Demons Run

He knows it will go down like a spoonful of cod liver oil, but it's Steve, so he just lays it out on the table. 

“I wanted to discuss bringing Bucky along for the next mission.”

The room is deathly quiet, until Tony finishes his glass to emit a large groan from the other end of the table. Steve looks around to his friends, and finds Natasha unsuccessfully hiding a smile behind her hand. She elbows Sam, who pointedly looks away before taking an obscene bite of chicken, his cheeks blown out like a chipmunk’s and his eyebrows at his hairline.

The Avengers have all gathered at Stark Tower for one of their regular meetings, and even Thor is present. Mjölnir sits in the middle of the table, like an odd centerpiece. The team is discussing a small mission to gather more intel and quietly shut down a weapons manufacturer feeding into HYDRA that Natasha has been keeping an eye on. Steve thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to get Bucky back on the right side of the fight, to give him more purpose than making it to his therapy sessions and sparring with Steve in the basement. He knows these walls are closing in on him, sees the caged look in his eye when he catches him gazing out the window.

Bucky has been living with Steve in Stark Tower for over six months now, part of their truce with Tony. Steve agreed to rejoin the Avengers and fight alongside them as needed, if Bucky was allowed amnesty and a safe place to stay. Tony insisted they stay in the Tower, if only that he could keep an eye on the Winter Soldier, an agreement which almost started another Civil War itself. Steve reluctantly agreed once Pepper arranged that they be protected from the government and Bucky be provided the care he needed to start recovering. It was a shaky accord, but Steve felt better finding some sort of balance between Bucky and his friends that had helped him along the way.

“He’s doing better,” Steve parrots now, a phrase he bleats to everyone, including his Stark-appointed therapist on Monday’s.

“I’m sure he is, Cap,” Tony says, an edge of sweetness to his smile that makes Steve’s blood boil. “He’s house-trained, but not ready to take out to the dog park yet.”

“Stark,” Natasha warns lowly, as Steve’s fingers grip the granite table hard enough to break  a chunk off in his hands.

“Look, I know he’s not the most popular guy on the block right now, and for good reason,” Steve starts, letting out a deep breath through his nose. “But he’s caged in here, Tony. You can’t just lock people up in your castle.” He risks a glance to Wanda, who gives him a small smile.

“Sure I can,” Tony sets his highball glass down with a loud clink . “My tower, my toys. My locks. As a matter of fact, I’m the only reason you and Barnes aren’t rotting in federal prison right now, so I can keep him caged like a white tiger if I want to.” He leans back in his chair, eyes a little wild. Steve’s seen that look all too often lately. Heat burns at his temples.

Bruce Banner gives Tony a look full of gravity, and the two stare each other down until Tony lets out a heavy breath, going back to the half empty bottle in front of him.

“Look, Cap, that was out of line. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think Barnes is ready to be out on the front lines again. I know he’s playing nice with you, takes his M&Ms like he’s supposed, but I’m not betting one of our lives on him.”

“You’re afraid he’ll snap,” Steve’s voice is low, cold.

“Quite frankly, fuck yeah I am. I’m sure I’m not the only one here who feels the same, though they’re too cowardly to admit it to you,” Tony sneers at the other Avengers, who remain uncharacteristically quiet these days when Tony and Steve bicker. He supposes they’re shell-shocked too. Luckily, Steve has never been one to back down from a fight.

“Well if he does, it’s because he’s gone stir-crazy cooped up all day. He’s restless, Tony. Even you get antsy when you haven’t blown something up in awhile. He’s spent the majority of his life fighting. Then I drag him here and the only sunlight he sees is through a double-paned, bullet proof glass window. What do you think that does for his mental state?”

“I can always replace the glass, if you’re feeling froggy.”

“Tony---!”

“What do I think it does to his mental state? I don’t know, Rogers. I’m not a shrink. Maybe you should ask the one I’m paying handsomely for. In the meantime, pay more attention to the fact that you’re asking me to bring the world’s deadliest assassin, five months sober, to watch my six.”

“I was going to suggest that he run a covert op with me, watch my back. We get in, eliminate the target, get out. Nobody on the team at risk.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Clint speaks up. “Barnes used to be a sniper, right? I could use some help covering your reckless ass, Cap.”

“Thanks, Barton,” Steve replies, a genuine smile on his face.

“Seriously?” Tony hisses, narrowing his eyes at Clint, who just gives him an angelic smile in return. “This isn’t up for debate.”

“Why not?” Steve rises from his seat, getting his second wind. “This isn’t a dictatorship. Least I hope not. I got my shield for fighting Nazis, after all,” he throws a golden boy smile at Tony. “So let’s vote.”

“It is only fair!” Thor booms suddenly, hitting the table with his fist and scattering Sam’s bag of M&Ms, who frowns over at the large Asgardian.

Tony glances around the table, a little flabbergasted. “You know what, fine. Leave it to Uncle Sam to remind me that this is a democracy, but it won’t take long for me to prove to you that the Abominable Snowman is not fit to be running around with ten guns strapped to his back, or whatever the hell he does for fun.” Tony stands from his seat, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit jacket.

“Rhodey, you’re practically a shoe-in, let’s start with you first. Don’t let me down.”

An hour of lively debate, some thrown M&Ms, and an empty bottle of Tony’s best vodka later, Steve’s chances are looking pretty good.

Clint, Wanda, and Bruce believed that Bucky deserved a second chance, as they had all experienced committing acts of violence against their better judgment and had been forgiven despite it.

Rhodes and Vision agreed with Tony, providing clinical evidence that given Bucky’s seventy-odd years of brainwashing, he may never be ready to go back into battle, even if he was following Steve.

Tony merely groaned as he glanced over at a grinning Thor, griping that “he loves everyone, and his vote should not count. And don’t tell us a story that parallels this one, I don’t feel like crying today.”

Natasha, surprising everyone, sides with Steve, her explanation low and clipped.

“You’re asking if I think a trained assassin, brainwashed against his will to operate kill orders for the rest of his days should be given a chance to do something good with what he has left..” She levels Tony with a stare from the other end of the table and goes back to cleaning her knife.

Tony turns to Peter Parker, who’s been watching this long exchange like a frightened kitten watches a dog fight.

Peter startles a little. “I-I get a vote?”

Everyone at the table looks at him, and Bruce smirks at him fondly.

“Spiderman! You are one of us!’ Thor says, grinning broadly and gesturing to the group. “You are an Avenger! Your opinion is of highest importance here.”

Peter’s cheeks pink, and he eyes Tony.

“Hell yeah, man. Thor’s right, you’re on the team. Wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. You’re a superhero. Tell us what you think, Spidey.”

“What do I think? Well, uh,” he begins, wringing his hands. “I think Barnes is great. He spotted me at the gym a couple times, helped me with my history essay last week, we even sparred together once, though he kicked my ass without my webs, plus I mean he’s freakin’ legend, because he’s a supersoldier but also--” He runs on, only stopping as he eyes Tony again, who’s reassuring grin is slowly turning toward his chin.

“But..uh...sorry Cap, I gotta side with Tony on this one. I think Barnes is awesome, but Mr. Stark is kind of the reason I’m here and I love being here so...no?” He says, shoulders rising up to his ears.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Queens,” he retorts, wishing Bucky were here to scoff with him.

The last member to say his piece is Sam, who sits in his usual seat to Steve’s right. Steve looks over at him, swelling with pride because he has complete trust that Sam will follow him into this like he always has: taking down S.H.I.E.L.D, at risk of being captured by the Federal Government, hell, even going to find Bucky.

“You don’t want to hear this, but I gotta side with Stark this time, Steve. I don’t think he’s ready. I think you want him to be, but he’s not safe, man. He needs more time.” He delivers the blow head on, holding Steve’s gaze, man-to-man, and it bruises Steve so much he feels like he’s been boxed in the head. Dazed, he masks the hurt expression on his face and turns back to Tony.

“If you and I both get a vote, that’s still six for, five against.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

Much to Steve’s confusion, Tony looks tired as he drags a hand through his hair and responds.“Steve, I know he’s your friend. You know him, you fought beside him, you trust him implicitly. You’d die for him. But he’s killed an indeterminate number of people without batting an eye. I don’t want his hands on anything I--” Tony’s bites the sentence off, looks at the lone ice cube left in his glass. “I don’t want him fighting with us. Period. End of discussion.”

“We agreed to come here to let Bucky recover and so that I could continue to lead the Avengers , and to work toward a common goal.” Steve says, leaning across the table now and digging in his heels. “I didn’t agree to let you poke Bucky under a microscope until you’ve considered him fixed.”

Tony clasps his hands in front of him, oddly quiet and withdrawn. He sucks in a heavy breath, the silence a heavy blanket over the room before he speaks. “It’s bad enough I have him in my house,” he begins lowly, “but that’s not good enough for you, is it, Cap?” His eyes, cold as stone, bore into Steve.

“What’s next, you want me to make him an Avenger? Vote him on the team? It’s not enough that I overlook his war crimes, hide him from the Feds, or the fact that he murdered my parents in cold blood?”

“I know I’m not an Avenger, but am I allowed to say something?”

Steve whips around, and there stands Bucky, emerging from the darkness of the stairwell. Steve’s stomach churns, he has no idea how much Bucky has heard, but Tony’s last remark was enough to cut him to the core. Bucky steps closer to the table, his head ducked slightly and his dark hair tucked behind his ears. He’s dressed in a pair of black jogging pants and a dark grey T-shirt, his usual attire of monochrome colors when wearing civilian clothes. Steve doesn’t miss a thick pair of dark socks on Bucky’s feet that he knows came from Steve’s own drawer.

Bucky’s blue eyes are wary as he steps under the bright lights over the table, but his stubborn chin is strong and firm. Steve knows this is the first time he’s ever been in the Avengers’ meeting room, let alone on this floor, and he can practically feel the anxiety coming off him in waves: the clench in his jaw, the way he scratches at his right thigh. The slight tremor of his lips.

Tony stills at the head of the table, eyes puncturing his houseguest.

“Why not, Barnes. We are talking about you, after all. And I’ve heard my fair share of bullshit today, so why don’t you throw yours in while we’re at it. Pull up a seat.” He slaps his hand down on the table at the empty place to his right.

Bucky smoothly tucks his hands behind him, coming to stand just behind Steve. He licks his lips, and his voice is low rumble. “I’m good here, thanks. I’m sorry to have, ah...listened in on your conversation. I know I’m not welcome to make decisions, but I knew Steve would bring this up, and I had to say my piece.”

Tony rolls his eyes and brings his glass to his lips, propping his feet up in the seat Bucky turned down. Steve misses the imperceptible tremor of his fingers.

“I appreciate what you had to say, whether you agreed with Steve or not. I haven’t been here long, but everyone has been...kind to me,” he pauses, swallowing, his eyes darting around the room as he presses his lips together, a reserved smile. “Tony, your hospitality has been...more than generous. Thank you,” he says pointedly, eyebrows raised, “for letting me stay here. It’s more than I deserve.”

Steve ignores Tony’s harsh bark of laughter and narrows his eyes. He knows Bucky’s up to something. He can tell he’s rehearsed these lines, knows that he would have had to practice to stay calm and collected in front of this many people. This is the most he’s heard Bucky speak to anyone other than himself since they moved into the Tower six months ago. His stomach clenches with nerves.

“I know several of you said you wouldn’t be comfortable having me run missions with your team,” his eyes are on Tony as he speaks.

“And I couldn’t agree more. I don’t think anyone should be forced to fight alongside someone they don’t trust.” His gaze, dark blue now, a storm brewing over seawater, finds Steve’s. “It can poison the bond of the team, which is something I think you’ve all worked hard to build. I shouldn’t have a hand in it. I don’t want to destroy anything else. I won’t come on a mission, regardless of your decision.”

“But Buck--” Steve starts, pushing up from the chair, face to face with his best friend.

“I’ve said my piece,” he looks at Steve, face carefully blank, but Steve can read the slight pleading in his eyes. “I know you’re just looking out for me, pal, but I’m not ready for this.” His voice is barely a whisper, and he turns away before Steve can retort. He watches Bucky slip out of the room, his hair and clothing blend into the dark hallway as he goes.

The table is dead silent again, a bemused expression on Tony’s face. Bruce looks forlorn, his dark eyebrows knitted in thought. Steve looks to Natasha, who stares back and gives him a little shrug. Sam lets out a heavy sigh to his right, like he’s been holding his breath. He should have seen this coming.

“Wish he’d butted in sooner, would have saved me a lot of headache splitting up the team again,” Tony mutters.

Steve takes his better judgment and gets up from the table before he starts another war over Bucky.

He takes the long route to their apartment, whether it’s to give Bucky space or to take some for himself, he’s not sure. They share an entire floor, which has so much space for just the two of them that it’s overwhelming. When they first came to Stark Tower, the two men prowled the floor constantly, a silent agreement that one would stay up and keep watch while the other slept on the couch. Steve was familiar with the Tower, but there were so many rooms, dark and looming hallways, that he felt the uneasiness reflected in Bucky’s eyes.

Things were better now, Bucky agreed to see a Stark-appointed therapist, if Steve guarded the door. He ate three square meals a day, though he refused to eat prepared food from Tony’s chefs; he and Steve cooked their meals in the lavish kitchenette on their floor.

He had some semblance of a sleep schedule, even though Steve could hear him pacing the floors at night, or hear his choked off scream from an interrupted nightmare. Some nights, he could even hear the almost imperceptible sound of Bucky perching outside Steve’s bedroom door, like a sentinel. Those nights, Steve would lie awake in his bed, praying Bucky would just reach up and open his door.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch Bucky, wouldn’t make him uncomfortable, but if he could just have him nearby, talk him down from the nightmares and dissonance, he knew he’d get more sleep.

But for now, every time he’s tried to reach out, Bucky only retreated farther. He’d school his features carefully blank, telling him he was up getting water, or stretching out a cramp, not to worry and go back to sleep, Stevie.

Eventually, exhaustion would overtake him, and Steve would find Bucky sleeping in various places about the Tower. Just yesterday, he frantically combed the building for hours when Bucky was nowhere to be found, until JARVIS informed him to check the roof. Heart in his throat, he burst through the roof access and found Bucky tucked against a concrete pillar, mouth open and snoring lightly.

When he finally gets back to their floor and unlocks the door, Bucky is curled in the corner of the living area, tucked under a window and pressed against the radiator, a new age model that Tony made just for their room to resemble the metal ones from their decade.

“I know you’re pissed at me for that.”

“Nah, I’m actually not, Buck. I was just thinking that I’m real proud of you,” Steve crouches down several feet away from where Bucky sits, keeping a careful distance.

He raises an eyebrow in response.

“I know it took a lot out of you to come up there and say all that in front of people you don’t know.”

“Don’t antagonize me, Steve. I see my therapist on Thursdays.”

Steve smirks, hands rubbing his knees. “I’m serious. That can’t have been easy.”

Bucky only collects his knees to his chin and shrugs his shoulders.

“I practiced in the mirror a coupla times,” he mumbles.

Steve lets out a chuckle. “Wish you’d have told me, I’d have loved to see it. And to know that you felt that way.” He looks up as Bucky’s eyes dart away, dark and brooding. His full lips are pursed in a little pout. “If you weren’t ready, you should have told me, Buck.”

“It’s just--It ain’t that. Steve I, Steve it’s not fair to them. Yeah, I wanna go, would be nice to give it a shot, but we’re pushing our luck here as it is and...I want to get out---but they’re right.”

“Tony said that, half of them agree with me.”

“Because they like you, Steve. And because they feel sorry for me.” He stares ahead, brow furrowed. “Which they shouldn’t. Tony should have turned me in...you could be here by yourself...still be hanging around with them and I would--He wouldn’t have to house a killer--”

“Buck,” Steve scoots across the wood floor to get closer when he sees Bucky spiralling. “None of that matters. The point is, I don’t want to be here by myself. I don’t wanna fight anymore fights without you. I asked for this. And this is what you deserve. You’re safe here.”

Before he can stop himself, he has a hand on Bucky’s metal forearm, and Bucky’s gaze darts over to the hand, eyes wide.

Once Steve realizes what he’s done, he snatches his hand back as if burned.  “I--I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to…”

Steve has been careful to stop himself from touching Bucky since they moved into Stark Towers. His therapist told him it would be best to reintegrate touch when Bucky was ready, letting him come to Steve in his own time.

But having Bucky alive, warm and real and alive , in front of him every day, it’s all he can do not to cling to Bucky’s leg like a petulant child. He’s touched him, sure, handing him the orange juice in the morning, sparring every afternoon.

But it feels normal to touch him like this, to reach out and place his hand on his best friend’s arm in comfort.

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments, gaze straight ahead and glazed over. Steve slides away, pads into the kitchen to leave Bucky alone, chest clenched with worry that he’s only made his anxiety worse.

“I’m sorry I didn’t...I’m sorry I don’t talk to you enough. About the hard stuff.” Bucky’s appeared at Steve’s shoulder so quietly he hadn’t even heard him get up from the floor.

“I’m just...confused,” Steve turns to face him, takes in the raw pain in Bucky’s eyes and forces his hands to stay at his sides.

“I want to...I want to talk to you. I want to ask for help. I know who you are,” he gives a little nod, blue eyes cutting Steve to the core.

“But it just...it just hurts, Stevie.” His voice catches, the noise like a bullet in Steve’s gut. No tears fall, no moisture is gathered at his eyes, but that’s even worse. He crumples, face contorting, and Steve doesn’t have it in him to test the waters before he pulls Bucky into his arms.

“It’s all blurry,” he mumbles into Steve’s neck. “Like a fever. And I don’t know which one I’m supposed to choose. Which one I’m supposed to be. I don’t know if I’m remembering right or if...if it’s all just a trick.”

Steve sucks in a breath. “I know, Buck. Sometimes I feel that way too. You know you can always--”

“A...and at night,” he continues quietly, voice just under Steve’s ear, “I want to come in, I really do, but I feel like...like I’ll infect you. Like if I see you during a flashback,” he gulps, a truly fearful sound, a small child hiding in Steve’s arms from the boogey man. “I--I’m afraid I’ll think you aren’t real too. That the next time I see you...I’ll think I made you up. And I can’t do that. Can’t risk it.”

He pulls his face away, his breaths coming in heaves, cheeks ruddy with emotion.

Steve takes a deep breath and prays the right words to soothe Bucky will spill out of his mouth.

“I’m real, Buck. I’m not going anywhere. Right here with you, pal. This okay?” He whispers, rubbing his fingers over Bucky’s knuckles at his side. “Does this help?”

Bucky nods, eyes dropping shut.

“If you don’t remember where you are, remember this, okay? You want me to come bring you back, you close your eyes and knock on my door. Whatever you need, Buck, I’m right here. Got all the time in the world.”

He slips his hand up to Bucky’s shoulder, then along the line of his jaw, until finally his fingers curl up to brush Bucky’s cheekbone.

They stand like this, Steve’s left arm curled protectively around Bucky’s back, Bucky’s flesh and metal arms alike clutching at Steve’s teeshirt.

“I’ve been like this a long time, Stevie. Longer than I’ve been Bucky,” he says, once his breathing has steadied a little more, the sweat drying on his neck. “I ain’t the same guy,” he whispers, Brooklyn accent surprising them both as it creeps in. “I don’t wanna disappoint you if I come out different on the other side.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, chucks Bucky’s chin. “Sure ya are, you’re just some dumb kid from Brooklyn. Same as me. I’d know you anywhere.” His lips turn up at the corners when Bucky’s eyes flit from his mouth to meet his gaze again.

“And besides,” he whispers, leaning in like it’s a secret, “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.” His lips are inches from Bucky’s, and the thought crosses his mind that it would feel good, so satisfyingly good, to drag his lips across Bucky’s, to smooth the lines between his eyes and run his mouth over Bucky’s until it curled into a smirk again.

A moment passes, two, three, seven...they stand there, neither daring to move, until a blankness passes over Bucky’s blue eyes and a tremor rattles over his skin. He pulls his arms away from Steve, robotic, and drops them at his side, taking a few steps backwards.

“Thanks, Steve. I, uh, I better get to bed. See ya in the morning.” The door clicks shut before Steve realizes his hand is still in the air, stroking an imaginary cheek to keep the icy cold of disappointment at bay.