’d tell you she’s coming but I’m guessing you gathered as much.”

“I did. I’m guessing it might be awhile before she gets here. Is she planning on bringing Sam or Clint?”

“That’s what she said.” Bucky shifted the slightest bit in an apparent attempt to make himself more comfortable.

“Anything you need? The bed adjusted? Another pillow?”

Bucky chuckled, which immediately made him wince. “That was probably a shit idea with a busted up shoulder and ribs. I’m as fine as I’m gonna be, Steve. I can reach the controls for the bed, I’ve got the two pillows and a blanket, so I’m good to go. I was about to suggest seeing what other movies they’ve got on this little screen by the bed and put something on until one or both of us passes the fuck out. Seriously though, I should be asking you if you need anything. Like one of these pillows?”

“Now, Mr. Barnes, don’t give away your bedding,” a voice chided from the doorway. Steve twisted his body enough, despite the fact that it made his lungs ache, to see that the nurse, Claire, standing there, a pillow and a blanket in her hands. “I figured after everything you weren’t going anywhere tonight, Mr. Rogers. There’s not a whole lot I can do to make trying to sleep in these chairs any more comfortable but I figured some bedding might be a good first step.”

She handed over the coarse blanket and vinyl-covered pillow to him and he murmured, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I figured it was the least I could do. My only other recommendation would be to pull two of the chairs together and see how that works. Some people find that to be more comfortable, some people find it to be even worse. I figure at least try it out and see what your verdict is.” She offered each of them a smile. “Once again, let me know if you need anything. I’m on shift until 6. Also, don’t let me see you out and about again without your crutches… ”

With that, she disappeared through the doorway, keeping it cracked behind her to give them a modicum of privacy. Bucky fiddled with the controls on the bed, enough to tilt it back just a little bit more while also keeping himself propped a bit upright. He turned off several of the lights in the room to ensure there was enough for Steve to see by but in a clear sign that he aimed to try to get some sleep himself.

Steve knew the chances of sleeping himself were minimal. He was exhausted, bone-achingly so, but it wasn’t the sleepy kind of exhaustion. This was just a full, body-weary sense of being drained. While he had no doubt that sleep might help with that, it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that was conducive to falling asleep, especially in these types of conditions. Besides that, Tony would be arriving sooner or later and Steve really didn’t see the point in falling asleep and then being woken up by Tony’s arrival. Especially since Steve had to make certain that Bucky wasn’t woken up, if he were sleeping by then, which meant being awake himself.

Bucky shifted through the movies, moving pretty quickly to family films when he found that the movies were broken down by category before settling on Brave. He tilted the screen enough that Steve could see from where he’d gotten himself as comfortable as he could in his bed of chairs, with the pillow tucked awkwardly behind his neck and the light, scratchy blanket over him. Steve wasn’t particularly interested in the movie but it seemed to be providing a good distraction for Bucky, who seemed focused on the plotline, at least until his eyes started to drift shut.

Then Steve was alone with his thoughts.

Sure, the movie was still playing but Steve’s attention was far from that. He didn’t particularly care about the characters or the fact that the mother had apparently been turned into a bear. None of that was important to him. He felt too restless, too keyed up after the events of the evening. The longer he sat in the hospital room, despite the fact that he knew there was nowhere else he should have been given the condition that Bucky was in – and the fact that he had nowhere else to go since his apartment had just been destroyed – it was hard to remain stationary after everything.

He tried to list out and categorize everything that had been in the apartment, from the blanket his mother had made for him on his bed, to the stupid coffee machines Darcy and Clint had brought downstairs, to his first tattoo gun, to his most recent tattoo gun, to all of the art, especially the art that he hadn’t yet had a chance to back up and was now gone forever. That also didn’t include the belongings of everyone else who worked in Shield, like the small fountain in Bucky’s room that Natasha had given him when he started to work there to help keep him relaxed, to Clint’s favorite coffee mugs, to any little things brought in by Darcy and the twins to keep around the front desk; like Darcy’s dog shaming day-to-day calendar that she insisted on keeping out where the clients could see it.

All of that was gone.

Steve had no doubt the insurance on Shield was the best of the best and would cover any itemized list Steve could come up with, but it wouldn’t be the same. Gifts from family or friends, especially those family and friends no longer living, wouldn’t have as much weight if they were rebought rather than gifted. He thankfully kept the majority of the art in the shop backed up, on the off-chance anything ever did happen to it – though his fears were much closer to something getting spilled on them, despite their protective coverings, and things like that – but there were more recent designs that he hadn’t gotten around to scanning in and he hadn’t touched the majority of Clint’s work.

Those designs could be gone forever, which technically wasn’t a complete disaster for those drawings that were now being proudly worn and had been designed specifically and only for those persons. It was more of a disaster for the more recent work both Steve and Clint had been doing, where they had been commissioned for an appointment that now might never come. If Tony did come up with some sort of way to get the shop back on its feet again, recreating the artwork would never feel like it matched up to the original – or at least that was Steve’s current interpretation of matters.

He felt stupid for even thinking like this. He should have been happy. He should have been so grateful that both he and Bucky made it out with the limited injuries they’d incurred. Stuff was stuff, even the most important belongings could be replaced in some capacity if necessary. Yes, it was a loss but he needed to take his mind off of that. Especially seeing as it was nearly dawn and he’d barely slept all night.

It was at that moment that his phone vibrated in his hand and he glanced down. A message from Tony simply said, Come into the hallway.

There was no reason to stall, especially since he was already sitting there, lost in his own thoughts. For the first time in a long time, Tony’s presence was a welcome distraction.

Bucky barely stirred in response to the faint sound of the phone. Steve took care to move as quietly as possible as he stood up and headed into the hallway; a task that was somewhat difficult, given that his ankle refused to hold his weight and he refused to use the crutches because that would’ve led to more noise. He paused in the doorway, looking back long enough to see that Bucky hadn’t moved a muscle and appeared to be resting quietly.

The light in the hallway, bright and fluorescent, was almost blinding and Steve had to blink several times before he could properly focus on Tony. Tony, whose face was almost as soot and ash covered as Bucky’s and Steve’s own had been, who looked tired and worn and nothing like his usual put together self. He hadn’t been lying on the phone. The recent events, including the shock of tonight’s fire, must have been weighing on him. Steve felt a flicker of guilt at the thought of those recent events, including their fight and him freezing Tony out. He still stood by what he’d said even if now he wondered if maybe, just maybe his actions had been harsher than was strictly fair.

Even Tony’s voice sounded rough and drained. “Hey, Steve. You look like shit.”

“You don’t look much better,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Bucky’s asleep in there, so if it’s all the same to you, we’re talking out here.”

“It doesn’t sound like I have much choice in the matter,” Tony said. “That’s fine. I won’t be here too long. I just wanted to make sure that you and Barnes were more or less in one piece.”

“We are. Any word on the surveillance footage?”

“Negative.” Tony sighed. “Looks like they cut the feed, as well as everything else they could in the shop. I couldn’t get anything. I was only going through the basics though, so it’s possible that I might be able to come up with something more. These guys probably aren’t as sophisticated as I am, so there’s a lot more that I need to test out before giving up on finding something.”

“If anyone can find it, it’s you,” Steve said, his praise for the first time not being delivered grudgingly. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it, Rogers. It’s the least I can do. I should’ve done more to protect the shop after all of the shit that went down over the past couple of months.”

“Is that regret?” Steve asked. “Because, seriously, that’s not your fault. If I’d thought something more, like a security system, were necessary, I would’ve asked you for it.”

“Please, I know you don’t ask for anything. You don’t need to deny it. When I put in the cameras, I should’ve put in additional safeguards. Maybe it wouldn’t have done anything tonight, seeing as the job they did on the rest of the shop, but it might’ve slowed them down.”

“Stop thinking of ‘what ifs,’ Tony,” Steve said with a sigh. “You can think of them all night if you want but it’s not going to change anything. What happened happened. It wasn’t your fault, so stop blaming yourself. Me and Buck got out and for now that’s all that matters. Everything else… everything else will be figured out. But not tonight because none of us are in any shape to be trying to handle that right now.”

He attempted to shift his weight the slightest bit, as standing on his worn and damaged muscles wasn’t doing him any favors, but he wasn’t quite prepared for his leg to buckle completely. Immediately Tony caught his arm, keeping him upright, and hurriedly helped him over to one of the chairs positioned throughout the hallway, probably for incidents just like this.

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, what are you doing walking around on an injured ankle?” Tony questioned, as he got him settled.

Steve must have been really fucking exhausted because there was barely the flicker of shame over needing Tony to practically carry him over to a chair.

“I didn’t want to wake Bucky up by using the crutches,” he offered as a possible, incredibly weak excuse.

Tony clearly didn’t buy it but at least he didn’t argue. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before he said, “Shit, Steve, I just… I would’ve hated for our last interaction to have been what it was. I mean, if something had happened to you. Something worse.”

“Glad that you only worry about that now when there’s the chance I could’ve died,” Steve pointed out. “Look, there’s no use thinking that way. That didn’t happen. I’m still here.”

“Could you stop acting like I hadn’t tried to make amends? I mean, I texted you and kept asking to talk to you and you kept blowing me off.” Tony exhaled slowly, in a way that made Steve think he was biting back his words and giving himself a chance to rethink what he was about to say. When he finally did speak, all he said was, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. For now, I need to be consulting with a surgeon on your boyfriend’s arm. You guys got a plan for where you’re going once he’s released?”

“I’m guessing we’ve got at least another 24 hours before we need to figure that out,” Steve replied. “But Bucky figured we’d probably reclaim his old room over at Nat’s place, at least for the time being.”

“You think that’s any safer than the apartment over Shield was?” Tony challenged. “I mean, the kid and Barton both got shot and they stayed – or at least were staying – there.”

“True,” Steve agreed. “But I also have to imagine that given these recent events, Natasha’s father has done everything he can to increase security around the townhouse. I don’t know if anyone would be stupid enough to make an attempt on the daughter of someone as high-ranking as Natasha’s father.”

“Really? I would have thought that would make her a prime target. After all, maybe it wouldn’t be so surprising that an attempt would be made on her.”

“But wouldn’t that potentially draw too much attention?” Steve countered right back.

“Look, I’m just saying that you might want to move to a more secure location. That’s all.”

“And I’m guessing that means you’re offering one. One like where the twins are gonna be staying.” Steve was quiet for a moment. “We’ll take it under consideration. Give us the details and I’ll talk to Bucky about it once he’s in a better place to be making that sort of decision.”

Tony nodded. “I can live with that.” He glanced at his wrist and exhaled slowly. “Alright, well, I’m supposed to be consulting with the surgeon-on-call about your boyfriend’s arm. I’ll be back to check on you both. Before I go, is there anything you need?”

“Nothing I can think of, Tony. Thanks again, you know, for everything.”

Tony offered Steve his hand to help him back to his feet and Steve accepted without argument. Then Tony did something that threw Steve off entirely. Never in their entire history together, even when they were sleeping together, had Steve ever considered Tony to be a person who outwardly showed much affection. And yet, on this occasion, he wrapped his arms around Steve. While Steve instinctively tensed in surprise, Tony hugged him and held tightly for long enough that Steve relaxed.

Then Tony stepped back and was all business once more. “Don’t mention it, Rogers. Get some rest and I’ll see you soon.”

Steve limped back into the room to find that Bucky was thankfully still asleep. Steve did his best to settle back into his bed of chairs as quietly as he could, in the hopes of not disturbing him. His hearing out of his right ear wasn’t the best but even he didn’t miss the sound of footsteps, presumably Tony’s move to the doorway, remain there for a good thirty seconds or maybe even a minute, and then slowly walk away.

-~-

Stumbling home at the same time the sun came up always left Clint disoriented. Usually it was after a long night of partying and he returned in that in-between space of being still drunk and already hungover but some times, like tonight, the return home in those early hours was due to spending the past several hours at the hospital. He supposed he should be grateful that this time it wasn’t for him.

Natasha managed to pull enough strings to let all three of them spend a couple of hours in Bucky’s room with him, although much of the time ended up being spent in the hallways and waiting rooms because Bucky was clearly exhausted and in need of rest. Since he was the most heavily medicated one of them, he was actually able to sleep, while the rest of them passed around cups of coffee – and continually removed the cup of coffee that kept ending up in Steve’s hand - and talked indirectly about the fire at the shop and everything going on. They rotated positions to ensure that one of them was always with Bucky in case he needed anything. Finally, around the time the nurse came by to take Bucky’s vitals, the trio headed home to snag a few hours of sleep before returning to support Bucky through the surgical procedures he’d be undergoing to repair his shoulder and arm.

Clint could barely keep his eyes open as Natasha pulled into the driveway, although upon seeing that there was a car already parked there, he found himself suddenly completely and utterly awake and on alert.

Natasha seemed unconcerned. “That’s Tony’s car. I recognize the plate. Besides, I let him borrow the spare key earlier when he stopped by Bucky’s room and asked him to meet us here.”

“And you didn’t mention this to either of us?” Sam inquired, and Clint was pleased to discover that he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit left out of things and frustrated.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t exactly first and foremost in my mind,” she said, turning off the car and stepping out.

Clint still found himself feeling uneasy as Natasha unlocked the door and the three of them stepped inside. However, that anxiety decreased when Tony called out, “We’re in the living room. Please don’t shoot or anything.”

Upon entering the living room, Clint found Wanda curled up in the armchair, her legs tucked underneath her, looking like she hadn’t slept much either and desperately needed the cup of coffee in her hand – a hand that was shaking enough that Clint wondered whether she needed a second set of hands to help her. Tony stood a bit in front of the couch and as a result it took Clint a moment to register that there was someone he couldn’t quite see sitting there behind him. Either that or Clint’s exhaustion was leading him to see four legs where there should only be two.

“There’s fresh coffee in the pot,” Tony informed them. “I thought you could use it after last night.”

“We appreciate it,” Natasha said. “Now, if you don’t mind, any chance we could discuss the matter you’d wanted us to talk about? Because I would appreciate having the opportunity to snag a few hours of sleep before we go back to the hospital.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” Tony said unnecessarily, and then stepped aside so that Clint could finally see who had been hidden behind him.

“Good to see you, old man,” Pietro greeted him with an almost smirk.

Clint couldn’t help the answering grin that formed on his lips, although he did allow himself an eye roll. “I’m only a couple of years older than you, kid, but it’s good to see you too.”

Pietro looked almost healthy and somewhat back to what Clint would consider his normal level. Someone must have touched up his hair over the past couple of days since it was back to being pure white, without the addition of the grown out inches of his natural color. The weight loss was still evident, in the sharpened bones of his face and looseness of the sweater hanging on him, but there was color in his cheeks and brightness in his eyes. Clint had to admit he’d never been more relieved to see him looking healthy.

That seemed to be all Wanda had been waiting for, given that she abandoned the cup of coffee on the nearest surface and immediately got to her feet to hurry over to brother’s side. He instinctively wrapped am around her shoulder as she curled up against him. Clint had to assume the big reveal of Pietro being out of the hospital had been Tony’s idea, since the twins appeared to have struggled with just a few moments of not being next to one another. Given that, Clint figured he could give them some time together while he went and got yet another cup of coffee.

Once everyone was settled with coffee, Sam taking the chair that Wanda had abandoned, Clint settling at his feet the moment Sam offered a massage. Sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chairs had done nothing for his recent injuries and the shot – or two – of whiskey in his coffee in addition to Sam’s fingers working their magic on his shoulder muscles was enough to ease the thoughts that had been going through his head since the moment he’d been woken up in the middle of the night to discover that Shield was gone.

Natasha remained standing, as did Tony, and for a few moments there was silence as everyone drank their coffee, the twins clung together, and Clint bit back any inappropriate sounds that would have been far too loud with no one else speaking.

“So, what are we going to do?” Tony finally said, breaking the silence. “Things have gone way too far.”

Clint caught the helpless looks that crossed everyone’s faces. Everyone, except for the twins, who shared a look.

Pietro cleared his throat. “We’ve actually been talking about that. All of this has happened since you helped us out.” He held up a hand when Clint, as well as everyone except for Tony – who appeared to already know what the twins were talking about – started to protest. “Yeah, yeah, I know that Clint already had some issues with the mob but you can’t tell me that was the reason Shield burned down. Things escalated once you started helping us. We know it. You know it. There’s no reason to pretend that it’s not happening.”

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the state,” Sam said quietly. “We don’t want to see you in more danger when you don’t have anyone to help you.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Wanda said. “I mean, technically we’ve already left town because of where we’re staying with Tony - ”

“ – and for security’s sake, I’m going to keep that information of exactly where they are to myself,” Tony added.

“ – but, anyways, that’s not the point,” Wanda continued. “The reason all of this is happening is because Talbot’s doing what he’s always done. He’s keeping one story – in this case, the story of how much he cares about us and worries about us – public, while keeping all of the shady bullshit private.”

“Alright,” Clint said slowly, trying to figure out where they were going with this.

“So, we’re going public,” Pietro said defiantly. “With all of it. We’re letting everyone know about the abuse and what he’s done to get us back.”

“Within reason,” Tony cautioned. “I’m working with the two of them to create a prepared statement. We cannot, for instance, accuse him of causing the fire in Shield but we can shed light on everything we have confirmation on.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked, her green eyes studying the twins intently.

Wanda nodded. “We’re positive. The reason he’s gotten away with everything over the years is because people have always been too scared to confront him. If he wants to keep doing press conferences, talking about how much he misses us, how much he worries about us, then we’re doing a press conference of our own and we’re telling the world everything.”

“And I’m helping,” Tony added. “I’m also ensuring that they will be safe traveling to and from the press conference and that there is no way for anyone to tail us back to their new house. I’m working every angle to prevent anything from happening.”

“Tony, aren’t you worried about how Talbot might respond to you being involved in all of this?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s not as though the two of you haven’t had your own issues over the years. The least of what he could do is drag your reputation through the mud and accuse you of having a hand in the disappearance of the twins, of brainwashing them or something, and that’s without considering the worse things he’s proven himself to be capable of.”

“Let him drag my reputation through the mud,” Tony said defiantly. “I’ve got more than enough evidence on him. If he wants to fight back, we’re taking him down with us.”

Clint’s eyes moved from Tony’s face, to the twins who looked grimly determined, and then to Natasha, who looked concerned but also rather pleased. He had to admit that there was a certain level of pride he held for the twins, as well as Tony, for being willing to take this step.

“Well, if that’s the choice you’re making,” Clint said slowly. “Then we’ll be right there beside you.”