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To be honest, he’s not surprised he’s here. With what he remembers (when he remembers) he deserves to be here. He’s not even surprised that they caught him. He wasn’t trying particularly hard not to be found, although he is a touch disappointed that he wasn’t found by who he was half hoping for.
They don’t seem to know what to do with him. He sits in a dark room with only one two way mirror that people whisper behind as they foolishly assume he can’t hear them. The room is not lit. They do not feed him as often as they should. This is his penance and he pays willingly.
(They have not given him a chair to sit on. Smart. Even tied to the chair he could find six different ways to break out of this cell with it)
(Without it there are three)
He is not surprised he’s here.
He is surprised when he hears the sound of fighting outside his prison. He drags himself from his position in one of the corners of the cell and stands up, raising his arms, ready to fight.
The door is kicked open and he blinks. His brain immediately identifies the person in front of him.
Anthony Edward Stark (Tony) Iron Man catch for suit located on left side after divested of suit weak points are that of average human being
“You look like shit,” Stark says conversationally, as though neither of them can hear fighting and shouting in the background. “Man, Spangles is not going to be happy. He’s already pretty pissed off, but once he sees you he might actually tear apart the whole building. I’d say brick by brick, but I’m pretty sure he can and would rip off bigger hunks than bricks.”
He looks at Stark warily. Stark motions towards the door. “After you, Spunky Sidekick.”
His eyes narrow. “Why?” he asks slowly.
“What do you mean, why? You’re locked up. I’m unlocking.”
“I belong here.” English normally comes flawlessly to him, but it has become tangled in all his other languages. The words come slowly.
“Oh, Christ. Someone else with a martyr complex. Just what this team needs. You’ll fit right in, buddy.” Stark inclines his head.
Communication device built into helmet one punch to the right side will disable
“Yeah, no, I found him; he’s saying he belongs here. Ow, fuck’s sake, Captain Capsicle, yelling at me is not going to make it better.” Stark looks at him. “I’m supposed to stay here until you agree to leave.”
He sits down and crosses his legs. Stark groans.
“Boy, you are gonna be just a barrel of monkeys.”
Someone stalks in next to Stark.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova Natasha Romanoff the Black Widow extremely dangerous weak points include area on stomach where shot in Iran and Clinton Francis Barton
“Soldier!” she barks in Russian. “On your feet.”
He is on his feet without even realizing. Her face softens an iota.
“It’s been a long war, Comrade,” she says calmly. “But it’s over.”
“The war is never over, Comrade.”
“The amount of comrades I am getting out of this conversation is a little worrying.”
“Shut up, Stark.” She returns her attention to him. “Wars are never over. Yours is. You’re to come with us.”
“And if I disagree?”
She smiles then, cold and hard and flinty. “Then I make you, Soldier.”
“You are welcome to try.”
She sighs. “A lot of toes have been stepped on to get you out of here, Soldier. And if you think I’m going to walk out of here without you, you haven’t factored Rodzhers into your plan.”
Steven Grant Rogers (Steve) Captain America super-serum extremely dangerous gave him his last quarter for a caramel when he was sick no wait-
“Rodzhers?” he says tentatively. “He is here?”
“Out there punching many things because you are here.”
Rodzhers had once allowed him to bring him to the brink of death all because he thought he knew (did know, will know, has known) him. He hesitates.
“Seriously, can we get a move on?” Stark asks. “Cause he won’t stop yelling at me about what’s up with Barnes and I’m starting to get seriously wounded about my place of importance in the team. I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking- ow, Jesus-“
“What’s it going to be, Soldier? Willingly or not? You’re coming with us either way, but if you choose the latter, it’ll break Rodzhers’s heart.”
He thinks about it. Then takes a step forwards. And another. And then another, until he is directly in front of Romanoff and Stark.
“He moves! I’m going to be honest; I thought he might be some statue with a robot arm and an excellent jawline.”
He narrows his eyes at Stark. “I could crush you like little bug.”
Romanoff snorts.
“What? What did he say?”
“Nothing important. We should return to the jet.” Romanoff inclines her head. “Come on, Dzheyms.”
Dzheyms. It sounds familiar enough that he walks next to her without question.
When they are aboard the jet, a man is taking wings off his back and neatly folding them into a backpack.
Samuel Wilson (Sam) the Falcon is vulnerable when wing ripped off is friend to Rodzhers and Romanoff
Wilson nods when he sees them. “Hey, you got him,” he says pleasantly. There is no trace of resentment in his face or body language for the events on the Helicarrier. It seems unlikely there is a chance of vengeance. He will be kept an eye on closely anyway. “You don’t look good, man.”
He shrugs. He is not on a mission. Looks are immaterial.
Wilson looks at Romanoff. “Steve’s keen on seeing him,” he tells her. “Told him it might not be great for them to meet again right off the bat. Thought we’d tell him what was up.”
“And yet you let Stark be the first person he came face to face with.”
“Ow.” Stark has stepped out of the Iron Man suit and it has folded itself into a briefcase. “You guys are all surprisingly sassy for people using my money.”
Both Romanoff and Wilson ignore him. Wilson sits down and pats the ground next to him. “Take a seat, buddy.”
He has never been anyone’s buddy. He stands, looking warily at Wilson. Wilson seems unaffected. “Or you can stand. Either is chill. You’ve probably got some questions.”
It feels like a trap.
“Questions are acceptable,” Romanoff tells him. “We are not your handlers. You are not our subordinate. You will not be punished for questioning us.”
“Why am I here?” he finally decides on, and tenses in preparation for retribution for the ensuing fight.
There is none. Wilson smiles. “Good question.” He points at him. “We’ve been looking for you for about a year, man.”
“They were looking very hard but not very well,” Romanoff tells him. “I studied your movements up to your disappearance off all radar six months ago. You stood out like a sore thumb.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.” Her lips quirk.
Wilson seems unperturbed by the sudden bout of Russian. “Then we got some intel that you’d shown up about six months ago loaded into a van. We discovered that van belonged to the US government.” Wilson snorts. “You should have seen Steve. I thought his head was going to explode.”
He frowns. That does not answer the question at hand. Romanoff notices.
“Rodzhers would not allow you to be held in captivity for crimes that are not your fault,” she tells him. “He planned to break you out by himself.”
“That’s stupid. He would have gotten himself killed. He’s an idiot.” He starts, unaware where his sudden outburst came from.
Romanoff surprises him with a genuine smile. “We know,” she agrees. “Trust me; he’s gotten an earful for it.”
Wilson doesn’t need to know Russian; it appears, to understand what the outburst was about. “Yeah, nobody was particularly pleased with him for that one. I found out, and I told Natasha, who told Tony, who organized this whole get-together.”
He thinks it over. “You have all broke me out of the prison they held me in?”
“Prison seems like a pretty nice way to phrase it, but yes.”
He shakes his head. “I belonged there.”
“I know it can feel that way. But you belong here, with us. We can heal you better than they could, even if they ever tried.”
“There is no healing. I have killed.”
Wilson shrugs. “I was a soldier,” he says matter-of-factly. “Steve was in a war, he’s killed folk. And I think we’re all considerably happier if we don’t know Romanoff’s rap sheet while she was at SHIELD. Difference between all of us and you is that we knew what we were doing. You didn’t.”
He doesn’t think he agrees. Wilson must notice. He sighs.
“Look, man. I’m not going to lie to you. I work with people at the VA who have had ten years of trauma. You’ve had over fifty. I don’t know if I know how to help you right. But I know I’d be a terrible person if I didn’t try, and that goes for all of us. So we’re going to try and help you get back from this. One day at a time.”
“I had to do the same thing.”
He looks at Romanoff, whose face is inscrutable.
“And how have you turned out?”
She smirks. “I’m alive.”
He looks from Stark, who is lounging against the wall of the jet, watching them, to Romanoff, who is studying his face, to Wilson, who is calm. He spins on his heel to face Stark.
“You don’t care that I killed your parents?”
He sees Romanoff and Wilson stiffen. Stark doesn’t respond for a moment and he thinks yes, Stark will convince them, they will take me back.
“Here’s the thing,” Stark finally answers. “I was not 100% thrilled when I found out that one of America’s favorite Boy Scouts had offed Mom and Dad. Not a great day for me. Or week. Month, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Point is, it’s not your fault. You were like a gun, okay, they pointed you and shot you. If I can’t blame the gun that did it, I can’t blame you.” He shrugs. “Simple.”
Romanoff snorts softly. “Simple,” she repeats. “It took some serious talking with Steve for him to reach this ‘simple’ conclusion.”
He appreciates that Romanoff is telling him the truth. He sighs.
“Fine,” he says abruptly. They are powerful enough that all together, they can take him down when they fail in their mission to make him into something good.
Wilson and Stark look relieved. Romanoff looks at him like she knows what he’s thinking. She probably does. He knows that look.
How does he know that look?
“What do you want us to call you?” Romanoff asks, interrupting his thoughts.
“What?”
“We’re not calling you Soldier and I won’t use whatever demeaning nickname Stark comes up with for you.”
“Rude.”
“So what do you want? Steve will want to call you Bucky,” she adds. “And I don’t think you want that yet.”
No, he doesn’t.
“James,” he answers finally. It is close enough to what they want to hear, and the most he can stand. Romanoff nods.
“I’ll go tell Steve he can show up without risk of breaking him.” She vanishes into the front of the ship.
Wilson looks up at James. “They’re probably all going to come out to meet you,” he says. “They’re curious. Is that okay?”
James shrugs.
There’s a clatter that makes James tense instantly, and then he bursts through the door.
He has some blood in his blond hair and his suit is torn. James frowns.
“You’re hurt.”
Rodzhers clears his throat, staring at James. “Um. Yeah.”
James feels his frown deepen. “You should fix yourself. It raises your chance of being damaged in battle.”
Romanoff, who sidled in next to Rodzhers, looks down with a small snort. Rodzhers looks at her in confusion. “What?”
“Its how you convey concern when you first start poking through what they made you into.” Romanoff shrugs. “Also he’s right.”
More people burst through the door. James catalogues them instantly.
Thor Odinson Norse god wields thunder very dangerous
Clinton Francis Barton (Clint) archer assassin
Bruce Banner the Hulk do not engage
“Back off, guys,” Romanoff says immediately. “Give them some space.”
Rodzhers shuffles nervously. “How are you feeling?”
James frowns. He doesn’t understand the question.
“Status update, Soldier,” Romanoff says briskly. Immediately James straightens his spine. “In English.”
“Undernourished, out of training for six months,” James replies. Rodzhers glares at Romanoff.
“You want him to tell you the truth; you have to give him orders for a little while. I’ve done this before, Steve.”
Rodzhers shuffles again. “It’s good to see you, Buc- James. We were worried about you.”
Nobody worries about him. He’s not sure how to react so he simply nods slowly.
“Hey, who’s flying the plane?” Stark asks.
“You have an autopilot, dumbass,” Barton answers.
“Wow. Barton calling someone a dumbass, not the other way around. Stop the presses.”
“Enough,” Romanoff cuts in. “Barton, Stark, not now. Dzheyms, sit down.”
James sits down obediently. Rodzhers sits next to him. The others disperse. James and Rodzhers sit in silence until Rodzhers speaks up.
“We’re going back to our place,” he tells James. “Avengers Tower.”
James nods.
“He has a robot butler.”
James frowns. “A robot butler?”
“His name is JARVIS. He talks through the ceiling.”
James thinks about it. “The future is strange.”
Rodzhers grins like James has never seen (hasn’t seen in a long time). “Yeah, James. It sure is.”
Stark gives him a whole room to himself that is larger than the apartment James sometimes dreams about, when he doesn’t have nightmares, where he (but not him) and Rodzhers (but not Rodzhers) live. Stark offered him an entire floor but he felt the room was good enough.
The room has sheets softer than any James has ever touched, and there is a large television mounted on the wall, and a laptop in the corner. The room has a bathroom attached. It is more luxurious than anything he has ever seen, and he will not let himself get used to it.
He knows he was right not to, when Stark raps on his door the next morning.
“Wakey wakey, Brave Little Toaster,” he says brightly. “Oh, you slept in your clothes. Great.”
Stark is holding a soft gray blanket and wearing a bright smile. It’s a little disconcerting. James raises his eyebrows.
“The government’s here because they want you back.” Stark hoists the blanket over his shoulder. “We’re gonna go talk to them.”
“This is a bad idea.” Rodzhers is suddenly hovering anxiously over Stark’s shoulder. “There’ll be an international incident-“
“Nope, we got it all worked out, I rehearsed it with Pepper.” Stark is inordinately cheerful for someone who is about to get arrested and possibly disappeared. James is under no delusions as to what the government will do to get him back.
It was a nice notion.
James obediently follows Stark and Rodzhers to the main room, where everyone else is already gathered, along with two men in suits. James squares his shoulders and readies himself for the inevitable.
Romanoff pushes him down on the couch, takes the gray blanket from Stark, and neatly wraps it around James’s shoulder. “Comfortable?”
“Yes?”
“Good. This should be fun.” Romanoff sits next to James and looks expectantly at Stark, who is beaming pleasantly at the men.
“So, what were you saying? Totally missed it when I walked out in the middle of what you were saying.”
The lead man frowns. “Isn’t that the prisoner-“
“Ah, right, all that prisoner stuff!” Stark turns to James. “These guys seem to think that all of us banded together to rescue some guy from a government facility late last night.”
James stares at Stark. He’s very confused.
“I know, right? Crazy!” Stark turns back to the government men. “Do you see a prisoner here?”
“Mr. Stark, that man sitting on the-“
“They had the audacity to accuse us, too. Which is ridiculous, cause there’s absolutely no evidence to support this unsubstantiated claim.”
“There were burns similar to the Iron Man repulsor burns-“
“Similar.”
“There was rampant destruction-“
“Little offended that you would see rampant destruction and assume Avengers-“
“Someone reported seeing Captain Rogers-“
“Concussions are crazy things.”
The lead man finally seems to lose his temper. “The prisoner is sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket.”
Stark doesn’t bat an eye. “Nah, that’s not your prisoner. That’s my cousin Sergei.”
The government men seem thrown for a loop. They aren’t the only ones.
“Cousin Sergei?” One finally repeats.
“Yep! Flew in from Russia last night. Sergei Stark.”
“You don’t have a cousin Sergei, Mr. Stark.”
“Shows what you know. I mean, even these guys knew I had a cousin Sergei.” Stark turns to the Avengers. “Guys?”
“Cousin Sergei, man, he’s a wild card,” Barton says enthusiastically.
“He is mighty at the game of beer pong!” Thor answers cheerfully.
“He kind of looks a little like Tony in the right light,” Bruce agrees. “Although they looked much similar when they were younger.”
“Tony has a scar on his hip from when Sergei stabbed him with a plastic fork when they were kids,” Rogers adds.
“I lost my virginity to Cousin Sergei,” Romanoff says in a monotone.
James doesn’t know what’s happening anymore.
“See? They all knew about Cousin Sergei.”
“Mr. Stark-“
“Records will prove that I have a cousin Sergei. Matter of fact, JARVIS, buddy?”
“Yes, sir?”
James jumps and looks to the ceiling and then remembers. Robot butler.
“Send these guys all the records pertaining to my cousin Sergei.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Awesome.” Stark turns to James. “Sergei, tell them who you are.”
James hesitates, staring at Stark’s wide open face. Stark’s eyes open fractionally wider and he raises his eyebrows.
“I am Sergei,” James finally says in heavily accented English.
“See? So. To recap. You’ve come here with wild, unfounded accusations specifically designed; it seems, to bother me during some quality family time with my cousin, who is named Sergei that I rarely get to see.” Stark shakes his head. “Very rude of you, gentlemen.”
The men glare at Stark. “This isn’t over.”
“Kind of is, though. Cause here’s what I think. I think that if Cousin Sergei someday happened to fall under some belief that he was Bucky Barnes, and announced to the world that he was Bucky Barnes, we wouldn’t hear a peep out of you guys.”
The government agent’s eyes glint dangerously. “And why is that?”
“Easy.” Stark shoves his hands in his pockets. “I mean, Bucky Barnes is kind of a big deal. International war hero and all that. If it were somehow to slip out that the United States government was holding a traumatized decorated war hero against his will for six months and after what sounds like quite a daring rescue mission from some extremely attractive unknown heroes, they tried to re-imprison him. Well. Doesn’t sound too great, does it?” Stark shrugs. “And I mean, I know the Avengers would personally be furious. Don’t you think, guys?”
“I wouldn’t be very happy at all,” Romanoff says calmly.
“Outraged, even,” Barton agrees.
“The idea of such wickedness brings great sadness into my heart,” Thor adds sadly.
“I think I’d get very angry,” Banner murmurs.
“You don’t want to know how mad I’d get,” Rogers says pleasantly.
“So that’s a woman I have seen choke a man to death with her foot, a man I’ve witnessed shoot a fly with a bow and arrow because ‘it was annoying the fuck out of him’, a god who can summon lightning with arms the size of Thanksgiving turkeys, a man you really don’t want to get angry, and the super soldier best friend of said prisoner who can punch bricks into pieces. And I am more powerful than all of them.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Shut up, Barton. Point is, imagine if Cousin Sergei decides on an identity change, and you decide to take him back.” Stark takes a heavy breath in through the nose. “PR nightmare, probably. Human rights violation. Geneva Convention. Hulk smash. Ugly business.”
The agents and Stark stare each other down for another moment. Then the agents sweep out into the elevator and then they are gone. James feels vaguely like he was in a hurricane.
“That went well!” Stark grins at the Avengers. “Bruce didn’t even have to go all Jolly Green Giant on their asses.”
“What just happened?” James mutters to Romanoff.
“Tony Stark happened,” she answers.
After a week of Rogers tiptoeing around him and James staying mostly to his room, he is woken up at the crack of dawn by Romanoff.
“Get up,” she tells him.
“Why?”
She smiles. “Good. You’re questioning authority. Get up anyway.”
James gets up and trudges after her. They walk into the elevator and stand in silence until the doors open to reveal a large gym.
“I didn’t know this was here.”
“They don’t want you to train.” Romanoff swivels to face him. “They think it might trigger you. But that’s not how this works. It’s only by knowing you are well-equipped to fight that you can relax, with what we’ve been through.” She raises her fists.
“Are you going to get in trouble for this?” Concern for another human being is a new experience. He wonders if he conveyed it accurately.
Romanoff rolls her eyes. “Steve’s going to tell me he’s disappointed in me,” she says matter-of-factly. “I can handle it. Now punch me, you loser.”
Rogers does look like he’s about to explode when Romanoff and James emerge from the gym many hours later. Romanoff only rolls her eyes. “Go take a shower, Dzheyms.”
James hovers uncertainly. “I should share in your punishment,” he says hesitantly. “It’s only fair.”
“Trust me, even if you were at fault here, Steve would rather punish puppies than you. Go take a shower; you don’t need to be here for this.”
James obeys. When he returns, he doesn’t know what Romanoff said to Rogers, but he looks significantly chastened. Romanoff is already showered, legs dangling over a high stool as she drinks a smoothie.
He’s not surprised. Romanoff is a little scary.
The banana thing is extremely unfair.
He comes upstairs from training with Romanoff and heads for the kitchen. The kitchen, to be honest, is still baffling. But Romanoff is always willing to help, and nobody has laughed at him for not understanding it.
There is a fruit bowl on the counter, however, and that seems safe. James nabs a banana and promptly bites into it.
He just as promptly spits it into his hand.
“That’s gross,” Stark says, wandering in and opening the fridge.
“I’ve had a man’s small intestine in my hand before,” James mutters distractedly. Stark makes a face and closes the fridge.
“And I am no longer hungry.”
“Romanoff,” James demands. “What the fuck.”
Romanoff grins and hops up on one of the stools by the counter. “There was a banana plague.”
James frowns. None of the Avengers have played jokes on him thus far, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Romanoff was the first.
“I’m not kidding. Killed off the species of banana you knew. That’s the banana we eat now. Your face wasn’t as amusing as Steve’s, Steve about had a coronary.”
James stares at the banana in his hands. It has betrayed him.
“You can give it to me, I’ll eat it, I like them.” Romanoff holds out her hand. Instead of giving it to her James slowly tightens his grip around the banana until its mush in his hand.
“I’m not inflicting this on anybody else.”
Sometimes he looks at Romanoff and he knows her.
Not the Romanoff from now, the Romanoff who calls him “bananka” and listens to Nicki Minaj while she works out on a punching bag. But a Romanoff from before, a girl named Romanova, smaller and with hard eyes but a tentative smile that would warm the whole room.
He doesn’t tell Romanoff about these moments. But he thinks she might know anyway.
James doesn’t really see Barton often. He’s often busy going out on other missions, only to reappear late at night. He knows from Romanoff that he uses a coffeepot like it’s a mug, he likes to hide in the vents sometimes, and that he’s seen Brave so many times he can practically recite the whole movie.
(He’s also seen the way her face softens when she says these things, the way her eyes twinkle when she’s making fun of him. He doesn’t mention it)
One afternoon, roughly three weeks after James has arrived, he walks into the main room to see Barton on the couch in front of the television, face screwed up as he plays a game on the screen that appears to involve strange creatures in tiny cars.
James awkwardly hovers by the couch watching him, unsure of what to say. Barton eventually notices him out of the corner of his eye and jumps a foot.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He pauses the game and leans back, looking up at James. “You’re spending a lot of time with Nat, right?” James nods. “Yeah, she can hear you coming. I can’t.” He taps something in his ear that James hadn’t noticed before. “Deaf. Hearing aids only do so much. Also you’ve probably got that quiet Russian assassin thing going on.” Barton grins wide. “Do that to Tony in front of me at some point, would you? He jumps so high I think he’s going to hit the ceiling and it’s fucking great.”
James nods hesitantly. Barton pats the couch next to him. “Sit down. You’re making my legs hurt looking at you.”
James sits down. “You’re not usually here at this time of the day.”
“Yeeeeeeah I fell off a rooftop, through a fire escape, and into a dumpster so they’ve benched me for a while.”
James frowns. “You don’t look extremely injured.”
“I mean. Soft dumpster.”
James studies Barton and notes the slightly stiff way he’s holding himself, several cuts on his arms. “I see it now.”
“It happens. Anyway. I need someone to play. Nat’s off on a mission so I’m going to school you in MarioKart.” He reaches next to him and hands James a wheel. James frowns.
“Is this a training simulation?”
“Buddy, if you drive like this on a real road, they will arrest the fuck out of you.”
(Barton laughs often while playing with him and they are companionable)
(Except on Rainbow Road)
(There are no friends on the Rainbow Road)
MarioKart with Barton becomes a daily event. Their games can take hours.
Barton likes to talk while they play, sometimes interchanged with cuss words the better James gets. He’ll tell James stories, sometimes from Avenging days, sometimes from days before the Avengers but with SHIELD.
(There are never stories from before SHIELD. James can respect that)
Sometimes James talks. Barton doesn’t push, and he always answers James’s question as honestly (albeit as flippantly) as possible.
“There’s lot of games where people can shoot things,” James comments once while they are zipping around Moo Moo Meadows.
“Yeah, I know, GameStop is full of them.”
“Why don’t you play those?”
Barton shrugs. “I kill people on a regular basis,” he answers simply. “Don’t like doing it in real life, so I don’t really want to bring work home with me.”
“Oh. Does everyone else feel the same way?”
“I mean. Steve owns Wolfenstein but I think that’s just years of repressed shit working its way through his system.”
“What’s Wolfenstein?”
“You shoot at Nazis and HYDRA agents.”
“Oh.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s therapeutic for him. Why? Do you want one?”
James thinks about looking at people on a screen and having to kill them, as fake as they may be. “Not really.”
“Yeah, Nat gets the same way.”
“Are you and Romanoff-“ James pauses. He hasn’t had to use politeness in quite some time, and he’s still readjusting on how to use it. “Going steady?” he finally settles on, even though it tastes odd in his mouth. He knows it was a strange vernacular when Barton snorts.
“Yeah, Grandpa, we go down to the lindy hop every week, she wears my letterman jacket.”
If any other Avenger were in the room barring Romanoff (and possibly Stark), they would have chided Barton for his lack of sensitivity about his old fashioned words. James doesn’t actually mind. Barton doesn’t walk on eggshells around him, for which he’s grateful.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, we are.”
James hesitates. “I think I knew her,” he confesses for the first time aloud. “Before all of this, long ago.” In the interest of full disclosure.
“Yeah, I know.”
“She’s told you?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
James doesn’t ask Barton what Romanoff told him. It would be disrespectful to inquire into Romanoff’s privacy, and insulting to Barton to assume that he would tell. They play in silence briefly.
“Oh, you asshole,” Barton says when James silently sends him a blue shell. “You’re lucky you’re like 103 or I would so kick your ass.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
“You’re also lucky you’re a scary as fuck Russian assassin who can probably kill me with his pinkie in six different ways.”
“Only four.”
One night, James dreams of training a young woman with hair like a world on fire, and seeing her tangled up in crisp white sheets, a soft expression on her face, and when he wakes up, he knows.
He heads down to the training room that morning, where Natalia is punching a bag. He watches her.
“I spent over half a century in the hands of the Red Room,” he says finally in Russian. She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. She is barely breathing heavily. “And the only bright spark in more than a lifetime of darkness was you.”
“You remember.”
“I do.”
She nods thoughtfully.
“None of the… feelings that I felt then remain.” He walks towards her until he is looking down at her face. “I am extremely fond of you, Natalia, but I am not in love with you.”
She cocks her head and smiles.
In the moment she smiles, he knows that this is the last time they will ever talk about their former relationship seriously. She will not allow it to hang over them, and he is filled with such swelling affection for her he can barely contain it.
“That’s probably good,” she answers. “You’d have to fight Clint for my hand.”
James is startled to realize he is smiling too, the first time he has smiled in a long time. “You’re perfectly capable of fighting for your own hand.”
“It’s good you realize that. I didn’t know if you would feel the urge to display masculine bravado.”
“Besides, I would wipe the floor with Barton.”
“And there it is.”
“It’s not bravado if it’s true.”
“Men.” She settles into a fighting stance.
“Oh, am I fighting for your hand now?”
“Let’s settle for the last donut.”
James feels his smile widen into a grin. “Deal.”
Rogers is a hard nut to crack.
James doesn’t mean this in the sense of the man himself. Rogers is an open book, easy to guess and understand, much easier than James understands himself. It is that very fact, however, that baffles James.
He knows that he knew Rogers once. He has read everything about Bucky Barnes, knows everything the world knows. And he remembers some of it, but not all, and that continues to nag at him.
Finally, a month passes after the Avengers have rescued him, and he plucks up the courage to plunk himself down in Rogers’s room. Rogers looks up from his sketchpad, blinking in a vaguely confused way. James isn’t surprised- James has tried to have minimal contact with Rogers.
“I don’t want to string you along,” James tells him abruptly.
“I’ll have to return that diamond ring, then.”
James scowls. He forgot what a little shit Rogers could be. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Sorry.” Rogers puts the sketchpad aside and focuses his full attention on James. “I’m listening.”
James is a little thrown by Rogers’s sudden focus but he steamrolls through it. “I don’t think I’ll ever remember everything. And pretending that I will just ain’t right. I’m never going to be the Bucky Barnes that you knew, and I don’t want you to keep me around just cause you think I might.”
Rogers looks at him for a long moment. “The Bucky Barnes that I knew,” he eventually says. “Wouldn’t recognize the Steve Rogers that I am. If I could change what happened to you, James, I’d do it in a heartbeat. If I could go back, I’d scour every inch remotely near to where you fell and I’d save you. But I can’t.” Rogers shrugs. “We’re both a little harder and a little more ruthless, and I don’t think we’d know each other if we ran into the other now. But we’re here now, and we might as well deal with all this as the people we are, and not the people we were.”
James is flummoxed. He expected Rogers to deal with this far more poorly than he has. Rogers grins at him pleasantly.
“Want to go watch a Disney movie?” He asks brightly. “They made a whole ton since we last saw one.”
“Sure,” James mutters dazedly, and follows Steve out of the room.
After this, it becomes easier to talk to Steve. They’ll be in the kitchen, and James will randomly say “did this happen? Is this true?” and Steve will answer “yes, James, that happened” or sometimes he will elaborate on stories.
One thing James knows for sure now is that it was never James getting them into trouble. It was Steve. It was all Steve.
(It never fails to amuse him, Stark’s assumption that Steve is a golden boy scout. Someday James will tell him about the memory of all the times James found Steve in alleys being beaten to a pulp)
The Avengers still go out on missions, of course. James doesn’t go with them. He’s still classified a “risk” by the government, apparently. He doesn’t mind. He’s moderately concerned (which is of course code for “absolutely terrified”) that if he goes out to start killing, he will become the Winter Soldier once more, irrevocably. He can’t in good conscience ask Steve to kill him, not after he’s found him all over again. It would destroy Steve.
This often puts James in the position of “wrangle all the Avengers together for medical assistance”. James has worked out most of it by now. Natalia, Thor, and Sam usually go willingly. Clint needs to be threatened with no MarioKart. Dr. Banner will hesitate and then waver with the slightest push. Steve just needs to be glared at.
Stark is harder. He is wily, and will slip away when James isn’t looking.
After a mission, when Stark has disappeared while James was folding his arms and fixing Steve with a steely stare, James wanders down to Stark’s workshop.
The door is locked. James looks at the ceiling, as is his habit when addressing JARVIS.
“Could I come in, please?”
“Sir has forbade me from allowing entry to any of the Avengers, Mr. Barnes.”
James smirks. “I’m not an Avenger.”
“Right you are.” There’s a touch of amusement in JARVIS’s tone, he thinks, if he strains his ears. “Do come in.”
The door slides open. Stark looks up from the hologram he’s studying and groans. “JARVIS, buddy, we talked about this.”
“Mr. Barnes is not an Avenger, sir.”
Stark glares at nothing in particular. “He’s an honorary Avenger.”
“That was not specified to me, sir.”
“Hmph.”
James stands calmly, hands behind his back. “You missed your after-mission physical.”
“Boring.”
“You could be injured.”
“Am not. JARVIS, am I injured?”
“A preliminary scan of your body suggests that you are physically healthy, sir.”
“See? I’m fine. Now go away, I’m busy.”
James raises his eyebrows and sits on a stool.
“No, see, that’s the opposite of go away. Did they have ‘go away’ in the 1940s, or was it scram?”
“You’re building Clint new arrows,” James observes, studying the hologram.
Stark sighs, apparently becoming resigned to the fact that James isn’t going anywhere. “Yeah, well, he’s going to blackmail me into it eventually.”
“You built Natalia new Widow’s Bites. And you improved the armor in Steve’s uniform. Banner’s pants grow and shrink with him. Wilson’s wings are faster. You’d probably build Thor new things too, if his armor and weapons weren’t vastly superior to anything you could build.”
Stark frowns. “I wouldn’t say vastly.”
“You’ve made everybody new gear.”
“I’m impressed by your deductive reasoning.”
“You’ve built a family.”
Stark freezes, hand hovering over a schematic.
“You’ve built yourself a little family, and you don’t want to lose them. So you build them better and fancier toys to protect them, because if you’re going to let someone in, you’ll be damned if you’re going to let them go.”
Stark faces away from him. “What’s your point, Soviet Slug?”
“The point, zhuchka, is that you worry about them.” James stands up. “Thing I’m starting to learn about family, though, is that they worry about you, too. Two-way street. Ain’t fair of you to make them worry about you when you don’t get yourself checked out. That’s all.”
James gets up and leaves. Everyone is about done with their physical (Clint is clearly fine, evidenced by how he is enthusiastically trying to convince Thor to try and summon lightning to make microwave popcorn) (he thinks Thor might be considering it) when Stark strides in and sits on the counter. Everyone stares at him.
“Tony?” Banner finally asks. “What are you-“
“This is where you do the physicals, right?” Tony gestures over his body. “Physical me.”
James smiles.
(Thor and Clint do try the popcorn trick)
(It goes about as one would expect)
James likes Bruce.
Bruce is quiet. He introduces James to various kinds of tea, and when they sit quietly, it doesn’t feel like Bruce is apprehensive about talking to him.
Sometimes, on James’s worse days, Bruce will tell him about times he turned into the Other Guy, times he couldn’t control and he hurt people. James will hesitantly offer up a recent memory of the terror he caused as the Winter Soldier. Bruce will not offer comfort or condolences, but simply get up to make James more tea.
James likes Bruce.
Thor takes James aside one day.
“My Lady Jane tells me that you were a mighty warrior, once.”
James swallows.
“Yeah. I’m not. It wasn’t in a good way.”
“I was not talking about your time under the control of other men, James.” Thor smiles pleasantly. James can see the gentleness in the smile, the genuine kindness. “I have heard from her that you were a mighty marksman when you fought with Steve in his war.”
Steve’s war. He’s always been fighting in Steve’s war, in a way.
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
“I have been informed that I should become more adept at blocking bullets as it concerns many when I am shot at. In addition, it damages my armor. Would you be content to shoot at me so that I may learn to halt their path with Mjolnir?”
James isn’t sure he’s ever been asked to shoot at someone before. But Thor is all earnestness in a gigantic form, and, well. He’s a god. It’s really very doubtful that he can hurt him.
“Yeah, sure.”
Thor beams. “Splendid!” He claps James on the back. James stumbles a few steps. “And I assure you, if at any time you feel uncomfortable holding a weapon of old in your hands, alert me and we shall cease immediately and I shall supply you with a Starbucks coffee, as the young Miss Darcy has introduced me to them and I find them sensational.”
(Later it occurs to James that they might have had to worry about bullets bouncing off the hammer and into him, but it would have been a non-concern, as bullets pretty much flatten the second they hit Mjolnir)
Sam teaches him how to Cook.
James knows how to cook. He remembers how to make food last when he and Steve were in the 30s and they needed to stretch everything, come up with creative ways to sustain themselves. He knows how to make food on the run, heating a can of soup with nothing but an iron.
Sam teaches him how to Cook.
James thinks his favorite part of cooking may be visiting grocery stores with Sam. Nobody recognizes James. Perhaps a flash of confusion will pass their face, a “you look familiar but I don’t know why”, and that is the closest anyone will get. Sometimes people recognize Sam, in which case James hangs back until they take their pictures with him and leave, but for the most part Sam is left alone.
The first time James entered a grocery store, he got overwhelmed and had to sit down outside the store while Sam sat next to him in silent comfort, hand on his back. He’s never seen that much food in his life, never dreamed of seeing that much food in his life.
Now he goes in and marvels at all of it, stares at this strange new food.
Sam takes lots of pictures of his face when James picks up a jar of something and texts them to the Avengers with the caption of whatever James said holding it The top five as ranked by the rest of the Avengers are as follows-
“What is a quinoa and how the fuck do you pronounce it?”
“If this Nutella is everything it says it is on the packaging I kind of want to bathe in it.”
“You see this strawberry? This strawberry is about the size of Steve’s fist before he got big. Strawberries were not meant to be this large. Man is not meant to play god.”
“Why is this marshmallow fluff pink?”
“Ben & Jerry’s was worth dying for. You’re laughing, Sam, but I swear to God, I’m 100% serious.”
James finds himself developing nicknames for each Avenger. Tony is zhuchka, in reference to their first meeting. Clint is fathead, just because it appears to tickle Clint whenever he uses words from way back when.
(“What’s asshole in old timey?” Clint had asked excitedly.
“Asshole,” James answered dryly.
“That’s no fun at all.”)
Sam is sokolka. He calls Natalia tantsorka, because he remembers how prettily she used to dance, and he sees how her face softens when he calls her so. Thor is vsyrvka, to commemorate what happened during the Great Popcorn Incident. Bruce is chayka, to remember all the times that Bruce has sat with him with nothing expected of him but to share his tea.
Steve is punk. He could never be anything else.
James realizes, when he cuffs Tony’s ear and calls him zhuchka that they are no longer just people he operates in the same sphere as, but his friends. The thought of having friends gives him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, though he’d deny it to anyone who asked.
The Avengers go out on a mission and as is James’s custom, he watches the news footage on the television. It’s relaxing in a way, to be able to see what is happening.
It is not relaxing in another, to know that he cannot control what happens, but he will take information over discomfort.
It is relaxing, until he sees Steve go down, and not get back up.
Tony drags Steve to under a building and hovers over him, trying to pick off whatever henchmen come at him. But it’s impractical, and eventually he’s going to miss one.
James never misses.
He stands up abruptly and goes straight to the weapons locker installed in the main room. He grabs several guns, loads a belt full of ammo, and pulls one of Tony’s napkins around his face to disguise it.
It is not hard to get to where Tony is. Predictably, Tony misses a henchman right as James gets close enough. He easily shoots the guy and Tony whips around.
“Holy shit, Freezer Burn,” he says, voice amplified but somehow slightly distorted through his Iron Man mask. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I can guard Steve.” James hefts his gun. “Go save the city, zhuchka. I’ve got him.”
“Someday you’re going to tell me what zhuchka means.”
“Brave warrior.”
“You’re full of shit.” Tony jets off and James settles into a protective positon over Steve.
Many men come at James and Steve, eager to be the ones who killed Captain America. James doesn’t even let them get close.
The battle doesn’t last long, and soon the Avengers arrive to take him to the Tower’s medical bay, which became a necessity after the downfall of SHIELD. Bruce reports that Steve’s fine. Just a little bruised up. James still doesn’t leave his side.
When Steve’s eyes flutter open, they wander the room until they dazedly focus on James.
“Bucky,” he mumbles.
James reaches over and grabs the cup of water with the straw he had ready for this. He moves the straw to Steve’s lips and Steve greedily drinks all of the water in seconds.
“You’re an idiot,” James informs him. “I mean, a real moron.”
“Thanks.” He frowns. “Did I hallucinate you?”
“I think I’m here, punk. You can poke me, if you need to.”
“Jerk,” Steve says automatically. “No, I mean… were you protecting me?”
“Oh.” James shrugs. “Saw you on the news. Thought you might need a hand.”
“Thanks.” Steve swallows. His frown deepens. “Sorry.”
“If you’re about to say for getting shot at-“
“No. I called you Bucky.”
“Oh.” James hadn’t even noticed. He thinks about it.
“You know,” Bucky says slowly. “I might be okay with that.”
When Bruce gives Steve the all-clear to leave the medical bay, they move to the main room, where all the Avengers are lounging around.
“Gee whiz willickers, it’s Captain America’s big strong hero,” Clint says, dodging a punch in the arm from Bucky. Bucky doesn’t blame him. His punches hurt.
Tony immediately advances on him. “If you’re going into the field, you have to let me look at your arm,” he informs him. “Mostly because I don’t want it suddenly gaining a mind of its own and punching us all out with some weird Communist mission.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” James answers dryly.
“Come on; let’s show them our superior MarioKart skills.” Clint drags Bucky over.
In the end, they form teams. Thor breaks a few Wiimotes. Steve astounds everyone with his colorful swearing at the television. Natalia silently and ruthlessly destroys Clint while Clint tries to threaten to withhold sex; something that everyone knows is an empty threat. Tony demands to be allowed to win on the grounds he owns everything. Bruce doesn’t play, saying it’s a bad idea for everything.
Bucky looks at them at one point, and realizes he’s got a family. He grins and settles into the couch, finally comfortable.
(They send the government a Christmas card of Bucky wearing reindeer antlers and an ugly Christmas sweater that says “Christmas Greetings from Cousin Sergei!”. Tony had it made specially)
(It's Bucky's idea)