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Bucky doesn’t blame them, honestly, he doesn’t, but knowing that the fault lies with himself isn’t exactly a comforting thought, especially coupled with the sort of crippling loneliness that comes with being deemed a danger to society and kept in total isolation.
Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, although going by how Bucky feels about his current situation, it really doesn’t seem like it.
He has access to his and Steve’s apartment, the communal floors as well as the gym and the labs, so that whatever’s left of SHIELD doesn’t have to drag him halfway across town every single time they need him for some more tests or another evaluation.
Which is often.
Too often, Bucky thinks, but doesn’t say.
He doesn’t say much at all, these days, preferring to blend into the shadows and be ignored over being stared at with mistrust, disgust or, worst of all, fear.
They try to hide it, Bucky can see the effort they all put into making him more comfortable, but Bucky isn’t stupid, he knows they’d rather have him somewhere else, somewhere far away from their home, the place where they’re supposed to feel happy and safe, no matter how passionately Steve insists that isn’t true.
But Steve is an idealist, Steve doesn’t understand that people who’ve never known Steve's Bucky, the Bucky before the war and HYDRA, who’ve only ever known him as a mindless mass murderer, don’t have any reason to trust him or want him close. They’re accepting Bucky into their midst because they care about Steve, as a favour to Steve, not out of the good of their hearts or a desire to rehabilitate something that is, almost certainly, broken beyond repair.
Bucky has mentioned this to Steve, once. The heartbroken look, damp eyes and hoarse whisper of his name it earned him have convinced him not to try again.
So Bucky continues to let Steve drag him to dinners with his friends, conversations coming to abrupt and awkward halts the moment they step into the room, and movie nights where everyone sits cramped together in the armchairs or down on the floor, nowhere near the spot on the couch Steve had made Bucky’s by pushing Bucky into the first time around.
Steve is doing what he’s convinced is the right thing, as usual, only that right doesn’t always mean good or nice, and feeling completely, devastatingly alone in a room full of people definitely isn’t either of those.
The only person Bucky hasn’t met so far in the three weeks he’s been out of what Steve calls a hospital and Bucky thinks of as just another circle of hell, is Stark.
Howard’s son, apparently. Away on business somewhere halfway around the world but probably hearing all about the huge mistake he’s made in allowing Bucky into his house from the rest of the tower’s residents.
It’s really no wonder that Bucky is less than enthusiastic about meeting the man he owes everything to, from the roof over his head to the clothes on his back.
You only get one chance at a first impression, and Bucky didn’t even get to make his himself.
***
Bucky shuffles into the shared kitchen shortly before four in the morning for some of Doctor Banner’s herbal tea, a nasty concoction that always reminds him of veggies left out of the fridge for a little too long, but never fails to put him right back to sleep after being woken by dreams he stubbornly refuses to analyze or even think about.
He still gets this knot in his stomach whenever he pulls out one of the teabags, something in the back of his mind itching and screaming at him to go ask permission first despite Steve having assured him, time and again, that Doctor Banner doesn’t mind sharing at all.
The tea is instantly forgotten, however, when Bucky steps into the room only to find Stark sitting at the bar, laptops, plural, open in front of him and papers scattered all around him, marker poised and ready and a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, talking a mile a minute in rapid, flawless Japanese.
How Bucky knows what language he’s hearing, never mind that Stark’s pronunciation is perfect, well, he figures it’s better not to dwell on that.
None of all that is what completely throws Bucky for a loop, though, the reason for him freezing in the doorway is the tiny person perched on Stark’s right leg, swinging his little feet and gurgling happily as he crumples what looks suspiciously like an official and probably important document.
Stark seems to come to the same conclusion a moment later, letting out a tired sigh and asking whoever’s on the other end of the line to hold, setting the phone down on the bar before gently, and unsuccessfully, trying to pry the paper out of the boy’s hands.
“Peter, cupcake, love of my life, please give Daddy his contract back,” Stark coaxes to no avail, the boy, Peter, obviously finding Stark’s retrieval attempts hilarious, going by the excited shrieking. Stark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, voice low and resigned as he asks, “I don’t suppose you’re ready to go back to bed yet, huh?”
“No, no, no,” Peter babbles and flails his arms, sending a few pens flying and smacking Stark in the face in the process.
Bucky doesn’t realise the quiet, almost inaudible chuckle is coming from him until Stark’s eyes snap up to fix on him.
Swallowing hard, throat suddenly dry around the lump in it, Bucky ducks his head to stare at his socks, unsure what to do or say now that he’s standing face to face with the man he’s done his best to avoid ever since he got back a couple of days ago.
The decision is made for him when Stark jumps up, hesitating for only a second at the flinch his sudden movement elicits from Bucky, marches right up to him and, before Bucky is entirely sure what’s happening, presses the bundle of wiggling baby against his chest, Bucky’s hands coming up to catch him instinctively.
“Just for a minute,” Stark says, bending down to kiss Peter’s cheek when the boy twists around, frowning up at him and then complaining loudly when Stark uses his momentary distraction to snatch back the paper. “Be good for your Uncle Bucky,” he orders, pointing a stern finger at the boy. To Bucky he adds, “Sorry about this, I’ll make it up to you. There’s a bag with toys and his blanket on the couch.”
And with that he turns back to his work, picking the phone back up and tapping at one of the keyboards to wake up the screen, leaving Bucky to gape at him, speechless and staying stock still in his confusion, until Peter has enough of being ignored and pulls a strand of Bucky’s hair into his mouth, chewing contentedly.
“Peter,” Bucky says, and cringes at the roughness of his unused voice and the idiocy of the statement.
But the baby doesn’t seem to mind at all, blinking huge brown eyes up at Bucky when he hears his name, smiling toothily and exclaiming an excited, “Bu!”
Bucky’s lips twitch. “Bucky, yeah.”
“Bu,” Peter insists, grabbing at Bucky’s cheeks and grinning, bouncing around in Bucky’s hold.
Suddenly afraid that he’s going to drop his precious charge, Bucky, slowly and very carefully, walks over to the couch and lowers himself down onto it, arranging the boy in his lap so he’s facing Bucky, hands curled securely but gently around the small body.
“Oh uh,” Peter complains and kicks his legs, so Bucky lifts him up again, holding him under his arms and watching in amusement as Peter takes a few wobbly, uncoordinated steps up Bucky’s thighs, chattering nonstop the entire time.
When he’s close enough to reach, Peter collapses against Bucky with a shouted “Bu!”, giggling like crazy and then squealing in delight when Bucky holds him up over his head, beaming down at Bucky who can’t help but smile back at the boy.
Until he hears Steve’s surprised, “Buck?” and looks over at the man standing a few feet away, hands outstretched toward Peter. “What are you doing?”
Bucky is up like a flash, jerkily handing the boy over to Steve before fleeing in the general direction of the elevators, chest tightening when Peter cries after him in disappointment.
“What the fuck?” he hears Stark demand as he squeezes past the still opening doors, slapping his whole hand against the button console, not caring where he’ll be taken as long as it’s away from here.
With JARVIS being in charge, Bucky actually ends up on his and Steve’s floor, dashing through the apartment and crawling into his bed, pulling the sheets tightly around and over himself, pressing his eyes shut and counting back down from ten to fend off the panic and doubt he can feel creeping into the back of his mind.
What had he been doing? What had he been thinking?
He’s the last person who should be handling a child, a goddamned baby, he can barely interact with the adults around him, dealing with someone who can’t speak to tell him when and how he’s fucking up is bound to end in disaster.
Bucky stays holed up in his bedroom for the better part of two days, not answering when Steve comes knocking and blending out whatever he’s saying, not exactly enthusiastic to hear Steve tell him what he already knows; to please not touch the baby again and stay away from an undoubtedly freaked out Stark.
***
His therapists have given the green light for Bucky to leave the tower, with the restriction that he stay in a one block radius at all times, but it isn’t as if Bucky has anywhere to go, so he doesn’t.
After a couple of weeks of that, the suggestions to go outside stop coming and Bucky is relieved beyond measure until Steve starts insisting Bucky join him for walks, clearly in cahoots with the doctors.
They have to work up to it, though eventually, a leisurely stroll around the tower with a short stop at Gary’s hot dog cart doesn’t send Bucky’s anxiety levels through the roof anymore, and he actually begins to enjoy the fresh air and brief chats with Gary.
But of course it can’t stay that way, Bucky isn’t allowed to keep the things he likes the way he likes them, and instead of waiting for him in the lobby, one afternoon Steve sends Bucky a text asking to meet him at the cart.
Which isn’t how this is supposed to go, Bucky and Steve always leave together, Bucky doesn’t meet Steve at the cart, they leave together, Bucky doesn’t-
“Hey, you okay?”
Bucky jumps, not having heard Stark approaching, glancing over at the man only to be greeted with Peter’s grinning face and a high-pitched, “Bu! Bu!”
“That’s right, bunny,” Stark praises, stroking a hand over the baby’s fuzzy head. “You’ve missed playing airplane with Uncle Bucky, haven’t you?”
Peter blows a raspberry and Stark nods seriously at him before turning to Bucky.
“Where are you off to?” he asks and hands Peter over without a hint of hesitation or worry, placing a hand, warm and grounding, on the small of Bucky’s back as he guides him across the lobby. “Mind if we tag along? I’m pretty sure child protective services are going to come knocking one day soon if I don’t get the squirt outside every now and again.”
After taking a moment to compose himself and slow down his, for some reason, furiously thumping heart, Bucky blurts, “We’re going to have hot dogs. Steve an’ me.”
Stark’s face lights up at that. “At Gary’s?”
Bucky runs a hand up and down Peter’s back and chances another shy look at Stark. “Yeah?”
“Count me in,” Stark whoops, reaching over to tickle Peter’s tummy when the boy looks at him curiously before launching into a rapid-fire speech about why Gary’s hot dogs are the best hot dogs in Manhattan and, possibly, all of New York.
Steve’s waiting just as promised, eyes flickering from Bucky to the baby in his arms to Stark and then Stark’s hand which, Bucky realises, is still on him, and raises a questioning brow.
Bucky can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks but then Gary spots them and immediately starts cooing at Peter, food is prepared and served, Steve and Stark have an apparently recurring argument about the tastiness of onions, Peter keeps offering Bucky bites from the spit-soaked piece of bread he’s gnawing on, and Bucky completely forgets to be nervous about showing up with Stark or holding a tiny human being.
On the walk back to the tower, Stark has Peter perched on his hip and his free arm slung casually around Bucky’s waist, still bickering animatedly with Steve, who’s being the little shit Bucky knew a lifetime ago and acting all innocent and aw, shucks, mister to rile Stark up even more.
Maybe, Bucky thinks, new things don’t always have to be bad.
***
Bucky bakes a pie for Peter’s first birthday.
He doesn’t even properly register what he’s doing until Steve walks into the kitchen with Sam, stops and tilts his head, asking, “Apple crumble?”
“Yup,” Bucky says absently, then falters and looks up at Steve, wide-eyed and trembling. “I- I don’t- how do I know-“
“Your mom’s recipe,” Steve explains, folding Bucky up in a hug and only grousing a little bit at the flour Bucky gets all over him.
They stand there, Bucky clutching at Steve’s shirt, for a long time, until Bucky’s breaths stop coming in gasps and hitches.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bucky mumbles sheepishly but Steve shrugs off the apology, smiling fondly and giving Bucky’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he tells him it’s okay.
Rubbing at his stinging eyes, Bucky turns back to the counter, hesitating when he sees Sam leaning against the fridge, glass of milk in one hand and his phone in the other, trying to give the other two men at least some semblance of privacy.
Bucky chews at his thumbnail, not sure how to react to Sam’s surprise visit. He hasn’t seen Sam since the day on the heli-
“’M sorry ‘bout your wings,” Bucky manages to choke out, wrapping his free arm around himself and resolutely staring at a point somewhere over Sam’s right shoulder.
“We’re good, man,” Sam says easily and Bucky can hear that he’s genuine, which makes him relax enough to glance at Sam’s face. Sam grins. “’Sides, got Stark to make me a better pair, so I’m not complaining. Now,” he claps his hands together, nodding at the bag of apples, “want some help peeling those?”
Bucky continues his work in silence while Sam and Steve talk and joke and flick flour at each other, but for once, Bucky doesn’t feel left out, hums in confirmation whenever Steve’s stories about their time with the Howlies make Sam shoot him disbelieving looks, and even laughs and shoves Steve away when Steve ruffles his dirty hands through Bucky’s hair.
His good mood lasts until the three of them walk out of the elevator and into Stark’s penthouse, where they’re greeted with several pairs of wary eyes swivelling over in their direction and voices cutting off abruptly.
The only ones happy to see them, to see Bucky, are Stark and Peter, the latter calling out excitedly and immediately being handed over to Bucky in exchange for the pie.
“This looks great,” Stark smiles, rubbing Bucky’s arm. “Thanks for coming.”
Peter sits in Bucky’s lap as they sing Happy Birthday, and Bucky does his best to prevent the boy from touching the flame on the candle, distracting him with bites of cake and pie and sips of juice instead.
He’s so absorbed in feeding Peter that Bucky doesn’t realise everyone’s staring at him until someone awkwardly clears their throat and he glances up at them, Pepper suggesting delicately, “I can take him for a while if-“
“He’s fine,” Stark interrupts before she can finish, chin lifted and voice hard, making it clear that arguing would be futile. “They’re both fine.”
But Bucky’s self-conscious now, unable to keep himself from wondering if he’s doing something wrong, and gladly passes Peter back over to his father when it’s time to open presents.
Using everyone’s preoccupation, Bucky slinks away and out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing and watching the busy New York evening down below.
He doesn’t blame them, he really doesn’t.
It’s the quiet sound of the door sliding open and then shut again that alerts Bucky to someone else’s presence, Stark coming to stand beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush together.
After a moment of silence, Stark says, “Come inside and help Pete open your present?”
“Don’t wanna spoil everyone’s fun,” Bucky mumbles, shaking his head. Stark scoffs, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth, but Bucky talks over him before he can come up with meaningless platitudes or downright lies. “I’m not stupid, you know. They can barely stand bein’ in the same room with me, I don’t-“
“They’re trying to give you space.”
Bucky blinks, surprised, then demands, “The fuck they doin’ that for?”
“Because they're idiots,” Stark shrugs, “well-meaning idiots, but still idiots.”
“They’re avoidin’ me ‘cause they think that’s what I want?” Bucky asks, crushed and disappointed, mostly in himself. “But why? What’d I do to- did I say somethin’ to- what have I done to make them think-“
“This isn’t your fault, Buck,” Stark sighs exhaustedly, turning to face Bucky, one hand reaching out to take Bucky’s metal one, curling around it for a soft squeeze. “We’re all a little broken, comes with the job. We get shot at and thrown off buildings, get kidnapped and hurt and every other week, someone nearly dies and it’s too much, it’s too much to deal with, to process. So we don’t. Well, most of us don’t. We try battling through all the shit on our own and assume that’s what everyone else wants as well. It’s a fucked-up situation, believe me, I know. But,” he shrugs again, cheeks colouring, “I can’t afford to do that anymore, not with Peter around. So, I talk. About stuff. Or I try to. Doesn’t always work. My therapist could write a novel about how often it doesn’t work. What I’m trying to say is to cut them some slack, not take everything they say or don’t say to heart. They’ll get their shit together sooner or later and until then you’ve got Capsicle and Bird Guy and, well, me. And Peter. If you want us, that is.”
Much to Bucky’s mortification, he can feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, hastily swiping a hand over his face even though he knows it’s useless, that Stark has seen already. “I just-“ he croaks, letting out a frustrated huff when his voice cracks embarrassingly. “I just want it to be over. I want everything to be over and not be reminded of- of- not be reminded all the time, and it’s hard and I hate it and I don’t know-“
Stark’s fingers are warm on the back of his neck as he draws Bucky into a hug which Bucky returns almost desperately, tucking his face into Stark’s neck to hide the tears and muffle the sobs.
“I’m so freakin’ tired,” he hiccups wetly, then pulls back when Stark’s half-question finally catches up with him. “An’ yeah, I want you. I mean,” he stutters, internally kicking himself because now he’s making assumptions, reading into Stark’s words. “I mean, I like you? I mean, I do! And I want to be your- your friend?!”
Stark quirks an amused eyebrow at him. “Friends, huh? Well, it’s a start, I guess,” he smirks, using his thumbs to brush the dampness away from Bucky’s face before leaning in and following that with a chaste but lingering kiss to Bucky’s cheek.
“Come back inside,” he whispers, nudging his nose against Bucky’s, “it’s just us, party’s over, sent the others home. And you still owe Peter a present.”
Bucky takes a deep breath, exhales in a shudder and dips his forehead against Tony’s. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
***
“Eeb,” Peter mumbles sleepily when he spots Steve in the doorway, and Steve hastily puts a finger against his lips, whispering back a quiet, “Ssh,” before he turns on his heel, walking back out into the hall.
“What-“ Clint starts but Steve cuts him off, shushing the rest of the assembled cleaning commando.
“They’re sleeping,” he mouths, making shooing motions at them and rolling his eyes when they do the exact opposite, several heads going to peek around the corner into the living room where Tony is sprawled out on the couch with Bucky nestled against his chest, and Peter looking pleased as punch wedged snugly between them and now poking at his dad’s open mouth.
Tony snorts and coughs, and six superheroes plus one CEO of a multibillion dollar company flee into the waiting elevator in a wave of giggles and snickers.