Chapter Text
“Hey, honey,” Bucky grumbles, voice rough with sleep, when four delicate paws land in the space next to his head. “Morning cuddle time already?”
The answer is a rumbling affirmative meow, too close to his face. Before he has time to pat his chest, where she usually curls up, Alpine rams her forehead into his face. Bucky sputters a little, fur now sticking to his lips, but his precocious cat will not be deterred. He chuckles breathily as she continues aggressively nuzzling his face. Only when he turns his head to the complete opposite side and wordlessly motions to his chest does she relent and accept his invitation. For several blissful minutes he lays there, absently stroking Alpine’s soft white fur, intermittent with chin scratches until she’s done with that and juts her head into his palm again. Though she purrs louder than any cat he’s ever met, it does little to help him wake. Quite the opposite, actually–the vibrations from her purring are a godsend on restless nights.
Truthfully, he’s content to lay there the rest of the day and sleep off his hangover. Last night had been fun. He doesn’t get drunk much these days without a proper holiday as a good excuse, but Sam, Steve, Bobbi, Sandy, Becca, and Nat had all continued pushing drinks at him. Hadn’t killed his darts game, though. Much to Sam’s chagrin and Bucky’s infinite amusement. Sure, he might have been showing off a little more than usual, but that’s only because Matt, Foggy, and Karen weren’t at Josie’s Bar, for once–Karen always manages to just narrowly beat him.
So yeah, last night was fun. But Bucky’s paying for it now. Worth it though, even if he didn’t learn anything else about Sam’s hidden predicament. Rome wasn’t built in a day, though.
“I assume Steve fed you.” When he gets a vibrato merp in response, he puffs out a small laugh. “Cool. Wake me up when it’s dinner time then.”
However, Sandy has different plans for his day. Of course.
The beginning of the chorus of “Rasputin” by Boney M causes both of them to startle, and Bucky lets out a very long winded, long-suffering sigh. It’s Saturday. Morning. She should be hungover, too. Why is she calling him? And god he really needs to change that ringtone. It’s been months since she set it. He’s not even sure when it happened, as his phone is pretty much always in either his pocket or his hand.
“Fuck,” he gripes under his breath. “Sorry, Al,” he throws at her. She chirps again, this time from the opposite nightstand. Groaning, he turns over to flail around for his phone. “Bite her next time she comes over.”
When he finally answers, it’s with a bland, “hey.”
“Mornin’!” She’s so fucking chipper. “I do actually have something to talk to you about, but like, this has been bugging me all morning and nobody else wants to talk about it, so I’m gonna ask you.”
This bodes well.
“How much sex do you think mom and dad have on a weekly basis still? I know they’re in—”
Bucky hangs up.
A few moments later, his phone buzzes with a text. It may very well be from someone other than Sandy, so he reluctantly pulls his face out of his pillow and peeks at it.
Pick up the phone when I call. It’s actually important
He lets out a sigh that’s far more of a groan. If she was just gonna bother him again with a thought he very much doesn’t wanna think about ever , thank you, she would have called right back or sent twenty other texts on the same subject. So he waits.
“Sandy,” he begins when she calls again, “if you start rambling on about mom and pops’ sex life, I will block you.”
It’s not an empty threat. He’s done it before. Only for a day at a time, and in the past she’s gotten Gigi, Bobbi, or even Steve to convince him to unblock her. But he’s clearly serious. So she huffs. “Yeah fine. But nobody else wants to talk about it. Hell, Gigi was over here covering her ears like a prudent little Catholic schoolgirl, but like, I’m curious as to what the rest of the family thinks. Don’t wanna ask mom and dad directly cause dad will just get flustered and embarrassed and mom will probably lie about it in some way or another—”
“Sandra. Shut the fuck up. What do you want?”
“Fine, James. Don’t hang up on me this time, I’m serious. Bucky?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Okay.”
“So I have a whole day planned for us today. You, me, Steve, and Sam. Don’t hang up.”
“I’m still here! Christ almighty. Stop painting me as an asshole for no reason and get to the point before I actually start to become one.”
“Anyway, it was gonna be a trip to the spa, maybe hitting up the batting cages where I can kick you guys’ asses, lunch at Dosas, walk around Washington Square Park, maybe even a trip to the aquarium. Hadn’t decided on everything yet or the order. But. Work called.”
Then, she launches into an explanation of some “work emergency.” Bucky honestly zones out because, once again, she’s over explaining technical stuff he already doesn’t understand. Something about servers and an incompetent coworker and how Sandy’s a genius. But when he hears “Gigi,” he tunes back in immediately.
“—on the phone, and when I hung up, Penny was like, ‘Hey, since you all aren’t going out, what if the other three go supervise Carson’s play date?’ Everyone knows you and Steve love Carson, and Penny and Gigi deserve some alone time to go do something fun for themselves on a Saturday, so…”
“What about Sam?” he asks, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. Thank god he spends a lot of time on core muscles at the gym, otherwise doing that with the phone held to his ear would be incredibly difficult and he’d have to use the speaker, which is too tinny for his throbbing head right now. He lets his gaze rest on the prosthetic in its case across the room.
“He’d come with you, duh. He’s not child illiterate. He was just telling us last night about how he volunteers at the Boys & Girls Club in DC when he can. He knows how to talk to kids that aren’t his own nephews. And he’s met Carson before.”
“I know. I was there, I heard, and I remember clearly.” Despite being pretty damn buzzed, he had definitely been paying more attention to Sam last night than, well, any other time before. Barring dinner three days ago, that is. “That man has far too much on his plate.”
“I know, right? I mean I like to keep busy, too, but I also definitely make sure I get my free time.” She uncharacteristically pauses. Then, “Huh.”
“Hu ? What huh?”
“Nothing,” she nearly sings, then moves on a bit too quickly. “Anyway, point is, he likes kids, and I think Carson getting to see Uncles Bucky, Steve, and Sam today would be great for him. And you. And his moms. Who need a break. And you three also get to spend some quality time together!”
He pointedly ignores the way she weirdly but subtly emphasizes “quality time” because it’s useless to ask why. “Honestly that’s all you had to say, Sandy: Gigi needs my help and you got called into work. Done. Five less minutes of you wasting your breath.”
“You know you love to hear me talk.”
“No, you love to hear you talk. The rest of us suffer.”
“One man’s suffering is another man’s pleasure.”
“Yeah, well, at least Sam and I agree on something.”
“And that would be…?”
As if she doesn’t know. “That we suffer when you’re around.”
“Huh.”
God he is not in the right headspace for this right now. Because that is definitely not an offended “huh.” It’s the same one she gave him earlier.
“Just tell me when and where, Sandy, for the love of god.”
Gigi’s more maternal, always has been. And loved kids ever since she was old enough to babysit. Which is why it shocked no one that, despite being the youngest, she was the first to gift their parents with a grandkid. Not biologically, but that technicality has never mattered in this family. Besides, Carson was only a few months old when Penny and Gigi met through a mutual friend at Carson’s daycare, so she’s pretty much always been his mom.
Bucky smiles every time he thinks about their early days; about how absolutely smitten Gigi was with Penny from basically day one; about how Bucky and Becca had to sit down with her and explain that yes , Penny was flirting with her and yes , inviting her to Coney Island without her baby qualified as a date; about how perfectly they compliment each other and how well they fit the, “Excuse me, he asked for no pickles,” meme that he really wishes had been around back then. Not that he doesn’t pester Gigi with it now, but still.
So yeah, Carson’s got some pretty great moms. Meaning he’s a pretty great kid. Spoiled, by everyone, but great. So babysitting is always a task Bucky’s more than happy to oblige with.
Instead of having the three come by their apartment in the Upper East Side, Penny and Gigi just met them at the nearby park. Actually, Sam had shown up ten minutes late with Starbucks. Literally. And, weirdly enough, with Bucky’s go-to order, which Nat and Frank give him shit for every time: a grande iced cinnamon dolce latte with a shot of espresso. Whatever, it’s good , and Bucky loves cinnamon.
Bucky would have snarked at him for that and being late—which is strange because it took him and Steve almost thirty minutes to get there from Brooklyn, and Sam had been with the ladies that morning—but he’s still mentally in bed. So he simply watches him for a split second longer as he slowly puts his mouth around his straw. Sam’s eyebrow twitches, but besides the smile that was already there, makes no other indication he cares to address Bucky’s unspoken question.
Carson taps his fingernails against his vibranium wrist, drawing Bucky’s attention. He’d put him down ages ago after he’d given himself and Steve that suffocating hug five-year-olds are famous for, expecting him to run along to the playground with his friend, Ezra. Instead, he’d glued himself to Bucky’s side and started tugging and pulling at his prosthetic, rambling about how cool it is to Ezra. He’d only pried himself away to cling briefly to Sam’s leg when he arrived before going right back to Bucky’s left arm.
He looks down at his nephew, gaze settling on the mop of copper hair he’d inherited from Penny. He expects there to be a question attached to the tapping, but instead, Carson is still rambling on about color choices he’d have chosen for a metal arm: red and green, because he loves Christmas. Ezra says red and black, “because it’s cool,” and Bucky covers his smile by sticking his straw in his mouth again.
It hadn’t been Bucky’s first choice of colors, but black with gold inlay was the most tame design Shuri gave him. It’s grown on him since then, of course, and it is beautiful, but still. A dull black would have been just fine.
After waving off Penny and Gigi’s profuse thanks, Sam finally gets them to leave for their day alone. The movies, some shopping, stuff like that—they hadn’t set any solid plans, but Bucky did suggest the spa, which they seemed to take a shine to. Specifics don’t matter, he’s willing to watch Carson all day.
Wiggling his fingers, which he’d kept completely still while being manhandled, startles the kids. Bucky laughs and waves them away towards the playground. They don’t need to be told twice, giggling and screeching the whole way. Well, Ezra’s doing more screeching and Carson’s doing more giggling. “Besties on the first day of school,” Penny said. Blatantly obvious, it is.
Steve ushers them over to the one unoccupied bench nearby, which thankfully has a great sightline to most of the playground. Unfortunately, the bench is small. Too small for three grown-ass, broad shouldered men, so they end up crammed together on it, with Steve, as always, the middleman between Bucky and Sam.
They sit quietly for a while, sipping their coffees and watching the dozen or so kids and ignoring the occasional lingering looks from possibly single parents. Eventually, the espresso kicks in and Bucky feels more present in the moment. Enough to wonder exactly how Sam knew his order. He considers asking, but he knows the likely answer is just that Sandy told him, that she went with him to Starbucks to get her disgusting 10% coffee, 90% sugar order before heading into work. Goddamn hummingbird.
Steve and Sam start up a conversation that Bucky half-asses listening to, mostly focusing on making sure Carson doesn’t get too wild. He and Ezra seem to feed off each other’s extreme hyperactivity, talking a mile a minute while scrambling over every available surface in between sprinting back and forth in some version of Capture the Flag or… something. Bucky’s not quite sure what’s going on, but that’s not unusual with kids.
Eventually, he registers the word “cat” coming from Steve’s mouth, followed by what sounds like “Figaro” from Sam.
It takes a moment, but Bucky’s brain does catch up. He leans forward, pinning Sam with narrowed eyes, and asks, “Hang on, did you just say you have a cat?”
Sam’s lips twist into a wry smirk. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Barnes.” When his response is a glower of answer the question, Wilson, Sam chuckles, rolls his eyes, and brings his cup to his lips–something hot, probably with a lot of sugar, because Southerner. “Yes, I have a cat, and his name is Figaro. Cause he looks just like the one from Pinnochio.” He awkwardly digs into his pocket for his phone, and Steve shifts just as awkwardly to give him a little space, meaning he’s now leaning awkwardly into the left side of Bucky’s back.
Damn this bench.
“Here.” Sam offers his phone with a picture of the aforementioned cat. Who does look exactly like Geppetto’s. “See?”
“No shit,” Bucky says, slack jawed. “Never figured you for a cat person.”
Steve gives him a look. “Buck.” He gestures with his head toward the playground.
“Crap,” Bucky winces, “sorry.”
Steve laughs through his nose. “I don’t see how Gigi is related to any of you. John notwithstanding.”
“Somehow she avoided getting any of our bad traits.”
“No, I’d been thinking about this earlier after hearing you and Sandy on the phone this morning, sorry. I just meant how… innocent she is compared to you guys. Swearing doesn’t count as a bad trait.”
“I mean, it isn’t a bad trait, but forgetting to swear in front of kids is.”
Sam scoffs good-naturedly. “Put that on my list of character defects, then.”
“So that makes your list a grand total of two items,” Steve says. “That, and sore loser.”
“Hey! Bucky cheated.”
“I can’t cheat at darts!” Bucky protests, a laugh in his voice. “Especially not at a public bar in New York. If it was my own set at home, sure, you’d have a case. But it wasn’t.”
“I can promise,” Steve says, wedging his coffee cup between his knees so he can place one hand over his heart and raise the other with three fingers pressed together, “that Bucky has never cheated at darts in his life. He’s just wickedly good at it. Always has been. Scout’s honor.”
Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes before giving them a defeated look. “I hate that I know you’re actually bein’ serious when you do that. Like we’re all seven again.”
“I really don’t wanna go back to being seven again,” Bucky groans, throwing his head back. “Steve got in so many fights, Sam. So many. Even though I was, like, never the one who started them, I always got just as bruised as him. You’d think the other kids would take it easier on the kid with one arm, but nooooo.”
It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes as Sam lightly chuckles. “Sure, blame it all on me. I just happened to be the one around when they were pulling their stunts.”
Listening to Steve censor himself around children or certain adults will always be funny. He knows what he really wants to say is, “when these dipshits were being fucking bullies.” Nothing about Steve—his artsy demeanor, his looks, or the genuine aw shucks attitude that comes off upon first meetings—would suggest that he swears like a sailor, but he sure as shit does. It’s always the innocent looking ones, Frank said once.
“You can’t tell me that if you’d been there, you wouldn’t have stood up to them either, Buck.”
Bucky shrugs, still looking at the sky above. “You were always more eager to prove yourself than I was. There was a lotta rage packed into such a scrawny little body.”
“Look, you got into your fair share of fights, too.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t getting my butt handed—hey, Carson!”
Bucky’s face breaks out into a bright grin as the boy launches himself at Bucky’s chest, giggling.
“Uncle Bucky!” Carson exclaims louder than necessary, dark green eyes wide and eager and begging Bucky to even try to resist whatever he’s gonna ask. “Come on, we’re gonna play Star Wars and you gotta be Darth Vader!”
“Sure, squirt.” Bucky stands when Carson finally lets him go and backs up. “Who am I fighting?”
“I’m Luke!”
“And I’m Obi-Wan!” Ezra announces, just as unnecessarily loudly.
“Uncle Steve, Uncle Sam, you can play next time!”
Steve laughs and nods in approval, as does Sam, though he holds out a hand to stop Bucky momentarily. “Hang on, shouldn’t Uncle Bucky be Luke?”
The boys scrunch their little faces in confusion at Sam. Bucky, on the other hand, knows exactly where this is going because this is far from the first time he’s had this conversation. He draws his lips into a tight line, but not a mean one. Until Sam stands up abruptly and, like Vanna White or one of the showcase girls on Price is Right, uses his free hand to draw the crowd’s attention to Bucky’s face with a flourish. Then it goes mean for a split second before he schools his expression into its usual neutrality. No need to be negative around the kids.
“Just look. He may be much older–”
Okay, Bucky does openly scowl at him at that.
“–than Luke in the movies, but he still looks like him. See? And! He’s even got the metal hand! Different side but still,” he adds quickly and under his breath. Bucky looks away quickly when Sam’s grin becomes nearly blinding, he’s so proud of himself.
Carson and Ezra, bless them, look at Sam like he’s six different kinds of stupid. It’s extremely hard, almost impossible, to suppress his snort when Sam deflates.
“No,” Carson starts, like it’s the most obvious thing, “Uncle Bucky’s the adult, so he has to play Vader! And I wanna be Luke!”
Sam perks back up a little bit then. “You know what, boys, you’re right.” He pauses and looks right at Bucky, who can’t help but look right back at him. When Sam says nothing immediately, just seems to study him, Bucky narrows his eyes, an answer to the unspoken challenge plainly written in Sam’s eyes. “He’s got the perfect personality for it. Always frowning. Grumpy and brooding. Even his hair kinda looks like the helmet. And yeah, Vader’s got a robot hand too. It’s perfect. Sorry I didn’t see it before.”
Never mind. Bucky is not going to try and help him.
“Brooding?” Ezra asks.
Steve snorts, but Bucky interrupts before Sam can talk anymore. Last time Sam taught Carson a word, it was ragdoll and he wouldn’t stop using it for months. He really doesn’t need either kid to repeat that behavior. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Come on, kiddos. Let’s get me a lightsaber.”
Because he ends up completely immersed in his role as Darth Vader, Bucky misses Sam and Steve’s conversation.
“So,” Sam starts, glancing only briefly at Steve with a smirk, “five bucks says Luke and Obi-Wan kill Vader twice before they end up roping us into it.”
Steve shakes his head, chuckling. “You’ll lose. Bucky dies very dramatically and Carson eats it up every time. It’ll be closer to ten.”
“Oh, this I gotta see then.”
“It’s hilarious. And watch, this isn’t my first rodeo. Pretty soon there’ll be other kids wanting to join in. Buck’s got a way with kids, it’s incredible. He’s much more magnetic than he gives himself credit for.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Steve doesn’t visibly pause or choke on his drink, but it’s a near thing. Casually, he eyes Sam from his periphery. His tone had been so fond, so quiet, in a way Sam’s never spoken about Bucky. Sure, they’ve never been best friends, mainly just acquaintances in the loosest sense of the word, always tending to rile each other up without really even trying, but Sam had never crossed the line from teasing to mean, and neither had Bucky. It got a little snippy sometimes, but that’s to be expected; they’re only human. A weird tension had just… always been there. And suddenly Steve realizes they’re the Watched Pot phenomenon, and everyone fears what would happen if it was actually left to boil, so they’re never left unsupervised.
But, maybe everyone had been seeing it wrong. Maybe there’s hope.
It’s again a near thing that Steve manages to be quiet and return his attention to the playground. In typical Bucky fashion, he’s holding the stick-lightsaber in his armpit as his knees buckle and he crumples to the ground, head thrown back and groaning theatrically. Ezra and Carson are eating it up, as are the other kids that have started to gather around.
Beside him, Sam snickers, eyes still glued to the scene. “You weren’t kidding.”
Steve chances a glance at Sam and finds that the fond tone from earlier is still visible on his face. “Told ya,” he says after a moment. More kids have started joining, grabbing sticks of their own or, in one kid’s case, an actual toy lightsaber he pulls from the bag at his mom’s feet. Now the entire playground’s attention is on Bucky and the kids. “Magnetic.”
“We’re gonna have to sneak out of here, huh?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Bad part about this is all the attention it tends to grab.”
Sam pauses, brows furrowing for a moment before he leans in towards Steve a little, as if sharing a secret. “These aren’t his students. Think we should stay instead?”
Sure, Bucky can be a flirt, but it’s been a while since he’s ever shown interest in actively being one again. So Steve never pressures him into situations like this anymore. He wants his best friend to be happy, and unsuccessful date after unsuccessful date over the last few years have worn poor Bucky down. Plus, he’s said he wants a natural connection, rather than people throwing themselves at him. And hell, Steve gets that. Gets that better than anyone else in his life, probably.
Except maybe Sam. Who, Steve’s just now remembering, has said something awfully similar.
Huh. Maybe the watched pot needs to be left alone.
“Nah,” he eventually responds. “It’ll be too awkward for everyone. We’ll just have to pick our moment and sneak out whenever the playdate is over.”
Sam hums in response. It might be Steve’s imagination and his sudden excitement at the prospect of Sam and Bucky becoming actual friends, if not more, but Sam’s body language seems to say relieved.
They go quiet for a while. Bucky does die several more times, once getting accidentally poked in the neck by a stick-saber and making a legitimate choking noise before gently assuring the little girl that he’s fine. Besides that moment, most of the kids take him down semi-gently with thwacks to his legs, slashes across his back, stabs in his belly, and, most creatively by Carson. Who lets out a war cry and leaps off a ledge, into Bucky’s waiting arms, where he pretends to chop his head off. Bucky plays along perfectly, but gets some revenge when he takes him down to the ground with him, pretending to crush Carson under his body weight. The kid is at least half annoyed when Bucky doesn’t immediately roll off him, but he’s giggling so much that his words are garbled.
Steve really wishes he hadn’t stopped recording and put his phone away just before Carson leapt, because that was golden . Sam seems to think so, too, almost doubled over from laughing so hard.
As Bucky finally rolls over and releases a gasping Carson, Steve remembers something. “I promised Carson ice cream from Clint’s last time I saw him. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
Sam shrugs, lips quirking to the side. “Ain’t gonna hear any complaints from me.”
“Unless Bucky tries to cash in on those chocolate chip pancakes from Tom’s he thinks I owe him… It’d be a long ride to Brooklyn, but those are worth it. It’d kill some time and give us something to do.”
Sam’s eyebrows quirk this time. “Clint sounds a lot closer, and we’ve only got like–” he glances at his watch– “a little over an hour before Ezra’s folks’ll be by to get him. But, chocolate pancakes do sound really good.”
Nodding, Steve decides, “Let’s give them some more time to defeat Vader and save the galaxy. We can sneak out of here once Ezra heads home. I do really recommend Tom’s, though, if you get the chance.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Steve keeps himself from smirking by draining his cup. Tom’s is a short walk from Brooklyn Visions, and Steve’s needed at the exhibit all day on Monday. Really, everyone but Sam has to go back to work Monday, even Sandy since that’s one of her in-office days. So Sam has the whole day to himself. Maybe he’ll pick up Steve’s hint and go visit during Bucky’s lunch hour.
A few more moments pass where Steve and Sam quietly respond to texts. Steve opens the family group chat that includes spouses and girlfriends, plus himself and Sam–which, he’s honored to be included in but also a little confused–and laughs at Bobbi’s reply to the video he’d just sent.
I bet the other parents are absolutely losing their fuckin minds over him. I kinda am, and I don’t even want my own kids.
Sandy will surely have something to say whenever she sees that, and Steve can’t wait. He’s about to put his phone away when it vibrates again. This time, from Doris.
Oh, it’ll be much worse when Steve & Sam get involved. Won’t be a clean pair of adult underwear around
By far not the worst thing Doris has said (according to her kids), but it goes up there on Steve’s list.
Apparently Sam’s, too, judging by the startled laugh he covers up quickly with his hand before looking at Steve, eyes wide like he can’t make up his mind how to feel. A sentiment he shares. In sync, they both shove their phones back in their pocket and pointedly ignore them every time they vibrate.
After a while, Carson decides to literally drag his remaining uncles into the fray. Steve is declared Qui-Gon Jinn and Sam is Mace Windu.
“Good choice,” Sam praises. “I like Mace. And he reminds me of my friend at the VA.”
Steve and Sam aren’t as dramatic as Bucky, but they get really into it all the same. The kids love it. And Bucky, too, judging by the way Steve catches him grinning. The grins are mostly directed at Sam when he’s not looking, but not every time. And yeah, now Steve definitely isn’t just seeing things. They should have done something like this a long time ago instead of keeping them apart.
When Ezra’s parents arrive an hour later, the kids and adults alike are drenched in sweat. Ezra’s parents, a sweet Vietnamese couple who have the brightest smiles, thank them profusely for so actively playing with the boys. AKA wearing out their child for them.
After Carson has said his goodbyes and given his hugs, Sam hoists him up onto his shoulders and wanders back over to the bench to throw away the cup Bucky left, reminding Carson about the importance of the environment and to not litter. Bucky rolls his eyes because Sam is definitely talking loud enough to make a point.
Steve shakes his head and pulls out his phone to discreetly text John while they’re distracted.
So, does Shuri know Sam exists?
Because they had chatted about Shuri’s matchmaking at the gallery the other night, and Steve may need some pointers. And no, he’s not asking Sandy, at least yet, because she goes overboard. Clearly, that’s not what they need.
He doesn’t get a reply from John right away, but he wouldn’t have been able to anyway because Bucky apparently finally opens the group chat.
“Steve,” Bucky laments, giving him an absolutely pathetic look that Steve can’t not snicker at. “Steve. Please kill me. Or stick me in a memory wiping machine or something. Why would my mother say this? Can we trade moms? I have never heard yours–”
“No,” Steve laughs quickly, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing. “But here’s something comforting–sorta: really soon, probably in the next week or so, either she or Sandy will say something even worse and you’ll forget all about this one.”
It’s not comforting. But Steve knew that. He likes to be a little shit sometimes. Bucky groans dramatically and begins stomping off in the direction of Clint’s, muttering about how he “hates this fucking family,” in a way that’s somewhere between the “get on top of the fridge” and “mom, can we get McDonald’s” vines.
Steve just manages to contain his howl of laughter.
You broke Bucky, Mrs. Mac. Thank you, he sends.