Chapter 7
It's been two months since they started dating and so much has changed: Bucky no longer has his own bedroom, Tony's had cut back substantially on his caffeine addiction (“It's not a caffeine addiction, it's an additive to help me think,” Tony argued. Bullshit it was), and Peter still does he daily stroll around the compound to point out scientific things and teach Bucky about pop culture.
They've watched a lot more movies since the first date. He found a love for The Hobbit trilogy as Clint planned, and despite the constant judgement for it, he knows that Tony's only being difficult for the sole purpose of getting shut up—either by Bucky's lips or a pillow. And the best part? He was two weeks free of a panic attack.
It was hard being around a lot of people, there was no doubt about it, but over time it started getting easier to the point where he could walk out of his shared room with Tony in only a silk robe, make an unimpressed face at anybody he happened to come in contact with while heading towards the kitchen, and then shamelessly eat a bowl of cereal like it was the last source of food on Earth.
And that was also a benefit of it all: Being shameless. Bucky rocked the metal arm—he was “Lookin’ like a snack,” with two C's, Peter had told him one day, and he just beamed and nodded and spent the rest of the day making vague comparisons to what foods all the Avengers’ would be. The highlight of his day was when he called Steve a brussel sprout, and then ended up getting the silent treatment for approximately one hour. It wasn’t like he was wrong, either.
The simple life (in modern terms) was so familiar that he could barely even fathom what life was like before having all this technology.
Although yes, he sometimes had thoughts back to the forties and good days of sitting around a radio, waiting for an announcer to narrate baseball, but that was all in the past. And like Delilah had said from the very beginning: his past was the past, and he couldn’t change that. But he could make the best out of the memories he could create.
And he was making them alright.
Steve still trained with him on occasion. Sam had the bright idea to join in one weekend without knowing how playful Steve could really get. He was all leading and professional during a fight, but that was all just an act to keep up the ego—to make the team buy into his whole Captain America persona. Once he stepped up into a defensive position, though, there's no chance anybody could run from his endless teasing and strong arms.
Sam learned the hard way and it was fucking hilarious.
He walked over to the gym mats with his usual, cocky swagger about him, a flash of white against the contrast of his skin that left a simmering frustration bubbling under Bucky's skin. Like he's said before, he doesn't hate Sam, he'd just like to punch him in the face. Hard. Until he stops acting like he owns the place like all those greaser movie guys’ Tony has an odd obsession with.
“Keep in mind that i’m not enhanced like you guys,” Sam warned, staring directly over at Bucky, who was trying his best not to glare holes into his head. It didn’t work.
“Coupla army vets against each other,” Steve mused from across the mat. “We’ll go easy on ya, pal. Just no flying and we’ll all be good.”
“Does it look like I’ve got a pair of wings on me?”
“Looks like your inflated head might lift you a couple inches off the ground,” Bucky commented proudly, grinning ear-to-ear, and shifted so that he wouldn’t have to deal with that look on Steve’s face—the one that warns him to be a little more friendly. Was he going to listen? Hell no.
He gives that face every time Bucky attends a meeting—which isn’t so rare now that he’s dating the guy who runs the damn place. It a sharp expression that’s carried on through years since being a kid, when getting beat up and frustrated about it was a weekly occurrence. It jogs Bucky’s memory a little and makes him smile fondly.
“Right,” Sam grumbled after a few seconds of looking between the two. Then, he straightens up, head held high, practically reeking army-trained with how his posture was built. “C’mon man, I don’t got all day.”
Bucky charges first. His arm is on a low setting, one that won’t exactly do much damage if he actually goes in for a punch, thanks to Stark. He learned too quickly that holding himself back wasn’t safe enough after punching a training operative in the face, breaking his nose and landing him in the medical bay for a full week.
So, he might just have to do with pulling his punches. Bucky could do that. It was easy to playfight, and Steve obviously knew how to very well, which is why when he runs towards Sam at full speed, he doesn’t tackle him like they both expected. Instead, he lingers on his side for a moment, then sweeps right under his feet and takes Sam out with barely any effort at all.
Bucky had to bite his lip just to keep himself from bursting out into a fit of laughter. And Sam propped himself up and glared, jaw clenched. “What?” He said, a little winded. “My shoelaces got caught. Not my fault.”
“Shoelaces, huh?” Steve muses.
“Yeah, duh. That was a warm-up, anyways. You’ll be seeing how the Falcon flies in a minute.”
They both watched as Sam scrambled up onto his feet and raised his fists. His shoes don’t have laces. Neither of them mention it.
“C’mon, again.” He says, and then it’s back to fighting. Bucky lands a few punches on his side, while Steve stays orientated towards more getting him to the mat, instead of just jostling him around. It’s playful—fun, almost—and by the end of it all, Sam’s breathing hard and leaning up against the wall as two super-soldiers stare him down with amused, albeit impressed looks.
Sam scowls, sinking to the floor in defeat. “You’re both total assholes. Whoever said Captain America was the world’s sweetheart was a liar, and you—” He points at a snickering Bucky, “Seriously? Going for the ribs? That shouldn’t be allowed!”
“It isn’t allowed,” Steve says, “But it was fun to watch.”
“Right, of course. Go for the smooth guy who saved your ass from your little pal there.”
Bucky’s expression flashes guilty for a moment, and it’s Steve who has to put a hand on his shoulder to show it’s alright. There’s no use in hiding from the truth. “Yeah,” Bucky concedes with a small shrug. “You might’ve saved him, but you’re far from cool, Wilson.”
“Unlike me,” A voice speaks. They all turn, eyes wide, Steve immediately raising his fists as if some asshole opponent was going to break into a Stark building and head for the gym. It turns out to be Tony, and Sam gives an appointed look when he sees Bucky smiling at him. He knows. They all do.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Bucky drawls, completely ignoring the roll of Steve’s eyes and scoffed comment on how grossly cute they were.
Tony grins, “Hey.” He says, and wraps an arm around the soldier’s waist, kissing his cheek just because he how much it annoyed the two. What could he say, rubbing things in their faces was the most interesting part of living in a building with (mostly) single teammates. “I gotta talk to you real quick. Big thing, not worrying. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Actually,” Steve says, helping Sam off the floor. “I think we’re done for now. Same time next friday?”
Bucky thinks on it for a moment. “Yeah,” He agrees, and flashes a small, sheepish grin when Tony raises his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe saturday? I’ve uh—got a thing. To take care of. Because i’m a good person like that.”
“They’re gonna fuck,” Sam blatantly states. Steve’s entire face goes beet-red, looking over at them with wide eyes. He seems amused despite of it all.
“No,” Bucky wheezes, “We have a movie date night, asshole.”
“Which could lead to—”
“Whoever and whenever I fuck is none of your business. Now get the hell out of here,”
They leave, thankfully, and he just barely catches the whispered “So, Stark’s a bottom, huh?” as he watches Steve become more flustered by the second. He’s not sure why he’s so embarrassed by it. What’s wrong with stating things like that? It’s not like Steve wasn’t the one telling dirty jokes for half of his time spent with the Howlies.
Tony gives him a look, and then he realises that the engineer has been silent for the better part of that entire conversation (if you can call it that). “What?” Bucky asks dumbly. He pulls him closer and walks them back towards the wall until he’s got him pressed against it, absent of any further intentions.
“You’re seeming pretty confident today,”
“Taking down Sam does that to me,” Bucky shrugged, “What’s up?”
“Currently? The ceiling. But if you’re talking about the situation we have, then you might want to take a look at the TV,” Tony replied, nodding towards the door.
“We?” Bucky repeated.
“We, as in you and me. You signed up to the buffet of my problems the instant you joined me for waffles.”
“We weren’t even dating then,” Bucky protested.
Tony leaned up a little and kissed his cheek as if that’d count as an answer. “FRIDAY has FOX News playing on every available screen in the compound. You and Spangles must’ve been really distracted not to notice.” He commented, wiggling out of Bucky’s arms to brush off his shirt.
“Like I said, Sam does that to us,” Bucky grumbled. He grabbed at the engineer’s hand with a scowl and pulled him towards the nearest exit. Natasha and Clint are on the other side with equally passive expressions as they watch them, though Clint looks a little more worried. It’s a little off-putting. Bucky gulps.
“You said it’s not something to worry about?” He asks nervously.
“Unless you suddenly care about the media,” Tony shrugs. “They’re all assholes. Our cover is blown.”
“What is that s’posed to mean?”
Tony shoots him a look, and he suddenly feels a little weary. News outlets and blogs (blobs? Brogs? Whatever they’re called) are something that he’s not taken lightly to. Unlike Steve and Tony and everybody else in this goddamn place, Bucky actually cares if someone’s saying something about him—and even more so when that turns out to be a platter of lies to deceive the public. People hate him, he realizes that. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be defensive over his situation. Maybe it was just an asset thing built in place. His reputation did matter a lot to his handlers.
The TV, a huge flat screen that hangs from the ceiling over an expensive-looking rack of wine, turns up in volume when he gets close, visibly displaying the live report from a helicopter outside the compound. He scowls, fists tightening, and tunes in to what the reporter’s saying before he gets too carried away.
“Reports show that IronMan, known to the world as the billionaire hero Tony Stark, was last reportedly seen with Sergeant James Barnes. Barnes has been living in the compound with a majority of the Avengers after retiring from his Winter Soldier label. He—”
“Label,” Bucky repeats. He’s nearly growling now. “What the fuck does this have anything to do with what’s important? So what, they don’t like us together. Big fuckin’ deal.”
“Keep watching,” Tony insists. The others crowd around in the room and he hears Natasha mutter something to Clint when he heads straight to the wine rack and stops in his tracks, whining.
Bucky looks back up at the screen, at the bits of footage from the bridge incident, Helicarrier fight, and eventually his passing through into the compound. How they have the rights to show that is beyond him.
“It was announced on twitter by a storm of fans claiming that they are in a relationship. Steve Rogers, on his account @Spanglers and his co-partner—”
“Birdbrain,”
“—Sam Wilson, known as @WingedWarrior, confirmed these accusations under a few tweets poking fun at the two.”
Bucky turns, ready to glare holes in his supposed friends’ heads, until he realizes that they weren’t here. Wherever they are, they know they made a mistake and it’s only a matter of time before Bucky gets his hands on them. He turns back to the screen for now, watching as the reporter shifted the news to the most recent movie premiere just outside of LA. Something about a Men In Black trilogy? He’s not sure, nor does he care. That Australian guy sure did look familiar, though…
“So, that’s it?” He voices aloud. He sounds reasonably calm for all the anger bubbling under his skin. Another round in the gym would have to be needed, or else they’re all going to have to suffer a grumpy soldier. “Steve can’t ever keep his mouth fuckin’ shut. It’s not surprising.” , he thinks, scowling.
“Oh, my God,” Tony says, slumping against one of the many chairs in the breakout room. Natasha gives him an amused glance. “Oh, my God,” He says again, quieter.
Bucky turns to glare holes into his head and only ends up with a smile on his face. Goddammit, that was cute. It shouldn’t be that cute. “What?” He asks, because for one thing, expecting him to turn into whatever HYDRA-induced rage monster he was created to be over some tweets was… disconcerting. Did they really not trust him as much as he thought they did? Now that was some food for thought.
Clint, Natasha, and Bruce (when they hell did he get there?) all look over to Bucky with an uncomfortable silence. He turns back to the TV, confused. Everything looks the same—they even got boring weather indicators in the bottom of the screen where random reports are flashing across, far too fast for Bucky’s mind to even focus on right now.
But then he spots it.
A headline flashes across, and FRIDAY has the audacity to slow the news down for him to read. He grits his teeth, reading aloud, “World’s deadliest assassin becomes a ray of sunshine.”
Clint actually has to take a step back to keep Bucky’s piercing eyes from lasering him in half. Was that possible? He thinks that’s possible. “What?” Clint echoes. Bucky points at him with one threatening metal finger.
“A ray of sunshine!?”
“It wasn’t—”
“A ray of fucking sunshine!”
“Oh boy,” Natasha mutters, turning to leave the room. Bruce takes the hint and follows, shooting an apologetic glance towards Tony as he turns the corner.
Tony sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Boys—”
“No!” Bucky shouts. His face is red and he’s almost to the point of hysterical laughing, judging by the way his wolfish teeth keep making an appearance. Jesus Christ, it’s only been about seventy years since he’s felt the anger boiling under his skin. Fucking Steve. He’s going to kick his ass, and then follow up with Clint and Sam and maybe even Tony if doesn’t stop looking at him like some kind of wild animal.
He takes a breath, growling and shaking his finger at Clint. “You jackass!”
“What did I do!?” Clint squeaks.
“You ruined The Winter Soldier’s reputation! I’m supposed to be scary and somebody not to fuck with, not another softboy for sixteen-years old girls to squeal over!” Bucky huffs, dropping his hand down to ball into a fist, before unraveling it slowly. He goes from visibly angry to calm in a matter of seconds and has to fight not to laugh at the way the remaining Avengers’ go immediately pale. “You told Steve those exact words three days ago. Don’t act like this is a coincidence, or so help me—”
“Alright,” Tony butts in, clapping his hands together. “Murder Kitty needs some catnip.”
Bucky goes back to fuming immediately as Clint scrambles away.
“I don’t know where you’re getting this idea of you being the scary guy on the team, I really don’t, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I’ve never seen packaged rainbows come in human form,” Tony raises his brows when his eyes land on the metal arm. He makes a vague gesture while Bucky’s nostrils flare. “Mostly human, anyways,” He grunts, “The point is: everybody has caught onto the ball of fluff you are, and that’s just something we all have to live with. Clint’s just tweeting the obvious here.”
Bucky takes a step forward, metal arm whirring dangerously. He wants to punch Tony in the face. With his mouth. Preferably also followed by his fist. “What,” Bucky grits out, “The fuck are you talking about?”
Tony makes a vague motion towards the super-soldier towering in front of him like it’s obvious. Bucky narrows his eyes. “You’ve had a death count hanging over your head on every single news outlet out there,” Tony says carefully, leaning forward a little in his chair. “Rays of sunshine and happiness is better than being known as an emotionless killer, right? It’s a team strategy. Nobody’s ruining your reputation here, we’re all just making the world a little more educated on what type of person Sergeant Robocop really is.”
“Team strategy,” Bucky repeats through gritted teeth. “You know what you guys’ are doing? Desensitising the public from what I am. What are you gonna do next, make Loki look like the fucking prince of candy world?”
“Thor already has that handled,” Tony jokes, then immediately regrets it when two-hundred and sixty pounds of scary, cute-looking super-soldier yanks him up with one metal arm—the only metal arm, to be exact. Tony squawks a protest.
“Do I look like a ray of sunshine to you?” Bucky asks in a warning tone.
Tony doesn’t give an answer. He’s smart like that.
“That’s what I thought,” Bucky grunts, letting go of his boyfriend, only to smooth his hand over the obvious wrinkles he created in that god-awful, oil-stained shirt he’s wearing. Jeez, doesn’t this guy know what a washing machine looks like? He’s the one who introduced Bucky to one, in the first place, and also ended up dragging his ass back into the main room because the spinny device was really entrancing to look at.
Bucky’s officially not allowed to do his own laundry because of that fact.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Tony says, smiling up at him like Bucky didn’t just throw a temper-tantrum in front of half of the team. God, he loves him. “Cap and Sam are obligated to attend tonight’s dinner party. You celebrate New Year’s, right? Or are you too old for that thing?”
Bucky didn’t even know it was close to New Year’s, to be completely honest, but he doesn’t say that. What he does say is, “Sam?” like an idiot, followed by a small noise that he won’t ever admit to making. “Why does he get called by his own name? At least get a little more creative before asking me out to a goddamn dinner party.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yes, you fuckin’ heathen.” Bucky huffs, and he drags him out of the room, ignoring the distant sounds of pattered footsteps as Clint scrambles off again.
He’s going to kick everybody’s ass, and that’s a promise.