Hey, Asshole! A New York City Love story

Bucky's running late for the bus and he's stuck in line behind some ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio bastard who's too busy flirting with the baristas to get his frickin' order in. After he tells the dude off, completely in his rights he feels, the damn oversized puppy-faced ass keeps following him around and trying to apologize. And okay, dude is hot like burnin', but Bucky just doesn't have the time or patience for soothing the wounded ego of some gymrat wannabe with an obsession for dressing like he's hiding from the mob and .... why are you laughing, Sam?

Notes:

This is my first foray into writing ANYTHING in the MCU fandom, even though I've been guzzling down first Stony and then Stucky stories ever since the movies blessed us with their presence. Modern!Bucky (shrunkyclunks) is my JAM, so I figured I would begin here first.
Please be aware that I love to combine humor with angst... and this story is a good combo of both. :)
Also... foul language abounds. (If the title didn't already tip you off.)
Possible Triggery things:
Bucky lost his arm, but he chooses not to wear a prosthetic. He's pretty well-adjusted to having the only one arm at this point in his life. But he's not quite ready to return to being a working member of society. He has issues / insecurities about the way people see him now. I don't delve too far into that, however, this is mostly a lighthearted fic.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He glances down at the watch on his right wrist for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Amazingly it still reports that it’s 8:05 am, even though Bucky’s pretty sure that it’s said that time the last three impatient glances he gave the damn thing.

“Fuck.”

There’s a soft *tsk* of disapproval from the woman behind him in line, but really, ‘fuck’ is a pretty damn accurate descriptor of his morning at this point. If he can’t get his coffee in the next five minutes he’s going to miss the bus he needs and then it’ll be a forty-five minute wait in the cold and rain for the next one.

With a groan of irritation, he shifts the bag strapped across his chest into a more comfortable position for rooting around and unzips the front pocket to dig out his wallet for his card. The bag cuts across his chest diagonally from his left shoulder down to just above his right hip, worn canvas that used to be dark green, but currently is a soft faded olive. All the zippers are orientated for his right hand and the damn thing is a godsend that he couldn’t live without. Most people wouldn’t think about how difficult it is to keep shit in your pockets when only the ones on the right are easily accessible.

Every once in a while some shmuck will give him shit about his man-purse, to which Bucky will usually reply with a scathing retort about the asshole’s delicate sexuality and where he can shove it, completely literally .

He glances down at his watch again. 8:06 am. Are you fucking serious right now? He decides to glare at the single customer in front of him that’s keeping him from placing his order. The shoulder to waist ratio of this dickhead is ridiculous. The pale blue cloth of this dude’s t-shirt looks like it’s begging to be put out of its misery. The poor thing is even tucked into jeans, for fuck’s sake, with a plain brown leather belt that doesn’t appear to be necessary considering how tight the things are. And hey, that’s a great ass… too bad it’s so busy keeping Bucky from his damn coffee.

A nervous giggling suddenly splits through his irritation, and he peeks around Mr. 4-foot-shoulder-span to glance at the gaggle of baristas behind the counter. What the fuck? None of them appear to be working. All three mid-20-something girls and just standing there smiling and blushing at he of the Dorito chip proportions in front of Bucky. Is this dude seriously just holding up the whole damn line flirting and not placing his damn order? Hell no. Not on Bucky’s time.

“Hey, asshole! Would you mind knocking off all the damn flexing and place your order already? Judging by the ridiculous width of your shoulders I’m sure your pecs are impressive and all, but some of us are on a damn time schedule here.”

There’s a startled gasp and instant silence from everyone in the surrounding area. Gymrat wannabe actually whips around towards Bucky. He’s got a plain navy baseball cap covering his hair and dark aviator sunglasses masking his eyes. There’s a cute little flush of pink across his cheeks, and yeah, okay gals, Bucky gets it… Gymrat is smokin’ … but time and place, ladies… really. The baristas are still just open-mouth gaping at Bucky in shock, but Gymrat actually starts to stutter an apology.

“I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I don’t...”

Bucky sighs. Dude’s gotta nice voice, and he sounds sincere and all… but Bucky just doesn’t have the TIME.

“Look pal, no harm done… but I got about three minutes until I’m going to miss my bus and I’d really like some freakin’ coffee, okay?”

Gymrat nods quickly, his eyes skittering over Bucky’s face and then down to the empty pinned sleeve where his left arm used to be, and freezes. He swallows visibly and his full pink lips turn down in a pouting moue. Oh, here we go … Bucky knows exactly where this is going.

“I’m so sorry. Order what you want. It’s on me. I… I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

Bucky reflexively tenses and he can feel the glare he’s sending the other man harden.

“I don’t need you to do anything besides get out of my way. I’m missing an arm, I’m not missing a pension. So, do you mind?”

Gymrat shakes his head and steps to the side, gesturing for Bucky to step up to the counter. The three baristas are still staring at him in shock. He glances at the nametag for the girl manning the cashier.

“Hi Stacey, can I just get a large black drip to go, please? Fast as you can poor it?”

She nods absently, glancing between Bucky and Gymrat off to the side as she rings him up and runs his card. As she’s handing him his receipt, she glances at the other man again before meeting Bucky’s eyes and lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Um… you know you just-”

Bucky tries his sweetest smile and interrupts her.

“I’m really sorry, but I really do need to go quickly.”

She blinks at him for a second before turning to hussle one of the other baristas into getting his coffee quickly. Bucky steps to the side out of the line to wait, and Gymrat takes a step closer to him. Great.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m sorry if you thought I did.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath as he reaches for the coffee the barista is handing over the counter. Apparently Gymrat is actually Golden Boy, huh? Just what Bucky needs when he’s short on sleep, under-caffeinated, and running late.

“No sweat, Boy Scout.”

He turns and starts to quickly evacuate the situation, trots out the door towards the bus stop on the corner. He can sense the massive presence still at his side and screams internally.

“Please, just let me apologize.”

Before Bucky can even take a breath to get the dude to back off, his eyes catch on the bus stop at the corner, and his bus… which is beginning to pull away.

“OH NO NO NO!!!”

He breaks into a sprint and tries to keep the coffee from spilling out of the spout at the same time. By the time he reaches the stop, however, the bus is too far away for the driver to see him and he’s officially fucked.

“DAMMIT! DAMMIT! SHIT!”

He almost slams his coffee into the ground in frustration before he realizes, hell no, he missed his bus for this damn coffee… he’s going to drink every fucking drop. And it better be the best damn coffee he’s ever tasted. When he groans in frustration and turns around to sit and wait at the bus stop, he realizes that Mr. Gymrat Golden Boy is standing there watching him and shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Um…”

Bucky lets his head drop, chin to his chest, for a handful of seconds before taking a deep breath and straightening back up to meet the gaze of the man mountain before him… who has apparently taken off his aviators and is twirling them nervously around in his hands.

Huh. Yeah, okay. Bucky gets the barista’s reaction, really. This dude is absolutely gorgeous, with a classically beautiful boy-next-door sorta face. A voice in his head (that sounds eerily similar to his VA buddy Sam) says “NOICE” including the vocally suggested finger gun motions. Bucky lets out a breath in a long, stress-relieving whistle.

“Pal, I ain’t a charity case, and I ain’t pissed at you for making me miss my bus, so can we just quit while we’re ahead? You go on your way and I’ll sit here for forty-five minutes drinking my coffee until the next bus arrives and then will attempt to go on with the rest of my day. You’re mighty pretty to look at, but I’m afraid I just ain’t in the mood for company at the minute.”

He turns to take a seat at the bus stop, not surprised in the slightest when he hears the soft footfalls follow him over. When he sits on the bench and takes his first cautious sip of coffee, he spares a glance in Gymrat’s direction, and wants to smile at the blush that’s radiating across the other man’s face. The man was utterly ridiculous… really.

“I… yeah, okay. I just wanted to say sorry. I really didn’t mean to-”

“For fuck’s sake, I accept your apology, Mr. Boy Scout! Now will you leave me alone?”

After a few seconds, the stunned look drops off the other man’s face and is replaced by a wicked little smirk that, unfairly, makes the man about ten times better looking. Really, really not fucking fair. When he speaks again, there’s a heavier New York lilt to his voice that works obscenely well with his looks, Jesus Christ.

“You really are an asshole, you know that? And my name is Steve… not Boy Scout or whatever other insulting things you’ve probably been calling me in your head.”

Bucky snorts and takes another sip of his, admittedly pretty damn good, coffee.

“Takes an asshole to know an asshole, Mr. Asshole. Now get outta my face.”

Bucky makes sure to soften the words with a genuine smile for the guy. Steve. Jesus it fits him. Couldn’t be more all-American if he tried. Despite his crappy morning, he still isn’t going to be a complete jerk to someone with a body and face like that. He’s pretty sure all-American Steve isn’t interested… but it didn’t hurt not to destroy all your chances at once.

Finally, with one more sexy little smirk tossed over his shoulder, Steve slips his aviators back on and makes his way back up the street to the coffee shop. Bucky indulges in watching the man walk away for a minute, damn , then settles down to wait for the next bus.

~*~

A couple days later, Bucky walks back in the doors of the coffee shop where his meeting with Steve had taken place. He uses the excuse that it was on the way to the bus stop, and the easiest place to get his caffeine fix… but that doesn’t stop him from immediately glancing around the joint for a wide set of shoulders. Sadly, no luck on that front, but hey, that pretty much showed the kind of luck Bucky had been blessed with his whole life. (By that he means none. No luck.)

When he steps up to the counter the same barista, Stacey, is working the cash register. He gives her his biggest grin, since he still feels guilty for being an ass the other day, and her eyes widen dramatically when she sees him.

“Oh! It’s you! I told him that you weren’t a regular, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back in.”

A funny little fluttering starts up in Bucky’s belly, but he shoots that shit down.

“Yeah? Who?”

Stacey swallows and shares a strange kind of look with her coworker at the espresso machine.

“Um… St-Steve?”

The grin that splits his face comes completely unbidden, but it is sorta nice that Mr. Golden Boy had been looking for him. Makes a guy feel all twitterpated.

“Oh? What did that asshole have to say for himself?”

Both baristas openly gape at his words and keep trading looks that he can’t decipher. Stacey actually lets out a series of nervous giggles as she picks up a cup and turns towards her coworker.

“Black drip, Marty.”

Huh. Okay. Bucky zips open the front pocket on his bag to pull out his wallet and lays it on the counter to maneuver out his card. When he tries to hand it to Stacey, though, she just shakes her head and takes a step back. She pulls a gift card out from a cubby beside the cash register and tilts it forward so he could read the words written in black marker across the front.

FOR THE ONE-ARMED ASSHOLE is neatly scripted out in blocky letters. For a second Bucky’s brain just completely shorts out at the fucking nerve of the dude… but then a snort explodes from him and he finds himself cackling like mad. That’s some true New York level of passive aggressive retaliation right there. He’s actually pretty impressed. Stacey eyes him nervously after his outburst, but runs the card through the machine to pay for his drink before tucking it back into the cubby.

“Do I want to know how much he loaded on that thing?”

Stacey shakes her head and reaches behind her for his large coffee. When she scoots it across the counter towards him, Bucky puts away his wallet, but then an idea gives him pause and he turns back to Stacey.

“Can I leave him a message? You got a marker and a cup I could write on?”

The two baristas actually exchange grins before Stacey hands him a large to go cup and roots around for a black sharpie. As Bucky writes his message on the cup he whispers to his co-conspirators.

“Okay, so when he comes back, use this cup and pay for it with my gift card, I want you to make the most disgustingly sweet concoction you can come up with, but don’t tell him what it is. I expect a full report back on his reaction.”

Leaving the cup behind with the giggling baristas, Bucky snatches his coffee up and makes his way out to the bus stop, a full ten minutes early, mind you. Whoever the hell this Steve character is, he is definitely a breath of fresh air in the epically shitty life Bucky has suffered through the last couple years.

~*~

When he finally makes it into the VA later that morning, Bucky is probably in the best mood that he’s been in for years. He hums some stupid top 40s song under his breath that’s been stuck in his head for days as he tucks away his bag in Sam’s desk and walks across the hall to start putting out the chairs for the daily meetings. Sam is standing in the corner on his phone rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

“If this is your idea of entertainment, you definitely need to get out more. Yeah, yeah… oh, trust me, I get it… he sounds like a absolute charmer.”

Bucky catches Sam’s attention for a second and raises his cup of coffee in a salute. Sam starts to smile before suddenly freezing, eyes going wide as he looks between Bucky and the coffee cup. Bucky tilts his head in query, but Sam quickly swishes his hand towards the chairs and then starts to walk out of the room toward his office. His voice, much more amused now, floats softly after him as he goes.

“I hear you man. I’ve changed my mind. You two jerks sound like you’re meant to be. Uh huh. Oh yeah… I believe it.”

Bucky snorts at Sam’s hasty exit before he puts his coffee down on the podium, and starts the slow task of pulling the chairs off the rack one by one and setting them up. It always takes a lot of maneuvering and the clever use of his knees to get it all done one handed, but he’d learned how to manage it the last couple years. No one was ever going to say that Bucky Barnes was a quitter. Fuck no. He’s come through too much bullshit all on his own throughout his life. Losing a fucking arm to an IED in a war he didn’t even really support wasn’t going to break him.

In his periphery, he watches as Sam comes back into the room with a stack of pamphlets that he drops off at the podium before moving to help Bucky finish up placing the chairs in rows. Sam is a fairly new recruit to this VA. He’d come over from Washington about a year before and his sense of humor and openness had won Bucky over pretty quickly. It isn’t like Bucky is drowning in friends. There are people that he speaks to occasionally. And he has his sister Becca, but she’s on the other side of the country with her own family and problems, so they never really see each other, and speak on the phone maybe a couple times a year. It’s lonely, but it’s his life… so what the hell. He’s making the most of it.

“So how you been, Barnes? Anything new with you?”

Bucky grunts before dropping another chair in place and turns to grin in Sam’s direction.

“Does anything new ever happen to me? Your fuckin’ jokin’ right, Wilson?”

Sam smiles wide and shrugs his shoulders.

“Dunno. Could happen. Figured I should ask.”

With a soft chuckle under his breath, Bucky walks back over to his coffee and knocks back the last of it with a couple quick gulps. He tosses the empty cup in the trash by the door before walking over to give the other man a soft knock to the shoulder with his fist.

“I’m the most boring motherfucker you know, don’t lie.”

Sam practically cackles but then holds his hands up in defeat.

“You have NO idea how true that is, Barnes. But talk to me. Been a couple days. How’s things?”

Bucky shrugs with his good shoulder before plopping gracelessly down into one of the empty chairs.

“Good, I guess. Tried to get in touch with some of the guys from my unit the other day to hang out, didn’t have any luck. Thought about getting a part-time job at the bodega under my apartment, but I’m not sure if I’m fit for public consumption yet. Or, I guess, the stupidity of consumers more like. Met a really gorgeous asshole the other day, though. That was nice.”

Sam laughs and sits backwards on the chair one row up from Bucky’s.

“Oh yeah? Tell me about that. Sounds like a good story.”

Bucky grins.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Thought he was a gymrat douchebag at first, but nah… just a snarky little shit. Well… not little. Dude was built like a tank. Pretty hot. Probably a fuckboi, though. Definitely straight. So I’m keeping my expectations pretty low.”

When he glances back up to Sam, the other man looks like he’s barely holding back laughing his ass off. He actually appears to be biting his lower lip hard enough to break skin.

“You got a problem, Wilson?”

Sam clears his throat loudly before shaking his head and standing up.

“Nope. Not at all. Just questioning the strength of my moral compass. But hey, man, you never know. He might not actually be as un-interested as you think. Any chance you’re gonna run into him again?”

Bucky grunts a non-committal answer before he moves to stand as well. It’s about time for people to start wandering in for the pre-meeting coffee and snacks. He needs to get to the kitchen to help get some stuff together. Sam smiles at him one last time before patting Bucky on the back softly a couple times in friendly reassurance. Bucky really does like the dude a lot.

~*~

It’s been about four days since he’d left his little trap for Steve the Asshole, but Bucky hadn’t had the time in the morning to stop by the coffee shop to check in on if his message had even been received. Sam had been called away for some kind of business trip or other, and that had left Bucky with twice as many responsibilities at the VA. He’s spending most of his time there at this point, and is barely making his buses in the morning, so coffee hasn’t been on the menu lately.

This particular morning he’s booking it right past the shop at top speed, because he can already see the bus pulling up at the stop. He should have plenty of time to make it though. Or, he would have… but then some young punk shithead who apparently assumes that he has priority on the sidewalk above all else, and everyone should just MOVE out of his way, clips Bucky hard on his bad shoulder. It’s pretty obviously on purpose. The hit spins Bucky enough that he loses his balance and goes down pretty hard. He manages to keep his head from cracking on the sidewalk, but the landing still steals the air right out of his lungs and he needs to just… stay there… for a minute. Yeah. Lying on the ground. Good stuff.

There’s an angry shout from very close by, and when he manages to look up, Steve the Asshole actually has the little punk that hit him in his clutches. He’s… holy fuck… he’s got him by the back of his jacket and is actually… holding him up in the air completely off the ground. Yowsa… that’s actually… pretty fucking hot. Steve shakes the kid, who looks a strange combination of mortified and awestruck. They’re having a mumbled conversation, but Bucky’s brains are still a little scrambled from the tumble, so he misses whatever they’re saying. When Steve drops the kid a moment later, the punk immediately turns to Bucky, apologizes, and then runs. The fuck. Away.

Huh.

Not that Bucky blames him.

“Are you okay?”

At this point it’s sorta embarrassing to realize that you’re still laying on the ground like a sack of dropped groceries while Mr. Hot Piece of Ass has just defended your honor and is currently standing over you looking like a very concerned Golden Retriever in human form. Bucky can only really respond with a grunt though, as he really isn’t too sure on his current state. The air is finally making its way back into his lungs, but everything from his back to his knees is feeling that damn fall with extreme prejudice.

Steve offers up a hand, and Bucky grasps it. Probably not surprisingly at this point, the other man pulls him carefully to his feet with what seems like very little effort. After Bucky is steady on his feet, Steve’s free hand is suddenly at the back of his head stroking through his hair to feel along his scalp. Holy fucknuts. Not fair.

“Did you hit your head?”

Bucky pulls away a few feet to add a little distance between them. Both of Steve’s hands remain reaching out towards him for a couple seconds before they drop back to his sides. Bucky clears his throat softly as he reaches back to massage his tailbone, which is currently aching like hell.

“Nah. Head’s okay. Just everything else that hurts.”

Steve visibly struggles with what to do with his hands for a couple seconds before he stuffs them in the pockets of his jeans. Bucky finds it ridiculously endearing. This jerk is just trying to be the perfect man in existence. What the fuck. Not fucking fair. So says James Buchanan Barnes.

“You’re sure you’re okay, though? Nothing busted or bleeding?”

Giving the other man a small smirk, Bucky pointedly rubs at his tailbone.

“Only my ass, Steve. You gonna kiss it and make it better?”

The other man laughs, but there’s definitely a tint of pink flushing across his cheeks. And whaddaya know? Bucky might actually have a chance here. He turns to the bus stop to watch his bus pull away and sighs, letting his shoulders drop in defeat.

“That’s the second bus I’ve made you miss, I think. You gotta let me give you a ride or something this time.”

Bucky snorts before returning his gaze to the good looking bastard.

“Pretty sure it was that little dick-nugget that made me miss it this time. Not you.”

Steve blinks a couple times before he snorts. (It doesn’t even detract from the attractiveness. Fucker.)

“Dick-nugget? That’s… That’s definitely a new one to me.”

Bucky laughs and shifts his bag back around from where it’s been moved out of place.

“Always happy to broaden someone’s vocabulary. Although I’m pretty sure that’s a Barnes original. So you’re offering me a ride, huh? I don’t see anything around to be used as a proper chariot for one such as Steve the Golden Boy.”

Steve smiles softly and ducks his head a little in what appears to be embarrassment, and it’s fucking precious. Dammit. Bucky is pretty sure he’s grown ovaries just for the explicit purpose of them exploding at this very moment. This asshole is going to kill him. Well. Him… and his previous point of view that he was perfectly fine with being alone for the rest of his life. Now he wants wants wants… and this gorgeous asshole’s responses make him think that he might be able to have have have. Which is kinda terrifying. Fuck.

His train of thought is interrupted by Steve’s voice.

“I, uh, I have a motorcycle around the block. I’d be happy to drop you off somewhere.”

This time it’s Bucky that snorts loudly, but he’s pretty sure he isn’t half as attractive at it as Steve is.

“Yeah. No. I’ve lost enough limbs for one lifetime. Not up to adding brain trauma to the list either.”

He turns to start walking towards the coffee shop and Steve falls right into pace beside him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a great driver. The bike is only as dangerous as the user.”

Bucky very obviously eyes the other man up and down before speaking.

“I’d say that makes it pretty dangerous indeed.”

The cute pink blush is back across Steve’s cheeks and Bucky could die. He steps up to the coffee shop, and Steve is suddenly in front of him opening the door for him and stepping aside. Bucky glares at the other man, but Steve just shrugs his shoulders sheepishly and gestures for Bucky to lead the way. Chivalrous bastard. There’s a not-so-quiet gasp of surprise from the counter, and when he turns towards the cashier… it’s Stacey. Her eyes are flicking between him and Steve, and there is a wide excited smile on her face. Her gaze settles on Steve, and he shakes his head at her, which makes the smile dim a little… and what the fuck was that.

But Bucky decides to ignore the weirdness and approaches the counter to order.

“Hi again. Mission report?”

The girl smiles and flushes as she glances past him to Steve.

“M-mission successful. Totally caught off guard. His face was amazing.”

Bucky can’t help but cackle and turn to smile at Steve, who was in the middle of rolling his eyes in a super exaggerated way, like the sarcastic shit he obviously was. (To Bucky’s absolute delight.) Steve crosses his arms across his massive chest… and that poor t-shirt’s seams had to be screaming under the strain.

“Ha ha. Yeah. Real funny. ‘As black as your soul, as sweet as your ass’... really. You could be a poet.”

“You know it.”

Bucky returns his quip with the most devious smirk he can imagine. Before turning back towards the barista and requesting his usual black drip. She smiles at him, flushes a little in Steve’s general direction (what the hell?)... and then uses that damn gift card next to the register to pay for him. Surprisingly, once Bucky has grabbed his coffee and turned to go, Steve doesn’t even order anything… just follows dutifully behind him towards the door. The previous glare Bucky had given him seems to stop him from jumping forward to open the door, so Bucky turns to push it open with his back. The trouble with this course of action, is that it has him staring directly into Steve’s eyes again. The other man is smiling happy and Bucky feels his ghost ovaries clench again. This bastard.

When he’s out on the street, Bucky immediately starts walking towards the bus stop.

“I guess that’s a definitive ‘no’ on the ride, then, huh?”

There’s a smirk on his lips when he takes the first cautious sip of the coffee.

“Lemme paint a story for you, Stevie-”

He turns just in time to catch the look of disbelief and almost pleased fondness on the other man’s face from the nickname.

“-imagine, if you will… a man with only one arm. And a very large, very hot, cuppa’ coffee riding on the back of a two-wheeled death machine. How would you suppose that would go, eh?”

Steve snorts playfully and he pulls up beside Bucky, close enough that their shoulders brush, and proceeds to make everyone on the sidewalk… move out of the way. By his sheer presence alone. In New York. Bucky is in awe. And perhaps a little smitten. Well… a little MORE smitten than he already was.

“You didn’t have the coffee when I offered you the ride.”

Bucky responds with a dramatically fake gasp.

“Didn’t I? Well, whaddya know? It’s almost like I was trying to find a way not to have to accept an offer to climb on the back of a motorcycle with a man I don’t know.”

Infuriatingly, Steve scoots a few paces ahead and starts walking backwards in order to respond face to face. On a sidewalk. In New York City, Bucky would like to reiterate. And people just… part like the fucking Red Sea and get out of his way. This asshole has some kinda supernatural power. Bucky’s like… 99.9% sure of it.

“How much more would you need to know me to take a ride with me, then?”

Bucky huffs as he sips his coffee again. He’s riding in the wake of Steve’s massive crowd-parting magic. It’s pretty swell not getting smacked into with a full cup of coffee… for once.

“Hmm… depends, I guess. Where exactly would we be riding to? My work isn’t far enough away to justify the effort, really.”

Steve, still walking backwards, smiles wide and bright.

“Okay. How ‘bout somewhere else, then? Around the city? Or to the beach? Or something?”

Bucky actually freezes in his tracks. Crowded sidewalk be damned, because… because… this sounds like something is happening here. Holy shit. This sounds like date… date-ish… things. Stuffs. What the everloving fuck? Is this gorgeous piece of Grade A actually interested? In a beat-up, beat-down, disabled Vet? Really? Something has to be wrong with the man. Bucky just doesn’t get this lucky. But still… he smiles his most charming smile, the one that always served him well when he was younger.

“Oh yeah, Stevie? Your choice. Where you wanna take me?”

Steve’s face flushes bright pink in an instant and fuck yeah… you still got it Barnes .

“Um… I’ve been meaning to go check out the High Line for a while. There’s supposedly some really great street art and all sorts of vendors and things. Would that be… I mean… would you be interested in coming along?”

Bucky takes a long drink from his coffee cup, just to keep Steve hanging. It’s pretty obvious what he’s doing, and Steve actually ends up rolling his eyes even though he’s still grinning and blushing like a porcelain doll. Oh man. Bucky is gonna tear this man apart. And love every minute of it. Finally he pulls the cup away, licks the coffee from his bottom lip… oh yeah, I see you looking, Stevie … and pulls another slow smile.

“Yeah. That sounds like fun. I might take you up on that offer.”

Steve grins.

“Yeah?”

And Bucky mirrors it back.

“Yeah. Gimme your phone, ya putz.”

Steve laughs as he reaches towards his back pocket, and it’s one of those open… genuine… made of fucking sunshine laughs. And look… Bucky can already tell he’s screwed here… it’d be awfully great of whoever is listening if they let this work out. Cuz… DAMN. Bucky needs a break. And maybe a friend. And he wouldn’t be averse to a nice slow bone. It’d be really awesome if Steve could provide at least two of the aforementioned.

Once he’s unlocked his phone, and holy shit it’s some fancy ass Stark phone that Bucky’s never seen before, Steve delicately removes the offered coffee cup from Bucky’s hand and replaces it with the phone. There are no buttons. It’s basically a metal border with some sort of thick glass inside that has a simulated surface of a phone made out of light on it.

“What the hell, Steve?”

There’s a nervous laugh before Steve steps up super close.

“Sorry, yeah… it’s … um… new contact.”

There’s a soft beep and the image on the glass changes to an input contact screen.

“Say your name.”

Bucky glances up to meet the other man’s gaze for a second before he looks back down at the phone.

“Bucky Barnes.”

The screen trills and his name appears. The cursor moves to the number section, so Bucky recites his cell phone off as he watches the images change. Steve clears his throat and then says ‘save’ softly. The screen acknowledges and then blinks away to the home screen. When Bucky meets Steve’s gaze again he raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is a clear question to the other man. Indeed, Steve shrugs at him.

“I… I work with Stark. Industries. Kind of.”

Bucky gives him an appraising look for a second, wondering how much truth there is hidden behind that statement. But it’s really not any of his business… Yet. He’s just getting to know the guy after all. Once they’ve swapped the phone for the coffee once again, Bucky turns to start back towards his bus stop. The next bus should be arriving soon. Steve follows along beside him… Which is starting to become habit, apparently.

“Well there you go, mister golden boy. You’ve got my digits… we’ll see what you do with them, huh?”

He grins and Steve returns it with an little shrug.

“Can I text you? Would you mind?”

Bucky winks at him.

“Text away, Stevie. No unsolicited dick pics, please, but anything else is fair game.”

The fact that such a large and intimidating man can flush so quickly and often as Steve does, makes Bucky really really happy for some strange reason. It’s just such an endearing quality for a man mountain to have.

“I would never- do people actually really do that?”

Bucky’s response is cut short by the air brakes of his bus pulling up at the stop. He does send a dirty grin Steve’s way as he picks up his pace.

“Talk to ya later, Stevie!”

Once he’s scanned his card and settled into a seat, Bucky takes a moment to glance back where he’d left Steve… only to find the man still standing in the same spot and watching him. He raises a hand to wave when he realizes Bucky’s noticed him, and Jesus H. Christ… Bucky is so so so screwed. This adorable fucker doesn’t play fair.

Still. He sticks his coffee between his thighs so that he can wave back. Like a dork. When he turns forward again, there’s a woman sitting facing him in a seat who’s 90 years old if she’s a day… grinning and waggling her painted on eyebrows at him.

“That’s a heck of a man there, son.”

Bucky snorts.

“You’re tellin’ me, ma’am.”

~*~

Later that same day, while Bucky is cleaning up the meeting room at the VA, his phone chimes with a text message alert. His gut clenches in excitement. Texts to his phone are so few and far between… he’s pretty sure he knows who it is.

Hi. Is this okay? Oh. This is Steve by the way.

Bucky can’t stop the huge grin that splits his face, but also… he just can’t help himself with his answer, either.

Hi, Steve-by-the-way. This is Bucky. ;P

My friend says that’s a dad joke? And that you should be ashamed of yourself.

Oh, Mr. Golden Boy. I live happily shameless. And yes, you texting me is perfectly fine. That’s generally what happens when you get someone’s digits. Unless you’re not actually interested.

I’m interested. :)

Bucky sucks in a quick breath when that last text appears and manfully tries not to wiggle in place like an over-excited puppy. He turns to leave the room and startles violently when he finds Sam leaning against the doorway watching him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“JESUSFUCK!”

“Nice to see you, too, Sergeant Hot Lips.”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard they actually hurt.

“Okay, first… you’ve clearly been spending too much time with M*A*S*H reruns… and second… I have no idea why you keep calling me that.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest and smirks.

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky rolls his head and shoulders in a way that hopefully expresses his view on Sam’s ridiculousness, then he turns back to the chairs he was folding up and quickly shoves his phone in his pocket. He ignores Sam’s constant stare for the two minutes it takes to fold up the remaining six chairs before he finally turns to glare at the other man and huff.

“WHAT?”

With a tilt of his head that reads as the judgiest of judgy ever, Sam answers in his calmest, smarmiest tone of voice.

“Who ya’ textin’, Barnes?”

Bucky glares as he walks past to go retrieve his bag from Sam’s office. Sam follows him. Because of course he does.

“That wouldn’t happen to be from some… what did you call him? The sexy asshole? I mean, you had a smile on your face that some might have called… besotted. Are you besotted, Barnes? Is your heart all aflutter?”

Grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Bucky pauses when his phone chimes two more times with text alerts. The smile on Sam’s face somehow manages to grow bigger and he raises his eyebrows slowly. He looks so fucking smug that Bucky wants to gut punch him.

“Oh, fuck off, Wilson.”

Sam suddenly crows in delight. He drops his arms and smacks once at this thighs.

“I knew it! You guys met up again, didn’t you? And you got his number?”

Bucky’s gaze drops to the floor as he shrugs and clears his throat.

“He… uh… he asked me on a date.”

When he glances back up to Sam, the other man is actually gaping at him in shock. Bucky takes a step backwards.

“What? I mean… it’s not that big a deal. People date. You know… sometimes.”

Sam takes a step forward and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“You’re tellin’ me… that your coffee shop asshole… asked you out? He actually said the words?”

Bucky can only blink in confusion for a second as he tries to process Sam’s reaction.

“Yes? I mean… is that… bad? Do you think that’s bad? Should I not-”

Sam interrupts him by violently shaking him by the shoulders.

“No no no no no… you should go out with him. You should totally go out with him. You said he was hot, right? And now you know he’s interested, right? You should totally date his ridiculous ass and get married and have his all-American babies. Okay? That’s what you should totally do.”

With a duck and a slide to the side, Bucky frees himself from Sam’s grip and backs toward the door. Wilson is a pretty cool dude, but sometimes… he’s just weird. And maybe a little too invested in Bucky’s love life?

“Riiiiight. Okay. I’ll catch you later, Sam. And get some rest. You look tired.”

As he double-times it out the door, Bucky swears he can hear the other man laughing maniacally in his office and mumbling something about not knowing the meaning of tired… but he doesn’t question. He just gets the heck outta Dodge.

He doesn’t get a chance to check out the new messages on his phone until he’s sitting on the bus heading home. By that time, Steve has sent several more messages, and apparently worked himself into a tither.

Are you still there?

Was I too forward?

I apologize if I was too forward.

Oh geez. I’m really sorry, Bucky.

My friend told me I should be more forward.

He is obviously wrong.

Are you going to answer me?

I’m sorry.

Bucky smacks his forehead against the back of the chair in front of him a couple times and groans about golden assholes, which consequently earns him a row all to himself for the rest of the ride.

Calm your ridiculous pectorals, Stevie. I had to do something at work. You didn’t offend me. I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t return the interest, ya schmuck.

The response comes almost immediately.

You sure do call me a bunch of rude names, Buck. :)

You sure do earn most of them, Stevie. :)

I don’t think that’s fair to say. I’ve never done anything to you. You’ve been verbally assaulting me since the first time we met.

LIES. I would never.

And we’ve only met twice, Steve.

Have we? Wow. I guess third time will be the charm then.

Oh? Can you be charming? That would be something to see.

I’ll have you know I could charm the pants off you if I wanted to.

Steve! How roguish of you! But I’ll let you charm the pants offa me… If you’re really really lucky. ;) ;) ;)

There’s radio silence, as it were, for the rest of the bus ride home. When Bucky gets to his miniscule apartment over a corner bodega in Brooklyn, he tosses off his bag and shoes before settling on the couch. His phone is still devoid of response, so he sucks it up and texts Steve again.

Did I embarrass you too much? Did you blush so hard that you passed out? Should I send emergency services, Steve? Shall I flag down an Avenger?

It takes a couple more minutes, during which Bucky is NOT sitting silently in his living room/dining room/bedroom having a small nervous breakdown, thankyouverymuch.

New phone who dis?

Well… that’s shitty… but not unexpected given Bucky’s track record since returning to the world minus a limb and about three-fourths of his self-confidence.

Wow. Didn’t take you for this particular brand of asshole, Steve. See you around never, I guess.

He tosses his phone to the other side of his ratty couch and sinks down into the broken springs of it. There’s a bubble of emotion trying to claw its way up his throat, but Bucky refuses to cry over a jackass that he met only a couple times. Who apparently likes to fuck around with people suffering in the self-esteem department. So, he guesses his first instinct on Gymrat asshole was actually correct. His eyes are burning, but he ignores them and pulls himself to his feet to take a shower and beat those feelings of inadequacy down for a little bit longer.

Fuck that asshole. Fuck him.

~*~

His phone is ringing off the hook when Bucky gets out of the shower, and he almost ignores it. The only thing is… the thing is… he can see Steve’s name flashing on the ID as he walks up to it… and he really really desperately wants to have been wrong about the whole thing. So he picks it up and accepts the call… but he doesn’t say anything at first.

“Bucky! Bucky, are you there!? I’m sorry about that text! It wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t! Bucky?”

“I’m here, Steve.”

“Oh crap, you sound upset. I didn’t want to upset you, Buck. I’m really sorry. My… colleague grabbed my phone, and he was reading the texts out loud and they were all… anyway. I’m so sorry. I didn’t text that… I’m not… even sure what it’s supposed to mean?”

Bucky sighs and pulls his phone away from his ear to thump himself on the forehead with it a couple times. There’s something in Steve’s voice that just tells him that Bucky would probably forgive him for a lot of shit. Including this. He flops down on his sofa before bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“Tell your colleague that he’s a dick.”

“I did, I promise. I’m making him do something he really hates in retaliation, I promise.”

Somewhat mollified, Bucky settles back into his couch with a sigh.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask… what… why did… I guess I don’t understand why that text was upsetting?”

Geez, was Steve literally completely out of the current slang?

“It’s a brush off, Steve. A fuck-off kind of comment. Like you’re not actually interested.”

“That’s not it, I promise, Buck. I’m sorry it upset you.”

The laugh that jerks out of Bucky is just on the edge of painful.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t really surprised, to be honest.”

Steve’s quiet for a couple seconds before he speaks up in a soft tone.

“What do you mean?”

Bucky snorts, highly unattractively, and pulls his phone away to he can put the call on speaker. He plops it into his lap after, and starts to fiddle with the threadbare sweats he has on. The ARMY down the right leg is so faded you can barely make it out.

“Oh, come on, Stevie. You’re like… an 11 on a BAD day… and me? I’m a mess. I might seem like I have my shit together, and trust me I know I’m a lot better off than some guys, but I still don’t go out in public much. I don’t even have enough confidence in myself to get a real job without screwing it up. And I definitely don’t have enough to go around asking people out. Everybody just… they only see one thing?”

Steve’s quiet for a few moments before he speaks up again.

“Do you want to know what I see, Buck?”

Bucky sucks in a breath and holds it for a few seconds.

“Y-yeah. Please?”

“I see a man that’s probably been through something horrible, and I would like to hear about it one day… if you’d like to tell me, something that has obviously scarred him more than physically… but he’s fighting so hard to keep himself centered. To not lose any of his personality or his pride or his sense of humor to this thing that happened to him. You have an amazing amount of strength in you, Bucky, and I can see it every time you look in my eyes. And when you mouthed off at me that first time, I loved it.”

Bucky snorts.

“That’s weird, Stevie.”

He gets a chuckle in response.

“Maybe to some. It was pretty attractive to me, though. You thought I was harassing those girls and you were prepared to do something about it. And then I turned around... And holy cow… there’s this absolutely beautiful man bristling at me like a cornered cat. And then you didn’t stop… and I didn’t want you to. I was so tempted to ask for your number then, you know? Then I complained to my buddy for hours while I kicked myself for not doing it. There’s not a lot of people that I can just… be myself around?”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It can be. Sometimes I feel really out of place in my own life. But I have some people that I trust, and that means a lot to me. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

Ouch. Okay. Maybe he and Steve had a lot more in common than Bucky originally thought.

There’s the soft sound of Steve settling down on the other end of the line. Maybe he’s mirroring Bucky’s pose? Maybe he’s laying down? Bucky likes to imagine him wearing some ratty sweats… and maybe a threadbare t-shirt. Both times he’s seen Steve in person the man has been in tight, restrictive clothing that just doesn’t seem comfortable. Steve should be comfortable. When Steve speaks up again, his voice has a small measure of insecurity… or maybe doubt?... that hasn’t been there for any of their previous conversations and Bucky instantly hates it.

“You said that you don’t flirt much any more. So... what makes me different? You’ve been flirting with me, right? And you accepted my request for a date. Is there something that… do you know…”

Steve’s voice fades off, and the small sound of it really upsets Bucky. It just feels so out of place.

“Stevie… I dunno, okay? I guess, I mean, you’re hot like burning so there’s that-”

Steve makes an odd choking cough.

“-but I promise it’s not just that. You’re a snarky little shit… and an asshole, just like I am. So, I guess that’s just as attractive to me. Which my sister would find hysterical, I promise you. But there’s just something about you that makes me feel… comfortable? It sounds really fucked up, I know. I just feel like I’ve known you longer than a couple days. Like we were meant to know each other. Does that sound crazy?”

The smile is back in Steve’s voice when he responds, and thank fuck he doesn’t sound like he thinks Bucky is crazy… because Bucky wouldn’t blame him. That’s for damn sure. There’s just this completely stupid idea bouncing around in his mind that he doesn’t even want to THINK about, much less mention to the other man. It’s dumb. It’s teenage romance ridiculous.

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me, Buck. I have to tell you, when you kept mouthing off to me in that coffee shop... And then when you let me return it… it’s the closest I’ve felt to myself in a long time. Longer than you can imagine.”

“Really, Stevie? You’re trying to tell me that you don’t have people throwing themselves at you left and right? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, they do. But they’re throwing themselves at this body… not the person inside it.”

“Well, it’s a helluva body.”

“BUCK!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Had to say it, Stevie… you leave yourself so wide open for the comments. I currently do not have the strength to resist the urge to respond.”

Steve laughs softly into the phone, and Bucky’s guts clench with something unnamable.

“Somehow I don’t believe that you’ve ever had the ability to resist.”

“How dare you, Steve. You don’t know me.”

“No… but I’d really like to.”

Bucky flails violently, ala pre-teen girl, until he almost rolls right off the couch onto the floor. Killing him. This bastard is killing him.

“You got it, Golden Boy. Not sure how much you’re going to like what you learn, though. A pre-date cautionary advisement.”

“I’ll accept that advisement, but promptly ignore it.”

Oh Steve. You fucking charmer. Bucky slips sideways until he’s curled up on his couch and puts his phone beside his head on the throw pillow. He feels like such a twitterpated dope, but he just can’t help it. And he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t stop it, even if he was able. The phone line stays silent for a couple moments, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Bucky listens to the sound of Steve breathing and it warms him down to his toes. Steve finally breaks the silence… and his voice is hushed… as if he feels the same.

“So… tell me about your sister?”

They speak on the phone for hours… and it’s the best night Bucky’s had since he returned to the world.

~*~

When he comes to, Bucky doesn’t really remember much. There’s a vague sense of familiarity in the crumbled walls around him, but he doesn’t place them right away at first. It probably doesn’t help that at this point they aren’t really walls anymore, more like large pieces of rubble scattered about him in the almost dark. His brain is scrambled and he’s having trouble focusing… but he thinks… there was something about an invasion? There were sirens? And the Avengers were fighting… robots? Monsters?

It had been the middle of the day, he’s pretty sure, so the light filtering in from above must be sunlight. Although it’s hard to make out what with the large amount of dust and debris in the air. He coughs once to try and clear his throat of the dust, but all it accomplishes is a spasm of pain from his right side.

When he tries to shift to inspect the cause of the pain, only then, is when it because glaringly obvious that his arm, his only fucking arm, is pinned under some heavy rubble and he can’t feel his fingers.

“Oh, fuck. No no no…”

His voice is scratchy and dulled by the thick layer of dust he can feel coating his mouth and throat, but Bucky doesn’t even notice. He’s too terrified, too absolutely horrified, that the only arm and hand he still has is currently trapped and immovable beneath enough weight to crush it to hell if it had hit just right. He tries to shift again, tugs carefully at his arm and this time a new spike of pain lances through him. Raising his head slowly he can just barely make out his torso and belly in the dim light.

There is a piece of rebar protruding from his belly. Just to the right of his belly button. About of foot of metal poking out, darkly glistening with blood. Bucky cries out at the shock of it. Apparently seeing the damn thing has suddenly awoken the pain of it. There’s a throbbing pulse in his guts and he can feel his heartbeat ratchet up in response. This is bad. Fuck. This is bad.

He drops his head back to the unforgiving floor as he squeezes his eyes closed and tries to calm himself down. Elevated heart rate and panicking will do absolutely nothing to help him right now. He chokes in a breath that morphs quickly into a sob, and he loses himself to ugly crying for a couple minutes. He can’t move. He can’t save himself. He’s stuck like a pig and bleeding out. He’s also pretty sure no one would even know where he is. Or care. Steve and Sam might care… but they probably have friends and family they’re worried about and helping right now. No reason to think about Bucky at a time like this. A dude you’re just kinda starting to get to know and a VA buddy do not rank high on anyone’s list of “people I worry about when the world is ending.”

Becca would care. He’s sure she would. But she’s in Oregon, and there’s very little she could likely do from there. Maybe call the police. Maybe call the VA. But with a full-scale invasion going on, Bucky seriously doubts anyone is going to care about a single loser trapped in the bowels of… fuck… where is he again? He can’t… he can’t remember where he is. Not his apartment. Not the VA. Where-

There’s a deafening rumble from everywhere and the surface beneath him shifts suddenly. Everything around him shudders violently and it rips a scream out of him as the rebar is pushed another inch up through his belly. The pressure on his arm suddenly lightens, and with as quick a reflex as he can muster, Bucky pulls his arm free of the rubble that had been pinning it. In the muted light he can see that the arm and fingers are pretty banged up, but he can still wiggle everything just slightly, so hopefully if help arrives soon enough… he won’t lose anything on his remaining arm. Another sobbing cry rips its way out of him, unbidden. He can feel the tracks of tears streaming down his face that haven’t seemed to have stopped since he regained consciousness.

A smaller rumble sounds nearby. This fucking building is gonna come down. No doubt about it. He can’t stay here… but he can’t move with the rebar holding him in place. He takes a deep breath of air and holds it for several seconds before releasing it through his mouth. He has to calm down. He has to think. He refuses to die like this.

Very carefully he uses his aching fingers to reach his bag, still strapped across his chest, and unzips the pocket that holds his phone. His fingers are so swollen that it takes several tries, but when he succeeds he could almost sob again in relief because his phone is miraculously intact. He swipes the lock screen to bring up the emergency phone dialer… and pauses. Who the fuck does he call? Pretty sure the emergency services are busy. Last he checked, he doesn’t have an Avenger’s phone number. He doesn’t want to make Becca feel any more impotent than she probably already does.

When he glances down at the phone again, he realizes that he has missed calls. Three from Steve, two from Becca, and one from Sam. Well. Whaddaya know? He must be on some people’s lists after all. He jabs the phone button for Steve, because if Bucky’s going to be completely honest here… there’s only one voice he really wants to hear right now. It rings only a single time before it’s picked up and Steve’s voice is echoing in the darkness around him.

“Bucky! Bucky can you hear me?”

There’s a lot of noise in the background. Sirens and yelling and people hollering out orders, but Bucky only hears Steve’s worried voice and a soft sob wrenches out of him.

“St-Steve.”

Steve gasps and it sounds like he’s started to run, but is only slightly out of breath.

“Buck! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Bucky shakes his head a couple times before he realizes that Steve can’t actually see him… and damn… he’s… he’s not feelin’ too hot at the minute, actually.

“I’m … under a building… I got… Steve? I got rebar stickin’ through me like a poker. I don’t think it’s good. I’m pretty sure it’s not too good, Stevie.”

Steve curses violently on the phone and starts shouting to someone about tracking and moving faster… something about the Jets? Or Bennie and the Jets? The Mighty Quinn? Jesus fuck. But that can’t be right. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s just losing time or probably just his fucking senses. The sounds go a little hazy for a few minutes and he might drift off a bit, because suddenly Steve’s voice is practically screeching into his ear.

“BUCKY? BUCK!?!”

He groans and opens his eyes. Doesn’t remember closing them.

“I’m here, dammit. Stop screamin’ a’me.”

A gust of a relieved sigh bursts out of the phone, followed by the woosh of air and a grunt.

“Keep talkin’ to me, Buck. Can you do that?”

It sounds like Steve’s lifting something heavy… there’s noise in the background. Other voices. Maybe Sam? Why is Sam there with Steve?

“Buck! Talk to me!”

He drops the phone to lean up against his head and lays his arm down. It’s getting tired and the damn cell phone suddenly feels like it weighs a million pounds.

“‘Kay… I can do that. Whatcha wanna know?”

Steve grunts in effort across the phone before he speaks again.

“Why don’t you tell me again why you were such an asshole the first time we met, huh?”

Bucky snorts, and then coughs at the resulting dust that flies up his nose. It jars the wound in his belly, but he valiantly attempts to ignore the pain.

“Was runnin’ late. Tol’ you. Takin’ up the line. Flirtin’ with the girls.”

Now that definitely sounds like Sam chuckling really closely to Steve. Or maybe he’s on the phone call, too?

“Izzat, Sam? Stevie? Why’s Sam on yer phone?”

There’s a whispered conversation that he can’t make out, before Sam’s voice in on the phone, sounding out of breath… and a little worried.

“Yeah, it’s me, Sargeant Hot Lips… got yourself in a pickle, didn’t you?”

Bucky snorts again.

“Don’t call me that… don’t have hot lips. Stupid.”

“Oh Barnes… we’re going to have to work on your self awareness. Or buy you a mirror.”

“Nah. Stupid. Don’ need it. Hey. Hey, Sam? I’m not… Sam… the pain stopped, Sam. Steve? Thas’ not good. S’not good when the pain stops.”

Sam and Steve curse simultaneously, which makes Bucky giggle a little. Sam and Steve. Steve and Sam. Sounds cute. Another voice suddenly speaks up in his ear. No-nonsense female with a deep honey voice. It’s nice.

“We need MediVac NOW!”

“MediVac five minutes out. Cap… building isn’t sound… you need to slow your roll.”

The words of the fourth voice on the phone immediately precede a rumble that shifts everything around again. Without warning the ground he’s laying on tilts towards the left and gravity tries to force Bucky to roll, but the giant piece of metal in his gut halts his movement with a jarring tug. It takes him a minute to realize the person screaming bloody murder is, in fact… him. And he only does because of the chorus of voices hollering in his ear.

“BUCKY!!!”

“BARNES!!!”

“SLOW IT THE HELL DOWN, ROGERS! I TOLD YOU THE BUILDING ISN’T SOUND!”

“MediVac two minutes out!”

“Tony, can you find a way to stabilize that support beam until we get him out?”

“Maybe. Rhodey?”

“On your six.”

The conversation goes on, but Bucky’s too busy panting for breath to pay much attention. Fuck. FUCK. He misses the numbness now.

“That last time I was dying… my brain had the decency of lettin’ me do it unconscious.”

The phone line goes quiet for a moment before Steve’s voice speaks back up.

“You’re not dying, Bucky. I’m not gonna let you.”

Bucky hums softly as he lets his eyes drift closed.

“S’not up to you, Steve. Not how it works. You can’t out-stubborn death.”

It sounds like four of five different people making a snorting sound across the line. An altogether different voice speaks up for the first time.

“Oh, buddy. You have no idea who you’re talking to.”

Bucky grins.

“Sure I do. It’s the Gymrat Asshole.”

Steve sighs as the other voices softly chuckle. Sam’s voice softly speaks up and asks Bucky to elaborate on the story. Bucky smirks into the darkness of the rubble and makes a thoughtful hum under this breath.

“Yeah… all the baristas, they were all fawning. Not working. Big fucker standing in line in front of me. Figured he was flexing his pecs at them or somethin’-”

“Come on, Buck-”

“Don’t interrupt the story, Cap.”

“- although thinking back… ‘m not sure if that shirt had the structural integrity to handle dancing pecs. Could practically hear the seams screaming for a mercy killing.”

“Oh my God. I love your boyfriend, Rogers.”

“So I told him to order or get outta the way. An’ he looks all guilty n’ sad like a… like a big ol’ dewy eyed Golden Retriever, yanno? Like a… like a… Sam? Is Steve a Golden Retriever or a Yellow Lab?”

“Come on-”

“Stop interrupting, Rogers. Definitely a Golden Retriever, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky can feel the grin straining to twitch at his lips, but he’s so fucking tired he lets it drop away.

“Don’t know you. You gotta nice voice though. Wasser’ name?”

“Natasha,” the smoky voice says into his ear from the phone speaker, and Bucky hums at the pleasant tone of it.

“K… k’ Natasha agrees with me. Thas’ good. Important. Golden Retriever it is. Anyway… he… he looks like he’s maybe gonna call me out for bein’ rude for a second… then he does what everyone always does…”

He knows that he must stay silent for longer that it seems, because the chorus of voices call his name out again, and even Steve begs him to keep telling the story. The rubble above him is making a lot of noise… like digging. Digging and shifting. That’s probably a good thing, he just can’t be bothered to care much at the moment.

He’s just so fucking tired.

“... he… uh… he looked at the empty sleeve, yanno? Everyone always does… and then they get that look. That look. Sam, you know the look? The pity, but gotta pretend they don’t acknowledge it look. Like… the fuck ever. I’m missing a fucking limb, you assholes… you can acknowledge that shit. Jesus. An’ I was like, sure this gymrat asshole is hot as fuck, but I hate that goddamn look, yanno?”

The phone line goes suspiciously silent for several seconds and it makes Bucky wonder just how many people he’s having this conversation with at this moment. And who… who the fuck are they? And… wait a minute. Natasha? Tony? Rhodey? Rogers? Those names… those particular names in that particular order… Sound really familiar. And Steve… oh fuck. Steve. Giant Dorito-shaped Steve. In the stupid hat and glasses. And all the people acting gaga over him. And fuck… James Buchanan Barnes… you are one dense mother fucker.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no…”

“Buck!? What’s wrong?”

“Oh fuck no. Steve. Fuck. Steve… are you fucking Captain America?”

One of the incredulous snorts he hears across the phone line is definitely Sam’s. And hey…

“SAM!! Fuck you! Are you a fucking AVENGER?”

“And he finally gets it! I was wondering how long it would take you, my man! You can not even believe the amount of entertainment and secondhand embarrassment you have provided me over the last several days. I cannot wait to entertain everyone with this story in the future, in excruciating fucking detail. Maybe at the wedding reception, huh? Wouldn’t that be a blast?”

Bucky can’t stop himself from chuckling in self-deprecation.

“Yeah. Sure, Wilson. That’s me… the future Mrs. America.”

“Barnes, buddy… again, we’re gonna get you a mirror, and maybe a class on situational awareness? I’m going to bet that Jarvis has dozens of conversations from the last couple weeks about the dreamy Vet from the coffee shop in his archives.”

“Affirmative, Falcon. Twenty-three conversations, totalling forty-seven minutes with detailed descriptions of Sergeant Barnes’ hair. His cheekbones. His eyes. His postier. His-”

“OH MY GOD, can you please stop!?”

Steve’s voice sounds absolutely mortified… but he isn’t disputing any of it. Jesusfuck. Bucky rolls his head to the side and closes his eyes against the swirling dust. The digging is getting closer, as is all the groaning from the building around him. The previous conversation snatches he’s overheard make a lot more sense though. Apparently the Avengers are trying to dig him out of this hole in the ground.

“No… hey… no… that’s not right. You guys shouldn’t be here.”

“Bucky, we’re really close, okay? Just a few more minutes.”

“No. Steve. Steve. There’s a whole city thas’ scared and… and probably in worse situations than me, okay? You can’t… The Avengers can’t be here for me… you gotta… you gotta go save people.”

Natasha’s deep voice comes back across the line.

“We are saving someone, Barnes.”

Bucky tries to shake his head, but it’s a minute little movement.

“No. Important people. Kids and… and innocent bystanders… and people… who matter.”

“You matter to the Cap, Buckaroo… so you are important people. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of help to go around right now.”

He only has a minute to wonder about the fact he’s pretty sure Tony Stark just called him an important person, before dust and debris kicks everywhere and a sliver bright light suddenly breaks through the rubble over his head. His mouth and lungs refill with dust, but he tries to keep the coughing to a minimal. He’s honest not sure how much more he can take before he just passes right the fuck out.

There’s a shift of movement in his periphery, and then he can make out the sound of boots softly touching down in the rubble nearby.

“Bucky?”

A small rush of breath leaves him in relief at the sound of that voice.

“Yeah. Here, Stevie.”

A large shadow blocks out what little light has been illuminating the area he was trapped, and suddenly Captain America is looming over him in all his red white and blue glory. Even though he’s only met the man twice, Bucky can instantly recognize those blue eyes behind the mask, and the strong jaw that’s made even more prominent in costume. He’d kick himself in the ass if the building surrounding him hadn’t already done it first. Steve kneels at his side and leans in close enough to cautiously stroke his gloved fingers down the side of Bucky’s dirty face.

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

Bucky gives Steve the biggest smile he can manage at the moment.

“Not very gorgeous right now, I don’t think.”

Steve’s eyes are tracking over him quickly, probably taking in every injury, and they hit the protruding rebar and freeze.

“Nah. You’re always gorgeous, Buck. Told you before.”

Sam whistles low and Bucky can hear an echo of it in the phone, as well as somewhere nearby.

“Workin’ that charm, Cap.”

There’s some movement to his left and suddenly the Black Widow is leaning over him as well. She smiles warmly at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and Bucky can understand why so many people are so intimidated by her.

“Hey there, soldier. How are you feeling?”

Bucky tries to wink at her, but it probably comes out as more of a grimace.

“Like a stuck pig, ma’am.”

Natasha’s smile turns predatory, but there’s still a friendliness to her face that it doesn’t frighten him.

“Call me ma’am again, Barnes, and I’ll shove that rebar somewhere more intimate.”

Bucky huffs a laugh that miraculously doesn’t blossom into a cough.

“Promises promises.”

There’s a glint to her eyes now that he find that he likes a lot. If he gets the chance, he’d love to get to know her enough to have a battle of wills. He imagines they would get along famously. Well… he’d like to think so, anyway. It’s not every day that you discover how closely connected you are with a bunch of superheroes.

“Six degrees of Sam Wilson. Or Steve Rogers. Falcon comes first. Egg before the chicken. Steve the chicken.”

It makes enough sense in his head that he breaks into painful giggles and pointedly ignores the worried glances that Steve and Natasha share above his head. He’s so tired. And the Avengers are here now. Awesome. Bucky closes his eyes and lists his head toward the side where Steve kneels beside him.

“Buck… don’t go to sleep, okay. Please. Please open your eyes.”

He hums softly and just barely opens his eyes to stare at Steve.

“Gonna try, Stevie.”

The blurry Captain America helmet above him nods once before he turns towards Natasha. Bucky settles in to listening to the world around him and trying to stay conscious. Can’t let down Captain America, right? That’d be down right unpatriotic. He can feel their hands moving softly along his belly, and between his back and the floor beneath him.

“How do we do this?”

“Rebar is still embedded in the concrete below him. Widow to Medivac... do we remove the impalement, or leave intact?”

Ooooh… Impalement. Tha’s a scarily accurate word. Impaled. Ouchies.

“Roger that. Steve, we can’t take it out, can you break it off underneath him?”

“Not sure, can you try to shift him up a little so I can get to it?”

The hands beneath him pull him up just barely … and Bucky whites out for a bit. When he comes back Steve is frantically patting his cheek and saying his name. Bucky opens his eyes and takes a large gasp of air. He’s not really sure what just happened, but Steve looks terrified.

“-awake, Buck! Stay awake!”

Bucky nods, but he finds that his voice is gone, he can’t respond. Every breath is burning and he feels like he’s struggling to pull each inhale in. Fuck. God, fuck… that hurt… whatever that was. Steve’s hands still their movement, but remain cradling his face between them. He turns toward Natasha without actually moving his gaze away from Bucky’s.

“Not gonna work. We need something that can cut it. Tony? I need something that can cut through rebar without damaging skin that’s very close to it.”

The Iron Man’s voice echoes from somewhere up above.

“Roger, Rogers. Is there room for one more in your little menage a trois down there?”

Natasha stands and steps out of Bucky’s peripheral vision.

“No. I’ll come back up. You’ll probably need to help lift him out anyway.”

In the silence of her departure, Steve leans close toward Bucky’s face, their eyes still caught on each others. With a softness, bordering on delicate, he touches his lips to Bucky’s in an utterly delightful, chaste, kiss. Bucky smiles as much as he can when Steve pulls away.

“What was that for?”

Steve’s fingers trace along what must be the tear tracks that have streaked through the dust covering his face.

“Something for you to think about… so you’ll stay awake. Okay? Promise me.”

He responds with a nod, and if the impalement in his belly wasn’t so miserably painful, Bucky’s pretty sure there would be butterflies a plenty over the kiss and Steve’s words. He’s just been kissed by Captain America. Yowzaa. James Buchanan… how in the world did your grumpy ridiculous ass manage to possibly score the most eligible bachelor in the last 100 years. Whoopee.

The sound of rushing air and a blue haze of light immediately proceed the Iron Man sweeping into view above him before settling down to the side Natasha recently vacated. He kneels down on the concrete with the whirring and rumbling of mechanics and then the faceplate of the suit flips up… and that’s fucking Tony Stark.

“Hey there, Buckaroo! You currently resemble a shish-kabob, let's see what we can do about that, shall we?”

Bucky grunts before turning back to stare into Steve’s eyes. He hears more than sees the faceplate of the suit flip back down.

“I’m insulted. Never has my arrival been so thoroughly disregarded. Tell your boyfriend he’s rude, Rogers.”

Steve smiles, but doesn’t turn his gaze away.

“He’s not my boyfriend yet, Tony… we haven’t even been on a date.”

Bucky manages to wink at Steve, but his voice has left him again. Apparently Tony Stark’s voice is completely incapable of ever leaving him, however.

“Nonsense. What do you consider this? Dark, intimate room… leaning closely together so you can whisper sweet nothings… the soothing dulcet tones of my glorious voice… and… candlelight!”

As that last word is spoken, something small and lightening white sparks to life in Iron Man’s hands. Tony waves them slightly with some kinda of version of “tada jazz hands” before he reaches beneath Bucky and the warmth of whatever it is tingles along his abused back. It only takes a couple seconds before there’s a snapping tremor through the rebar that causes Bucky to gasp, but he can feel that he’s now detached from the floor. Tony pulls his hands back and the small arch-light is gone.

“Iron Man to Medivac… rebar is free, we’ll be there in two shakes, prepare for incoming. BP is dangerously low and body temperature is dropping dramatically.”

Well, that doesn’t sound fun, does it?

Steve’s arms are suddenly behind his back and scooping up his knees… and hello… bridal style carried by Captain America is now a thing Bucky Barnes can say he’s experienced. The wound in his belly is numb again, and intellectually he knows thats a bad sign, but fuck if he doesn’t kind of appreciate it at the moment. He wraps his arm around Steve’s… Jesus… neck and massive shoulders… and tucks his head into the rough costume of the man supporting him. Iron Man steps right up into their space and it feels like maybe he’s moving to hold on to Steve? Bucky doesn’t really care at the moment… he lets his eyes drift closed as he basks in the warmth that Steve radiates.

He can hear the whooshing air of Tony taking off and a breeze lifts at his hair. Huh. So they must be flying right now. Cool. Shame his eyelids are feeling too heavy to open and appreciate the experience. Steve is whispering his name, and Bucky feels bad, cuz he can’t answer… but Tony Stark’s voice chimes in and informs Steve that Bucky’s still breathing, he’s not dead. Thanks for that, Tony. Maybe you’re not a jackass after all.

The oppressive sense of claustrophobia that he’d been ignoring since he woke up, suddenly disperses and the world behind his closed eyelids flares into a peachy glow. Bucky allows himself to drift for a while. He can tell they’re sweeping through the air with a clear destination in mind. He vaguely acknowledges there’s a shift of surroundings and movement, voices, the pressurized closing of some kind of aircraft door. A dull roar of noise and the belly deep feeling of high-speed acceleration. Then Steve is gently laying him down on a gurney of some kind. It feels softer and more secure than the crappy ones he dealt with during his recovery.

Steve’s hands disappear and Bucky can feel his mouth open in a soft sound of protest. Almost immediately there are fingers carefully trailing along his jaw and smoothing hair out of his face. Steve’s voice is barely a whisper from very close by.

“You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re taking you to some really great doctors. They’re going to fix you right up.”

Bucky’s pretty sure he loses some more time, because he doesn’t remember when the other hands start grabbing at him and pulling at his clothes. They tilt him almost sideways and then put something behind his back to lean him against. Still in a haze he feels them messing with the intrusion in his body, but they don’t shift it or try to remove it. Thank fucking God. He better be fully unconscious before they try to do any of that shit.

One of the nearby voices is speaking to Steve and Bucky tries to tune them in a little more.

“Captain Rogers, I’m sorry, but can you please move away from the table?”

Steve apologizes and his touch vanishes… and instantly Bucky is terrified and alone and he’s just been blown up and his crew is mostly dead and his arm is gone and he’s screaming and everything hurts and it’s dark and where is everyone and what the hell is happening-

“Bucky! I’m here! Shh...shh… I’m here Buck.”

He hadn’t even realized that he’d been thrashing and making distressed noises until Steve’s voice brought him back. His voice is coming from up near the top of Bucky’s head now, and when his hands cradle Bucky’s face… they’re upside down. Weird, but okay. They hold his jaws firmly, but without any pressure… thumbs sweeping back and forth across Bucky’s cheekbones in a softly soothing manner.

“I’m here, Buck. You’re not alone.”

Steve’s mouth must be very close to Bucky’s ear, because his voice is so so soft. Just a whisper. Bucky can feel himself relaxing at the tone of it. Ignores the other hands on him. Ignores the poke of an IV into his arm. Ignores being strapped down to the table so he doesn’t move. Ignores it all. Except for Steve.

Natasha’s voice pipes up from out of nowhere, but even her tone is quiet and subdued.

“Here. I thought you might want this to clean his face.”

Steve whispers a sincere sounding thanks, and one of his hands disappears from Bucky’s face. It’s soon after replaced by a very soft, warmly damp, cloth… that sweeps carefully across his cheeks… that are probably covered in dust and tears and sweat. Bucky can’t find it in him to react, just enjoys the clean feeling of the cloth wiping gently across his face. Steve spends a good several minutes dabbing at his lips before his hand stills. A roughly calloused fingertip gingerly presses into the middle dip of Bucky’s bottom lip, before oh so delicately tracing along the edges of his mouth.

“Keep fighting, okay, Buck? I know you can do it. You don’t take shit from anyone. Not even me.”

Steve suddenly huffs a worn-out sort of laugh, and then presses his forehead right onto Bucky’s. His face has to be buried in the middle of Bucky’s hair, and that’s fucking disgusting Steve… his hair has to be manky and full of dirt and crap. What the hell? It actually takes him a minute to process that he’s feeling skin to skin, instead of the Captain America helmet… but then Steve’s speaking again, and Bucky’s not going to miss a single word that is being murmured into his hair.

“Do you know, when I was growing up… I used to imagine what it would be like to have a best friend? Someone that always had my back. We would have been friends for our entire lives, grow up together, grow old together. And I was a little horror, you know? I was always getting into fights with people bigger than I was… well… bigger than I was at the time. I got the crap kicked outta me a lot, Buck. So I would think about this imaginary friend… and he would always show up to pick me up and call me a punk. But he’d make sure I was okay. That I was never outnumbered without him.

So… you gotta understand, Bucky… when you popped off at me in that coffee shop… it was like… it was like that person who had always only lived in my imagination… just … stepped right out of my head and right up behind me in line. I couldn’t help but follow you to the bus stop that day. And then, you called me an asshole…”

Steve huffs another laugh, and Bucky can feel it, warm against his scalp. Whatever they’ve given him in his IV, he’s feeling a little clearer… and little more in the present.

“... since I woke up in the future, everyone has been so polite and deferential… and honestly, the exact opposite of what I needed. Then there you are calling me an asshole and giving me shit… and I kicked myself so many times that first day for not asking for your name… or your number, or whatever the hell people do nowadays. I went back to the coffee shop as a long shot, they didn’t remember you ever coming in before. I’m so glad you came back in, Buck… I’m so damn glad.”

Steve falls silent and so Bucky wearily opens his eyes for the first time since he was under that damn building. All he can see is a metal ceiling nearly obscured by blond hair that’s… sticking up… everywhere.

“Do you… have helmet hair?”

He hadn’t even known the words were coming, before they were stuttering past his lips. His voice sounds rough as shit… but it was there… and Steve’s head pops up off his… and Bucky is staring at his upside down face… and an epic case of helmet hair.

“Bucky!”

Bucky puffs out a slight laugh.

“Oh fuck… you do. That’s… that’s amazing, Stevie. You look fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Steve manages to roll his eyes, even through the worried look on his face.

“Buck-”

“You always kiss your imaginary best friends, Steve?”

Whatever words Steve had been about to use stutter to a stop and his face flushes with that adorable pink. God… he was just too easy.

“You want me to call you a punk, Steve? I have the ability… and the desire.”

The smile that washes over Steve’s face is probably worthy of a million metaphors… but unfortunately Bucky is suffering from blood loss and not on his game at the moment. So all he does is grin as lecherously as possible (which probably looks fucking ridiculous at the moment) and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Steve laughs softly again and leans back down to place a kiss against his forehead.

“Good to see those pretty blues again.”

“Damn, Cap… still on point with the charm today.”

Bucky doesn’t jump at the sound of Sam’s voice… but he probably would have startled violently if his body wasn’t worn out and drugged to the gills with who knows what. Sam leans over from Bucky’s left and smiles widely down at him.

“Hey there, Barnes. Just couldn’t stay out of trouble, couldya’?”

If his arm wasn’t strapped down to keep the IV secure, Bucky would flip him the bird… he settles for sticking his tongue out like a child. Gets the point across, though, he supposes. Sam pats Bucky’s shoulder gently and leans in closer.

“It’s good to see ya, bud… but we’re about to hit the compound and the Medical staff needs to put you under for surgery, okay?”

Bucky nods, but something of his worry must show on his face, because both Sam and Steve grip his shoulder and squeeze lightly. Sam’s voice continues, warm and caring, and it hits Bucky right in the solar plexus with how much it means to him that Sam actually gives a crap about him.

“Don’t worry, man. The Doc’s here are the best. We’re not gonna leave you on your own. Plus, Clint’s going to stay with you, since he got hurt again, as usual-”

There’s a shouted “Hey!” from somewhere nearby that Sam completely ignores.

“We gotta go out and help some more people, okay? Steve needs to come with us… but I promise I’ll have him in your room before you even wake up. Okay?”

Bucky glances from Sam, to Steve, and then back again before he nods once more. Sam gently boops him on the nose.

“Welcome to the Avengers… can’t get rid of us now.”

He can’t help but grin and turn his gaze back to Steve, who’s smiling widely at Sam.

“Don’t want to.”

Sam chortles and turns away.

“Oh… you say that now… just wait until you get to know Stark.”

Then he’s gone and Steve is suddenly swooping down to press another kiss against his forehead. Bucky can see movement near his IV in his periphery, and figures the Med staff is probably injecting something to knock him out. He keeps his eyes firmly on Steve above him.

“Go to sleep. Get better. I’ll be there when you wake up in recovery. Promise.”

A rush of ice cold in running up the vein in his arm, and he knows that oblivion is following fast in his wake, with one final smirk he whispers up to Steve.

“Don’t do anything stupid…. Punk.”

And then he drifts off into the dark.

~*~

It’s the soft beeping that wakes him, and he’s about two seconds from falling into a violent flashback of the last time he woke in a hospital… when he registers that someone is holding his hand. That’s definitely a change. Blearily unsticking his eyes, Bucky takes in the room around him. On the surface it’s probably just like every other boring neutral colored hospital room he’s been in… but this one. This one is filled to the brim with flowers. All in variations of red, white, and blue. Balloons… all in the shape of Iron Man’s head. And… a six-foot-tall teddy bear dressed as Captain America.

What the fuck?

There’s a massive banner demanding he ‘Get Well Soon, Buckaroo’ and a smaller one proclaiming ‘Can I build you an arm? Check yes or no.’ with two small boxes… both with the word YES next to them. Someone with very lovely handwriting has used the red marker dangling from the banner to script ‘This is not how you bring up this subject, Tony’ along the bottom.

No seriously. What the fuck?

A soft snore brings Bucky’s attention to the chair at his right side. Steve is slumped over, looking highly uncomfortable with his head resting on the outstretched arm that’s currently attached to the hand tightly holding Bucky’s. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and soft-looking tan sweats. His hair is damp and falling a little across his forehead instead of styled.

Oh Jesus.

Bucky’s heart can’t take this shit.

He glances around the room once more, before returning his gaze to Steve. In what crazy, fucked up alternative universe does Bucky Barnes meet Steve fucking Rogers in a coffee shop, yell at him like a jerk, and then end up… maybe… being Captain America’s soon-to-be-hopefully boyfriend? He’s not complaining, mind you. Not by a long shot. But this is pretty far beyond his current realm of reality. Bucky squeezes the hand holding his.

“Hey, Asshole.”

Steve’s head pops right up, and he only blinks twice before his eyes are meeting Bucky’s and the most amazing smile blooms across his face. And yeah, okay. Bucky’s good with this. Thanks.

~*~ The End ~*~

Notes:

UPDATE!!! July 2019!!!!
Steve's POV has been added! I've created a series tag for these stories. Please check out the insanity of Steve Rogers' brain! LOL :)

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of New York City Assholes Next Work →

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