Chapter 3
Barnes’ memory was shoddy at best, giving him snippets of his past every now and then, and not always in order, so half the time he had no context for the scenes flashing across his mind.
Not to mention every new memory gave him a brand new migrane to deal with.
He couldn’t remember everything, but there were some things he knew for sure.
Barnes had grown up with three younger sisters back when he had still been a person the first time around. He remembered how Becca, the oldest girl, had followed him around when they were kids, tagging along, trying to be just like him even if Bucky had to admit that he hadn’t been the best role model for a young girl to be modelling herself after. Mary and Hannah, the younger two, had still been wee little things the last time he had seen them, no more than twelve and ten when he had shipped out. They had still been figuring out who they were, torn between chafing against their big brother’s protectiveness and reveling in it.
And then The War had come and none of it had mattered anyway.
Their big brother was considered KIA, his funeral practically a footnote in comparison to the procession for Captain America two weeks later. He often wondered if they mourned for long, or if the pain had faded to an ache and then to a sad memory over time. Sometimes he wondered how they moved on, if they moved on at all.
Did they still mourn him while he was off shooting foreign dignitaries, starting wars and ending them, intimidating and torturing and murdering his way around the world? He wondered sometimes, if they would recognize him now. What he had become was nothing like James Buchanan Barnes, he was sure, but Rogers was always harping on about the little things that stayed the same no matter how much the Germans and the Russians and, eventually, the Americans had tried to burn them out of him.
He still put too much sugar in his coffee.
He still leaned against walls when he was bored, like he was trying to hold them up with his shoulders alone.
He still smirked like an ass when Steve did something stupid.
And he still had that goddamn protective streak a mile or more wide. His baby sisters would have been proud of that, at least.
But right now, the newest addition to his tiny bubble of people he Had to Protect was getting dangerously close to the much larger horde of people he Wouldn’t Mind Knocking Out (Just a Bit, Really).
Rumlow was not adhering to Barnes’ preconceived notion that young children slept in. Barnes wasn’t quite sure where, in his nearly 100 years of living, he had picked that thought up, but it was there and it was currently being squashed to death by the tiny torpedo of flailing child that had barrel rolled right into him at six in the morning, dashing all of Barnes’ slight hope for a lazy morning in.
Or that the previous day had been some sort of weird fever dream.
It wasn’t like Barnes hadn’t already been awake, either, but it was the principle of the thing.
He didn’t want to get out of bed at six in the motherfucking morning. That was what responsible people with things like steady jobs and routines and families had to do.
He was a superhero, dammit. He was entitled to a good lay in if he wanted.
However, the squirmy little mass currently shoving a bony elbow directly into his spine took that option away. Barnes had no choice now but to drag his lazy old ass out of bed.
“Rumlow,” Barnes growled, shoving his face back in his pillow to get just a few more moments of rest, “Why are you awake so damn early?” When he got no immediate response, Barnes twisted around just enough to tug the blanket out of his face so he could give the kid his most disgruntled bitch face. It didn’t come out so much disgruntled as exhausted, though, when Barnes blinked painfully at the bright light filtering into his room, momentarily blinded.
When his eyes finally cleared, he saw that Rumlow was far too bright eyed for anybody at this ungodly hour. The sun wasn’t even up all the way, dammit.
“’Cuz I always gotta get up real early. Me and the other kids, we gotta find our own food, y’see, and if we’re real careful-like, the rich jerkfaces never even notice when we lift their wallets! They’re too focused on getting to work, they never look down an’ take notice a no street kid!”
Barnes blinked at Rumlow, letting that sink in for a good long moment before flopping back against the pillows and groaning. Great, they had a little tiny pickpocket on their hands, too. Rumlow fell quiet at that, and when Barnes peeked up at him again, he saw how the kid had folded in on himself, his bright smile now nothing but a memory as he bit at his lip.
And didn’t that just make Barnes feel like a grade A jerk? He hadn’t meant to make the kid sad. That mournful little frown had no right to be on that kid’s adorable little face.
“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout that kinda stuff here. Okay, kid? Stark’s super mega rich, and he watches out for all of us. He’ll watch out for you, too. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout having enough to eat, y’hear?”
Rumlow still didn’t look too sure, but he nodded all the same. “Yessir,” he mumbled, staring down at his hands dejectedly, shoulders slumped. Barnes couldn’t bare that kid’s poor sad face for much longer. It was doing things to his chest, things he hadn’t felt in a while, probably since his sisters. Or maybe the last time Rogers did something stupid. It was a toss-up, really.
Choosing to ignore the fluttering in his chest, Barnes instead reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair, maybe a little too roughly but the kid was made of tough enough stuff. He just sort of toppled over into the mountain of covers on the bed, disappearing momentarily until he resurfaced, that roguish little grin back on his face one more, as it should be.
Barnes swung his legs out bed, grumbling to himself as he tried to gather enough willpower to actually stand up. Frankly, he was surprised he had managed it this far. Most days it was a battle just to crawl his way out of bed, and it was a downright miracle if it was before ten or eleven o’clock.
As he was sitting there psyching himself up, Barnes felt a tiny fluttering against his back, and instantly whipped his head around. The kid was sitting there behind him, eyes wide like saucers, stupidly blue and, to Barnes’ surprise, quickly filling with tears. The kid’s eyes were locked onto the scar he was tracing with his fingertips, mouth working but no words or sounds were making their way out.
Barnes could relate; there were times when he had the same problem. A million and one things he wanted to say, and not a one of them would pass his lips.
So he did what he wished people would do for him, and gave Rumlow time to work out what he wanted to say. Sure enough, a few moments later the kid was stuttering out a mess of syllables, but Barnes was able to piece together enough of them to understand the gist of it.
“What happened?” The kid was touching one of the long, thick scars that really looked worse than it had felt at the time; he had gotten shot, and then had to be operated on in order to get the damn bullet out, and the idiots had decided to poke around in his back while they were there anyway. The scar was much longer and thicker due to that little excursion.
“Nothing to worry about. It’s all healed up now,” he assured, giving the kid a sickly little smirk. He couldn’t stomach a real smile, not just then, not talking about the scars that ran around his body like a latticework because he had gotten a knock off serum that only half-assed the accelerated healing. Sure, he healed faster than a normal human, but not nearly as quickly or cleanly as Rogers. Rogers never scarred, either; sometimes Barnes felt like nothing but one big scar.
Rumlow didn’t look so convinced, his fingers lingering on the white puckered scar, tapping lightly before nodding and looking away, suddenly stone faced.
Dammit, but Barnes kept screwing this up.
Who decided it was okay to leave a kid alone with him, again?
“How about we go snatch up some of that free breakfast I was telling you about earlier, huh?” Barnes drawled, finally finding that ever-elusive energy and underlying reason to even get out of bed. He held a hand out to the kid in apology, hoping it would be enough to get on his good side again; he seemed to like dangling off of the metal limb for some reason, even when literally every other person Barnes had ever met had shied away from it at first sight, and honestly, most of them usually steered clear of it long afterwards, too.
It seemed that Barnes was forgiven because Rumlow latched onto his shiny metal fingers without hesitation, letting a small smile tug at his lips. They wandered out of Barnes’ bedroom together, hand in hand, and Barnes wondered idly what his sisters would think of him now. He was trying to be careful and calm, like he woulda with his own baby sisters if he could remember more than snips and snaps of them.
Had he really been a good big brother? He couldn’t rightly remember.
They found Rogers, already back from his ass-crack of dawn torture run with Sam Wilson, hovering around in the kitchen with the stove going along with a suspicious grey cloud starting to form above it. Rogers, oblivious as always, stood at the island, flipping around on his phone like he wasn’t thirty seconds away from a kitchen fire.
What the hell.
Barnes grabbed Rumlow around the waist, hoisting him up onto the counter so he could have a good view of the upcoming show. Rogers glanced up, eyes faraway even as he greeted Barnes distractedly. Barnes, ever the asshole, casually hip checked Rogers out of the way before stepping in to lift the charred pan from the stove and unceremoniously chuck it into the sink. The resulting sizzle and cloud of off-white smoke was satisfying to watch, if nothing else. The little annoyed shriek Rogers let out was pretty satisfying too, if he was being totally honest with himself.
“This is just a downright disgrace, Rogers. You’re nearly 100 years old, you should know how to cook goddamn breakfast by now,” Barnes drawled as he leaned over to grab another pan from the cupboard. He heard Rumlow giggling from his perch on the counter and risked a glance up through his hair, glad he had; the kid was in near-conniptions, tiny hand covering his mouth but doing nothing to hide his wide grin.
It was nice to see the kid had a good sense of humor; Barnes had to admit, he was damn hilarious when he wanted to be.
“It was fine! It was cooking just fine!” Rogers complained, making a face at Barnes’ back when all the Soldier did was show off a very specific finger. Rumlow was still giggling madly, his usual suspicion of Rogers apparently lifted, at least temporarily, due to his entertainment value. Rogers seemed to realize this and was willing to get as much use out of the reprieve as he could. He gave Rumlow a big wink before glancing back at Barnes, hands on his hips and face set in an over-exaggerated pout.
“I saw smoke,” Barnes cut in, taking great pleasure in cutting Rogers off before he could even begin to rant. “How you didn’t burn down your apartment before I showed up, I have no fucking clue. You know, this is why you’re not allowed near the fucking appliances, pal. Especially after that stunt you pulled with the stove in that shitty little hellhole before the war.”
“That was in 1936!” Rogers shrieked, outraged. “Are you ever going to let that fucking go?”
Barnes tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling, squinting and scratching at his head in contemplation. Rogers snorted, rolling his eyes. “Don’t try to think too hard, Buck, y’might break somethin’,” he snarked, giving Barnes a smirk and a sneer, just like a good pal would.
“I will never let that go. If I live my whole life without getting another memory back, I will be just fine and dandy because I will have that one time in 1936 when I came home and found the apartment full of smoke and the stove on fire, because you were trying to make eggs.” He turned to glance at the sink, which was still smoking ominously. He wasn’t certain what the blackened mass caked to the inside of the pan was originally, but he would bet good money that it had probably been eggs.
70 years and nothing ever really changed.
“I mean, really, what would we have told the landlord? ‘Sorry, the punk nearly burned your building down trying to make breakfast, our bad?’”
Rogers let out a loud, honest guffaw of laughter, leaning forward to fall over his knees, holding his stomach like his gut was about to bust. “To fuck off, maybe?” Rogers muttered between heaving breaths, standing up straight just long enough to wipe at his eyes. He smiled fondly at Barnes’ back before his eyes travelled to the side and he noticed Rumlow again, the little boy’s eyes wide in shock as he stared open mouthed at him.
Oh, shit. He had just cussed, a lot, in front of a tiny little impressionable child.
“Fuck. Rumlow. Uh, Brock. Don’t repeat that, those are bad words. Fuck!” he breathed out, running a hand down his face, before realizing what he had just said. “Shit! No, sorry! No. Just, don’t say bad words, Brock.” He gave up and turned his face to the ceiling in defeat, his eyes sliding closed in frustration at himself. “Ugh, you know what I’m talking about.”
Barnes was too busy cackling maniacally into his perfectly scrambled eggs to lend a hand to Rogers or check on Rumlow’s reaction. He could absolutely picture it, though; Rumlow’s reaction was probably real similar to Barnes’ own, full of disbelief and humor and exasperation.
Rumlow had literally just been plucked up from a gang of street urchins that lived in the gutters of a large city. Like hell that kid hadn’t picked up a choice word or two, or twenty by this age.
Barnes decided to cut his idiot pal a break and provide a distraction instead, as he piled three plates full of eggs and bacon and toast. When Rogers still looked like he was beating himself up for being so crass in front of an itty bitty baby, Barnes drew him back out of his cloud of funk by waving coffee directly in his face. Rogers took the peace offering as it was and practically inhaled it, looking slightly more human afterwards.
Barnes felt like a damned housewife with every passing moment, but he supposed it was the price he had to pay for fucking edible food in this apartment.
Rogers was staring at Rumlow between shoveling food into his mouth and guzzling hot coffee, but the kid was either ignoring him or just that focused on his own meal. In the end it seemed that he was just ignoring him, as once the kid was finished with his food he turned bright, defensive eyes onto Rogers and said, plain as day, “What.” He raised a cocky eyebrow at Rogers and Captain America felt his face flush red in no time at all.
How could a kid that tiny and adorable be so deadly with just an eyebrow and one word?
“Uh,” Rogers said, drawing the word out, turning to look at Bucky’s flat stare instead. “So. What exactly do we do with a kid? I mean, we don’t have that much experience with children. And being a kid ourselves was a really long time ago,” he hissed at Barnes, hoping Brock wasn’t listening too closely.
As if.
Barnes didn’t even bother keeping his voice down. “I don’t know, Mr. Google-Is-My-New-Best-Friend, why don’t you just look it up online? There’s gotta be books or something, right?”
Truthfully, Barnes was a little worried about that too. He didn’t want to screw the damn kid up too bad if he really was gonna be stuck like this. But, he figured, they were either gonna find a way to turn Rumlow back into an angry adult with a one way ticket to prison, or he would stay a kid and grow up the good old-fashioned way. They would figure out what to do if and when it happened. In the meantime, they just had to wing it.
Besides, it’s not like they could really screw the kid up too much in a day or two.
Right?
Rogers graced him with a hearty bitch face before turning back to his phone and taking his advice to heart, grumbling to himself about how he always had to do everything himself, or some other bullshit. After snorting in amusement to himself, Barnes sort of tuned his stupid grumbling out, using Rogers’ current distraction to sneak himself and Rumlow out of the room, leaving the dishes and the lingering smell of smoke and burnt eggs for Rogers to deal with.
They took the elevator up a floor and found Stark on the phone with someone, shouting about clothes and a bedframe and so on. Rumlow and Barnes exchanged identical raised eyebrows while giving Stark and his wildly flailing arms a wide berth. Barnes expertly side-stepped around him to get to the sofa and, more importantly, the television.
“You have your own television on your own floor, Barnes! I know, because I designed that floor and I bought that TV,” Stark shouted from the kitchen, apparently taking a quick break to point out the obvious.
Barnes didn’t even bother answering, instead choosing to flip Stark’s massive TV on and watch Rumlow’s eyes widen in awe and fascination. The kid had obviously grown up with TV, probably seeing them in store fronts more than anywhere else, but the televisions of the eighties were a far cry from the televisions of now.
He watched Rumlow stare raptly at the cartoons on the screen for a few minutes before the novelty began to fade and Barnes grew bored. Bothering Stark was always an entertaining pastime, but when he finally stood up and wandered into the kitchen he found that Stark had disappeared, apparently moving his yelling and ranting off to another room.
Barnes settled at the table instead, flicking his fingers across his phone’s screen to check on a few things, with a lack of much else to do. Rumlow would be fine for a while on his own.
Besides, kids loved TV.
Little Brock Rumlow had never seen anything so cool in all his life. Sure, robot superheroes were pretty cool and all, and apparently he was living in the same building as the real Captain America, but those things lost their shine after a day or two. This TV was amazing: the cartoons were so bright and fast and he could sit there all day, just watching them.
This. Was. Awesome.
He was so entranced by the TV that it took him a stupid amount of time to realize that there was someone else in the room with him. During a commercial break, Brock glanced around the room and practically jumped right out of his skin when he saw a man sitting in an armchair not five feet from him.
That guy had to be super sneaky! He hadn’t even heard him come in!
The man was really scruffy looking, like he hadn’t been able to take real good care of himself in weeks. He had a short, scraggly beard that looked super prickly, and Brock really wanted to poke it to see for sure. He had funny looking scars on his face, one really bad one making it so his left eye always looked like it was squinting. He was wearing all black, a funny looking harness around his chest. And he was just sitting there, legs sprawled out in front of him, face blank and eyes dark, just staring at Rumlow. He wasn’t smiling but he wasn’t glaring, either; he was just sort of there, a befuddled sort of stupor to his face.
“Um,” Rumlow started, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, a feeling like pins and needles wrapping around him beneath that man’s dark stare. “Hi?”
The man didn’t say a word, or move, or really react in any way at all. Rumlow kept the guy in his peripheral as he turned back to the TV, his show back from the commercials now. “Have you seen this cartoon before? I know you’re a grown up, but sometimes grown ups like to watch cartoons, too.” Still nothing. That dark gaze wasn’t lifting so Rumlow sighed, scrunched himself up as small as he could, and tried to become one with the sofa. He tried to keep an eye on the guy but soon enough the show had piqued his interest again and it was hard to remember he was there what with him being so quiet and all.
When Barnes walked into the room a few minutes later, Rogers hot on his heels, the scary guy was gone. Rumlow’s face screwed up in surprise and he flipped himself up and over the back of the sofa, walking over warily until he was right next to the chair.
Barnes seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Rumlow and was instantly on high alert. “Hey, kid. What’s the problem?”
Rumlow frowned, his tiny face screwed up in a glare as his suspicious eyes flitted around the room. “There was a guy in here a few minutes ago, he just sat here and wouldn’t talk to me, and he looked really scary. I don’t know where he went, though. He was really, really quiet.”
Barnes straightened up, back ram rod straight as he started scoping out the room, too. Everyone with access to this floor knew who Rumlow was and had already met him. The kid should have recognized whoever it was, even if he didn’t know all of their names.
“JARVIS? Who was he talking to?”
There was no answer for a frightening amount of time, and then JARVIS’ voice came through the speakers, sounding uncertain. “My sensors have not picked up any other people with young Master Rumlow since you left the room, Sergeant Barnes.”
That didn’t sit well with Barnes at all. It also seemed to make Rumlow that much more frustrated. “Did somebody mess with your sensors, JARVIS? Could someone get around your cameras?”
“I do not believe so, sir, but I will run a full diagnostic right away.” Barnes came to stand beside Rumlow, a hand on his shoulder tugging him into his side.
“You okay, though, kid? He didn’t touch you or nothing, right?”
Rumlow rolled his eyes and shook his head, that tiny scowl making another reappearance. “Naw. He jus’ sat there and stared. Wouldn’t talk to me or nothin’.”
Barnes met Rogers’ eyes overtop the kid’s head and gave him a jerky nod, grim and determined. “I’ll let Tony know what happened,” Rogers said, practically sprinting from the room. Barnes stayed with Rumlow, one arm slung around his shoulders, the TV long forgotten in all the excitement.
“Is he a bad guy or something? Is that why everyone’s so freaked out?” Rumlow’s voice was tiny and muffled as he huddled there against Barnes’ side. He grabbed onto Barnes’ shirt, fisting a hand in the material and shoving his face into Barnes’ stomach.
“We don’t know,” Barnes admitted truthfully. “JARVIS should have video of him, though. It’s a little worrying that somebody was able to sneak up here without anybody seeing him. I mean, I was only in the kitchen; if anybody would have heard him moving around, it woulda been me.” Barnes was glaring now, too, angry at himself for putting the kid at risk.
He thought maybe he had been a stupidly overprotective big brother, back when it had mattered, but now he wondered if he had shirked his duties back then like he had just now. Would his sisters have clung to him like Rumlow was now, shaking because Barnes hadn’t done all he could to keep him safe?
“Okay,” Rumlow said, voice shaky and timid. “I mean,” he tried again, voice strengthening just a bit as he peeked up at Barnes, “He didn’t seem like a bad guy or nothin’. At least, I don’t think so. He just looked real tired, and dirty, and empty. And maybe like he wasn’t real sure why he was there, neither.”
“Alright, kid.” Barnes shoved an affectionate hand through the kid’s short hair, maybe a little rougher than necessary but he was still riding out the adrenaline rush. “Let’s forget about this shit for now. We’ll go do something fun, let Stark and Rogers deal with the searchin’. How about I show you the gym, huh?”
Rumlow didn’t look so sure, but he nodded along anyway, grabbing onto Barnes’ hand. Once they were down in the gym, his mood improved greatly. The kid hopped around, flinging himself from one thing to the next. When he found the bouncy balls, he practically fell over himself chasing after them.
Barnes hovered by the boxing ring, leaning against it with his arms crossed, keeping an eagle on the kid. He’d be damned if something like that happened again. About an hour later, Rogers popped up again, settling beside Barnes and copying his posture. “Tony says he’s taking a look at JARVIS’s code, and the security cameras, to see if they can catch any sign of this guy.”
“Good. Hopefully he can figure out who the hell it was, so I can bash his head in all proper-like.” Rogers was side-eying him hard and Barnes knew it, but he was goddamn pissed off. Barnes shuffled uncomfortably, inwardly groaning at himself. “Kid’s our responsibility. Somebody coulda hurt him real bad. I wanna know what this mystery man was doing up there, and how in the hell he got past all’a Stark’s damn security.”
“Tony had the security team check the whole building, but they didn’t find anybody suspicious. I don’t know what happened, Buck.”
They stood in silence again, just watching Rumlow run around the gym like the carefree kid he should have always been growing up. Rogers sighed and shifted from foot to foot, biting his lip before finally spitting it out. “I don’t wanna start no fights, Buck, but do you think Brock could be lying?”
He flinched before Barnes even opened his mouth. “I can tell when people are fucking lying, Rogers, and that kid isn’t. He was way too confused about why we were freaking out to have made it up. He doesn’t understand what this means. He just thinks some weird guy that wouldn’t talk to him showed up, sat down, and then disappeared.”
“Alright, Buck. I hear you.” They fell into silence again until Rogers tried for a joke, attempting to cut down on the tension quickly suffocating them. “You know,” he started, glancing over at Barnes, “I was reading up on parenting and shit before all this happened. All the books and websites say you should limit TV time, makes kids stupid or something.”
It was silent for all of five seconds before Barnes started chuckling into his chest, chin tucked down against his sternum to hide the grin. “Then what’s your goddamn excuse, huh? We certainly didn’t have TV as kids, and look what happened to you.” Rogers punched him in the arm, a wide smile on his face all the same, apparently happy to take the ribbing if it meant that the tension had faded away.
Rumlow popped up then, still keeping Rogers at a good healthy distance. Why the kid had latched onto Barnes and not Rogers’ star spangled ass was beyond them both. “Mr. Barnes,” the kid asked, voice sweet as sugar, “can you play wit’ me?” He looked nervous about it, like he wasn’t so sure Barnes would say yes.
The kid apparently hadn’t caught on yet just what Barnes would put up with to see his damn smile light up his wee little face.
Probably safest to keep it that way.
Barnes glanced over at Rogers and gave the other man a big, mean smirk. “Sure thing, kid. Whaddaya wanna play, hmm?”
Rumlow’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning and Barnes gave him his best imitation, stretching his lips up as much as he could. It was still hard to smile some days. Rumlow reached out to grab Barnes’ hand and made to tug, but then he turned around and glanced up at Rogers, too.
“Would you like to play too, Mr. Captain America?” He was biting his lip, uncertain once again, but Rogers gave him an ‘aww shucks’ look back, scuffing his foot against the floor with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“If that’s okay with you, Brock. What are we gonna play, kiddo?”
Rumlow smiled big and excited back, reaching out to grab onto Rogers’ hand, too. He then proceeded to drag them to the other side of the gym and show them his favorite games set up there.
Shortly after that, they realized just how light Rumlow really was, as they spent the next half hour playing catch with the kid, literally. Barnes had thought it would be funny to toss the kid at Rogers when he hadn’t been expecting it, and they just hadn’t stopped. The kid was having the time of his life, looking close to pissing himself with laughter more than once.
“What. The. Hell.” Someone was shouting at them and Rogers froze mid-toss, face guilty as fuck, Rumlow dangling precariously from his hands. “Rogers. Drop that kid right now. No one would ever trust me with a child but even I know you don’t just toss them around like a baseball!”
Stark stomped down from the stairs and down to the gym floor, giving Rogers a severely disappointed glare. Rogers slowly lowered the giggling boy to the ground, taking a step back and shoving his hands behind his back.
“It wasn’t my idea! Bucky started it!”
Stark just stared at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow when Rogers just stood there. “And how old are we, grandpa? You’re really going to use the ‘I didn’t do it’ excuse?” When Rogers didn’t do anything but blush, Stark seemed willing to cut his losses and just give in. “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t, really. I just came here to tell you the tyke’s room is all made up. Thought he would wanna go check it out.”
Rumlow, already red faced and energetic from the game, was now practically vibrating in place. “Really? Wow! Please?” he screeched, turning on Barnes like it was his decision. “Please, Mr. Barnes! Can we?”
Barnes rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, kid.” Rumlow was back to holding his hand, and Barnes would have been annoyed if it wasn’t so goddamn cute. The kid led them back to the elevator and shimmied in place, squirming in excitement. “How’d you know what to get for a kid, anyway?” Barnes asked, looking over his shoulder to glance at Stark.
“I’m not an idiot, Barnes. It’s honestly not that difficult.” When Barnes and Rogers both gave him identical ‘are you shitting me right now’ looks, Stark practically pouted, instead choosing to glare down at his phone like this was all its fault. “Okay, so maybe JARVIS gave me a list of the basics and I expanded off of it, alright? Happy now?”
The elevator spit them out on their floor. They had just been using a spare bedroom for the kid, and Rumlow tore off down the hall to get there first. Stark followed him, easily shoving the door open for the kid to peek inside before going back to his phone. Stark’s ears flared bright red when he heard Rumlow’s pterodactyl screech of joy as the kid dive bombed into his room.
“Wow!” he shouted when he finally came up for air, swiveling his head wildly to take it all in. The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars, there was a tiny little bed just big enough for Rumlow, and books and toys scattered everywhere. “This is all for me?”
He whirled around, looking to Stark for an answer. Stark glanced up from his phone just long enough to give a jerky little nod, shifting around uncomfortably when Rogers and Barnes turned to look at him, too. “Everything you could possibly need. If you think of anything else, I can always have JARVI-oof!” Stark nearly toppled over when Rumlow tackled his legs, latching on and squeezing for all he was worth.
“Thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you! I never had my own room before. Or so many toys! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He gave him one more good squeeze before jumping back into his treasure trove. Stark still looked a little uncomfortable, but at least he had a little smirk tugging at his lips now.
“Oh, give in. The kid’s getting to you and you know it,” Barnes teased, rolling his eyes at Stark’s antics. Stark gave him his most offended look, puffing himself up like a freakin’ peacock.
“No. The kid’s just polite, unlike some people. I was just shocked at the thank you. I never get any gratitude in this building, I swear!” he grumbled, taking the chance to leave while he could, muttering to himself as he dived back into his phone and stomped off. Barnes and Rogers watched him go before turning back to Rumlow, who was now gleefully rolling around in a pile of stuffed animals.
“How the hell is Tony so good with him?” Rogers asked, sounding shocked and confused and just a little jealous.
Barnes just shrugged, not willing to touch that mess with a ten foot pole.
“This day has been crazy, and it’s not even noon yet,” Rogers grumbled, shaking his head. Barnes hummed noncommittedly, rolling his shoulders to get rid of some of the tension gathering there. The man wasn’t wrong, it had been pretty stressful, but it could have been way worse.
They could have a had a dead kid on their hands, or a kidnapped one. Might have had a concussed one, too, now that he thought harder about their little game of catch.
Yeah, that probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to do.
“We’re gonna get that damn kid dead,” Barnes remarked placidly, staring at Rumlow with vacant eyes. “What the hell do we think we’re doing with a kid, again?”
“Buck. You’re the one that wanted to keep him around. You said it yourself, we’re either gonna fix him or figure it out. I’m sure we can try to get in touch with someone. I mean, somebody has to know what the hell happened. It just might take a while.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Barnes grumbled, but that did help, at least a little bit. He turned to watch the kid instead of thinking about what was going to happen next. The kid was so damn happy and carefree that he was difficult to reconcile with the man he had grown up to be. There was very little of this child in the Hydra agent Barnes and Rogers had known.
Barnes frowned, growling lowly to himself; since when did he give a shit about Rumlow. This wasn’t going to end in anything but fire and pain; it was stupid to get so attached to the kid. But then the damn boy would look up at him with that big smile and those cute little dimples, and Barnes knew he was a goner.
He was screwed, and he knew it.
Was it bad that Barnes almost hoped they couldn’t find a way to change the bastard back? Baby Rumlow was much better company than Grown Up Asshole Rumlow, anyway. Surely nobody would miss him.
Right?