The Misadventures of the Other Timeline

"Really though,” Sam asked, picking up his glass of juice, “why would anyone name their kid after James Buchanan?”

Bucky shrugged. Good question. “Dunno, you’ll have to ask my mom about that,” he replied, then picked up another blueberry from his plate, popping into his mouth as the sleeping kitten in his lap lazily buried itself further into his stomach.

“Seriously,” Barton added, “the only thing anybody knows about James Buchanan is that he failed to stop the Civil War.” Huh.

From near the kitchen counter, they heard Steve’s loud sneeze.

“God bless America,” Barton called back, equally loudly.

“ Seriously ?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. Bucky could usually appreciate Captain America-related jokes, but that pun was terrible.

“The same question could be asked to your parents, Barnes,” Sam countered, as Bucky rolled his eyes in response. “Why would anyone name their kid after the guy who’s only known for failing to stop the Civil War?” He then took another sip.

“That,” Barton added, using his fork as a pointer, “and the fact that he was most likely gay.”

Sam choked on his juice like the idiot he was.

“You all like them?” Steve called as he entered from the kitchen, his hands carrying two plates stacked high with pancakes, and placed them on the dining table. This was everyone’s second helping of pancakes, and by the looks, all of them were going for thirds. At least, Bucky was.

The one part of being a super-soldier he could never regret — the only part, perhaps — was his increased appetite: it meant getting to eat more of Steve’s cooking.

“Like them? You kidding me?” Barton said between mouthfuls. “I freaking love them. I’m getting third helpings.”

“Thanks, but you aren’t. I’d like to leave enough batter for Nate and Laura,” Steve replied, as he headed back to the kitchen to prepare a third serving for them all.

(He was right, though, Nate and Laura hadn’t come downstairs for breakfast yet, while everyone else in the household was either done eating, or was currently eating.)

“Seriously, though, Steve,” Clint called out. “Your cooking is great .”

“Hate to agree with Bird Brain,” Sam reached for the bottle of maple syrup, pouring it on his pancakes, “But he’s right,” he said, as he practically drenched all of his pancakes and filled the entire plate with maple syrup.

“Don’t you think you’re putting too much?” Barton pointed out, frowning.

“I am,” he retorted, putting the cap back on and placing the bottle down, “You got a problem?”

“Yeah, it’s too much maple syrup,” Barton replied. “What’s this, Canada?”

“Listen, Bird Brain,” Sam replied, “until you find out a way to turn Liberty into a pancake syrup, you gotta deal with it.” 

“Sam, you literally poured like, half the bottle,” Bucky observed, picking up another blueberry to pop it into his mouth. “You’re gonna die of diabetes like the true American you are.”

“And it’ll fucking slap,” he replied, cutting out a piece. “Now let me eat in peace or I’m never bringing any of you Mom’s cookies again.”

While he’d never had them himself, the absolutely appalled look on Barton’s face probably meant they were objects to be coveted, so Bucky shut up and shrugged helplessly as Sam shoved a large piece absolutely dripping with maple syrup into his mouth.

“Steve, and I mean this,” called out Sam loudly through a mouthful of pancakes, “marry me.”

In reply, Bucky shot him a deadly, piercing glare, the meaning behind which the author wishes to leave open to interpretation.

Somewhere, a certain Wade Winston Wilson sneezed loudly.

“No, thanks,” Steve replied from the kitchen counter, mixing the batter for another batch of those absolutely heavenly pancakes. 

“No seriously,” Barton said, also picking up another piece. “These things are glorious.”

Really, Steve’s cooking had always been great, a skill he learnt from his mom — and she could make even trashy Depression food edible, and God, especially the apple pies, thank you Sarah Rogers — but this? 

This was glorious. This was perfection.

God, he had missed these.

Alpine, who had been sleeping comfortably in his lap for the past half an hour or something, stirred a bit. His ears then perked up, and he sniffed.

He turned in his lap to face him, tilting his head curiously, then shot him a look that clearly stated, “I require sustenance, servant” at which Bucky fed him the last piece of his pancakes. 

The greedy look in his eyes meant he definitely wanted more, but Bucky had had his fill, as proof of which he showed him his empty plate.

Understanding the message, sneakily and soundlessly Alpine leapt from Bucky’s lap onto the table, and scanned the other plates with a mischievous glint in his eyes, looking for his target. Bucky mentally snorted as he noticed the kitten’s eyes zeroing in on Sam’s plate.

Oh, this was going to be glorious.

Then, in one swift flash of feline movement, Sam’s last piece of pancake disappeared from his plate.

“Wha — ” Sam uttered a cry of shock, “my pancake!”

A satisfied meow from the floor beside his chair was answer enough.

“What the hell, Alpine?” he questioned angrily, turning to face the kitten on the floor, who by now had already gobbled up the pancake and was licking all that extra maple syrup his paws, satisfied. 

(Maple syrup was probably bad for cats, he noted. Gotta make sure he doesn’t develop a liking to it or anything .)

“Meow,” replied Alpine innocently.

“Okay,” he admitted, “but next time there will be consequences.”

“Meow,” replied Alpine innocently.

Wilson sighed a long-suffering sigh. “You’re right, probably not.”

God, he was proud of the kitten.

“See, this is why I think the cat is evil,” Barton said, trying his best to contain a laugh and very close to failing. 

And this was why he’s always wanted a cat: they were just as downright amusing as a Steve Rogers and nowhere near as high maintenance.

“No, you think the cat is evil ‘cause you’re a bird, Bird Man,” Bucky replied, chuckling. Hawk’s eye or not, Clint Barton definitely had a pigeon’s brain.

“Caw caw, motherfucker.”

“Steve, a bad language word has been said!” Sam announced. “Say ‘Language’!” he added sarcastically.

“It was one fucking time !” Steve shouted back as he flipped another cake on the pan.

What was ‘one fucking time’, though?

“Do I hear swearing ?” Cooper announced immediately from the couch several feet away, where he sat playing on his Switch. “On my Christian Minecraft server?”

Bucky snorted.

“What,” asked Sam, confused, at the same time Clint asked, “what,” also confused.

“It’s a meme,” explained Bucky, not confused.

You know what, maybe taking Shuri’s help in adapting to the Twenty-First century had not been such a good idea after all. Very not Stonks of him indeed.

“Ah, I see you’re a man of culture, Mr Barnes,” Cooper replied back, smirking. 

“What are you even talking about?” asked a very confused Steve, appearing from the kitchen with another batch of pancakes. He was right, Steve did end up making them a third serving after all.  Really, you praise him enough, and he’d cook you anything, anytime, anywhere.

“That I am,” Bucky replied to Cooper, grinning. Then, picking up two pancakes from where Steve had placed them on the table and taking a large bite: “Unlike a certain Steve Rogers, whose only redeeming quality is his cooking.” 

And his literal golden retriever personality, his stupid grin, his absolutely beautiful art skills, and even his idiotic tendencies to get into trouble, but Bucky wasn’t gonna admit that out loud.

“You can’t even claim that, Buck,” Steve retorted, grinning. It was true, though. The only thing he could make properly was toast.

“But I can make memes, unlike you, old man.” Courtesy of spending a third of a year with Shuri as her favourite ‘Broken White Boy’, of course (and damn, he had a feeling she was going to start a collection of those or something).

“What the fuck just happened?” Barton asked, confused at their antics. 

That was when a ball appearing out of literally nowhere hit Barton on the head, catching Alpine’s attention as it bounced off and rolled away; whose ears perked up as he got up and ran towards it silently. 

Bucky watched as he followed it around for a few seconds, letting friction slow it down, then took a swift leap to catch it between his paws, letting out a satisfied mew.

Meanwhile, amongst the lesser beings: “Ow!” Barton protested loudly, looking around for the guilty person. “What the —”

“You heard him, no swearing on our Christian Minecraft server,” Lila, appearing from literally nowhere, announced, a smug, self-satisfied look on her face. “Got it, Father ?”

“This is why I regret teaching this girl archery,” Barton complained. “Little shit got impeccable aim and doesn’t hesitate to use it.”

In reply, she just stuck her tongue out and disappeared.

“Forget that,” Bucky said, turning towards Sam. “Tell me the ‘Language’ joke. I don’t get it.”

They did.

It was, simply put, treasonous. 

“You,” Bucky shot Steve an icy glare, because what the hell, Rogers ? “used to have one of the most foul mouths in existence, Rogers .”

Oh, this was betrayal. 

This was a disgrace to the memory of the Howling Commandos, a disgrace to the memory of Jaques Dernier and his unparalleled creativity with curses, a disgrace to the memory of James "Bloody Fuckin' Hell" Falsworth, a disgrace to the memory of Jim "Unlike You Fuckers, I'm a Polite Person" Morita.

A disgrace, that’s what it was.

(He missed them. All of them.)

“Wait what ?” Sam questioned, bewildered. “He… what ?”

Steve —  that asshole — was suddenly extremely interested in the wall in front of him.

“StevenGrant Rogers, look at me,” he ordered, voice cold and commanding. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me what happened to you, Rogers.”

Steve awkwardly turned to face him, blushed a bit and shrugged helplessly, mumbling, “they had expectations.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and he shot him a positively murderous glare.

“Um, explain?” Barton asked him. “Cap… swore? A lot ?”

“Of course he swore a shit ton, didn’t you, Rogers ?” he asked, glaring daggers at him. To Sam and Barton, he explained, “we were all army, what did you expect?” Really, they had walked so Gen Z’s hilarious Tumblr insults curses run.

“But why the hell does he have a problem with Bad Language Words, then?” Clint asked.

The murderous glare increased in intensity.

“It was one time,” Steve mumbled apologetically. 

“Meow,” replied Alpine, the ball between his paws, shooting Steve a disappointed look.

“I raised you better than this, Rogers .”

Okay, that was probably a lie. Not the ‘raise’ part, of course; the ‘better than this ’ part. He remembered the car they’d both managed to ‘borrow’ when they had been sixteen. It had been one hell of a ride, both literally and figuratively.

“You didn’t raise me, Barnes.”

Said the guy who used to get beat up in back alleys so often it was almost as if it was his way of marking his territory, to the guy who’d ended up teaching himself professional boxing and mixed martial arts so he could beat up the former guy’s bullies. Yeah, right.

“Reckless is your middle name, asshat,” he replied somewhat fondly, smiling internally at all the stupid shit those eighty pounds of Freedom and Righteousness used to pull. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.” God, those memories.

Memories.

How many times?

How many times over the years had he begun to regain some of his old memories, remember some semblance of who he used to be, who he had lost, only for everything to be wiped out, all his links to himself snatched from him again, and again, and again, and again?

How many moments, when he felt like he would’ve gladly killed — willingly —  just to regain some tiny piece of his old life again, to see Steve again before they put his brain back into that blender?

And now he had him, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last before it was snatched away yet again. 

“Touche,” Steve replied, chuckling.

But until then.

Until then, he’d cherish every moment of it.

“Now, the real question is, which one of you boys is doing the dishes?” questioned Laura. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Not me, obviously.” Bucky raised his left shoulder, bringing attention to his missing arm. Although he would be able to do a decent job of the chore with one hand (well, if he could operate sniper rifles with one hand, of course, he could do the dishes), but why do it?

“Two can play that card,” Barton agreed, signing ‘Not me either’. 

“Being born deaf has nothing to do with washing the dishes, Barton,” pointed out Sam.

‘I don’t care, bitch,’ he signed back.

“Don’t look at me,” Steve said, raising his hands in refusal and grinning smugly, “Senior citizen here.”

“Meow,” agreed Alpine, which probably meant, “ I am above such measly work ” or something equally catty, as he jumped onto the couch, picked a spot, and lay down for a nap. God, he loved cats.

“Which leaves…”

“Me,” Sam sighed. “ Fuckers . All right, I’ll do it, but there will be payback,” he got up from the couch and headed towards the undeniably massive pile of dishes next to the sink, all of it Steve and his delicious cooking’s fault.

“Thanks, Sam,” said Laura, disappearing almost immediately. 

“Speaking of which,” Cooper announced, entering the room with a bunch of books in hand, “uh, Dad, can you help out with this?” he waved the books around, “I have a history test tomorrow.”

“Right now, kid? Who the hell studies so early during the day?” Barton groaned. The answer to which of course was: people who had shit to do, unlike you, Bird Brain. “And besides, I’m busy.” 

“Busy lying on the couch watching television, that is,” Steve said, lying on the couch watching television. 

“Yeah? How ‘bout you ask the Man Out of Time, Kid?” he countered, pointing at Steve. “He’s history.”

“You overestimate him, Barton,” announced Bucky. “Just because he is history doesn’t mean he can teach someone history.”

“You know what? I think I can manage,” Steve countered, sitting up straighter and turning towards Cooper. “What period? The War of Independence? Civil War? The World Wars?”

“And he probably only knows American history because all he’s done since being thawed is visit museums and memorials,” Barton added. “Amirite?” 

It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have done the same, if he could have. HYDRA had taken even that tiny privilege from him.

“Shut up, museums are nice places,” Steve countered. Bucky would have to agree. “And I visit natural history museums just as often as historical ones.” 

“That’s because you belong there, fossil,” Bucky retorted nonetheless. 

A hundred years. That’s how old they both were. God.

“You’re older than me, you goddamn Megaloceros,” Steve replied.  

“Your army enlistment form would like to claim otherwise.” 

Yeah, stick figure Steve had not only recklessly decided to join the army but also lied on his enlistment form. God, what an idiot he’d been. 

Correction: still was.

God , could he ever have imagined back then — when his only concerns had been paying his bills and keeping that guy from breaking his bones in a fight — that what he’d be today?

“Uh,” Cooper interrupted, “if both of you’re done insulting each other — which is honestly very entertaining, to be honest — it’s Cold War history, actually.”

“He slept through the whole fiasco,” Barton sighed, picking up the remote and switching the TV off as he straightened up. “Damn. You’re never gonna let your Dad relax, are you?”

“Oh God, what even is this,” Bucky said, annoyed. “All right, I’ll help you.” 

“Didn’t you sleep through it too?” asked Cooper, frowning.

“Only mostly,” he corrected. He’d been there for — caused, more like — a decent chunk of the historic shit. “And I’m smarter than him.”

“ Hey,” Steve said, clearly not remembering the sheer number of times he’d gotten into fights with blokes twice his size, jumped off planes without parachutes, that one time he'd tried to eat noodles through the nose on a dare, and who knows what else.

“Telling us that you’re smarter than Steve Rogers doesn’t say much, you know,” replied Barton, ignoring him.

“Why am I always the target?” asked Steve, frustrated.

“I still know more about the Cold War than him, though,” said Bucky, ignoring him. “Ask me something, I’ll prove it.”

“All right,” announced Barton, clapping his hands together, “question round with Barnes and Noble —”

“Barnesand Noble, seriously?” Steve questioned.

“Would you prefer Starbucks, Mr Iced Americano?” Barton asked.

“This is it,” a flustered Steve announced loudly, getting up from the couch. “ I’m leaving.”

“ That, though,” said Cooper, twirling a pencil and ignoring Steve, who by now had already left the room, “sounds like a perfect ship name for —”

Ohkay, that was it.

“— Kid.” Bucky lifted a finger, his voice firm. Unquestionable. “ Don’t .”

“ Don’t what?” Barton questioned nonetheless.

“None of your business, Bird Brain.” He sent him the Winter Soldier glare, one that said ‘ask me again and the only answer you’ll get is a knife to the gut.’ Yeah, he regretted being introduced to the internet by Shuri.

“Anyway, question round —”

“Mr Steve left, though,” Cooper pointed out.

“I'm playing,” replied Barton. 

“What do we get if we win?” asked Bucky.

“I dunno, I have like, 69 cents,” said Cooper immediately. “You know what that means?”

“Yeah,” sighed Bucky, “not enough money for chicken nuggets.” Quoting Vines was still fun, though. 

“What?” Barton questioned, sending them all a confused look. Quoting Vines was fun especially around those who didn’t know them and then started questioning their life’s choices when they realized that a hundred year old knew more about popular internet culture than they did.

“They’re Vine references, you uncultured swine,” replied Bucky, with an expression of mock disgust. 

“I’m never getting to study history today, am I?” Cooper sighed. “Literally all I want one of you to do is ask me a bunch of trivia to see if I’ve memorised it properly or not.”

“Right. Question round. Um.” 

“That’s not what — oh hell, this is gonna be fun.” Cooper considered. “Uh...” he thought, “what year did the Cuban Missile Crisis happen?”

“I think I read that one somewhere,” said Barton, wracking his empty head for nonexistent Cold War trivia. “Damn, I should know this.”

“Basic. 1962. The Russians call it the Caribbean Crisis,” Bucky answered. It had also been the longest time HYDRA had allowed him out of cryo, and that was as a precautionary measure. Hadn’t been a fun two weeks. “Next.”

“That is correct. I had faith in you, you know Dad?” Cooper sighed. “Next one, I dunno... who assassinated JFK?”

Me, Bucky answered to himself, biting his lip.

“Oh, I know that.” Barton piqued up. “Uh... Lee Harvey Oswald, right?”

A bullet straight through the neck and then into another’s shoulder, then one more, a perfect shot, into the head; screams of the lady beside him —

“Not true,” Bucky corrected. “Lee Harvey Oswald did not assassinate Kennedy. He was falsely framed, and the assassination was a part of a larger KGB-HYDRA conspiracy.”

“Wait, what, seriously? Then who did?” Barton questioned, raising an eyebrow. “ You ?”

Well, along with dozens of other political figures, military generals, and instrumental scientists, yeah . 

Maria Stark’s choked sobs as a hand — his own hand — wrapped around her throat, her cries echoing in the abandoned bunker, and Tony Stark’s eyes widening at the realization that his parents had been murdered —

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, did you know ?”

A guilty ‘yes’ that had broken it all.

“Mind your own business, Barton,” he replied tersely, hoping that his sudden discomfort was well hidden.

Thankfully, neither of them was paying attention. “RIP my education,” Cooper sighed.

“Good test scores ain’t education, kid,” Bucky countered, thankful for a change in topic. “For fuck’s sake, I’d expected the American education system to improve in eighty years.” Seriously, it had probably gotten worse, hadn’t it?

“Yep,” agreed Barton, looking for an excuse to return to watching TV, “grades don’t matter, Cooper.”

“Yes they do,” said Cooper in the long-suffering, exasperated tone of a stressed-out high schooler. Some things didn’t change in eighty years, apparently.

“No they don’t,” said Barton, “Look at Captain America, I’m willing to bet he never got straight A’s.” He almost never did, in fact.

“Barton,” Bucky sighed a long-suffering, exasperated sigh of a guy too tired yet somehow still strangely fond of his best friend’s reckless bullshit. “If there is one person you don’t want your kids to idolize, it’s Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Why th —”

“ Papa!!” A loud voice abruptly rang through the hallway as an excited Nathaniel dashed into the room, clutching a paper in hand. “Look! I made you!!” he announced as he leapt straight into Barton’s lap.

“Hey, little guy!” replied Barton as he returned the hug equally enthusiastically.

“Papa! I made you! Look!” He enthusiastically waved the paper in his hand, which Barton gently took from the three-year-old to have a look at.

It was the drawing of a pigeon.

Bucky snorted just as Barton let out an exasperated sigh and then started laughing, whereas Cooper outright wheezed.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how he looks like,” Bucky said with a massive grin, “Great job.”

“I know!” Nate exclaimed, a proud, self-satisfied (and extremely adorable) smile lighting his face, as he grabbed back his paper. “Nate is best drawer!”

“The correct reply is ‘thanks’, idiot,” Cooper corrected jokingly. “And ‘artist’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“You really should have Uncle Steve teach you, kid,” Barton added, chuckling. “These are good .”

Then: “Purrr..” From the other side of the couch, Alpine stirred, slowly getting up and stretching its tiny legs.

“Kitty !” Nate exclaimed, hurriedly handing over the paper in his Dad and scrambling towards the kitten, who greeted him with a soft mew.

It was all… strangely domestic, it hit him. No war, no mission, no being on the run, even. Right now, it was just him, his best friend, his kitten, two guys with bird brains, a mother, and her three absolutely adorable kids.

He was happy, he realized.

How long this time, inevitably came the question. How long would he get this time, before it was all taken from him, as it had happened again and again and again and again, like clockwork?

How long would this happiness last?

Was it too much to ask for a little more?

Of course, not long after, catastrophe struck.

Or, more accurately, catastrophe struck for Sam and Barton. 

Bucky, on the other hand, had honestly never had a harder time not cracking up with laughter.

“Piink!” exclaimed Nathaniel, carefully examining the variety of colours in the box, as Bucky and Cooper finished up using slightly questionable methods we shall not be elaborating on, to ensure the compliance of their victims. “We gonna do their nails pink!”

“Oh God no,” Clint pleaded, visibly wracking his head for excuses, desperately looking for a way out. There, Bucky had ensured, was none.

“Why is Barnes on their side though?” Sam groaned, shooting him a glare, which Bucky returned with equal intensity. “Why the biased treatment?”

“That’s because,” he held up his hands to show the impeccably done black nail paint on his nails, “I already got mine done, dumbass.” 

Despite his earlier misgivings, the session with Lila had been fun, actually. And it wasn’t as if Shuri had never tied his hair into ponytails or painted his nails before, or that he hadn’t particularly disliked the rigid dressing norms of his time.

“We gonna make them look like a pincess !!” Nate exclaimed again.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” Lila agreed, a downright evil smile on her face. She then turned to Nate, saying, “Lemme help you with choosing the colours, kid.”

“Meow,” Alpine, who was brushing affectionately at Bucky’s feet, agreed. 

“Laura, please… ” Barton turned to her, practically begging. “Save us.”

“No thanks, I’d rather not,” she replied from where she sat on the dining table, chuckling. “This is quality entertainment.”

“Mom, can we also go for your makeup?” Lila asked, her devilish grin only growing.

“Sure, sweetie,” she replied innocently, “I’ll help you out if you need it.”

“I hate all of you,” Barton protested again.

“And just for that,” Lila picked one bottle up, and Barton’s eyes went wide immediately, “you, Dad, are getting glitter pink.”

Barton groaned.

“I’m still not sure for Uncle Sam, though,” Lila added, eyeing the box of nail paint in her hands. “Cooper, you got an opinion?”

“Nah, I’ll let you do the choosing, I’m only here to laugh,” he replied. “And maybe — ” he took out a phone from his pocket — “collect some top quality blackmail material, perhaps?”

“Oh God no,” he could’ve sworn Barton’s face went a shade paler.

“All of it goes to Auntie Nat,” he added smugly.

“Oh God no.”

“Where is Steve when you need him?” Sam questioned.

“Right here,” came the reply as Steve entered from the kitchen, wearing Laura’s pink apron and looking adorable in it, and valiantly trying not to laugh. “And I’m on their side, for the record.”

“Why the hell is he exempt from this?” Sam protested. “Why are you not being turned into a freaking ‘pincess’ ?”

“Because it was his idea,” Bucky replied, trying not to choke on his laughter, and failing. This was absolutely hilarious . Steve really could be one genius bastard when he wanted to. 

“And also because I’ve never had better pancakes before,” Lila replied, feigning an innocent expression.

“Yeah!” Nate agreed, bubbling with excitement. “Pancakes!!” 

Just wait until you eat his apple pies.

“Excuse you, I make all the money in this household,” Clint pointed out indignantly. “All of you are freeloaders.”

“But can you cook as good, though?” Lila questioned, picking up another bottle of nail paint, seemingly unable to decide what colour to go for for Sam’s nails. “Because in the end, that’s all that matters.” 

True enough.

“Sweet, sweet revenge…” Steve muttered, grinning wildly as he walked over to where Laura was sitting and pulled up a seat, ready to enjoy the show.

It was really the most hilarious thing ever, and that was counting the time he’d talked Steve into actually asking that blonde out, and her reaction had been pure gold.

Maybe not this time, a corner of his mind hoped. Maybe it all wouldn’t be snatched away after a few fleeting moments. 

“Traitors, every single one of you,” Clint squawked indignantly. It was something Morita would’ve said, Bucky thought.

He would never get back the family he’d lost, certainly. But maybe, just maybe, he’d get to keep everyone he’d gained this time.

“Meow,” Alpine countered, which probably meant ‘ Have a care how you speak, peasant.’ Perhaps he’d get to see the little ball of fluff he’d gotten just yesterday and already fallen in love with becoming a big, evil cat.

“This is unfair,” Sam echoed. “What am I being punished for?” Perhaps he’d get more chances to annoy this other idiot he’d gotten to befriend.

“Life is unfair, Bird Brain No. 2,” replied Steve, smirking, in one of his rare moments of savagery. “Get over it.” 

Maybe, maybe he’d get to spend more moments with Steve.

Was a little more of it too much to ask for? Maybe. Maybe it was. Maybe it would always be, for him.

Would he still dare to ask for it? You bet.

“‘Nuff talking!” Nate exclaimed, bringing Bucky’s attention back to the events before him. “Pincess time!” 

“Please,” begged Sam one more time, eyeing the rapidly approaching four-year-old with a glittering turquoise nail paint bottle with genuine fear in his eyes, “I will seriously do anything you want me to do.”

“Then perish,” Cooper replied.

By the way, both Barton and Sam did, indeed, make good ‘pincesses’.