It took a solid amount of work on Steve’s part to start getting Bucky to even consider going out of the Tower, but, once April rolled around, and spring started coming to New York in full force, it got a little easier. One Tuesday, Steve finally got Bucky to go for a walk with him to an Art in the Parks exhibit in Central Park. Bucky still had his hat down low (even if it was a Captain America hat that Kate gave him, so it was maybe a little more conspicuous than Bucky said he was aiming for), and his left hand had a glove on, but it was better than nothing. Most of the arm was bare, anyways; Steve had convinced him people would just assume it was a prosthetic, which, technically, it was. Bucky grumbled a lot but Sam told him it would be a good way to face his fears with Steve by his side, and Steve got this goddamn hopeful look on his face, and now Bucky had a ridiculous, American-flag-patterned, button-down, short-sleeve shirt on in Central Park.
Bucky tugged at the bun sticking through the hole in the back of his cap, tightening the elastic. A strand slipped free, and Steve tucked it under the edge of the hat for him. Bucky’s metal fingers slipped against Steve’s wrists before he pulled his focus back to the works of art that he honestly didn’t understand, but that Steve was nearly in tears over.
“What’s this one supposed to be?” Bucky asked, pointing at a structure that looked like an armadillo getting impaled by a coat-hanger-wielding cupcake. Steve made a breathless sound that made Bucky want to look at eighty-thousand more pieces of garbage disguised as art if it meant that Steve would make that sound again.
“I think it’s meant to be a damning indictment of anti-feminist organizations in the modern age,” Steve explained reverently. Bucky tilted his head a little bit.
“Okay, sure,” Bucky replied. Steve laughed.
“It’s okay if you don’t see it,” Steve said. Bucky meant to say something in reply, but was stopped short by a tug on his jacket. He whipped around, accidentally startling the little girl who had pulled on his sleeve. She recovered quickly and beamed up at him, missing a whole bunch of front teeth.
“Hi,” she said. Bucky stared down at her until Steve nudged him.
“Uhm,” Bucky offered. The girl kept grinning. “Hi.”
“I like your arm,” she commented, pointing up at his left arm. Steve knelt down next to her.
“It’s a prosthetic,” Steve explained. He rapped his knuckles on Bucky’s metallic forearm. “That means it’s fake.”
The girl nodded solemnly. “My grandpa had a fake leg. He’d take it off sometimes to scare my mom.” The girl reached up carefully, then seemed to remember herself. She looked away from Steve up at Bucky. “Can I touch it?”
Steve straightened up and motioned for Bucky to answer. Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck with his flesh hand.
“I guess so,” Bucky answered. He crouched a little so the girl could better reach him. She gingerly ran her small hands up the inside of his elbow to the star up near the top. She tapped at the middle of the star.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” the girl told him. Bucky nodded.
“Thanks,” he answered. The girl kept tapping at the star.
“Rebecca!” a man’s voice carried over to them. The girl - evidently named Rebecca - whipped her head around, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Rebecca,” Bucky murmured. The little girl looked back to him as the man approached, a line of small children (all holding on with one hand to a rope that was connected to the man’s waist) following close behind.
“I’m so sorry,” the man apologized, taking Rebecca’s small hand. “She let go of the rope and wandered off.” He looked down at Rebecca and nudged her a little. “Apologize to the men, then get back to your place, Rebecca, please.”
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca muttered, looking down at her little green-and-white sneakers. Bucky pushed her hair back away from her eyes, then stood.
“It’s okay,” Bucky assured both Rebecca and the man.
“Field trip?” Steve asked, his hands in his pockets as he spoke to the man and pretended not to be watching Bucky.
“Yeah, I thought they should see the artwork, and it’s always good to get them some fresh air in the city,” the man answered. He stuck out the hand that wasn’t holding onto Rebecca, and Bucky and Steve each shook it. “I’m Mr. Marino. I’m sorry, again-” He cut himself off, then tilted his head to the side a little bit. “Wait, I’m sorry, are you Captain America?”
Steve’s face flushed a bit but he nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
The kids seemed to notice something just then, and all of them dropped the rope, almost simultaneously, to swarm around Steve and Bucky. Steve braced himself, but the kids essentially just circled around Bucky. Rebecca tugged herself free from her teacher so she could join them.
“Look at his metal arm!” one little kid exclaimed. His friend knocked him on the shoulder.
“Wicked,” a small girl said breathlessly. A bunch of tiny hands reached out before Rebecca cleared her throat, and the throng of children looked at her. Bucky, the master-assassin and world-class sniper, looked petrified.
“You have to ask first,” Rebecca reminded them. A dozen pairs of little eyes looked up at Bucky.
“Can we touch your metal arm, sir?” one of them asked. The rest of them all nodded in vigorous agreement and support.
“Sure, but-” Bucky’s words had barely left his mouth before the kids were all tripping over each other like overlapping waves to touch his arm. Bucky stared at them before he started prodding a couple of them in Steve’s direction.
“That’s Captain America, go bother him,” Bucky begged, but the kids would not be deterred, one of them peering at his glove.
“Why do you wear the glove?” she asked. Bucky looked over at her and was about to answer before a little boy was running his fingers over the star.
“It’s a star!” the boy exclaimed. Bucky looked bewildered.
“Yes, it’s a star-”
“Is this a button or something?” another kid asked, and Bucky’s head whipped around.
“Don’t touch that-”
“Why is it a star?” the little boy asked. Bucky hesitated for a second.
“Why?” Bucky asked, and the boy nodded. “Because I like stars. You know who likes stars, kids? Captain America. He’s got a big one, right on his chest, and he’s right there, he’s right over there, go bother him-”
“I think it’s nice, Buck,” Steve said, one kid already distracted by Steve and hanging off his leg, two other ones tugging on his hands, trying to get him down to their level. Steve surveyed Bucky’s face for any sign of panic or danger and, finding none, grinned cheekily at Bucky. Bucky swore to get him back for this.
“Are you really Captain America?” Rebecca asked, and Steve nodded.
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Steve answered, and Rebecca’s head swiveled to face Bucky.
“So you’re Falcon,” she surmised, and Bucky shook his head.
“No, Sam is the Falcon-”
“Uncle Sam?”
“Like Captain America?”
“So, he’s Iron Man?”
“No, stupid, he’s Hawkeye-”
“That’s the Black Widow, obviously, look at him-”
“He’s the Winter Soldier, guys, come on, read the comics!”
“Ohhhhh,” a chorus of small voices said together at this sudden realization, looking from Bucky’s face, to his arm, then back again.
“You’re Bucky!” a tiny boy, whose shirt proclaimed him to be Daniel, Property of the New York Yankees, exclaimed. “You’re Captain America’s best friend!”
“He’s an assassin!”
“He can be both!” Daniel argued.
“He is both,” Steve told them, and Daniel beamed proudly. Bucky rolled his eyes.
“Okay, kids, leave Mr. … Rogers and his… friend alone,” Mr. Marino instructed hesitantly.
“Just Steve and Bucky is fine, sir,” Steve assured him. The teacher nodded, his cheeks red. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him a little.
“Everyone, please get back in line and grab the rope!” Mr. Marino instructed. He supervised the children’s reluctant return to order before turning back to Steve and Bucky, seemingly addressing Steve only. “Sorry about that. I know you’re probably busy.”
“Not too busy, thankfully,” Steve answered, using his I’m-in-public-and-people-respect-me-so-I’m-a-nice-national-icon voice. Bucky secretly thought it was bullshit.
Okay, maybe not so secretly.
“That’s good,” the man said, pulling out his wallet and handing Steve a card. Steve took it politely. “If you’re still not busy later, you should call.”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “Uhm-”
“Okay, kids, say goodbye to Captain America and his friend!” Mr. Marino called, and all the little kids said “Bye” and waved their small hands at them. Mr. Marino led them all away, and Bucky took the card out of Steve’s hand and ripped it in half.
“We’re never having kids,” Bucky informed Steve. Steve laughed, taking Bucky’s metal hand in his.
“We’re having eighty kids.”
“Have kids with Mr. Marino, if you want them so bad.”
Steve pushed Bucky into the bush.