Chapter 8
When Steve comes into the communal kitchen approximately four hours later, it takes everything in Bucky not to glare him down until he knows the world’s going to light on fire right around his feet. The fucker only spares him a confused glance, too, and then goes right on with chatting like Nat isn’t looking the least bit wary or how Clint hasn’t shown up since earlier’s Moment.
Bucky was mad, okay. He was mad and scared and hell, maybe even a little disappointed in himself for not fucking off and telling the world that hey, remember that guy who stayed at Captain America’s side ever since they were kids? Turns out he’s one of them fairies his dad hated him for. Oh, and to go along with that, he’s got a fascination with the Stark family like a stray dog that just keeps coming back.
He’s a mess, is what he is. It’s a wonder he’s managed this long without having somebody call out an red-alert code for that head of his.
He’s almost positive Sam is one step away from issuing that order. Does he have orders on the team? The hell if he’d know.
Bucky takes his time while the “party” gets set up. It’s not a party, in his opinion, it’s more of a giant fuckfest for rich people to go to and reminisce about all their stocks—his boyfriend included—and then, from there, drink as much booze as normal humans can handle before their managers drag them away to an acquainted hotel. He’s already got bets with Peter on who’s going to get dragged out first: Bucky thinks his happy-go-lucky boyfriend is going to get dragged away by none other than the two, only super-soldiers in the compound, and Peter thinks that Clint might be that stereotypical guy throwing up over the balcony.
There’s only one way to find out, he guessed.
But, for now, while Peter’s hanging party decorations with extra-durable webbing (whatever the hell that means) and Tony’s off being frustrated over business calls, Bucky minds his space. He’s not going to have much when the people start flocking in, and he’s still got to find a way to either a) yell at Rogers and Wilson or b) yell at them, but then pour a drink on each of their heads because, okay, he’s seen a movie with that in it and he’s very tempted to try it out.
He heads over to the mini bar while he prepares his sanity and finds Clint, clear as day, crouched down with a bow on his back and a few… party poppers? On his arrows? Bucky has a double take, and when it seems legitimate enough, he clears his throat. Clint darts his eyes to him immediately as if he hadn’t tracked his presence the instant Bucky made his move towards him.
“Don’t give out my location,” Clint whispers pleadingly, “Is Nat over there? Here, here—get down before she can read your mind, or something.”
“What?” Bucky says, but he’s pulled over the counter before anything else gets out. He huffs, propping back against the wine cooler.
“Just trust me,”
They wait a few seconds, silent, Bucky trying to figure out if Clint is actually listening with those huge-ass hearing aids in his ears, and Clint actively trying to become as still as a goddamn statue. He looks ridiculous—they both do. Sam shoots them both a sideways glance as he rounds out in the room and Bucky bares his teeth aggressively.
“Fuck,” He hisses, “I’m done with your game. Just—don’t blow anything up? Okay? Tony’s gonna blame that on me, and you sure as hell don’t want me comin’ after you.”
Clint doesn’t move, but he looks up at him with wide, admittedly adorable, eyes. “You’re not coming after me already?”
“I will be if you keep retweeting fan edits of me with cats ears,”
Clint flushes, and all of those thoughts of cute get immediately shoved into a box and put far back enough in Bucky’s mind that they won’t see the light of day for another century. If he even lives that long. “Got it,” Clint says, and Bucky leaves him behind to instead see what the hell Sam was up to and why he’s got that shit-eating grin on his face.
“Hey,”
“Hey yourself,” Bucky grunts. He pushed a glass full of vodka towards him, not expecting Sam to accept it. He does, and Bucky stares dumbly.
“Stark already gave the lengthy talk of social media control over the phone, so, y’know, don’t waste your breath,”
He doesn’t respond, so Sam continues.
“Anyways, I’d say i’m sorry, but i’m really not. Outing you in public, though? Didn’t think that through. That part i’m sorry for, otherwise—”
“Shut up,” Bucky says, cutting him off. And you know what Sam does? He laughs. Right in front of his face. All shiny teeth and attention-drawing and Jesus dammit, Bucky can’t help the small crack in his composure at the sound. And if he wasn’t already aware of the eyes on the both of them, he sure was now. Nobody in this damn building except for Sam looked comfortable in his presence, and okay, yeah, it’s… a little nice. Sue him.
Sam’s grinning as he speaks, “Man, I was warned you’d have my head cut off by now. See? He ain’t dangerous,” He’s speaking to the audience on them now, Bucky supposes, and can’t help the flush that spreads onto his face at the attention. Clint snorts off to his side.
“Ray of sunshine,” Peter mumbles as he swings down from the giant banner hanging across the room. It reads, “Happy New Year!” with smaller, more handmade-looking numbers hanging off the edges; 2015. Bucky’s been here for at least eight months now—two of those spent as a mindless, confused person roaming about, and the rest fumbling over his dating life. He almost can’t believe the progress.
“Hey,” Peter pipes up again, “Have you seen Teletubbies? There’s like, a sunshine baby and—”
“No! Don’t scare him like that. Barnes needs to be as far away from that horrifying kid’s show as you need to stay away from alcohol,” Tony scolds from the doorway, phone still in hand.
“But!”
“No buts!”
Peter huffs and makes an adorable little face with his cheeks all puffed out.
Bucky grins. “Don't listen to him,” He says, and does that little wave he's picked up from Tony—the one that confused the hell out of everybody when Bucky made a perfect recreation of it and succeeded in getting the team to comply. He’s so proud of himself.
“Wait,” Sam cuts in, looking a little offended. “He gets to call you a ray of sunshine, but nobody else does? That's completely unfair! I want a raise.”
“I do, too,” Natasha says, looking completely serious.
“You already have unlimited medical benefits,” Tony complains, “And free coffee!”
“Wait, you guys’ are gettin’ paid?” Clint says from the corner.
“OKAY,” Bucky yells, rubbing at his temple. Tony strolls across the room to offer a pat on his back like the Good Boyfriend he was. The metal plates ripple at the movement, whirring quietly. He sighs. “Pete hasn't wronged me,” He explains helplessly, and shoots Steve a 'don't even think about arguing with me’ look and watches him wither in place. “Yet. He hasn't wronged me yet, and I don't think he ever will,”
Peter grins off to his side.
“But,” Bucky continues, and Peter immediately deflates in place. “He's a kid, and kids’ get special things—especially kids’ with cool spidey powers and a brain bigger than half the people in here combined.”
“Did he just call me cool?”
“Did he just call me dumb?” Natasha mutters, staring over at the kid quizzically.
Tony raises his eyebrows as he slings an arm around Bucky’s waist, tugging him close. Off to the side, where Steve is currently red-faced and clearly trying not to laugh, Peter shoots another web towards the ceiling and lays his claim as the ‘cool chandelier’, all the while Stark complains that they already have one.
Tonight’s going to be one hell of a night.
~
It barely takes under two hours for the entirety of the compound to be full of people, outside included. The press in there, and so is Wanda and Vision and this Ant dude who keeps aweing over Steve like he was a four-course fucking meal in the middle of a desert of red, white, and blue. Bucky’s been glaring at him for a while now, but it had gotten him exactly nowhere.
Tony’s… somewhere in the place. He was by the bar at one point, then in the main room where he easily charmed Peter’s aunt for a full half an hour, and now he’s either got to be outside with the rest of the billionaires, or passed out on a couch. Bucky’s taken to believing the latter option, but FRIDAY promised that he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol yet, so he’s honestly not sure.
Clint sits on the top of the second-floor railing, watching the crowd.
Bucky joins him, eventually. He says, “Hey,” in a soft voice and then signs it with his hands just in case the party’s too loud to bear. He wouldn’t blame anybody for taken advantage of the lack of hearing just to get away from I Gotta Feeling by The Black Eyed Peas. Good song to get drunk to, terrible song to get stuck in your head. Bucky should know.
“Hey,” Clint signs back after a moment. He’s got his arrows on his back, but just like before, they only had party poppers on the end. It looks kinda fun, honestly. Bucky took to staring at those instead of the wave of dancing, mostly drunk, people. “Natasha kissed me.”
“Yeah?” Bucky signs, grinning, “I take it her teeth are as sharp as they look.”
Clint rolls his eyes at him. “You have no idea,” He says—or, well, signs. “The kid has it on video, I think. Tasha looked she was was going to rip his spleen out and feed it to him.”
“She probably would,” Bucky’s eyes scan over the crowd, at the bartender looking mildly amused as he pours a glass of apple juice for a blabbering Peter, and hums. Tony’s still nowhere in sight. He tried not to feel worried about it.
“Steve’s hooking up with someone in one of the rooms,”
“My Steve?” Bucky says aloud, to which Clint nods, reading his lips. “Guess that explains why he was so nervous earlier.”
Clint hums, loud enough for super-soldier hearing to kick in, then he’s climbing off the railing and handing Bucky one of his arrows. Bucky takes it, looking at him questioningly. “Throw it at a wall hard enough and it’ll explodes confetti everywhere,” He signs.
When Bucky’s done smiling and inspecting the small arrow, Clint’s already gone to the sea of people. He slumps back against the wall, sighing, tucking it in one of his belt loops absently so that it’ll be easier to remember. He never goes anywhere without at least two knives on him, and tonight’s no exception. A bunch of Avengers in one building was alarming as it was, but a big party full of people he didn’t even know was practically asking for a disaster. The media already spent their time going after him, and the whole team sure as hell didn’t need another enemy rising up because of The Winter Soldier’s fucking sexuality.
He wondered how Tony was handling that so far, but he already got his answer: not at all. And he was still clueless as to where he was, nevermind if he was in the building at all.
Peter’s gone from the bar, he notices, and Clint can’t be spotted anywhere. Bucky could be a shadow on the wall if he wanted to be (and it was really tempting, he’ll have to admit), but dammit, Bucky liked dancing back in the forties just as much as he liked getting a dick shoved down his throat, so to hold back was a little offensive to who he used to be.
He made his way down the stairs with a small grin on his face, hips swaying, and disappeared off into the crowd. Tonight, he thought as he made a beeline for the dance floor, he was going to get himself back.
~
Tony’s on the roof, the air chilly around him, the sounds of the party below ringing through his ears. Peter’s there, too, pacing around in circles as he mumbles the beginning of the Goofy fucking Goober song from Spongebob Squarepants as if he’s six years old.
When he turns to glare at the kid, he only manages a tight smile.
“Is she here yet? The free chips and dip might be gone soon. Do teenagers eat that kind of stuff? Actually, do you want a pizza? I’m feelin’ pretty hungry myself—”
“She’s not coming, Mr.Stark,” Peter says sadly. He kicks a rock off the ledge of the roof and flinches when somebody yells an “Ow!!” from below. “MJ had a thing come up. She’s probably out with a cool guy from school.”
“You don’t know that,” Tony offers, “I don’t, either, but you’re jumping to conclusions faster than Pepper does, and let me tell you, that’s fast.”
Peter chokes out a small laugh, but it dies down quick when he looks up to meet Tony’s gaze. His eyes pause, staring for a few seconds, before he nods at the shiny watch on Tony’s arm. “What time is it?”
Tony looks down, confusion evident in his voice, “11:15. Why, are you waiting for Papa John’s ten dollar pizza night? Friday’s do feel better with cheesy goodness.”
“Jus’ wondering when the next year starts so I can ‘be a new me’, or whatever,” Peter shakes his head, “Girls are confusing,” He admits, kicking another rock. This time, it hits a metal AC box, and the sound makes his ears ring.
“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “They are. But you know what? If a girl is expecting you to change yourself for them, then they’re not worth it. You wouldn’t change being a hero to a villain because I asked would you?”
“No,” Peter frowns.
“Then don’t. Just keep looking out for the little guy,” He reached out and pokes the center of the kid’s chest. Peter looks up at him again, and Tony meets his eyes with a steady look. “She’ll come. And if she doesn’t, then so be it.”
A few seconds pass. The sounds of the party below is still louder than ever, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much as it did before. Peter takes a breath. “Thanks Mr.Stark… I really—you really have no idea how helpful that is.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around Peter’s neck and pulling him close. “And i’m serious about the pizza part. We’re ordering one after midnight.”
“We?”
“You, me, and Barnes. Consider it a New Year’s gift. Can’t have fun without the cyborg super-soldier or we’ll both be in trouble.”
“What about Mr.Rogers?”
“The TV show?” Tony cracks a grin, “Don’t worry about him. Cap has a date to lose something you’re far too young to understand. Or he has already. Either way,” He steers them both towards the roof elevator and nods at one of the cameras when FRIDAY gives a cheery greeting. “Let’s play a game of Where’s Waldo? Have you heard of it? Of course you have. Look out for my boyfriend, Pete, I’ve gotta run and do something.”
Peter practically beams at him. “Is this a mission?”
“Uh…” Tony says,” Yeah, sure. Call it whatever you want.”
“Thanks, Mr.Stark! I promise I won’t let you down!”
Tony smiles as the doors slide open and the kid steps out, buzzing with energy. “I know you won’t,” He nods, “You never do.”
~
“Daggers,” Sam says the instant his eyes land on Tony. Tony reels back from the stairs he just descended and shoots Sam an incredulous look. Did he have too much to drink already?
“What?”
“Daggers,” Sam repeats, easy as pie, “Your murder boyfriend put daggers in the fucking cake. I counted twelve of them, but I highly doubt that’s half as many in there.”
Tony blinks dumbly. “Whatever happened to hellos and casual conversation? C’mon, let's get you a drink,”
“No, Tony, i’m serious. You need to get him under control,” He sounded as serious as he said he was, and Tony wasn’t about to lose a chance to baby the Winter Fucking Soldier, so he just nods, looking like a deer in headlights. Sam nods back, and then they’re on the way towards the bar with Tony following along like a toddler lost in Walmart—or in real life cases, Peter in a grocery store the size of the Stark compound bathrooms, for Christ’s Sake. That kid never gets old.
The bar is full of people, most of which didn’t look to be on the invite list he let up to DUM-E, who was rolling around in circles in the fountain outside last he checked. So much for robo-guards. He’ll call for Happy later. “You look like the whiskey type of guy,” Tony nods towards the half-concerned looking therapist, and Sam rolls his eyes. “No? Not even the hundred-dollar whiskey?”
“I don’t drink,” Sam says, his nose scrunching up. “And even if I did, I sure as hell would stay far from whiskey. My grandpa was all over that. It ain’t good, man.”
Tony sighs, exasperated, but lets Sam pull him through the line of people until he’s face-to-face with Natasha. They both tense in place.
“Hey,” Natasha smirks. She knows something. Tony doesn’t know what she knows, but she does, because that look meant nothing else but assassin trouble.
Tony attempts to smile back, but it probably wasn’t good judging on Sam’s raised eyebrows. “Do you happen to know where Robocop is? I have a ten-six,”
“You know police codes?” Natasha muses, completely ignoring his question. Tony didn’t have to talk long, though, because there’s an arm swinging around his shoulder and suddenly he’s being pulled out into the crowd of people, his drink long forgotten where it sat on the bar counter.
“Hey,” He slurs, frowning. The handsome stranger frowns back—no, wait. Tony squints, eyes going wide after a few seconds of contemplation. That’s not a stranger, that’s his boyfriend. Jesus Fucking Christ, it took him long enough. “Where were you? I thought Cap’in Crunch seduced you or somethin’.”
“Steve? Hell no, I’ve been busy,” Bucky huffs. He stops at some point and clutches onto Tony when Tony’s head starts spinning.
“Woah,” He says.
“Yeah, woah,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “You okay? I was looking all over for you. Thought Sam might help the best,” He narrowed his eyes over at the bar, “Made himself useful for once, too.”
Tony frowned harder because, yeah, he’s fine and also splendid and fucking terrific, for all he cared. “You stabbed my cake,” Is what he says instead, because you can’t just do that to a man’s food like that, come on. He paid a lot of money for a triple decker.
“That’s the story Wilson came up with?” Bucky laughed, “Oh, my God,” He looked to be genuinely smiling and Tony was so far gone that all he could do was lean up and kiss him, holding on tight. Right now would be a great time for a slow song.
Bucky kissed back, albeit a little more carefully since they were still very much in the middle of a goddamn party. The press was here, too, and Tony wondered vaguely if he should be giving a shit. He decided that as a no. FOX News had already been all over them since yesterday, and that’s not including the downright embarrassing questions the press has been asking Pepper.
The questions he’d been texted (and ouraged) by includes:
•Are you jealous of the Winter Soldier dating your ex that’s way out of his league?
•Would you be their surrogate?
•Did you know that Tony Stark was into guys and for how long?
And also some kid asked for her to sign his shoe, which he immediately threw at Tony’s head during his weekly bagel walk. So. He might just have to lay low for a while and give Pepper a lifetime’s worth of headache pills as a thanks for dealing with his bullshit—and Bucky’s bullshit. They both have a lot.
“What do you mean ‘story’?” Tony eventually asks when Bucky’s done looking at him like Steve when he saw the Mona Lisa painting. Or was that Da Vinci? Doesn’t matter. They both had that visible heart eyes look. Maybe it was a forties thing.
“Told Sam to get you to me in the best way he could,” Bucky shrugged, easy as ever, “And if a white lie of stabbing your cake was what worked, then you’ve got some issues, pal. I’d rather ruin your Tesla.”
“You leave Elon out of this,” Tony huffed. He threw his hands in the air as Bucky stepped back towards the stage with that Join Me Now or I’ll Gut You in Your Sleep Look and Tony is… turned on, mostly, but he’s also calculating the amount of fire extinguishers nearby and it turns out to be not nearly enough. Natasha looks like butter won’t melt in her mouth from the way she’s looking at him from across the room. He huffs.
The “stage” is just a portable slab of foot-high wood covered by red carpet. It stretches about a quarter of the length of the room and is currently empty, aside from the menacing-looking soldier standing up there like he’s going to start dancing to Man With the Plan without the so-called Man With a Plan. Tony wonders were that spangly disaster is, but he also mentioned a date sometime a few hours ago so who knows what the hell that guy is up to.
He’ll get him a ‘congrats on losing your virginity’ cake next week. All for good measure.
~
“Tony,” Bucky grins. He points one menacing little metal finger at his boyfriend and then points to the stage, where a crowd had starting building around. There’s cameras on him from all angles—he marks two on his left, one on his right, and FRIDAY’s recording system that gets him from the back and front. The press won’t get to that footage, though, so he considers it a clear advantage.
Tony, like a deer in headlights, follows orders and steps up on the excuse of the stage with a wild look in his eyes. He has no choice, Bucky muses. He knows Bucky would’ve dragged him up here regardless of what happened, and it’d probably end in encouragement from the team, too, because they’re all bastards. It’s Tony’s fault, really. He should’ve never let them live in the same building.
Bucky maneuvers the poor guy until he’s cheating out towards the crowd; half turned for the cameras to catch that priceless look on his face, and half turned towards the evil smirk Bucky was displaying. Now this is what 1940’s Brooklyn Boy Barnes would’ve done, on the stage and everything. It’s pleasing being so in-touch with the douchebag in his head that’s been feeding him memories since the helicarrier incident. He wonders where his therapist is. She must be proud.
“This mook is my boyfriend,” He says to the crowd, as if they don’t already know, “And if any of you assholes keep treating us like a gay couple in the fucking future is a toy to bat around until you’re bored, then you have another thing comin’ for ya. ‘Specially you,” He points over to a suddenly pale-faced guy behind a camera. He gives a frightened smile and Bucky smiles back, looking like he already knows how to get away with murder.
He does, actually. But that’s besides the point.
Tony is choosing to stay silent, as opposed to calming everyone down—especially former Winter Soldier, the fucking psychopath—because where would that end him? With a knife in his ass? Yeah, no thanks. He ain’t that kinky. And Bucky knows this because when he went to grab the lube one night and ended up cutting his hand on the knife Bucky taped to the bed, the mood was instantly killed and Tony had to be babied for the rest of the night so he wouldn’t be upset.
It’s safe to say that Bucky now hides his weapons a little better, even if it’s really annoying to spot out places in a room twice the size of the bedroom-sized en suite bathroom that hasn’t been used in three fucking weeks.
Anyways.
Bucky goes on to rant, because there’s no other word for it. His brain is in all different places at once and the music was hard to listen to while keeping track of his words, so it’s a complete shit show. He thinks he gets his point across, finally. People are staring at him like he just gave a Captain America speech about why you shouldn’t smoke weed while being high off his ass, but he considers what other reactions he might get and decides that yes, this is the best one. He fucking nailed the speech. Steve should be proud by the time he comes out of hiding and sees that whole shabam on trending on Twitter.
“It’s 11:58,” Tony says after a while. He's practically gawking up at him.
“Shit,” Bucky grins, “You bet it is.”